Paler than usual and short of breath, the necromancer stared at the kickboxer with chagrin, his eyes reddening. Above their heads, scripts and diagrams glowed with violet light, casting an otherworldly atmosphere in the tight space of the cave. Images blurred before Zini, his mind dimming. He had exerted himself too much in the past few hours, and his strength was all but depleted. The beats of his heart were irregular. With a pale hand, he reached out towards the kickboxer from far away and clutched it.
"Creepy," commented the kickboxer, interpreting Zini's gesture as the dramatic act of a weirdo. Suddenly, the shadowy skeletal hand dissipated into thin strands, launching a surprise attack from behind. Dark magic seeped into the kickboxer's back, and intricate lines forming a crescent moon shape appeared on his chest, indicating that a spell had been cast.
"Whoa, not cool, man. Tattoos are for posers," the kickboxer grumbled as he examined the markings on his chest.
Polopp's gaze shifted towards the kickboxer's chest and he cautioned, "I sense the presence of soul magic..."
"Death Mimic," Zini muttered through gritted teeth. Suddenly, the kickboxer's shadow sprang up from the ground behind him, forming into a tangible being.
"Far out, man! It's like I'm Peter Pan or something just as rad," the kickboxer exclaimed, marveling at the shadowy doppelganger.
"Quick, Red, don't let your shadow go!" urged Polopp.
"But if he wants to go, let the dude go," countered the kickboxer, then turned to the shadow, giving it a pinky and thumb hand gesture while wiggling it. "Do what makes you happy, bra."
"Come," Zini hissed, latching onto the shadow, which seemed to be tethered to him by an invisible rope. The shadow hurtled through the cave, merging with Zini's body. Dark flames then enveloped him, twisting and contorting into sinewy muscles. More flames shot out of Zini's head, forming fiery hair that struck Polopp as familiar.
The gnome tilted his head up to look at the towering kickboxer, and while his hair wasn't ablaze, it jutted out in a way that reminded Polopp of Zini's fiery mane. Even the flames on Zini's muscular form bore an uncanny resemblance to the kickboxer's physique.
"What's he planning?" Polopp muttered to himself as he watched Zini intently. Suddenly, a blur shot past him as the kickboxer sprang into action.
"You didn't think we hadn't started, did you, dawg?" the kickboxer grinned, executing a flying sidekick and bellowing, "Watah!"
The dark flames surrounding Zini stabilized, and he swiftly dodged the sidekick, countering with an overhand punch aimed at the kickboxer's chin. The kickboxer was knocked off balance and sent tumbling, but he managed to shield himself by blocking the blow with his forearm.
Tumbling through the air, the kickboxer regained his footing the moment his feet touched the ground. As he turned his attention back to Zini, he saw the necromancer standing with his arms held high in a defensive stance, feet planted firmly on the ground.
"Bromeister, you know how to kickbox?" the kickboxer marveled.
Wrapped in dark flames, Zini couldn't help but feel impressed. A martial art was running through his mind of which he had never known existed. He sprang forward and hit with a jab against the kickboxer, who slipped it, then followed with a straight from his power hand, which disguised a kick coming from below.
His lower leg was kicked out, and the kickboxer staggered. He had to take a few steps away to dodge a spinning back fist on its way to his face.
“Not bad,” the kickboxer complimented, watching the necromancer return to his stance. “Perfectly balanced kickboxing, just like nature, chea. I thought you were a square. Didn’t know you waded in these kinds of waters, bra.”
“What?” Zini had to say, unable to understand anything that was said.
“Surf’s up, dude,” the kickboxer cautioned with a smile as he marched forward and feigned a low kick, then retracted it suddenly to turn it into a sidekick that shot toward the necromancer’s face.
Zini rolled under it and returned with a low kick that staggered the kickboxer again. He then pretended to throw a straight in a counter before actually kicking the kickboxer’s abdomen, sending him crashing into a stone table.
Zini marveled at the fluidity and versatility of the martial art he was now using. "This fighting style incorporates every limb and joint, including knees and elbows," he remarked, watching the kickboxer get back up. "You have my respect for mastering such a martial art."
Suddenly, a glass vial filled with potion shattered against Zini's head. He turned to see the gnome with his arm outstretched as if he had thrown the vial.
“Ha! They called me one-shot Polopp back in my day,” Polopp laughed, “for never missing a throw in gnome apple tossing games!”
Liquid from the potion ran down the necromancer’s face and into his eyes, where he felt a burning sensation. Rubbing at his face, Zini threatened the gnome, “I’ll get you after I’m done with him. I promise you that!”
“Gray face, corpse stench, moldy, lowly necromancer!” Polopp taunted.
While wiping his eyes to clear them, a fist hit him across the jawbone and spun him in place. The kickboxer was on him again. While spinning from the punch’s force, Zini ducked low and shuffled backward, nearly getting hit by the kickboxer’s rising knee, piercing upward like a thrust spear.
The necromancer blanched, feeling the wind pressure. Clearing his eyes, he immediately looked toward the gnome and was rewarded for being cautious as another glass vial hurtled at him. He swayed and dodged it.
“Damn tree dwarf,” he muttered. A roundhouse kick almost made an indent in his head before he dodged backward, away from the kicking kickboxer.
“Red, I’m out of potions,” Polopp warned. If only he made a trip back to camp to resupply, he’d show this pale human who really was the “tree dwarf”.
“Alright,” the kickboxer nodded and then began to relax his body even more, “Stand back. I'll show you why kickboxing is the best martial art.”
"Watch out," warned the gnome. "I believe the necromancer is using soul magic to copy your skills somehow."
Zini felt satisfied that the intelligent gnome couldn’t fathom the entirety of his spell. The gnome failed to mention that the "Death Mimic" spell not only replicated skills but also the physical attributes of the copied individual. This gave Zini a much-needed boost to his vitality, which had been weakening to the point of failing. With these factors at play, it was inevitable that their martial arts match would end in a tie.
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The kickboxer now relaxed more than usual, sped forward suddenly, his moving feet spraying dirt backward. Zini felt odd seeing the charge since the kickboxer failed to raise a guard. According to the knowledge Zini had copied from him, having a lowered guard could only make you more susceptible to damage.
As soon as Zini and the kickboxer got close, Zini stepped back and threw a check hook, a hooking punch counter popular in boxing and kickboxing due to its dependability in catching oncoming foes and its power capability. The necromancer became wary as the kickboxer nearly fell to the floor to dodge it, prompting the necromancer to try and counter with a low kick to the kickboxer’s face.
But a shin bone hit him squarely and caused him to see stars. The kickboxer, while falling, had swung his leg upward, lashing out like a scorpion tail. He then stayed on the ground while standing on his hands and swung his legs wide through the air like he was dancing, sweeping up the necromancer’s legs and flooring him.
“What is this?” Zini grunted, “There’s nothing I copied that resembles this.”
“I’m just flowing bra,” the kickboxer smiled as he leapt into a cartwheel and nearly stomped on Zini’s pale face before the necromancer managed to roll away.
In recovering, necromancer tensed, waiting for the kickboxer to make a move. As the kickboxer closed in, the necromancer quickly dropped to the ground and attempted to copy the previous move. But the kickboxer was one step ahead, leaping into the air and spinning like the blades of a windmill. On his descent, the kickboxer came out of his spin in a stomping kick and landed it on Zini’s abdomen, squeezing out spittle that flew from the necromancer’s mouth.
In pain, Zini wondered, How? How are we fighting so differently? My Death Mimic should’ve copied his combat style perfectly!
In this world of mana, the kickboxer, with Red's body's strength and durability, was able to fight with reckless abandon and deviate from his usual fighting style. Zini, on the other hand, could not copy the kickboxer's adaptability, which was the missing factor that hindered him from keeping up with the kickboxer's moves. In his previous world, the kickboxer never fought so haphazardly, and this new level of creative flexibility was something Zini couldn't replicate with his magic.
Zini groaned as the kickboxer jumped off him, his breath coming in short gasps. "Your kickboxing is gnarly, bra, but you're missing the flow," the kickboxer said with a smirk. Zini tried to push himself up, but before he could even get his hands under him, the kickboxer charged towards him again. The kickboxer then dove feet first, spinning through the air like an arrow in flight, and landed with both feet on Zini's prone body. The impact sent a shockwave through Zini's body, his vision blurring as he crashed into the cave wall in a heap.
“How interesting,” Polopp mused from where he stood, watching the kickboxer spin into a handstand then flip to get back to his feet. “You use an unarmed combat style similar to ‘the champ’, but besides the difference in the use of kicks, you also move so chaotically.”
“Just let the rhyme and rhythm flow through you,” the kickboxer said and began shuffling his feet, dancing.
With a sudden burst of force, a figure charged into the laboratory. Before the kickboxer could react, he was sent hurtling out of the cave entrance and back into the forest, soaring through the air like a projectile launched from a trebuchet. He crashed against a jagged rocky outcrop, and darkness enveloped him as he blacked out. When he regained consciousness, he found a short person standing over him, urgently yelling for him to get up.
"Manager Dwindle?" the kickboxer said, still feeling dizzy. As his vision cleared, he saw the gnome, Polopp, shouting.
"We've got to get out of here, Mister Kickboxer," Polopp exclaimed, his face etched with worry. "We can't beat him."
"I flow with the universe, bra, but no one bests kickboxing. I can take down whatever vehicle hit me earlier." The kickboxer was still groggy.
Polopp couldn't quite comprehend his manner of speaking.
This entity seems even worse than "the champ", he thought warily.
Not too long after, a towering figure loomed among the trees, searching, hunting. His muscles bulged, his skin stretched taut over the sheer mass of muscle. A menacing aura emanated from his eyes as he bared his teeth like a wild animal. The ground trembled with each step he took, and creatures of the forest fled from his presence, as if he were a natural disaster about to upheave the woods.
"Did you find them?" a voice barked at the hulking figure.
The enormous man turned, and saw the voice belonged to Zini the necromancer. He answered with a low voice, "Damned necromancer. Free me."
"Enough of that," Zini denied his servant. "Let's go before those other intruders join forces against us. There's nothing left for me here. We'll gather everyone from the cave and head northwest toward the Kingdom of Nore."
"Those five pests," his servant said, recalling his recent skirmish, "I could have killed them, but their tactics are cowardly and too irritating to defeat."
Zini wasn't surprised. The intruders had vanquished his army of skeletons. They were no amateurs. Most likely, they had noble bloodlines and proper training. But in fighting Otai, they would be wary to come look for trouble with him too soon.
The dark flames that had manifested into a muscular body and granted him skills dissipated, leaving him fatigued to the point of kneeling. He quickly consumed a wakeful potion to avoid passing out. His dark green eyes blurred, but he could still make out his servant standing beside him.
His servant, known as Battle Lord Otai, a formidable Badlander, was incredibly powerful. The Badlander had been poisoned and the necromancer took the opportunity to enslave him with the Soul Expropriator artifact. The necromancer was relieved that he had summoned his servant back to him. The young man, skilled in unarmed martial arts, had nearly bested him.
Fortunately, he wouldn't have to face that young man again.
"Did you think I'd let you ride off into the sunset, bra?" asked a voice with a strange accent.
Zini and his servant turned their heads to see the kickboxer had arrived, leaning against a tree, seemingly relaxed.
"My kickboxer senses are telling me that the big boy next to you is the one who interrupted my radical art of kickboxing, chea. In the name of kickboxing, I challenge you.”
Zini didn't bother exchanging words with him and ordered Otai, "Render him unconscious."
"You're soft, necromancer. We should just kill him," Otai scoffed as he charged toward the kickboxer, his footsteps stirring up the earth.
"Whoa," the kickboxer spluttered, catching sight of Otai's speed and deftly pirouetting to dodge a punch from the Badlander. He then dove into a roll to avoid a follow-up attack as Otai leapt at him. While rolling, the kickboxer's leg snapped out like a scorpion's tail, landing a swift kick to Otai's back.
"It tickles," the Badlander mocked and swiped with his hands, but he couldn't get a hold of the kickboxer who was spinning, rolling, and even flipping over him as he evaded attacks. Frustration set in for the Badlander, feeling as if he were trying to catch a fish with his bare hands.
"Stand still!"
"No way, bra," the kickboxer denied wholeheartedly, "I'm going to float like a surfboard and sting like coral reef."
"What is this boy saying?" Otai grumbled confusedly.
"I haven't been able to decipher his speech this entire time," Zini answered with an impatient look at the young man slipping around the Badlander’s attacks. The necromancer couldn't decide which was harder to deal with: the kickboxer's fighting style or his manner of speaking.
Otai's massive frame loomed over the kickboxer, his fists raised in anticipation. The kickboxer dodged a swing, but the sheer force behind the missed punch obliterated a nearby tree trunk, causing wood to rain down and momentarily disorienting the kickboxer. Sensing an opening, Otai lunged forward, his heavy fist connecting with the kickboxer's chest and sending him flying several meters backwards, where he crashed into another tree, creating a crater in its trunk.
The kickboxer spat out blood, his head spinning from the impact.
"Aw man, wipeout," he muttered, struggling to dislodge himself from the tree. But before he could, another fist hurtled towards him, threatening to turn his skull into pulp. He braced himself for the hit, unable to move well due to the damage done to his equilibrium by the previous blow.
Whoa, major bummer, he thought as the fist made contact and darkness overtook him.
Before Otai could kill the kickboxer with another attack, an arrow nearly landed on the Badlander who rocked his body backward to avoid it. Three more arrows nearly hit him in succession right after when he imbued enough mana to create a force to deflect the missiles, sending them scattering.
He turned and spotted a man with a lackadaisical face standing high on a tree branch.
"We meet again," the archer smiled languidly.
Four others marched out of the forest. Though they appeared bruised and battered, and blood stained their gear, their eyes still held the willingness to fight.
"For the Hunter's Guild!" A young woman among them cried out and led the others into a charge.