The air around the five figures warped and twisted as they launched their attacks.
Battle Lord Otai bellowed, "Badland is my land!" The clash of weapons sent a shockwave rippling through the area, causing leaves to fall as if it were early autumn.
Zini the necromancer, unable to fend off the relentless assault of the newcomers, stumbled back, his mind foggy from exhaustion. One step backward, he fell and did not rise again, succumbing to slumber as his mind wandered into the realm of dreams.
Only his servant remained to face the five forest intruders.
"Dawrite!" the young woman, Lady Verdinant, shouted, pointing at the imposing Badlander.
"Right away, Lady Verdinant," a wizened man in armor replied, shuffling forward with a two-handed sword poised to strike. As he reached Otai, he swung with a mighty force that distorted the air, leaving a trail of disturbed space that resembled a paintbrush stroke on a canvas.
Otai grunted as he blocked the weapon with his forearm, narrowly avoiding an arrow aimed at him by a lackadaisical archer perched high in a tree. The Badlander retaliated with a powerful punch that descended upon the warrior, Dwarite, like a meteor.
A silver streak cut through the air as Lady Verdinant intercepted the blow with her shield, creating another shockwave that shook the forest, showering leaves down like confetti in a celebration of the intense battle.
Lady Verdinant struggled to hold back Otai's fist, blood trickling from her mouth, as the toll of the battle against the army of undead and the formidable Badlander weighed heavily on her and her team. She barked, "Hawl!"
A man named Hawl, wearing holy raiment drew a sage symbol in the air, and a globe of light flew towards the Badlander. Otai scoffed and swatted it away, but the Hunters closed their eyes in anticipation. The ball of light exploded, illuminating the area in a blinding flash.
"Dirty tricks!" Otai roared, rubbing his eyes harshly.
"Rose!" a man with a square-shaped jaw shouted, tossing a potion through the air.
Catching it, Lady Verdinant, also known as Rose, nodded in gratitude. "Thank you, Opalstein."
"That's the last health potion," Opalstein said with regret.
"Let's make this push count then." Rose raised her silver blade and roared, leading her team forward with her shield up.
The battle between Badlander and Hunters raged on, their clash echoing through the forest. But as the battle reached its peak, the Hunters were forced to falter under the overwhelming might of Battle Lord Otai. Their defensive tactics could only prolong their defeat, so they took a risk and fought with all their strength, yet it was not enough. Otai was a survivor, forged in the unforgiving landscape of the Lorn Badlands, trapped in war from the time he was a babe.
A gnome in a red cap, carrying a bundle of packs taller than him, ran past the battle, hurrying to a young man unconscious stuck in a tree. He twiddled his fingers and sparkling light shined onto the young man, waking him up.
Eyes opening, the young man smiled, “Wudup, Polps? I thought you abandoned the waves for smoother waters, bra. I’m stoked to reconnect, man.”
"Your mode of speech is incomprehensible, entity," Polopp remarked as he produced a health potion. "Consume this." He had retrieved his belongings from the necromancer's cave and had made a stop at his camp to collect some supplies, including another red cone cap to replace the one he’d lost. What good was a gnome without his cap?
"Right on," said the kickboxer, bobbing his head like a fishing lure before gulping down the potion. His marred skin suddenly became unblemished and the bruising and scars he’d received vanished. He then popped out of the crater in the tree like a cork on a wine bottle.
“Gracias, amigo. The next drink’s on me, chea.”
The gnome ignored the kickboxer’s strange words. Polopp instead nodded, satisfied, seeing the kickboxer back on his feet and said, “Now, let’s get out of here. There appears to be people fighting that behemoth from earlier. It’ll give us time to slip away.”
“But bra, those dudes just straight up, like, saved my life and stuff. I can’t just bail on some real bros like them, you know?”
Polopp's lips pursed, holding back the urge to curse at the kickboxer's peculiar way of speaking. However, his eyes widened with a sudden realization as he pieced together the puzzle in his mind. The entity he was dealing with was not from their world, and it dawned on him that Red's entities might hail from a reality that was vastly different from their own.
Could it be possible? Were there other realities? Were these realities similar to their souls and were on another side of a “mirror” of sorts where they couldn’t be seen?
The gnome took a deep breath, pausing to rein in his surging emotions. This was it—the breakthrough he had been tirelessly searching for. Understanding Red's unique situation would mark the pinnacle of his career, a significant leap forward in the field of soul research. It would undoubtedly go down in history as the greatest discovery in the world of Eronia, a momentous achievement that would forever reshape their understanding of not just soul alchemy, but also their perception of reality itself.
He had to check a question that surfaced in his mind. Looking up at the tall young man, Polopp asked, “Where are you from, Mister Kickboxer?”
The kickboxer answered, “By way of the valley that reeks, home slice. Take a stroll through Soalde and keep going until it reeks of despair and old shoes, and there bra, you will have arrived at my habitat, chea.”
Polopp shook his head. That wasn’t right. What the kickboxer referred to was the slums in the Jewel City, Soalde.
I've already surmised that these souls are merging with Red on a foundational basis, he thought, studying the kickboxer's relaxed expression. Perhaps Red's presence has even more influence than I initially realized. It's possible that the entities are taking cues from him, shaping their personalities based on his life and experiences.
Dropping his pack, he attempted to scrounge around for a parchment and some charcoal to write notes with, but the kickboxer began to walk away.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“Hey, where are you going?” Polopp asked, about to panic seeing the subject of his very important research leave.
“People to see, babies to kiss, bra,” the kickboxer smiled. “But for real, I just feel the vibes from these helpful dudes and need to repay them for being rad.” He then thumbed to the ongoing battle.
Polopp looked past him and could see the Badlander had taken out one of the five warriors and was in the midst of wiping out the rest.
“You’re going to die if you go over there,” Polopp said solemnly, returning his gaze to the young man.
The kickboxer's shoulders lifted in a casual shrug as he spoke. "You know how it is, man. When you gotta go, you gotta go," he said, a grin spreading across his face. "But if I bail on people who did right by me without asking anything in return, what kind of person would that make me?" His words were punctuated with a sense of easygoing humor, as if he found the idea of leaving his saviors behind absurd.
Finally, the gnome could gleam some understanding from the kickboxer's words, though he still found the idea preposterous. After all, the Badlander was known as a formidable Battle Lord, feared and respected in the treacherous Lorn Badlands. He had the power to rule over tribes or serve as a high-ranking warrior in any Warchief's forces.
However, the kickboxer remained resolute.
"Fine," Polopp relented, retrieving a vial of shimmering gold liquid from his pocket and presenting it to the young man. "Take this. It's a soul enhancer. If you enhance the soul, you enhance the entire being, their very essence."
But just as the kickboxer reached out to accept it, Polopp pulled the vial away.
"This is valuable," Polopp said, his tone serious. "If I give this to you, you'll have to help in my research."
The kickboxer raised a hand, stuck his thumb and pinky out and wiggled them back and forth. "Bra, my last name is righteous and my first name is totally, man," he said. "You can count on me."
Polopp sighed, realizing he had no other choice if he wanted to begin conducting his research on Red, and handed over the potion. The kickboxer's carefree attitude and unwavering confidence seemed to put him at ease, despite his initial reservations. After all, he needed all the help he could get in his quest for understanding Red's situation, and the kickboxer’s promise was as good as Red's, given their unique merged state.
The kickboxer tilted his head back, allowing the potion to flow down his throat in a swift gulp. As the liquid coursed through his body, he felt a fiery sensation spreading from his chest to his limbs, as if a powerful force was awakening from within him. His chest expanded with a deep breath, his muscles rippling with newfound strength, and his senses sharpened to a keen edge. The kickboxer seemed transformed by the potent elixir, his resolve firm and his purpose clear.
Mana rose off his muscles like steam, but the mana wasn’t blue and instead golden in color as if he were a celestial avatar.
“Kicboxing is a way of life,” the kickboxer uttered as if behind a steeple, “The universe flows, destroys and makes anew.”
Rose's shield buckled under the force of the Badlander's attack, sending vibrations through her arms and causing her to stumble backward. As she struggled to regain her balance, Otai charged forward, his muscles rippling with each thunderous step. She raised her shield once more, bracing herself for the impact.
But the force of Otai's blow was too much for her to withstand. Her body was thrown backward, as if caught in a powerful gust of wind. She crashed into a nearby tree with a sickening thud, her shield clattering to the ground beside her.
Gasping for breath, Rose tried to push herself up, but her limbs felt heavy and unresponsive. She could feel Otai's gaze fixed on her, his white face tattoo blazing in the dim light of the forest.
“Welsen,” Dawrite shouted urgently, his eyes scanning the area. “Where's that damned archer? We need your help to protect Lady Verdinant!”
“Welsen's down,” Oppalstein said gravely, producing a potion and uncorking it. He held the open vial under Dawrite's nose, sending its fumes into the old warrior's nostrils.
Dawrite's eyes dilated as he breathed in the fumes, and then he bellowed, charging forward with his two-handed sword raised high.
“Things aren’t looking too good,” Oppalstein muttered, eyeing the unconscious Hawl and their other member, Welsen, who was also knocked out. He turned to shout for their leader to consider retreating when a figure enveloped in golden light streaked past him.
“What in the realms was that?”
Dawrite left a long gash down Otai's back, eliciting a snarl of pain from the Badlander, before being backhanded into a nearby tree trunk where he stayed, unable to rise.
“Dawrite!” Rose cried out in alarm, but she couldn't afford to worry about others as Otai turned his attention back to her.
He smirked, noticing Rose's apprehension. “Foolish Loderans. You lot have grown soft from peace, whereas my people have only grown stronger in the fires of war.” His white face tattoo glimmered brightly as he raised a muscular arm to strike Rose down.
“Watah!” a voice screamed.
A golden foot kicked Otai in the jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground.
"Who is it?" Otai and Rose asked simultaneously, their faces reflecting their conflicting emotions. Otai's anger simmered like a smoldering fire, while Rose's expression flickered with hope.
“The one who rules,” a young man said, stepping forward, his body bathed in golden light. “The one who rocks and the one who rolls.” He wiggled his hand with only his pinky and thumb out.
"The other forest intruder," Otai growled, his voice deep and guttural like a wild animal's. “You seem different.”
“I’m, like, full of alchemy,” the kickboxer replied, nodding continuously.
From a distance, Oppalstein stroked his hefty chin thoughtfully. Being an alchemist, the mention of his craft and the kickboxer's strange powers sparked his interest. He also hoped that this stranger would help them escape.
“You’ve overestimated yourself,” Otai scoffed at the young man. “Things will only end up the same way as last time with you crumpled in defeat.”
The Badlander then leaped through the air and brought both fists down toward the kickboxer who slipped away like a ghost. In landing, the attack from Otai sent small tremors through the ground. A fist then appeared, coming over his shoulder and landing on his massive jaw, leaning his body to one side. He tried to return with a counter but when he regained his balance, the kickboxer had disappeared.
From above, the kickboxer was spinning and when gravity brought his spinning form back down, a leg stretched out and landed atop Otai’s head, forcing the Badlander’s forehead to touch the ground. Two wide hands clapped together above the Battle Lord in attempt to catch the evasive kickboxer, but to no avail.
“Why’re you, like, made of rocks, dude?” the kickboxer asked, appearing a few feet away. A tingling sensation ran across the limbs he had hit the gargantuan man with.
“Don’t call me dood,” Otai rebuked, wrongly thinking the word as an insult.
“I’m dude. You’re a dude. We’re all dudes, hey!”
Otai charged again and they began to exchange more blows. Heavy attacks from the Battle Lord caused short seismic waves and the golden kickboxer would always be out of reach. A cat and mouse game happened between them as they appeared in different areas of the forest. In their wake, trees were blown over and soil upturned as if someone was planning to plant crops. They continued without stop however, though no one gained the upper hand.
Rose still sat where she had been flung to by the Badlander, unable to rise from exhaustion and injury. Next to her, Opalstein worked his craft of alchemy.
He carefully arranged wood and kindling in a neat pile, before drawing a sage symbol in the air above it. Sparks leapt from the symbol and onto the pile, igniting it with a crackling flame. A vial was produced out of a pouch in his bag which he then placed on the flames. With a steady hand, he began to add herbs from his pouch into the vial, measuring by eye the amount that was tossed. His hands moved rapidly and precisely as he adjusted the mixture to create the desired effect.
Rose covered her nose; alchemy was known to create an awful stench.
Oppalstein drew an artifact from his pouch that resembled a teakettle, which he poured the boiling vial into. The teakettle glowed with a sage symbol, and steam rose, emitting a different odor that resembled the smell of gray tea.
“This is the best I could do,” Oppalstein said with regret. “I don’t have much left in my supplies and could only make a single health potion of decent quality.”
A giggle emerged from behind them, and both became alert, turning to face the sound. “Who is it? Show yourself!” Rose shouted, arming herself. Though she couldn’t get up, she wouldn’t allow herself to die without a fight.
First, a flash of red caught their attention, followed by a tuft of snow-white hair and a bushy white beard. Finally, a short figure emerged from the underbrush, carrying a bundle of packs tied together.
“Is that a gnome?” Oppalstein asked, befuddled.