Novels2Search

Chapter 25 - Chicken

With its vines spreading out through the air like branches in a tree, the monster in front of Symon looked like some unholy mix of cassowary, octopus, and plant. When taken individually, nothing about the monster seemed too dangerous; being kicked by its hooves would hurt, but a cracked rib could be healed pretty fast. The beak would deliver some painful bites, but as long as he kept it away from his face and throat it wouldn't be too bad. But those vine tentacles... they were the real threat.

Symon quickly closed in, his feet kicking up small sprays of the sandy dirt as he charged. His Running skill showed its value as he accelerated fast enough to give him a good shot of making it as an Olympic sprinter. The bush ostriches had already shown that even the smaller ones were capable of outrunning Symon, so his plan was simple. He would close in as soon as possible and keep the monster on the defensive, preventing it from using its mobility and allowing Symon to use his magic.

At least, that was the plan. As it turned out, the monster wasn't content to sit there and let itself be killed. In fact, it was quite mad at the human who had just cracked a bunch of its young over the head with a pipe. It expressed this displeasure by whipping its vine tentacles through the air, sharp thorns passing by Symon as he threw himself to the side to avoid them. His speed made it hard to maneuver and he almost slipped, but he was able to push himself upright before he completely fell over. The creature was already turning to face him, its vines still swiping out blindly as they searched for him.

Taking that opportunity to strike, he swung his club towards the centre mass of his opponent. Its long neck twisted around the second it had lost vision of Symon, and it stared at him with a cunning rage in its eyes. With Symon now back in its sight, the vines returned to their more focused state as they curled in on themselves, forming a dense shield in the air between them that caught Symon's blow. His heavy metal pipe slammed into the bramble shield but the force of the blow was absorbed like a car's suspension, the shield being pushed back towards the creature but not doing any harm. The grey threads of his draining magic, now almost as long as the pipe, also lashed out and connected to the vine tentacles, greedily ripping out as much vitality as it could. The affected tentacles jerked backwards in response, as Symon continued pushing against the shield with his pipe, eager to remain close and steal as much vitality as he could.

He didn't want to check the vessel tattoo on his hand in the middle of combat, but his experience with his abilities meant he always had some awareness of the vessel in his chest. It was already almost full from his fight — if you could even call it that — with the smaller monsters, but he wanted more. By now, the briar shield had been forced up against the monster's body as it tried to push back against him, his grey threads swaying happily as they guzzled up more vitality.

He wanted more, more, more! He was the apex predator here, and he would assert his dominance over these pathetic beasts. He would take their strength for his own, he would use it for his own designs as he crushed all who stood in his path! He would be the—

No, no, that's not right, he thought as he shook his head like a dog. What was he doing? He was the master of his abilities, something he repeated in his mind as he forced himself to take in his surroundings and think about what he was doing. His thread was still draining the monster's vitality, good. He was uninjured, good. His club was still pinning half the creature's vines down, good.

Wait, where's the other half?

Answering his question, he realised the vine tentacles had been slithering across the floor. He realised this because they had suddenly lashed out and then pulled across the back of his legs, delivering dozens of cuts to his legs using their razor-sharp thorns. He staggered forward slightly from the blow, tiny sparks of burning pain shooting across his legs, but while the injuries were numerous the thorns weren't able to cut very deep. Already, some of his stolen vitality was washing out from his vessel, stemming the blood flow and slowly beginning to close the wounds.

The razor stalker had been scary, but this thing just looked stupid. He wasn't going to let some ridiculous half-bird half-bush monster force him to use up so much vitality. He wanted to keep his vessel nice and full! Plus, while the Pain Resistance was helping, it wasn't Pain Immunity. The attacks still stung something fierce, so Symon elected to return the favour. It seemed he'd outlast the creature, his magic killing it faster than it could damage him through the healing, but he didn't want to just endure it, he wanted to win.

Once more Symon smashed his club into the creature's shield, not doing any damage but forcing it away. Jumping backwards to avoid the vines lying on the ground, Symon knew he had to change things up. First, he threw the pipe at the monster. It spun through the air with a sharp whistling noise but was swatted aside by the creature's vines. It only served as a minor distraction, but that was all Symon needed.

In a mostly smooth motion, Symon unsheathed the late Serik's sword. The half expected a metallic schwing sound, but that had turned out to just be movie magic. The sound of the metal blade sliding out of the leather scabbard was simply a soft rustle. He brandished the blade with a smile, both hands around the grip. Now this was a real weapon, not just some salvaged hunk of metal. But he didn't draw it for some romantic notion of knighthood; he'd noticed how ineffective his blunt weapon had been against the vines.

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It was time for some pruning.

Once more, both Symon and the monster charged at each other. But this time, when his weapon clashed with the thorny shield the monster had shaped, he cut deep into it instead of bouncing off. The mass of vines was too thick for him to cut all the way through, but the blade was sharp enough that he could yank it back out without too much effort. In response, the creature let out a guttural ululating cry before swiping at him from the side. Symon had grown stronger and faster since arriving in this desert, but this moment showed him just how far he had to go in order to be truly safe against these monsters — the vines were whipping towards him almost faster than he could see.

He managed to barely begin an upward slash, cutting through some of the vines that were going for his legs again, but a wall of them were still approaching. Before he could even try to attempt something else, they crashed into him like a wave. They would have swept him off his feet if not for the fact that they began wrapping around him, the sharp thorns embedding into him and preventing him from easily sliding out. They slithered and scraped his way across his body, but he at least managed to get one hand under the vine that had curled around his neck before it could constrict his airways. There was a thorn right in the middle of where his palm was pressing outwards, but the pain was better than being strangled.

Gritting his teeth, he half-pushed half-pulled the vine away from his neck. He continued levering it away even after the force of his exertion caused the thorn to pierce out of the back of his hand. The vine itself wasn't very strong, but the awkward angle coupled with the other vines pushing him off balance and distracting him with the pain of their hundreds of thorns made things harder than it would otherwise have been.

But Symon wasn't idle while this was happening. For one, his vitality drain had continued to weaken the monster and in turn provide Symon with continuous healing. Less subtly, his sword arm was still free, something Symon painfully reminded the creature of as he continued slashing at the monster's vine tentacles.

Symon was growing frustrated. Neither of them were able to deal much damage to the other, although Symon was gradually getting further and further wrapped up by the vines. Although, the more the vines were wrapped around Symon, the less space that put between them...

With an idea in mind, Symon switched to a reverse grip on his short sword. He almost dropped it due to a combination of inexperience, adrenaline, and the slick blood all over his hands, but he managed to keep hold of it. His plan was simple — the monster had dedicated the majority of its vines to constrict Symon and prevent him from moving away, almost as if a rubber band connected the two together. And if he couldn't move back, why not just do the opposite?

Most of his torso was wrapped around with vines, with one arm caught up in being used to stop him from being strangled, but his legs were mostly free. With a wordless shout, he charged forward, the vines helping him along as they pulled him inwards. With renewed courage after Symon had stopped slashing through the vines, the last vestiges of the vine shield broke apart as the appendages previously used for defence slithered aggressively through the air towards Symon.

Somehow, the expression on the bird's face looked smug, as if it thought it had the upper hand. It wasn't expecting Symon to simply crash carelessly into the sharp vines simply to get into melee range of the creature. It realised too late what was happening, as Symon lifted his sword into the air before stabbing it downwards with all his might. The dozens of vines wrapped around Symon not only constricted him, but it also prevented the ostrich monster from easily separating from Symon.

This meant it had no room to dodge as the sharp steel stabbed deep into its body, finally dealing some serious damage for the first time in that fight that had, until that point, been something of an awkward struggle for both participants. He expected the creature to respond with another one of its weird cries accompanied by a redoubling of its attacks, but the truth was much simpler.

With a wet wheeze from the creature, the vines wrapping around Symon quickly lost all their strength as they released their grip on him. He pulled the sword out, ready to continue his assault, but the monster merely stumbled away a few steps before collapsing in a heap.

"That wasn't so bad," he said aloud, mostly to himself.

A grunt and a scuffle responded to him from behind. He'd been so caught up fighting that monster he'd completely forgotten about Aslan!

Turning around, he saw he didn't have anything to worry about. His companion had just finished up with his final foe by slapping the flat of his blade against the neck of the last remaining ostrich so hard that he broke its neck. He didn't have any visible injuries, but he had a slight limp as he walked towards Symon. He'd probably been kicked in the leg, Symon guessed.

"Great job!" Symon called out as he brushed himself off, the shallow scratches over his body already sealing together. "I'll have plenty of vitality left for Atabek, even after we're both healed up."

"Excellent news, friend Symon, and well fought! I wish to apologise though; when we last hunted those creatures they did not appear to have any control over the plants covering them," Aslan ruefully expressed. "I suspect the one you fought was stronger than the previous ones."

"Oh well, no harm done. Just let me finish harvesting the rest of the vitality and I'll heal you up as we head back to camp," Symon said with a smile.

Keelgrave took that moment to chime in.

Symon's smile grew strained as he walked back to the smaller monsters he'd knocked out or crippled at the start of the fight, draining the last of their vitality as he did so. Yeah, his skill with the sword left a lot to be desired, but considering it was his first time using it he felt he'd done well.

"Ugh, and I ruined another set of clothes..."