“Just stay behind…” Alarion began only to trail off as a quick glance caught no sign of Sierra lingering at his back where she’d been only a moment earlier. “… me.”
He narrowed his eyes, focusing on likely hiding spots, on deep shadows or nearby obstacles. She was there, he knew. No doubt quite close, possibly in plain sight. None of his training over the previous weeks had focused on his [Detection] skill, while Alarion knew full well that Sierra trained her Shadowdance skill at every opportunity. Her ability to hide had long outstripped his ability to seek. He didn’t like it.
Snap.
He didn’t much like that noise either, truth told.
With Sierra safely hidden and the presumed fiend steadily approaching, Alarion turned back to the more pressing matter of picking his battlefield.
Fighting in a forest with a weapon the size of an Imperial Greatsword was less than ideal, a flaw ZEKE had made certain to note. At length. Enclosed spaces were such a critical weakness that two of the seven forms that made up the Eleventh Rite were dedicated to patterns that mitigated that flaw, mostly in the form of thrusting or purely vertical strikes. Even so, the best tactic that ZEKE had drilled into him was to not fight in those circumstances at all.
Retreating to the beach was out of the question, judging by the increasing speed and volume of the foliage cracking ahead of him, but withdrawing to a more open position was not. Alarion fell back, trusting Sierra to follow along with him as he zigzagged backward through the neatly packed trees until he found an area that would accommodate his needs. Wide enough that he could comfortably swing on a diagonal, or even a horizontal if he was careful with his footwork.
Satisfied with his positioning, Alarion set aside the small pack of water, food, bedding supplies and other essentials he’d been given. He plucked a single thin crimson vial from an inner pouch and stored it in a buttoned sheath on the bracer that covered his left arm, next to two throwing daggers and his Shifting Imperial Greatsword. Easy enough to access in a pinch, and less likely to break or be lost in a scuffle.
He stretched as the noise intensified, rolling his shoulders, whirling the blade in a lazy arc to let his arms remember the weight of it. Then he waited.
And waited.
“Come on.” Alarion murmured. His fingers tapped a steady drum beat to match the scratching steps of a creature he could only see glimpses of between the gaps in the trees.
It wouldn’t be long now.
A snuffling snarl reverberated off the greenery as the thing, at last, caught sight of him. Its haphazard search, driven by scent and sound, drew instantly into focus as it weaved through and between the plant life in a mad dash to reach Alarion. Wood splintered, and Alarion could see long gashes open where the fiend single-mindedly tore its own flesh along cracked wood in its expediency to reach him.
He’d not known what to expect. But somehow this was not it.
The creature was tall and thin, nearly two feet taller than Alarion while remaining roughly as wide. Its arms and legs were bone thin, its ribs individually protruding from flesh so taut over bone that it appeared as though it were ready to tear. A long, segmented tail, tipped with a wicked barb whipped back and forth behind the terror as it charged on all fours despite its humanlike physique.
Most uncomfortable was the skin. Wet and glistening, its coloration varied between the pink of a newly formed scar, the deep red of an open wound, and the white of exposed bone. As though it were a creature composed of nothing but damaged or half-healed tissue, one where it was difficult to tell which was which.
That moment of shock and deep, visceral disgust was enough to give the fiend the advantage. At ten feet it pounced, lashing out with a front claw in a blow only narrowly parried by the sheer bulk of Alarion’s weapon. Its leap carried it past him and to the side, where it skidded to a stop.
The fiend’s eyes were fire, two pinpricks of glowing orange amid a haze of dark red. They marked the horror as not entirely biological in substance. Its form was a mockery of nature, while a supernatural heart beat within it. A hinged jaw overtop a smaller inner mouth on an otherwise humanoid face added the final insult to its existence, with two massive hooked teeth visible at the corners of its screaming maw.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Alarion slammed his sword down atop it, the moment his wits returned to him.
Or he tried to, anyways. The fiend was no rumbling beast like the dragon Alarion had cut his teeth against. It would not sit and wait for a blow it could not endure. Not when it could slip so neatly to the side and rush into his open guard.
But Alarion had learned greatly since those early battles. He had drilled night after night. He had sparred hour after hour. He knew the weaknesses of his weapon, how those weaknesses could be exploited, how to counter those exploits and how in turn his counters might be abused.
This half bestial thing did not.
The pommel of Alarion’s sword slammed into the fiend’s roaring face as it rushed him. Teeth shattered, its head whipped back and its attack was arrested before it had begun. The follow-up knee to its exposed midsection blew the air out of the fiend’s lungs, and sent it staggering back into the final blow of the simple combination.
A severed arm and six inches of the fiend’s abdomen splattered a nearby tree with foul gore as the creature narrowly avoided full bisection by dint of sheer reflexes. It snarled, its outer jaw spread wide in a way that might have been intimidating were it not clearly on its last legs. Were Alarion not so distracted.
How is it so weak?
It had earned its one meaningful attack off the back of its horrific appearance, not its speed, strength or skill. It could hurt him if it reached him, the three shallow gouges in the flat of his greatsword could attest to the danger that steely claws and iron fangs possessed. But it was just so… basic.
As the creature scrambled back from Alarion’s thrusts and sweeps, his understanding of it grew. As did his worry. Not at the nature of the thing, or the risk it posed. Quite the contrary. It fought without skill or technique, relying on pure instinct, on speed and strength and reaction time. It was ferocious, yet sloppy. Inelegant. Rudimentary.
Alarion’s horror grew as he realized the truth. ZEKE was right.
He used to fight like a fiend!
New revulsion welled up within Alarion as he stepped up his attack. An overhand slash to put the fiend on its back foot, a simple feint to give it the chance to change its fortune, a wicked bludgeoning with the flat of the blade and then…
The fiend’s body slumped onto the lush undergrowth with a muted thump, followed shortly thereafter by the dull thud of its head impacting some distance away. And then there was silence. No chirping birds, no skittering animals. Even what wind reached the island was inevitably caught and dispersed closer to shore. Alarion was alone with his thoughts and the corpse of a thing that he had killed.
“Playing with your food is a bad habit.” Sierra’s voice couldn’t disguise her smile, any more than Alarion had been able to hide the sudden jump in his shoulders the moment she’d broken the silence. “Even if I can understand the desire to feel strong after weeks of ZEKE manhandling you.”
“He wasn’t the only one.” Alarion remarked dryly.
If anything, ZEKE was the kinder of his two tutors. The gap between the Steelborn and the Ashadi boy was so vast that ZEKE could have fought him blindfolded without risk. Sierra outclassed him, but it was a difference of levels, not ranks. If he hit her, she’d feel it. So she didn’t let him hit her.
“All in the service of your education.” Sierra smiled in a way that suggested it was anything but. “Speaking of, I have a fact about fiends you might find interesting.”
“Oh?”
“Mhmm! A practical lesson, even.” She pointed at the fiend’s carcass. “That one isn’t dead.”
At her last syllable, the woods erupted.
The body sprung from the ground with tremendous speed. At the same time, Alarion did his best to intercept the headless monstrosity by bringing his blade up in a vertical block. The two collided and Vitrian steel crushed bone and cut flesh as the body forced its way further into Alarion’s guard. It pushed the sword through its own flesh to get to him and used the jagged stump of its own severed spine as an impromptu horn to gouge into his midsection.
The last ditch attack did not get far. It pierced fabric and skin, but barely for a second. Injured as it was, Alarion used his now superior strength to force the monster back a step. With the added distance came leverage, which allowed the greatsword to finish its cleave through the left side of the creature’s body, splitting it in two from shoulder to groin.
The two halves struck the ground with a discordant, meaty noise. There was silence. Then the one on the right, the largest part, began to squirm in an effort to renew the attack.
It took three more swings until Alarion hit something solid in its abdomen. Only then did the nightmare end.
You have slain a Malnourished Lesser Fiend – UCL 20 – Bonus Experience earned for slaying an opponent above your UCL.
“Not the cleanest kill I have ever-” Sierra cut her words short as Alarion abruptly leveled the edge of his viscera stained greatsword just below her neck.
“Don’t do that again.” Alarion said coldly.
“Or what?” Sierra replied. She tipped her chin up, exposing more of her neck for emphasis as her eyes burned into his. “Manage your temper, or I will manage it for you.”
The two held their stare for only a few breaths, before Alarion set his jaw and lowered the weapon. “Fine.”
“Thank you.” Sierra said without sarcasm. Despite her confidant tone, her left hand was almost white knuckled around the short sword at her hip.
Alarion didn’t respond. Instead he moved toward his nearby pack, keeping a cautious eye on the maimed body, and on Sierra, as he collected a small pad of sterile dressings from within. For half a minute he held them to the wound in his abdomen, soaking up the worst of the blood as he applied an impromptu wrapping.
Satisfied, he gave her a look, picked a direction, and set off into the woods once again.
Sierra watched him and gave a quiet sigh as she added, on his behalf, “You’re welcome.”