Hmm

Number Seventy-Six didn’t think he had been pushed this long and this far in quite some time. He grunted, desperately using the katana’s held in his left arms to parry a blow from Prime before. The beast eagerly pressed its attack, hungry for revenge against the Hivekin that had slain it twice now.

Seventy-Six had faced a number of Primes in his years, but never one that was simply regenerated from its core whenever it was slain. The first time the human Warden had revived the beast, Seventy-Six had been more shocked than he had been in years, even if the soft-skins hadn’t realized it. They didn’t have the proper pheromone receptors to parse his emotional cues.

He hadn’t even realized a monster could be revived from its core, in the way Leonard had done.

Truly, he experienced odd things under the service of his Sworn.

While said Sworn was locked in a duel with the Warden, Seventy-Six had managed to slay the Prime again with the help of the wooden one. It had been a hard-fought battle, but he had managed to push through his exhaustion to land what had hopefully been the actual final blow. He had kept in mind what the Warden had done earlier, and hadn’t paused to celebrate after the beast had died again. He had simply dived through the resulting Miasma cloud for the waiting Core with blades barred, intent on shattering the jewel before the process could be repeated.

Alas, he had been too slow. He should have known that someone so far along the path like the Warden would be able to react faster than someone like Seventy-Six. He had only broken through the fourth breakpoint, after all.

Without even taking his attention away from the Grey-Sworn, the Warden had simply gestured in his direction with a release of Mana. Seventy-Six had needed to desperately turn his strike against the Core into a block, as the renewed Prime had erupted out of it, talons poised to rip his insectoid head from his upper shoulders.

Which brought Seventy-Six to now. Frantically, he pulsed his physical enhancement skill, Dread Hands and Feet, to its maximum strength for what was likely the last time he would be able to in this battle. The Skill was feeling mentally worn out and ragged from overuse. He ducked back briefly in order to avoid a swipe from the Neptaurian Prime before readying himself. Seventy-Six fiercely concentrated, activating another skill for a counter-attack.

Diamond Glints in Snow.

His four katanas gleamed in the low light of the prison hall, glowing a soft white and beginning to emit a cold aura. Seventy-Six surged forward with a four-pronged slash of his blades, scoring a direct on the beast before him. The slashes that he delivered on its scales instantly began to creep over with frost, covering the chest of the Prime and slowing its movements. The beast screeched a pained whinny before it tried to desperately lash out at the Antium that had hurt it. Seventy-Six ducked the talons but was caught off guard as the Neptaurian spun in place and smashed him away with its massive fish-like tail.

Seventy-Six cursed as he went flying. Such a lazy attack would normally never come close to him. Midair, he managed to reorient in order to land on his feet, skidding backwards from the force of the blow. He tried to rise to his feet once the force of the Prime’s blow had been bled away, only to stumble and fall to one knee. Seventy-Six amended his earlier thought. He actually had never been pushed this far before. First had been the ambush from the other Prime earlier, and then the brief exchange with it before his Sworn had ended the arachnid. Then, the three separate battles against this particular Neptaurian Prime. The first time had been bad enough when it had been at full strength. There, he had mostly taken attention away from the Grey-Sworn so he could end the beast. The second time, the Prime had been more on Seventy-Six’s level of strength and had been a worthy opponent in which to hone himself against. On this third battle, he could tell that the monster was weaker than he was. On any normal day, he was confident in his chances of slaying a creature like this on his own.

The problem was, Seventy-Six was exhausted. The Prime was bridging the gap in strength through sheer staying power. Every time it was revived, the monster might be weaker in strength, but it was renewed in its stamina. Seventy-Six chided himself as he knelt on the stone, ashamed of his own weakness. He had thought he had overcome his people's carefully hidden flaw.

The Antium as a whole lacked endurance. These soft skins didn’t know how easy they had it, with their conveniently perspiring skin.

His master wouldn’t have been pushed this hard.

Trembling, Seventy-Six pushed himself to his feet using one of the blades clutched in his lower arms. He was just in time to watch as the Sculpted, Woodrick, was knocked away from the Prime in an explosion of shattered bark. The wooden one rapidly flew away to impact the far stone wall of the entry hall, where he slumped against it.

He looked to be out cold.

Seventy-Six took a deep breath.

Very well, then.

He couldn’t allow the beast to join its master against his Sworn.

Was this it then? Had his time come?

Seventy-Six felt resolve roll over his soul.

Perhaps, perhaps not. All that was left was to let fate decide.

He nodded to himself, reaching for a skill he had never used. He might be able to survive using it if he kept its use to a minimum.

Stolen novel; please report.

He activated it.

Rage Against the Night.

Seventy-Six nearly cried out in agony as he felt the very core of his being erupt into brilliantly burning soul fire. However, he felt renewed strength flow through his limbs as he began to burn his own spirit as fuel.

No…

This was more than renewed strength. This was power on a level he couldn’t match, even at his peak.

It would have to do.

Grimly, Seventy-Six straightened up into the first stance his master had ever taught him. Ethereal smoke began to pour from the joints of his chitinous exoskeleton. The Neptaurian caught sight of him and began to charge in his direction with a triumphant whinny.

Seventy-Six, known as Venix to the soft-skins, took a deep breath and concentrated. He closed his eyes ever so briefly and then opened them, standing perfectly still.

The world felt as if it had slowed to a crawl. Seventy-Six waited until the Prime had reached striking distance, and then flooded his blades with every ounce of Ki that his burning soul could muster. They erupted into flickering crimson light, sheathed in radiance that grew beyond the bounds of their physical form. Seventy-Six was aware of his blades cracking ever so slightly from the amount of power that was being channeled through them, but that didn’t matter for this. He needed to end the beast in one blow, not only physically, but enough to erase its Core as well.

He knew what to use for that. It had worked on the other Prime, after all.

The Blade’s Lament.

Seventy-Six struck out with his katana’s, all four of them crossed together in X positions. The light that had coated his blades erupted in a double cross instantly, crashing into the charging form of the Neptaurian Prime. The beast didn’t even have time to realize what had happened to it before it was instantly vaporized. However…

Venix felt despair fill his heart when he saw the monster’s Core, suspended midair in a frozen moment. He had only managed to crack the Prime’s Core. He hadn’t managed to destroy it.

His sacrifice would be in vain.

Salvation came from an unexpected source.

As if she had been trailing in his shadow, the pirate woman, Isabella, instantly sprang from the veritable Aether. Her cutlass was drawn and sheathed in a crackling, roiling storm of wind and lightning, lunging straight at the Core with a mad snarl etched on her sharp features.

Out of the corner of his eye, Seventy-Six saw the Warden dueling his Sworn realize what was about to happen. His teeth drew back from his lips in a snarl uncharacteristic of him, and fought to free one hand to rescue his thrall from utter destruction. However, Leonard was locked in a power struggle with the Grey-Sworn, fighting to keep the Headmaster’s blade away from his neck. At the speed and strength the two of them were fighting at, Seventy-Six thought he might just manage to save the Core before the weaker woman could strike it.

That couldn’t happen.

With the dregs of his soul pouring through his chitin, Seventy-Six drew back his right uppermost katana and threw it as hard as he could at the human. The air cracked from the force of his throw, but most importantly, so did the barrier separating the duel from the rest of the hall. The Warden was forced to block the blisteringly fast spinning form of his sword instead of saving his pet.

Isabella’s cutlass pierced the stone of the Prime’s Core while he was distracted.

It exploded, sending shards of hardened Aether ricocheting across the hall.

As he felt his soul begin to boil away, Seventy-Six saw one more thing before he impacted the stone of the floor below.

The pirate woman letting out a primal scream of triumph into the chaos of the battlefield.

The world went black.

……………………………………..

Seventy-Six found himself in a familiar scene. One that played out in his memories, night after night. As if through a fog, he saw the younger form of himself lying slumped against the wall of a shady alleyway in Hinaga.

Ah…

This was right after his exile.

His younger self looked truly pathetic. This was before he even understood the idea of soft-skin clothing, and so was mostly nude, only wearing a modesty-preserving leather loincloth. He had been on Vereden for mere weeks at this point, and was considering simply letting the pouring rain wash him away after his fruitless journey to the island City-State. Surely, he had thought, to die as detritus drowned in an alien river was an appropriate fate for one such as him.

His younger self was knocked out of his self-pity by a shadow falling over his form. Looking up, the smaller form of Seventy-Six saw the man who would save him.

His master.

His face was obscured by an umbrella, blue with white flower petals decorating its surface. The man was tall though, dwarfing even the fully grown current Seventy-Six, much less the much younger one. The human’s massive frame was draped in a familiar kimono, white with pink cranes dotting its surface.

A katana lay on each side of the man’s hips.

“Hmm,” A considering noise escaped the man, in a deep rumble that almost physically shook the alleyway. Despite the man’s face being obscured by his umbrella, the pitiful youth against the wall was still able to see the man’s head tilt in thought. Slowly, the human nodded to himself before speaking again.

“Rain whispers sorrow,

Youth’s burdened shoulders, a weight,

A chance in silence.”

The younger form of Seventy-Six simply blinked his compound eyes at the man, completely befuddled. The massive figure let an amused sound escape him before he strode down the alleyway toward the young Antium and crouched before him. His face was still shadowed in the dim light, but Seventy-Six could see something despite it.

The human’s emerald green eyes, piercing through him.

The man spoke.

“I don’t know what your story is, boy,” The man said calmly. “And I don’t care. But I like the look of you, and I find myself in need of a student. Do you want to die in this alley, or make something of yourself?” The man stood up and then extended a hand down at the Antium teen.

Young Seventy-Six stared at hand blankly for a moment. Even now, the future Seventy-Six wasn’t sure what had been running through his mind at the time. He didn’t know what had caused him to slowly raise one of his hands and lay it in the much larger one.

Still, he was glad he did. At least he had done something right in the past.

The massive man effortlessly raised the young Antium stumbling to his feet and then nodded to him. “Good choice. After all,” He said, patting the boy’s back. Something happened then that Seventy-Six didn’t remember.

His master’s head turned slightly. It was as if he was looking at both the spectral form of the elder Seventy-Six and the younger, and speaking to them at the same time.

“It’s never over while will remains,” The past form of his master said, with an amused lilt to his voice.

As if from far away, Seventy-Six heard the sound of a young canine bark echo through his dreamscape. A wave of cooling, blue-green Aether washed over the scene and his ghostly form both.

The fire burning away his soul winked out.

Seventy-Six sank into blissful darkness.