Book of Mors: Summoned

Arc: Out of the Ashes

Chapter 17, Part 3: Initiation start

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After roaring thirty metres into the sky, the announcer's fireball exploded with a deafening boom as his figure flickered, vanishing from the centre poll and signalling the start of the trial.

As the noise of the explosion died down, it was replaced by the cheers of the spectators, mostly the guests, as the forty-eight Huntsmen candidates dashed forward, trying to get into the cover of the maze-like, sand-coloured walls and obstacles before their rivals could target them.

By the time the first few competitors had disappeared into the maze, not even pausing to initiate combat as they wanted to secure the prime locations, small explosions, the clash of metal and hiss of arrows tearing through the air, had filled the arena.

At this early stage of the trial, most of the guests were more interested in entertaining themselves and making bets than evaluating potential candidates, even if the ones that fell early were more than likely going to be the only ones they could recruit.

The guests, so taken by the powerful movements and flashy spells as small skirmishes erupted towards the centre and open areas of the maze, along with most of the Huntsman, soon forgot about the lone, unmoving figure standing by the entrance. His black cloak gently rustling from the shockwaves and rapid changes in airflow.

Watching his supposed rivals testing the waters, unwilling to commit or reveal too much this early on, Mors released a loud, unimpressed yawn as his gaze fell to his feet and he observed his rapidly diminishing shadow as the scorching sun approached its zenith.

This is it?

Mors earlier enthusiasm to vent his anger had been appeased by the bag of mana core's Verz had given him. And after seeing the level of skill from the other competitors, he was finding it increasingly difficult to motivate himself.

At least some appear to be grouping up, it might make this more bearable. Maybe I should wait until they challenge last year's champion and analyse the situation before I act, thought Mors, even as he berated himself for his attitude. Since when have I been so lazy?

Mors' lazy, uninterested behaviour, along with his young age, attracted the attention of the two competitors at either side of him, who also had not charged into the fray. After nodding at each other, clearly indicating that they were more than strangers, they charged towards Mors, greed sparkling in their eyes as such an easy target.

They thought that the pinnacle stage one, that is to say, six-year-old-looking, cloaked reptilian boy, would be an easy target for their combo attack, earning them an easy token and hopefully some recognition from one of the Huntsmen.

Stifling a sigh, Mors lazily kicked the dirt beneath him.

Will I actually learn anything from this? I should have just stayed in the forest and trained. I feel like I am so close to... breaking through something. I just need... Urg, this is why I need guidance, not some stupid ritualist competition.

Mors was brought out of his thoughts as a long, leg-like shadow rapidly approached from the left side, aimed at his head, and another, looking to be a warped, elongated arm, appeared on his other side, sweeping towards his calf.

Long, droopy ears, belonging to the dogkin that was in the process of launching a flying kick at Mors' head, fluttered in the wind. What is this kid doing here? Everyone else is at least eighteen years old or reached their level two evolution. Must be some rich kid or the child of a Huntsman who got in on a favour. We should end this quickly and without too much humiliation or else we could be stabbing ourselves in the foot.

His eyes flickered towards the human-looking woman, her dark brown hair spreading outwards as she span, her long, silver sword intending to hamstring the boy when he dodged her friend's attack. When their gaze met, she understood his intent and restricted the force she was applying to limit the damage so her strike would not permanently cripple. Matheus, I hope you know what you are doing. We shouldn't be going easy on anyone in this den of wolves.

Unknown to anyone, even Verz and the few high levelled Huntsmen who were watching him like hawks, Mors' reptilian pupils rapidly constricted as he released a low, almost inaudible growl, repeating a chant he had been using over his gruelling training.

"Whether a king of a road sweeper..."

Just as the dogkin's foot was about to connect to his head, Mors' arm blurred as he grabbed the young man's shin, violently twisting it until a bone-jarring crack resonated outwards before turning towards the woman, using the boy's body as a makeshift club.

"... everyone gets to dance with the Grim Reaper."

It happened so quick that the dogkin had not registered the pain in his leg, his vision blurring before finding himself atop of the woman, crumbled in a heap against the arena's wall, outside the protective barriers.

His brain jarring for a few moments, trying to understand what had happened, he finally felt the pain in his right shin and released an agonising scream as the woman coughed copious amounts of blood. Most of her ribs and sternum had been broken by the sudden impact. She painfully pushed him off her before letting out a disappointed sigh.

There were no huntsmen to greet them. They had failed the test spectacularly, less than a minute after it started and it was highly unlikely even the nobles would want to hire them after that performance.

Grasping his two new tokens, Mors turned towards the arena.

Disappointing. With how noisy and obvious they were, I could have done that with my eyes closed and my hands tied behind my back.

Mors chuckled darkly, the small taste of combat awakening something inside, causing his heart rate to increase.

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I guess I can't use those sayings anymore. If I closed my eyes, then it really would be unfair to them. If I used my wings... they would be dead.

As he walked, Mors felt the smooth caress of fresh air on the lower half of his calf, the small cut flexing open, deep enough to cut the leather armour but too shallow to cut his tough skin, causing his steps to falter.

A primordial, jaw-clenching rage started to overtake him, merging with the earlier feeling as his back hunched slightly and his body tensed.

I swear to whatever god, deity or leech that can hear my thoughts, if my clothes get any more damaged, I am going to burn every temple, follower, person and plant within a thousand mile radius.

I am sick of running around naked or in rags. Why the fuck can't they design clothes to withstand something as simple as a bloody metal sword when there are supposedly people with enough power to blow away a mountain. What do they do? Wander around naked all the time or just kill everyone they meet.

Shit, I need to calm down, I can't afford to lose myself here. Not yet anyway.

Mors reluctantly started thinking about when he was getting his new armour, shuddering slightly at the memory of an old man's lecherous grin.

I am sure that damn, perverted old tailor copped a feel on purpose. I know that this world is beyond liberal with sexual orientation, I mean it's not even frowned upon for cross-species relationships, but come on. I am less than a year old and have the body of a six-year-old. How is that acceptable in any world? Even if it is one as fucked up as this.

Mors pushed his thoughts of revenge on the old tailor to the back of his mind as he focused on what was ahead of him, trying to block out the noise of the crowd. In his past life, he hated crowded places, and now that his senses were enhanced, the influx of information was almost crippling making things much, much worse, feeling like his head was about to explode if he focused on anything for too long.

His clenched jaw relaxed as Mors flexed his fingers intimidating, his previous rage-filled expression turning emotionless as he fell into the mindset he had developed during his training.

Hunt, Kill, Eat, Sleep, Grow, Repeat.

As the determination to complete this task and find a quiet place to rest appeared on his face, Mors' body morphed into a black blur, shooting forward with incredible speed, drawing the attention of most of the spectators at the sudden movement.

Entering the maze of walls, Mors rapidly approached a T-junction and fell into a foot first slide, narrowly avoiding a sword that glistened through the air his chest had occupied a few moments before.

His ambusher, a gaunt-looking elf in green leather armour, could only watch in horror as Mors' slid under his strike before digging his leading foot into the ground, the force of the sudden stop helping his body to regain its standing position.

Without any change in his facial expression, Mor returned to his feet, casually backhanding the elf in the process, smashing his face into the wall he had been using to hide, immediately knocking him unconscious.

Before the body had even started to fall, Mors had removed the token.

Three out of a hundred.

Mors did not plan to let anyone escape him, even the old champion. Taking a quick look at the arena's board, he noticed some numbers in the top corner.

47/51

Scanning for where he was and nearby prey, Mors' emotionless face cracked as he looked at the fifty-meter long wall to his side.

Surely it won't hurt to have a little fun. You know, just to keep things interesting.

On the opposite side of the wall a short, red-headed male was fighting with a white, rabbit-eared woman, both looking to be in their early twenties.

The man fired a few earth spikes towards the woman with outstretched hands, who quickly shot condensed blobs of water that either redirected the spikes or completely eroded them before reaching her.

Gasping for breath, they looked at each other, determination and annoyance dancing in their eyes.

Releasing a sigh after realising that this fight would drain too much of his mana and stamina, the man showed a weak smile. "Why don't we team up? If we continue like this, even if one of us wins, it isn't going to do us any favours? We both cover each other's weaknesses, and as defensive mana types, even physical types won't be able to get close if we cover each other.

Nodding once, the woman agreed and the pair walked towards each other, planning on shaking hands, the sign of a verbal contract.

The rabbit-eared woman did not look entirely happy with the deal. "Fine but this isn-"

Before she could finish, when they were less than four feet from each other, the wall to their left exploded outwards. Both of their eyes went wide as the world seemed to crawl to a halt. Their mental capacities as mages being much more advanced than their physical abilities, enabling them to analyse the situation faster than their bodies could react.

As the rubble that was once a wall rotated in the air, with smaller shards that would undoubtedly hurt, rapidly approaching the pair, they spotted a small, black figure amongst the stone.

"Heeerreee's Mors."

Even though Mors intended the words to be playful, his voice caused the two to break out in a cold sweat and shudder violently.

Mors' head was facing the man, having used his second sight to identify the biggest threat, and due to the wind, his cowl was lifted enough for their eyes to meet, the man instantly releasing his bladder.

One of the effects of Mors repressing his aura was that it somehow leaked into his body, mostly his voice and eyes, slowly building in strength the longer he maintained it. It still had the same restrictions, that it was not really useful on people stronger than him, or those who had strong mental resistances. During his training, he had broken into the next realm in terms of strength, and at the moment, out of all the participants, including the champion, only two were stronger. 

The man could not help releasing a small whimper, but before it could even pass his lips, he felt his vision moving in the same direction of the exploding wall, keeping pace with the debris.

The sensation of a small, soft hand on his head reached the man's mind, finally realising it was the boy's, but it was too late. A moment later, his vision went black as his head slammed into the wall with a crack, Mors restraining his strength enough not to obliterate the skull, although he was unsure what sort of long term damage he had done, not that he really cared.

The rabbitkin, shocked by the sickening noise from the man's skull, snapped out of her daze, casting two water bolts at Mors as well as a long, blue whip crashing down from above, intending to go all out.

Due to holding back, and the loss of momentum from crashing into the wall, Mors' body had completely stopped with his back to the woman, making it seem as if he was completely open. This caused the rabbitkin to offer a silent pray in thanks to her gods. Her instincts telling her that a predator had arrived that needed to be eliminated or avoided at all costs. Luckily for her, it seemed that it was just a youngling that got lucky with a surprise attack.

To feel true terror, you must first have hope.

Without looking, Mors had grasped the man's token and span, using his tail to knock the woman off her feet as he contorted his body so that the water bolts, shaped blobs of highly condensed water, harmlessly passed and the whip, losing its foundation, was tugged backwards and became completely useless.

Stomping forward, Mors accidentally stamped on the woman's knee, breaking it. Unlike the dogkin earlier, the woman was an experienced mage who had suffered many trials and tribulations to learn her craft, and instead of screaming, her mouth opened as a dark green liquid shot towards Mors.

With an unamused look, bordering on disgust, Mors, slapped the liquid away, the remains hissing angrily on the palm of his hand.

"Nature and water huh?" mumbled Mors as he quickly used his knee to smash into the shocked woman's face, breaking her nose and removing her token.

He had no need to waste energy knocking them out, as once he removed the token, they were disqualified and while he could have easily increased the force in the strike, he wanted the woman to feel pain for injuring him before someone got the chance to heal her. This way, he wouldn't have too much of a grudge next time he saw her. He felt it was a little tit for tat, but it helped him control his wrath to some extent.

As he stood back up, looking at the red, sore looking skin on his hand, two cloaked Huntsmen appeared and picked up the two mages before disappearing from Mors' sight, causing him to growl.

Still so much difference between us... I need to get stronger.