Book of Mors: Summoned

Arc: Out of the Ashes

Chapter 18, Part 2: Pushed into a corner

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"Are you sure you can afford the price?" Mors watched the bearkin flexing his muscles, tapping his weapon that looked very similar, if a little more vicious, to a Japanese Kanabou, on the sandy ground.

Shaking his head and releasing a sigh, Mors sized up his opponent and considered his options. "Seems like my luck's run out. Yogi Bear has the home advantage..." Mors couldn't bring himself to say that Bruce appeared to be stronger than him, his pride wouldn't allow it.

Bruce was standing in the centre of the arena, bathed in blistering sunlight, smirking as if he had already won, mistaking Mors hesitating as fear. "Whats wrong? Afraid of getting a little tan or are you nothing without that shadow ability? Wait, maybe you're actually smart enough to realise your speed and strength are nothing impressive and that all it would take a single hit from me to break every bone in your body?"

The crowd had once again gone silent, everyone straining their senses to try and hear the conversation.

"Nope, just wondering if your retardedness is contagious? Or that terrible smell? I could add looking like a furry turd, but I am pretty sure that's just me being silly. It's obviously genetic and a gift from your parents. You know, the ones that were related before they bumped furry turd uglies in whatever cesspool you crawled from?" replied Mors, his draconic eyes locking onto Bruce, causing the bearkin to repress a small shudder, whether in fear or rage only he could tell.

Bruce's smile rapidly disappeared, replaced with a menacing glare. "You're as uncivilised as they say. Don't you know that to insult someone's ancestors is cowardly, but then again, you are a filthy dem-"

"Ummm, you know that technically you're about to contradicted yourself. By slandering me as a demon, you are insulting my ancestry and," Mors put on a mocking, deep voice, impersonating Bruce, "Don't you know, when insulting ancestors, you're nothing but a coward... said the coward."

To a stranger, it would appear as if Mors was acting like an obnoxious child but in reality, he was only trading insults to buy some thinking time. That's not to say insulting someone was below him, it's just that in a fight, he preferred to let his actions do the talking, especially when he had a good chance of winning.

Bruce was visibly irritated, but he did not move from his position. "I know you're just trying to get me closer to the walls so you can use their shadows."

"Tsk," mockingly replied Mors, "Clever girl."

The words had just passed Mors' lips, but even to the untrained eye, it was obvious that Bruce had been attempting to lure Mors into a false sense of security.

Mors view suddenly tilted as he felt his feet being lifted off the floor. He had seen Bruce get covered in a red glow before moving at an incredible speed. The red light reminded Mors of the skill the trolls used and wondered, if briefly if it was some sort of body strengthing magic.

Even though it was a struggle, Mors' eyes had managed to track Bruce as he launched his attack, but his body was too slow to react, giving him no time to block.

Using his free hand, the one not holding his weapon, Bruce grabbed Mors by his head and flung him into the nearest wall, creating a large hole and slightly burying the demon in the rubble.

"Hmm, you mentioned there being a price? Seeing as its free, why not? Let's end this pointless name-calling and start the demon stomping buffet," laughed Bruce as he walked over and grabbed Mors' arm, sticking out of the rubble and threw him towards the centre of the arena.

Looking at Mors, who was lying in a crumpled heap, a mocking grin appeared on Bruce's face. "I know recruits are weak as fuck and never has a previous year's champion been defeated, but this is just a joke."

"Look at yourself. You're already at death's door, and all I have done if give you a little push. Tell you what, bow down in front of me and shatter your token and, if I feel you are sincere enough, I'll let you go. Always wanted to beat a pri-," Bruce's words stopped as he remembered where he was. ", demon."

Standing shakily, Mors frowned as he stared at his arm which looked, at best, dislocated, worst completely broken. The pain surged through his body like electricity and blood slowly dripped from his mouth, hissing violently as it came into contact with the floor. "Smarter than the average bear."

Realising Mors was not about to give up, Bruce had to stop himself from releasing a feral growl.

"Is this it? Is this the mighty demon who our Captain has chosen as her first disciple?" Bruce's conceited look warped into one of disgust before raising his fist into the air, causing the sand beneath his feet to swirl, and rise into the air. As if he had practised the move a thousand times, Bruce plunged his first downward, and with an almighty boom, the ground shook and cracked, rippling outwards.

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Within seconds the shaking had stopped, but the walls surrounding them had been reduced to rubble. "Oh look, no shadows. What are you going to do now? That's the thing with secondary elements like light or darkness; they have a huge weakness. The primary elements like my earth, on the other hand, well, let's just say they are better."

Mors' face, which had been an almost emotionless mask, apart from when he was mocking Bruce, cramped before turning into a maddened, terrifying smile, revealing his sharp, serrated teeth as his eyes started glowing. "When you surround the enemy, always allow them an escape route. They must see that there is an alternative to death."

Mors couldn't help but chuckle at the vague quote he had no recollection of gaining. The bearkin had made this easy for him, win or die, kill or be killed. Even though the rules should protect him, thinking like that was making him weak.

Feeling that his restraint was slipping, Mors tried to calm himself down. He had purposefully not used anything that might give anyone watching, huntsmen or otherwise, information on his skills and abilities and, except for his brief confrontation with Drake, which he didn't feel he could win any other way, his plan had been pretty successful. If he gave in now, all his efforts would be for nought and that irritated him almost as much as Bruce, who had...

Realisation struck Mors like a thunderbolt. His objective, apart from winning the tournament while keeping a lowish profile, had already been lost.

Mors' glare intensified. The reason Bruce wasn't finishing the fight, wasn't to publically humiliate him, at least not as a primary focus, but to reveal as many of his weakness and goad him into revealing his abilities in front of everyone here. He had even shown them how to negate his shadow step, his strongest ability and, to make matters worse, he almost revealed, and stopped in a very blatant way, that he was a pride demon, something he should have no knowledge of.

"Ahh, shit looks like he is losing it," laughed Verz, apparently not as disappointed or worried as her words seemed. "Still, I think after this, me and Bruce are going to have a very long 'chat'."

Kelora finally smiled, her stone mask slipping. "Thank the Gods, for a moment there I thought he lost what made him almost bearable and I was going to have to put him out of his misery."

Rock chuckled. "You demons, you want everyone to believe your cold-blooded killer's when-"

Gulping, Rock held his hands up in surrender as Kelora's glare bore into him. "Hey, it's a compliment. We all know you demons look out for each other when the chips are down."

Velcea laughed, "Demons are all death and destruction with each other until they are picked on by another species and then, BOOM, demonic horde destroying everything in its wake. Quite romantic actually."

Kelora continued to glare as she sunk in her chair, refusing to be baited into a confrontation that she could not win.

Back in the arena, Bruce had not noticed the change in Mors and was busy lecturing him about how the Defense Core, the Huntsman unit he belonged to, and how were superior to the rest. "It's the job of the Defence force to analyse and prepare the battlefield. Barbarians like you that only know how to run around and scratch and bite, don't stand a chance. Once you remove the element of surpri..."

Mors had stopped listening some time ago. His instincts were screaming for blood, egged on by his mind, who had somehow decided there was a possible link between Bruce and the Sun Clan and this was all a ploy to eliminate him.

Generally, his bloodlines, even if they instinctually wanted the same outcome, desired different means. Even when he was training in the forest, he found that half of him wanted to stalk his prey, make them feel unimaginable terror before slowly ending their lives, watching the light fade from their eyes while the other half wanted to challenge them directly, first crushing their spirit and showing them how useless their struggles were before moving onto their bodies. He also felt something else, but that was only interested in the outcome, to become stronger, and ignored the means leaving the other two to battle it out.

Thinking about it, Mors noticed that strange feeling tugging on his soul again, the one that was so similar, yet worlds apart, from the connection to the twins and reminded him that he needed to find out what that was, after the fight of course.

Slowly, Mors raised his head and looked directly up into the sky, as if searching for something. He had been practising self-restraint during his training, but the temptation to brutally rip Bruce apart was becoming unbearable.

Black smoke started seeping from his leather armour, barely noticeable in the blazing sun but more than enough for most of the eagle-eyed huntsmen.

The silence was shattered as quiet mumbling broke out, as well as the hasty, last-minute wager.

Bruce laughed, thinking that the change in the crowd was down to him, and span, his large, club-like weapon pointing outwards as if he was addressing the spectators. "Enough posturing for the crowd, they are getting restless and want to see a fight. Let's get on with your public  humiliation."

Bruce returned to face Mors, "Now, how am I going to make you beg for mercy and shatter your own toke-"

Bruce's words caught in his throat as he his gaze returned to Mors, whose outline was faintly blurred by the smoke. After a few seconds, Mors casually flung out his crippled arm.

Verz, who had been excitedly watching this entire time tensed and abruptly stood up. "Kelora, the moment Bruce surrenders, stop Mors."

"Huh?" Kelora was caught off guard, "What's he going to do to Bruce? There is just too much difference in strength between them? Worst case, Bruce is going to shit himself due to the brats aur-"

"Kelora," said Verz in a voice that would cause a dragon to shrink back in terror, "You are to stop him killing Bruce without antagonising him in any way. Do you understand?"

Kelora's figure vanished, not daring to utter another word as the rest of Verz's party stood, ready to move at a moments notice. Verz ignored them and turned back to the fight. "Sorry little demon. I hate to steal your prey but this isn't the time or place."

Her eyes sparkled menacingly, a plan starting to formulate. "But that's not to say the hunts over."

Jaw-clenching cracks echoed around the arena as Mors' arm, unnaturally, snapped back into shape and the darkness solidified, creating a pliable cast, though, to others, it appeared to be something akin to demonic armour.

Mors' gaze fell from the sky and his eyes locked onto Bruce, but these weren't the eyes that had caused the bearkin to feel a slight chill earlier. Though no significant physical changes had occurred, Bruce's entire body went ridged as his heart hammered in his chest.

"Hah, you think your aura has me scared?" shouted Bruce, trying to disguise the fear that gnawed deep in his gut, thankful that his fur and armour was hiding the copious amount of sweat running down his back.

"Aura?" asked Mors in an almost confused voice, the maddened smile not even faltering "I haven't even released it yet."