Manarox walked out of the training room a moment later, holding his sword in a loose grip. He was clad in his armor and cape, and looked ready for battle. Sam’s dented and battered armor looked shabby in comparison, as he did not have the services of a dedicated team of artisans to keep up the durability of his weapons and armor between battles like Manarox had. However, appearances were mostly unimportant in battle. All that mattered was strength.

Still, it was hard not to be jealous of his… Well, Sam did not know what to call Manarox. He was more of an ally than a friend, as Sam had only known him intermittently for the last few days. In addition, Manarox was quite different from him in many ways. Still, they were certainly friendly, which was all that really mattered. Enough so that Sam felt a little annoyed when his companion showed him up.

These thirty days of training were going by quickly and slowly at the same time. Quickly because of how fast everything was going by, and slowly because of the sheer scale of his activities. He had become involved in a war during that time, as well as having progressed by leaps and bounds in terms of power. However, he banished the useless thoughts for now. It was not important in the slightest. Besides, Manarox seemed to care little about it either, given that he only had his armor polished in order to increase his standing in the eyes of his soldiers.

With a raised eyebrow, more like a scaly protuberance than anything else, Manarox, noticing Sam’s gaze, headed towards the lower decks. Sam followed him through the maze of hallways that crisscrossed the ship, and eventually found himself standing in front of the hole in the floor that was the only way off of the ship. With a nod, both men jumped into it, falling towards the ground at high speeds.

When they landed, they did so in front of a beleaguered fort, the capital ship clearly having moved into that position since they had been on the ground last. A knot of Grakoth were being slowly pushed back from the gate, and were being worn down by a constant assault from the front, with the vague forms of the hulking Dao abominations visible through their ranks. Each of them rivaled even the tallest Grakoth in size, and their strength was more than a match for theirs.

Sam and Manarox picked up the pace, and charged, crossing the mile of distance in a matter of moments. By the time they had reached the fort, even more of the Grakoth had died, and they had been almost entirely pushed out of the fort. However, now that Sam and Manarox were here, a few of them began to redouble their efforts, finding a second wind. As they held the fish aliens back for a few precious seconds, Sam leaped over their heads, imbuing his hammer with power. Coming down, he broke the enemy line in half with his attack, sending aliens sprawling in every direction.

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Manarox landed by him, thrusting his sword down into the body of a nearby Dao abomination, killing it in one blow. He withdrew his sword slowly, its end dripping with blood, and surveyed the scene. Hundreds of fish men were pouring out of the central area of the fort every second, and their numbers kept growing, only constrained by the size of the fort. However, they seemed apprehensive, now that the new arrivals had shown their faces. Manarox was already well known among the fish men fighters for his incredible strength, and now apparently, so was Sam. He had to say, he quite enjoyed the infamy. It certainly made his job easier.

He expelled his aura in all directions, and Manarox did the same a moment later, reinforcing Sam’s power. A dome of light exploded out in every direction, bolstered by their respective Daos. Wings of reddish light exploded out of Sam’s back, and a halo of stark blue light formed over his head. Meanwhile, Manarox seemed to grow gargantuan in proportions, and his sword started to drip with an ominous red light, heralding the doom of worlds. Then the aura was gone, and they charged into the reeling ranks ahead of them, clearing the way for their allies to follow.

The assault was much the same as the last one, except for the desperation of the fighters protecting the fort. They seemed to know that if this fort fell, their tenuous hold on this world would be even less than it had before. It would spell the beginning of the end for their cause.

As they butchered their way up the streets, fighting for every hard earned inch, Sam and Manarox spearheaded the assault, their weapons soon slick with blood. The substance ran across the cobbles like water from a broken dam, and soon the ground was slippery and hard to grip. Still, it barely had an effect on the high level fighters, and all that it really did was decrease the morale of the aliens whose fellows were being butchered in droves.

After the initial wave of heavyweight fighters had been taken care of, the weaker fish men went down easily enough, and soon they were standing in front of the central area of the fort, facing off against the last stand of the garrison. The fish-like aliens stood in rows, looking apprehensively at their attackers. None of them broke formation however, which spoke to their bravery. It was a pity that Sam would have to butcher them all.

Sam’s Dao was seemingly starting to adapt to the situation of war in the greater Multiverse, and it no longer twinged when he found himself massacring his way through hordes of enemies. It was simply a fact of life, and having a Dao that made it harder to kill others would be a death sentence.