Hope dimmed with the light of my fireball, but I still had other weapons, other lights.
And other methods of attack.
I drew back every last weapon at my disposal, then sent them all forward in one concerted attack. Eyes, nose, the underside of his chin, and behind his ears; anywhere soft, anywhere weak I sent both fire and sword.
And despite all of that only a single weapon struck true. A sword blow to his eye, bursting it and embedding the blade in the socket to prevent healing.
The ogre didn’t even flinch in response. Instead the same great paw which had extinguished my fireball came up and swatted the blade free from his socket, taking bone and flesh with it. For a moment the wound was far more grievous than any I had inflicted, a moment later it was gone.
This was looking less and less like a fight I’d win, and more like one I’d survive. If I was lucky. And only if I managed to flee somewhere the ogre couldn’t follow.
My fingers flipped through my spellbook as the ogre pushed forward. At least my blades could still slow him even if they failed to cut his skin.
I was nearly out of teleportation spells, completely out of those which would allow me to keep my gear if not cast in conjunction with Clothes Hanger. In fact:
Clothes Hanger
The spell lasted for an hour, and this way I wouldn’t need to keep one finger on the spell at all times. I could now teleport at will, though all would be needed to be saved for escaping the ogre.
Dark magic beckoned as always, but that would be a last—
The ogre burst through my protective wall of swords with a sudden burst of strength and heavy legs began to close the distance between us. Stone turned to powder under his feet and the walls shook with the sound.
Despite his size, or perhaps because of it, I was able to keep ahead of him, the stone not absorbing my effort and the ceiling not slowing my stride.
Magic Swords III
I set the swords at his ankles in an effort to trip him, but the swords didn’t get into position in time and he struck them at the wrong angle to slow his stride.
But my other swords moved as fast as I did, and I’d already established I could outrun the ogre. My second tripwire held.
The ogre crashed into the ground with a force so powerful it let out a shockwave. The ground and walls rippled, stone shifted against stone. I was nearly knocked off my feet, and would have been if I didn’t catch myself against the wall with my free hand. Praise birch and maple for my foresight. If I’d not abandoned my cutlass I might have skewered myself.
This whole fight was starting to feel a lot like the fight against the toad-dragon. An unstoppable force with impenetrable hide knocking me off my feet every couple of seconds. Except I didn’t even appear to be able to slowly bleed the ogre out.
My weapons did not hesitate to take advantage of the ogre’s compromised position. Forty some blades struck down downwards, seek both to wound and to pin him in place.
The majority of my swords skittered across shadowy bone and hide, or left wounds so shallow as to be worthless. Seven blades struck true, four of those struck deep, sinking through flesh and the floor beneath. Of the blades which struck deep, one went straight through tooth and jaw, and out the back of his throat.
This time the ogre screamed. It wasn’t a roar. The pain, anger, and frustration were far too raw to call it a roar. He bucked against my blades and tore his head free from where it had been nailed to the floor. A mouthful of blood and a shower of broken teeth poured from his face as he thrashed about on the floor. His torso leapt from the floor as well, tear the three blades which had pinned him there. His arms and legs remained pinned, and even then, all four of the blades he tore free remained sunk deep in his body.
His thrashing grew more violent, forcing me to keep my hand against the bucking wall. The shadows he’d drawn to himself prevented me from being able to make out his expression, but he appeared to be panicking.
Whether it was fear or anger, the emotion gave him enough strength to throw off the majority of my bonds, especially those along his arms. With his hands both free his fingers scrambled at the blade I’d buried (for a second time) in his eye.
Hands found hilt and he pulled it free. A moment later the cunning orb once again reflected the light of my fires and jack-o’-lanterns.
I ordered my swords to press the ogre back to the floor, but he was rooted now, and their strength was not enough.
Emboldened by success, one hand tugged free the sword free from his abdomen while the other attempted to once more free a blade from his head. Both blades piercing his jaw proved to be harder targets, embedded in sensitive bone as they were, and his forced to bring his second hand up to help.
I wasn’t about to let him succeed.
All my blades, save the 5 still left flesh retreated, liberating even the leg he’d been able to free.
Magic Swords II
Push IIII
My blades, both new and old, returned with a vengeance. The one I aimed at his skull moved with thrice the speed of the others, propelled by a second spell. Perhaps if I killed him instantly, his wounds would not have time to heal.
My enhanced blade skittered along the ridge along his brow, throwing his head back with a snap, but failed to penetrate. A moment later it buried itself in the wall behind him, irretrievable.
My other blades fared better. Six piercing flesh, their force combined with those who failed to fell the ogre once more.
I’d already crouched in anticipation of the fall this time. If anything, he was continuing to grow heavier.
I’d been less fortunate in which limbs remained pinned this time, both an arm and a leg retained some latitude, but a blade had sunken straight through the knee of his other leg, pinning it in place farm more thoroughly than it had been last time.
Another joined the two in his jaw, and three more had gone at least part of the way into his pelvis, torso, and chest.
My final blade sunk straight through his throat, then skittered across the stone floor and out the side of his neck.
The wound was less devastating than if the blade had simply remained in place, but the ogre was slow to react. Perhaps the broken neck or barrage of injuries had stunned him; The multiple blows to his head concussed him. Before the wound began to heal I took finer control of my victorious blade, and swept it back along the ragged tear in his throat and held it in place against the artery.
Two more blades joined the first, and I wielded them shears, snipping and chopping at the half column which remained of his neck.
Before I managed to fully decapitate the fiend, he reacted. Flesh began to regrow around my blades and his free arm swept through the air in a frantic search for his invisible assailants. His elbow hit the blade in his chest at the same moment his hand found one of the blades in his throat.
Neither were a success.
The blade in his chest was twisted in place under the force of his blow, which elected a strange bubbling rumble I could only assume was a scream. It was hard to tell when he was missing half his throat.
His hand struck more true, but was even less effective than his elbow had been. Rather than twisting the blade even somewhat free from his body, instead he hammered it firmly into the ground, securing it in place.
Before he could correct his mistake I sent my improvised sheers to work at his spine. If I could sever the signal from brain to body before he could remove my weapons, it might be enough.
Unfortunately his spine proved far stronger than his flesh and though he thrashed horribly from the pain of it, his neck—what was left of it—remained intact. I didn’t relent. The magic blades would not dull nor tire. Eventually they’d win through.
The ogre was not content to lie there while I worked. He leapt up and side wise suddenly, trying to tear himself free from my blades. I took a step back, cautious, and for a moment I thought he might succeed. His chest arched and both armed lunged toward me, but his jaw, neck, and the blades lodged therein held him in place.
He fell back to the ground as though his body was a lashing whip, and his neck the handle. The floor became likewise, a whip which tossed me from my feet. I toppled over backward into the rivulet of blood with a slight splash. It must have been nearly half a finger-width in depth at this point. We would have looked quite a sight from above. Mirrors of one another. His feet pointing at mine, and a stream of blood flowing gently past both of us.
I rose before he did. Far before, as his second attempt was weaker than the last, and my swords—which I’d returned to his body after his thrashing had thrown them off—held him in place.
When it became clear he couldn’t defeat my growing multitude of swords directly, he changed tactics yet again. This time he rocked sideways, twisting at the shoulders, to put the full force of his weight behind a single arm.
Stolen story; please report.
It punched free from my swords, rose into the air, and slammed into the ground with the quake of thunder.
The floor shook as if from the impact of his entire body a moment earlier. Though he didn’t appear any larger it seemed he’d grown even heavier still.
I’d learned from last time, and was already supporting myself with my free hand against the wall and my legs bent. My swords moved back into position the moment his arm fell and pinned it in place once more.
He tried in vain to raise it again, but the swords held.
Undeterred—the ogre’s dedication was inspirational—he rocked back the other way, and his left arm broke free. The whole of his chest followed after, swinging his shoulder around and his arm over, crashing his fist into the same spot where his right had impacted.
The stone cracked liked a dying glacier. Despite my precautions, the second impact, with the full force of his body behind it and then some, nearly knocked me from my feet once more.
It was not a pose he could hold long, for his knee and throat still remained pinned in spite of his best efforts.
Though he’d demonstrated he could shake me, my swords held. It had stopped being a battle of strength and wits, and had become one of endurance. The victor was as of yet undetermined, but would be the one whose magic lasted longest.
The ogre didn’t agree.
His scrabbling right fist worked up a piece of the flagstone he’d shattered. His arm was still pinned, but retained enough mobility to flick the stone at me from the elbow.
The shot went wide enough I didn’t even flinch, but the force of it pulverized the stone into a cloud of shards. Several bounced off my armour, but did me no harm. It would be a problem if he hit me, and one I couldn’t easily solve. If I sent more swords to keep his right arm in place, another part of his body might be freed. If—
It was also a problem I didn’t have much time to solve.
A second stone flew towards me, this one with the full force of his arm behind it. My swords pinned the arm again in short order, using the distraction of several more blades penetrating his torso to overpower him.
The stone itself was even further off course than the previous one, though no less deadly for it. I felt the impact of shards through my armour this time.
The simplest solution to my problem was to continue attempting to sever his neck. If I got his neck before his stones got me, I won. The problem was—
The third stone was caught short at the wrist, and tumbled to the floor a mere foot from his hand.
The sun rose.
And was not devoured.
And just like that, I had my solution.
Fireball II
Swordferno III
Fireball III
Fourteen new blades and six fresh fireballs—two of the sort the ogre couldn’t ignore—appeared directly above the ogre. The blades went straight for his throwing arm, the fireballs for his face. They’d be my distraction.
Even the ogre’s mass and brute strength had its limits. His right arm became a limpet fastened to the floor while his other limbs lacked the strength and leverage to do more than thrash against my swords. Only his core—his torso and pelvis—could move, but it availed him little.
My scissors continued to slice at his neck in the faint hope of finding some weakness or edge, but I didn’t rest easy. The ogre had already overcome a dozen of my victories with tricks of his own.
Sword Storm II
Six new blades and a fireball. The fireball I sent to relieve one of my hotter fireballs, and that one in turn I set against the ogre’s exposed spine. Perhaps the fire would make the bone more brittle. It was worth a try.
The ogre’s thrashing increased in intensity when I put the flame to his neck, but my six swords pressed even his chest down, completely immobilizing him.
Then began the delicate process of resorting my swords so they were evenly distributed along both limbs and torso, leaving more where the ogre was strongest.
Once it became clear what I was doing, the ogre’s thrashing stopped suddenly, then changed in intensity. Instead of straining against his bonds, the ogre put all his effort into raising himself from the ground then dropping back.
The first impact knocked me from feet, despite the hand still firmly pressed against the wall. The pool of blood was deeper now. Both my hands were buried by the flow, as was the spellbook held in my right.
As was the miracle of the first germ, so too the miracle I wrote my spells in wax, not ink. I suspected whatever spell’s I’d written in anything else had just been washed away.
The second thud from the ogre didn’t give me time to check. He was going to collapse the corridor, burying us both. And given his track record, I fancied his odds of survival over my own.
Which is why, even before I broke free from the stream of blood, I’d moved on of my swords into position directly above the ogre’s spine, and prepared my next spell.
Push IIII
The blade missed.
Not even by a small margin. I was lucky it hit the flesh of his neck at all.
Worst of all, it might have failed has it it, for the point only scraped across the stone rather than penetrating, tearing a small rent in the ogre’s throat before falling over and pinning itself against the ground with a splash.
The ogre retaliated with another body slam, but this one was feeble compared to the others. The ground still shook, but my feet rode the wave rather than being thrown by it.
We went back and forth that way five or six more times, me trying to crush or cut his throat in its entirety with my scissors, him trying to bring the ceiling down on us both, neither gaining the advantage, when the ogre’s luck finally gave out. My swords, which I’d never kept totally still along his spine, always sliding and prying hoping to find the gap between his vertebrae, finally slid home.
The only clue to my success was the fact that the blades ran into one another, kicking up a spray of blood where they clashed, for the ogre’s body continued to move. I swallowed my disbelief before the body could rejoin and slid half a dozen blades into the gape, creating an invisible wall between head and shoulders.
The ogre thrashed desperately under the weight of my blades, but no amount of desperation could move them. I rode the shock-waves like pro, hand already in position to catch myself. I was getting used to his thrashing. He’d have to try—
A fist sized piece of masonry bounced off my shoulder. My arm instantly went numb and my spellbook tumbled from my fingers. It splashed down in to the river of blood, the bobbed up at a canted angle. The stream wasn’t deep enough to carry the book away or bury it entirely, but the fact it floated at all spoke volumes. Literally.
I snatched back up my book with the same hand which had dropped it. My healing spell was still in effect and the minor injury was hardly a problem. The ceiling on the other hand-
I looked up. The ceiling was spider-webbed with cracks. The stone I’d been hit with was had been a small end piece. The full sized... flag stones? Mast-stones? What were they called on the ceiling? Whatever they were, they would be the real problem. Even a year’s worth of healing wouldn’t cure being flattened.
Magic Swords II
I used the twin swords to kick the ogre’s head free and roll it towards the stairs.
Or at least I tried to. Whatever he’d done to make himself heavy enough to shake the ceiling was still in effect. My blades, both individually as strong as I was, could not move him.
The ground shook again as I considered the problem. I kept an eye on the ceiling this time, ready to teleport myself free at a moment’s notice.
With enough swords and leverage, I could probably move the head, but I didn’t want to risk freeing his still thrashing body. I’d read too many stories about dark creatures reattaching severed heads or strangling those who’d vanquished them with their disembodied limbs. I’d not truly believed the stories until now, but the evidence both thrashing before me and running over my boots was hard to deny.
*Boom*
Another small piece of masonry fell from the ceiling.
A minute of silence.
*Boom*
The ceiling held strong.
There was little for me to do but watch for falling stone. Watch for the ogre breaking free. Watch for the ogress to sneak up behind me. Watch and wait.
The ogre’s struggling slowed.
And hope.
*Boom*
His stamina seemed to come and go in bursts. Strong, then weak, then strong. No pattern rhyme or reason. But he now moved less than he moved more. Half a minute and still no success-
*Boom*
The flagstone gave without warning. A piece of the ceiling as large as I was slid free silently from its housing. If I hadn’t been watching for it, I’d never have known. Even ready for it, I barely reacted in time. For a man relying on wit and athleticism alone it would have been a close thing.
Safe Teleport
I reappeared on the far side of the stone. This had a number of benefits and drawbacks. On the plus side, the stone was large enough to seal the entire corridor. I couldn’t even make out my lights on the far side. Even the sounds of the ogre’s thrashing had been completely cut off.
On the negative side, the stone was large enough to seal the entire corridor. I couldn’t even see the ogre on the other side. Even the sounds of his thrashing had been completely cut off.
I could still control my weapons, but I had no clue if anything they were doing was effective, or if the ogre might have broken free from them. I could only continue to press down with my swords and hope for the best.
Marshlight
The spell twisted slightly under my finger as it was cast, but the rune settled rapidly, unlike the Swordferno, which as far as I knew was still warping under the influence of... of whatever was warping it.
If Swordferno hadn’t been warped beyond recognition I would have payed closer attention to the twisting of my Marshlight. If I had payed attention to Marshlight wouldn’t have looked up an extra half second earlier. If I hadn’t looked up that half second earlier, well, I guess the loss of my Swordferno may have saved my life.
The ogress was charging towards me.
It was only my newly summoned light which revealed her. Her footfall was silent even in the rivulets of blood. She moved too quietly for something so large.
Magic Swords III
Unlike the ogre, the ogress still had her wounds from our previous encounter. She charged with club raised and teeth bared, but it was drunkenly. The club wavered, and her teeth formed more of a grimace than a snarl.
Four swords was enough to stop her charge cold.
She hung there for a moment, suspended; impaled by my swords. Then she slid backward as though my swords were made of icicles.
The ogress collapsed to the floor with a cough which added a fresh spray of blood to the stream. She looked up on me, and, on hands and knees and sporting over a dozen fatal wounds, I saw not the faintest flicker of fear in her eyes. Only hunger.
There was no reasoning with her.
Three of my swords swiped the air around her (you try guiding invisible blades with pinpoint accuracy), but the fourth took her in the neck. The force of my blow knocked her on her chest, face first into the stream, but still she refused to die.
I headed off her arms struggling to help her rise, plunging my blades into her back and out her front. Her hide was far less resilient than the ogre’s. The blades pinned her like a butterfly, splayed out on her front in the stream.
Bubbles streamed up from her mouth, painting her forehead red as they burst, but she didn’t struggle. Didn’t move. Didn’t rise.
Several seconds later the bubbles stopped.
The ogress didn’t move.