Tom understood that what he was attempting was both desperate and crazy. He knew that the feint was controlled, that it was just a way to get Tom within the range of its magic. All things being equal, it was not an opening. But, if his calculations were right, then this was an opportunity - admittedly a risky one, but he had taken more desperate gambles in the past when he wasn’t under a GOD’s shield. Given that today he had that protection, this was well worth the attempt.
His predictions were proven accurate almost immediately, as flames burning hotter than any campfire washed around him. His untempered skin was helpless against it, blisters forming almost instantly. Tongues of super-heated air burned deep into his nostrils, destroying any hope of him having a sense of smell until April restored him. All the water was sucked from his mouth, and it was too hot to breathe. The radiant heat burnt through his eyelids like they were paper. The world was heat and pain, and his senses were suppressed, but he could visualise what the wador would be doing from the data he had gathered over the minutes since the fight had started.
He could clearly imagine the scene. The wador would have danced forward two metres and then cast its inferno spell. It was an ability that it was either unfamiliar with or one that required constant channelling, but Tom guessed the reason didn’t matter. The key point was that it would be stuck on the spot, unable to move until the fire spell ran its course, and only then would it focus back on the battlefield. Only then would it discover Tom’s gamble, and by then it would be too late.
Blind to the world, unable to see hear or sense anything through the flames, he measured his steps. The moment he was within range, he funnelled energy into Spark to create something that was closer to a lightning bolt than the humble tier-zero spell was supposed to allow. He unleashed a force of nature fuelled exclusively with precognition mana so it would target its enemy without Tom having to direct it - which was useful, because any aiming would have just been guesswork.
All of his sensing nerves were gone, and he felt the magic vanish rather than seeing or feeling the flames being extinguished.
His face stung, and he ignored all the body’s warning signals to force his eyes open. Everything was a white blur. His eyes might have been partially functioning, but were not at a level where they could help in the fight. Functionally, he was blind.
The spear that he was thrusting with all of his skill and power struck a target. There was a momentary resistance, which gave way after mere milliseconds. He recognised the feel of penetrating flesh and striking bone. A thrill of achievement went through him. He had stabbed it, despite their rank difference. Now Tom knew that it was up to him to maintain his momentum. His eyes were gone, and it was well beyond his current ability to heal them mid-battle, but he was not completely helpless. Static electricity under his control settled over the enemy. It was not a full substitute for vision, it was barely a partial one, but it met his immediate needs, and the silhouette he could perceive told him that he had missed the creature’s heart.
He tore the weapon out and struck again and again. This time, the blows were on target. Even with Power Strike, his strength was insufficient for the weapon to punch through far enough. Its vitality had to be in the forties. Tom wasn’t sure about its rank, but he was thinking she had set him up against something closer to rank six to eight rather than four.
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He stabbed again. The weapon was penetrating more than a hand length, and he felt the bone that had been denying him shatter.
One more, he thought. That would kill it, and then he could heal himself.
Danger Sense blared a warning. Impending Doom was upon him. Certain death. He threw himself away as the stun relinquished its control and the wador exploded into action. Its claws tore into his stomach in an all-too-familiar feeling, and then fire engulfed his body as it used its magic as well. The impact of all three actions simultaneously pushing him in the same direction sent him flying away, completely out of control. He counted two full seconds as he was thrown metres through the air.
He crashed hard to the ground on his back, the impact blowing the air out of his lungs. It hurt, and some bones broke.
Clinically, he broke it down. A two-second fall meant he had gone five metres in the air. He was lucky to be alive. With all the fire the wador had expelled, his static electricity sensing field was inconsistent, but it didn’t take a genius to know that it was coming for him. He pulled up his charred spear in the vague hope that it would impale itself.
Then he saw it coming through the residual of its fire attack. Its intentions were clear. It was approaching him to close its jaws around his skull and then…
No, Tom roared in his head. He would not succumb to fear, he would fight through the pain to the bitter end. His weapon was almost up and in a position to impale it. He had a brief moment of hope, and then realised he was too slow, and it was too fast. The injuries and the lack of leverage he had because he was sprawled on the ground robbed him of the ability to move quickly enough.
No, not this time. He yelled in his head. I would not die because of this thing again.
His body was almost dead. It wasn’t like he had the strength to continue the battle. If it was truly smart, as it had claimed, it would have leapt away and finished him from range with another couple of fireballs. Not that, with him in this state, such active participation would be required. All it had to do was stay away, but it wanted to end things with its mouth, and that gave Tom a chance.
He remembered all the hours practicing Instant Strike. If he targeted such a blow into the gaping wound he had already created, then even ninety percent strength might be sufficient.
Every part of him focused on the feeling of the skill that had been close to forming in the training arena. A single thrust, carried out in an instant. He remembered the lack of resistance in that space April had created. That, and the way it didn’t require body movement. Him being pinned and lacking leverage didn’t matter. The skill, after all, was just a flex of the soul.
Tom imagined himself carrying out the perfect strike from a place where he wasn’t helplessly lying in the ground. Instead, he was in that arena she had built for him, feet placed firmly on a hard surface and able to drive the power of his legs through the tip of his weapon. His exhausted, terribly damaged body didn’t react at all, but he envisaged the perfect attack, and his soul flexed with him.
There was a ding.
There was no other feedback to indicate whether the attack had worked, and the wador certainly showed no reaction.
It kept coming and bit down, aiming for his head.
Danger Sense, his other senses being almost non-existent, guided him. At the last moment, he lunged sideways, and it bit his shoulder instead of his head. It expressed its displeasure at Tom evading it by using its claws. There was a mad scramble of movement as it used its multiple legs to shred him. Both of the bottom ones tore into his legs, and then the upper right one mauled his shoulder while the other three supported its weight.
Tom didn’t need a diagnosis spell to know the damage was horrific.
It reared back, clearly intending to go for the head again, and then, inexplicably, it collapsed. Its stillness told him it was dead, but, to his pain addled mind it didn’t make sense. How did something like that just die? Then, mentally, he ignored the issue. If it was alive and playing dead, then it would kill him later, but if it had truly passed, then he could save himself.