Little Celah, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Thirdmonth, 1634 PTS
The races of Celah bore a high natural resistance to ashatic energies, and lacked any sort of natural energy development such as that which the Staiven and my own race possessed. This, however, was more than made up for by their inscrutable arcane technologies, and perfect mastery of the flickering miasma. A Celan clad in advanced mechanical armor such as the one before me was more than capable of fighting evenly with a martial master of the spirit refinement realm. One stage higher than me, a core formation expert.
I had been complacent, and should have left much earlier. I cursed my foolishness.
The enforcer called something out in Staiven, but I was unable to catch enough of it to understand what he was saying. I didn’t speak the language well anyway, so negotiation would likely get me nowhere. Particularly because I had already killed several members of their organization, and was attempting to steal rather expensive goods from them.
The voice sounded masculine, which told me the pilot was a Jobu. I cast the irrelevant detail from my mind as I prepared myself for combat. An enforcer was said to be equivalent in battle to a martial artist of the spirit refinement realm, one stage above my own. I intended to test that claim.
I unsheathed my sword, slinging the bag of contraband onto my back for safety. Shifting into the first stance of the Rising Downpour Sword Art, I planted my feet firmly on the ground raising my sword aloft. The first stance flowed into all of the others, serving as an intermediate position perfect for shifting fluidly into the other five stances. The enforcer barked something else, but I ignored him. I waited in position for him to make the first move. All distractions flowed from my mind as if through a sluice as I focused all my attention on my opponent.
The Rising Downpour Sword Art is a masterwork which was created by one of the early inhabitants of Southern Crucible, back home on Canvas. It was a style focused on speed and slashing attacks, with unrelenting swiftness and agility that tore into the enemy before they could react.
For a few moments more, the enforcer continued speaking, pausing to see how I would respond. I remained in place, muscles relaxed as I analyzed every inch of the hulking armor for signs of movement or preparation.
Presumably giving up on discussion, the enforcer made his move, causing several tons of iron and bronze to shift. The dozens of plates clinked upon one another as he took a step forward and fired one of his multiple rifles at me.
Having anticipated this action, I was able to shift away from my position the moment I saw him start to move. The bullets whizzed by as I slid to the side. One of them grazed my shoulder, but I barely even noticed the injury. My footsteps splashed across the concrete floor as I dashed towards the enforcer. One of the shelves behind me exploded, sending shards of metal flying across the room.
The area immediately surrounding the mech’s body was a field of death. Shells flew both at me and in every direction I could move to. In the mech’s other arms, blades were being wielded at high speed. Slashing with great power through the air.
At first glance, the swings would appear to be wild and random, but upon closer inspection I realized that they served to fill the gaps in gunfire, in case I decided to close the distance. Knowing this, I did so anyway. Though the sword arts of the Downpour Sect were powerful, they lacked any techniques that might allow me to attack from a distance.
The gunfire was unable to hit me due to my skillful application of the water striding steps, but it was able to restrict my motion, preventing me from finding an opening.
Dodging alone was not a sustainable tactic. I needed to do something, needed an opportunity of some sort. My eyes flashed behind me, to the forest of shelving units, and I skidded back to the cover it provided. The enforcer shouted once more, and I hoped his words did not imply he would be receiving quick reinforcements.
A part of my mind also heard some words spoken by a more feminine voice coming from somewhere, but they were filtered out in my streamlined focus on the battle.
I slid between and underneath the falling shelving units, my movement technique allowing me to maneuver far more adroitly than would normally be possible. It seemed the enforcer showed little regard for protecting the supplies of his organization, because his arcs of fire caused swathes of exploding machinery and fragments of biological material to fly throughout the warehouse. Fragments splattered across me, but I made sure to maintain distance while I thought of ways to either close the distance with him or escape the warehouse.
Before I could think up a solution, the problem solved itself as the enforcer, who had been slowly moving to acquire a better angle at me, suddenly released a vast burst of miasma. Orange mist flowed from the cracks between the armor plating, scattering in all directions as he charged me. Nothing was able to stand in the way of the giant mechanical armor’s charge, smashing and shattering its way towards me in a dance of devastation.
The storage that had once been full of rare and valuable items was already almost completely annihilated at the hands of its guardian. I wagered there was a reason no enforcer had been stationed here from the start.
Taking advantage of the enforcer’s action, my steps took me beneath him. My blade flashed upwards, sliding into one of the grooves of his armor.
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I heaved with all my strength, grinding it deep into the iron frame. I was unable to use a technique to amplify my ability as my martial arts lacked a piercing technique, so the force of my muscles alone would have to suffice. While the plating was undoubtedly reinforced by the flow of miasma from the machine’s interior, it lacked the strength to resist the blow of a masterwork sword created by Domines herself.
My sword slid right in, but the machine was huge and my blade only so long. I was forced to retreat as the enforcer slammed his armor into the ground. I scrambled my way out, nearly losing control of my movement technique in the process.
Several sets of the enforcer’s arms pushed into the ground as it began to rise again while another three slashed at me with wide swings from their blades. As I dodged between them I tried once more to assess my situation. It had become clear to me that I was outmatched.
Despite my initial hope, I was now certainly doubting my chances. The wound I had placed on it with great effort would not be crippling unless I was very lucky, and I doubted I would have too many chances to cause more damage before I was hit by shrapnel or slugs from its heavy firearms. If I became injured, there was little chance of survival.
I had never actually fought with any Celan mechs before, much less an enforcer. However, I had heard stories and rumors from other martial artists about what it was like to fight one. I had to agree with their description that they were equally matched with a spirit refiner.
I was particularly effective in combat or a martial artist of my stage, due to the power of my unpredictable movement technique. Against a powerful enemy with weaker defense, I could use my speed and maneuverability to my advantage, taking them out easily. But against the oversized and heavily armored form of the enforcer, my lack of ranged attack ability and limited piercing power made this a poor match for me.
Perhaps if I had finished constructing my core I would have the power to cleave through its armor with successive slashes, but that was not the case now. As it was, the only reason I was able to damage it at all was the power of the relic in my hands. Even if I somehow were to win the fight, the longer it took the higher the odds of reinforcements arriving. If a second enforcer arrived, I would have no hope at all of victory.
My thoughts were scattered once again as the enforcer regained its footing, beginning to lumber again towards me as its guns continued their fusillade. I could easily escape the warehouse, but where could I go? For all I knew they had prepared the area outside, and I was right in the middle of the Heirs’ territory. It would be trivial for them to set up kill zones across the district, if they were willing to risk government interference.
I cursed my overconfidence. I should have known I couldn’t just walk in, take the pearl, and leave unhindered. Next time, I would prepare backup strategies and escape routes in advance. My lack of experience with such matters was a weakness I would need to eliminate before it cost my my life.
One of the enforcer’s arms reached out to grab one of the few shelves that were still standing, flinging it towards me at full force. I ducked, feeling the rush of wind as it soared right past my head.
Knowing the danger of my current circumstance, I moved in towards the enforcer’s body once more, this time having to navigate directly into his overlapping fields of fire. One lucky shot could shatter one of my dantians, crippling me, but I would have to risk it.
I cascaded my way through, deflecting and dodging the slugs as best I could, but two of them impacted, tearing holes through my diaphragm and upper left arm. I stifled the pain and continued my advance. Switching from the third to the fourth stance, I held my weapon low and prepared to execute my most powerful technique.
This technique, the Heart of Rainfall, had been a pinnacle technique of the Downpour Sect, restricted only to the inner disciples. It was one of the foundations of our martial arts, along with the water striding steps. An orthodox sect might have called something like it a forbidden technique.
I focused all of my willpower on the flow of my internal energy between my dantians and throughout my body. The flow increased, pushing rapidly through my meridians to a concentrated spot within the central dantian. Blue light shone from beneath my skin as my meridians glowed from the overpressure. I continued operating the water striding steps as I did so, having to fight hard to prevent any lapses in concentration.
When the welled energy reached a criticality, I released my hold on the energy, letting it loose through my arms and feet as all of my motions rapidly sped up. The world seemed slow to my overclocked senses as I dove towards the mech before me, accepting a slug to my thigh in order to finally reach the enforcer.
Twelve great blows clashed into the haphazardly stacked plates of metal, causing several to burst in flashes of orange. Each of the blows were compressed into the span of just one heartbeat, all precisely impacting the same spot. The enforcer flew backward, propelled by the formless energy that had slammed into it. It crashed into a large white and black machine that some vague part of my mind recognized but was unable to place, and skidded off to embed into one of the walls that belonged to a set of the warehouse’s offices.
I staggered to a halt, breathing heavily. My sword was held loosely in my left hand, but I gripped it tightly, unwilling to risk it falling from my numb fingers.
The fight had lasted little more than a couple minutes, yet I was already incredibly exhausted. Three deep wounds gouged my body, and all of my meridians were heavily strained. I was forced to reduce the speed of my energy flow, wary to not cause permanent damage to my foundation.
My sect’s most powerful art allowed me to exercise power above my means, but that came at a cost. My movement technique dispersed as I had trouble continuing it due to my injured leg and channels, and I had to fight to keep myself standing. I had done greater damage to the mech this time, but I doubted it would be enough. Unlike me, machines could take far more damage and remain functional. I prepared to flee out of the warehouse, hoping that the heirs had not prepared anything outside. Even a small squad of men with firearms might be able to slay me at the moment.
As I did so, I heard a voice again in my ear, as if someone was speaking from directly beside me.
“Do you need help, Cyrus?”
Jobu: [When their homeworld of Celah was ravaged by the Khalak-Ora, the elite hid themselves in safety from the dying world’s surface. The poor had no such luck. They suffered in the high radiation and overabundance of lesions from which spilled vast quantities of flickering miasma. Of the millions present in the world, a few rare individuals, rather than be destroyed by the harsh conditions, were able to adapt and survive. These adaptations over time led to a split in biology. The Jobu have become much taller and stronger than their ancestors, and developed grayish skin along a very high genetic tendency towards dark hair. In addition, they have specialized organs that assist in recovery from overexposure to warpings and miasma. Unlike their cousins the Korlove, the Jobu remain fully humanoid. They bear the highest ashatic resistance of any recognized mortal race.]