Blessed Time 2: Coda: A LitRPG Adventure, page 18
Unfortunately, even with perfect placement, a sideways slash from the spear couldn’t match the penetrating power of a thrust. The enchantment did all it could, cutting through the rocklike scales of the rastgar and severing some muscle tissue, but even as the blow landed Micah glimpsed the near future and knew it wasn’t enough.
The creature wheeled around, stomping downward toward his scrambling form. Micah rolled to the left and was rewarded with a splash as a taloned foot slammed past his head.
There wasn’t even a moment to strike back as Micah scrambled to his feet and shifted back a couple of paces.
His breath came unevenly and his body was soaked, but his spear didn’t waver as he leveled it at the rastgar. It stepped toward him, a noticeable limp in its injured leg. The once purple ichor staining its chest was now dried and black as the toxins from the fog attacked the open wound directly.
The future flickered as foresight began to fade and the rastgar drew back its head to unleash another breath attack. Micah tensed his legs, prepared to dodge and take advantage of the moment of distraction as soon as the monster struck.
His eyes widened.
“Oh fu—” Micah didn’t complete the word. He didn’t have that luxury.
He jumped, the words to updraft heavy as they stumbled off of his tongue. Flight would have been better, but there was no way that he’d be able to get the spell off in time.
Flames spewed from the rastgar’s throat, and the clouds created by poison fog erupted. Updraft kicked in at the last second, shoving him past the blast’s epicenter, but the heat and pressure still kicked like a mule. Specifically, a mule that was the boss of a high-class dungeon.
The breath left Micah’s lungs as he was thrown upward, spear slipping from his nerveless hands. His vision blurred from an obvious concussion. Distantly, he hoped that the burning he smelled was his hair rather than a stroke or some other sort of neurological event.
Then his back slammed into the damp ground.
Between updraft and the marshy soil, he didn’t break anything, but it still felt like there was a carriage on his chest. Micah coughed weakly. Three hundred and twenty hit points left.
He blinked. His eyelids felt far too heavy.
Something deep inside of him whispered that he should just let them close. There was no way that the monster could have survived that blast.
His eyes opened again, vision dim and blurry. Micah wasn’t sure if it had been a second or a minute.
The poison fog was gone entirely and the field around him was burning. Luckily, the fire wouldn’t spread too far due to the abundance of standing water, but the stalks of tall grass still crackled merrily.
Micah heard a splash. The ground beneath him vibrated in time to a massive, clawed foot planting itself near him.
He blinked at the rastgar standing over him without comprehension. By all rights it should be dead. Its torso was a charred and wretched mess, and it was missing its left arm entirely. The rest of its body didn’t look much better; two of its heads drooped uselessly, and the leg he’d injured earlier was a shattered wreck.
A clawed hand reached down and grasped Micah by the front of his armor. His body screamed in agony as the beast picked him up. Idly, he wondered if Trevor and the animals even knew to come to his rescue, let alone whether they would make it in time.
One of the remaining heads wove sinuously through the air. A snakelike muzzle sniffed him curiously before its fanged maw opened.
25
Triumph
Micah’s arm was far too heavy. It felt like his body was covered in sandbags as he moved his hand upward at a glacial pace to point at the rastgar’s head.
Its breath—warm, moist, and infused with the foul scent of carrion—washed over him as the monster’s jaws moved toward him languidly. Micah’s vision blurred, slipping into double as his hand finally reached the apex of his arc.
His wrist flicked and mana hummed through his system. Air knife slashed past the monster’s unfurling tongue and jabbed into the unprotected flesh of its open mouth.
It jerked its head back, simultaneously using its grip on Micah’s armor to yank him to the side, away from its fresh injury. A low growl emanated from the other head as it snaked toward Micah, its slit reptilian eyes narrowed dangerously.
His vision returned to normal, still blurry and dim, but regeneration was doing its work. Micah blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog from his brain. The rastgar wasn’t rushing to the attack; his previous spell had ensured that.
On the plus side, this gave him a couple of seconds to think. Of course, the monster’s cautious approach meant that Micah wouldn’t have an easy opening. Almost on their own, his hands closed around the rastgar’s giant wrist, where the monster held him off the ground using its sole remaining arm.
The scales were warm beneath his fingers, still radiating heat from the explosion. The rastgar made no move to stop him from grabbing its arm, confident that it could overpower his concussion-addled strength if Micah tried to escape. Instead, it kept its eyes on him as its head moved steadily closer, wary of any sudden movements on his part that might bring it renewed pain.
Micah began reciting the incantation to sonic orb, locking eyes with the monster. Its gaze was almost hypnotizing, especially in his addled state, but instinctively, Micah knew better than to look away or cease his chanting. Either would be a show of weakness that would lead to an immediate strike. Instead, he needed to put on a front of alert readiness in order to keep the rastgar wary.
A victorious smile plastered itself across Micah’s face as the spell finished and a ball of humming and squealing energy appeared between his hands. To be precise, the orb flickered into existence in the exact space occupied by the rastgar’s wrist.
For a second, Micah’s body shook as the vibrations from his spell traveled through the claws holding him, but then he was falling. The rastgar screamed in agony and flailed with its arm, its claws flopping about bonelessly.
He splashed into the marsh and rolled to his feet unsteadily. The rastgar staggered backward a step, only to fall entirely as its injured leg gave out under it.
Micah frantically looked for his spear. It was somewhere nearby, but he couldn’t find where the blast had thrown it in the burning hellscape the marsh had become. Gritting his teeth, he pulled out the dagger he used for skinning his quarries.
It wasn’t much of a weapon, little more than a handle and a blade that Micah enchanted to keep its edge, solely because he could. Even damaged by the explosion, it wouldn’t do much to the rastgar. Its scales were more than a match for the tiny blade. Still, it was better than nothing, and if he could find a spot where an earlier attack had chipped its armor away, he might be able to do a little bit of damage.
He stumbled forward, casting explosive thicket. He was low on mana. Foresight was a thing of the past, and the explosion had shattered and dispelled wind shield. Right now, the only spells still operating on him were regeneration and haste, and haste was beginning to stutter and flicker.
The rastgar rolled onto its stomach and tried to push itself up with its one remaining arm, but its claw was useless, flopping and splashing pointlessly in the marsh as the monster thrashed helplessly in the spongy soil.
The elongated and sharpened spikes of explosive thicket jerked upward into the crippled monster’s chest. Even with the damage caused by the blast, most of the spears shattered fruitlessly, but at least a couple struck weakened scales or the terrible scar inflicted by Micah’s first strike.
The rastgar shuddered, its two remaining heads flailing and screaming. One mouth vomited acid, a viscous slug that hissed as it interacted with the water of the marsh. The other gnashed their fangs feebly.
Micah pressed his hand against the twitching and mewling monster and cast paralytic sting. At the height of its glory, the spell would have only slowed its movements for a couple of seconds. Even heavily wounded, the rastgar’s Body attribute would have resisted the spell after a couple of seconds.
It collapsed, frothing from its remaining heads as Micah shimmied up its body. The monster’s back was mostly untouched, but with quick and sure hands he slipped the skinning knife into the gap between two scales and pushed.
The blade might not have been the biggest or the sharpest, but with almost twenty points of Body attribute behind it, the weapon slipped under the scale in a second. With a grunt and a twist of the knife, Micah popped it off. The scale splashed into the water, and his dagger began questing for another gap in the rastgar’s armor.
Ten seconds later, the creature was beginning to stir, but Micah had chipped away the entirety of its armor in a fist-sized area and revealed the rastgar’s lavender flesh beneath. He applied paralytic sting a second time, wincing as his scant mana reserves dipped even lower.
The knife flashed and pried as Micah continued his grisly work uninterrupted. By the time the spell’s venom began to wear off a second time, he’d descaled a chunk of the monster almost the size of two side-by-side dinner plates.
A third paralytic sting emptied his pools of all but three Sun mana, not enough to do anything for a fairly long time. As the monster stilled, Micah shifted his grip to hold the knife in both hands and brought it down on the now unprotected flesh of the rastgar’s lower back.
Purple ichor splattered everywhere as he used every ounce of his Body attribute to saw his way through the monster’s densely corded muscles. Finally, just as it was waking up once more, Micah reached the creature’s spine.
He was almost forearm deep in the monster, hot purple blood staining every inch of his body. The rastgar screamed and moaned, trying unsuccessfully to shake him off. Even if it hadn’t noticed him before, the great gobs of steaming purple flesh that littered the smoldering marsh served as a very definite wakeup call.
Micah simply ignored its thrashing as he grabbed its massive spine with his left hand, stabilizing himself. The monster screamed again. The knife in his right hand tapped a gleaming white vertebra. He slipped it lower, finding a gap between two chunks of bone.
It was frantic now, the rastgar’s entire body trembling as Micah’s actions brought it unbearable pain. He grunted as he sawed the knife back and forth, cutting through cartilage and nerves to slowly work the blade into the prone creature’s spinal cord.
With a pop, the blade worked its way free and Micah leaned back. He reached up to wipe the sweat from his forehead, only to smear the creature’s violet blood all over his face and hair.
Jumping off of the body, he surveyed his handiwork with a satisfied nod. He might not find nearly as much use for the anatomy skill now that the heal spell could take care of anything too complicated for augmented mending to handle on its own, but he had still spent months learning it. Human and monster nervous systems weren’t exactly the same, but they were similar enough for a novice like him to learn the general principles.
The rastgar wouldn’t be able to move its legs. It might be able to defend its upper torso with its remaining arm and heads, but Micah hardly needed to walk into their range to finish the creature.
Without kicking or struggling, it could only squeal pathetically in terror as he climbed over its partially still body and began working the knife into its inner thigh. Almost a minute later, one femoral artery, and then the other, began spilling the rastgar’s life into the marsh’s brackish water.
Sighing, Micah wiped the knife on his pants before returning it to its sheath. He wasn’t actually sure that his actions had made the weapon any cleaner, but after everything he’d gone through, it was an act of almost symbolic performance.
Despite everything, the battle was over and he’d come out victorious.
He turned around to see Trevor and Drekt staring at him incredulously, only about ten paces away. Ravi trotted up to him cheerfully and dropped his spear at his feet, glancing up at him expectantly as if she expected to be rewarded for her assistance. He reached out, scratching the big cat under her chin, and was rewarded with a bone-rattling purr.
“Well,” Micah tried to say cheerfully, but his voice came out as more of a croak. Evidently the explosion had done a number on his throat. “Can anyone tell me what we’ve learned today?”
“Not to use Fire magic around that poison gas spell of yours?” Trevor shook his head while he whistled in appreciation. “I know that basic magic theory says that Wood magic feeds into and complements Fire magic, but that was insane. I don’t have the faintest clue how you survived that. Seriously, Micah, that explosion probably could have wiped the walls of Basil’s Cove clear of defenders.”
“Not what I meant.” Micah smiled slightly, trying to avoid itching as regeneration slowly began closing the scratches and burns on his skin. “Although now that you mention it, we really should look into combining poison fog with a low-level fire spell to ignite it. We have to practice and be careful not to blow ourselves up, but it certainly has the potential to be a powerful area-of-effect attack.
“Any other observations?” Micah raised an eyebrow. At least he thought he did. Given the stinging sensation from his face and the constant smell of smoke, he strongly suspected that there were no eyebrows left to raise.
“That rushing into combat without knowing your enemy’s capabilities is a very stupid idea?” Drekt asked, crossing his arms with a bemused expression on his face.
“More or less.” Micah nodded in agreement. “I would add that knowing and controlling your environment is incredibly important. Given the rastgar’s speed and strength, I’m confident I could have taken it, given enough time.
“In a one-on-one fight”—he reached down to pick up his spear—“an Agility-based fighter can generally defeat a warrior that solely focuses on the Body attribute so long as the adventurer with the Agility build is given sufficient space and time to slowly wear them down.
“Conversely,” Micah continued, reaching down to pet Ravi’s fur, only for the large cat to shy away from his sticky, blood-covered hands, “it’s much harder to dance around and avoid blows when fighting in a line of soldiers protecting archers and spellcasters. A fighter focusing on Agility can force one that specializes in Body to pay a price if the Body-based adventurer wants to force their way past them, but they aren’t optimized for standing and fighting, just harassing and wearing their opponent down.”
“Which means?” Trevor questioned, brow furrowed as he tried to understand what Micah was getting at.
“Be sure of your environment.” Micah gestured at the uneven and burning wasteland that the marsh had become. “Drekt, if you have to fight someone dancing around you, find a place with treacherous footing. If you slip, you’ll suffer a blow or two as you regain your footing. With proper armor and magical protection, that isn’t the end of the world. Trevor, if you slip, a single blow from a heavy axe or maul will end the fight.
“If you are sure your opponent outclasses your Body attribute” —Micah glanced at the huge corpse of the now still rastgar—“make sure that you are fighting it in an environment where you can take advantage of your agility or range advantage. If you don’t have an advantage in agility or range, don’t fight it. Locking yourself into a duel with an opponent that outclasses you in every aspect isn’t a good idea.”
“What you’re saying,” Drekt chuckled, “is that this fight was a stupid idea. If you’d spent more time scouting your surroundings and your opponent’s abilities, it would have been a much easier fight.”
“Yup,” Micah agreed, moving his hand to run through his now nonexistent hair. “The right spells can give you enough flexibility to overcome an enemy that outclasses you, but fighting blind is incredibly stupid. I would advise not rushing into combat in order to show off to your companions. Rather than flashy, you’re liable to end up bedraggled and pathetic. Consider that your first lesson as we train to work together.”
“Noted,” Drekt replied with a broad grin.
26
Beast at the Gates
“I am not doubting your resolve, Micah.” Drekt shook his head in disbelief as the Luoca pinned one shade ogre to the dungeon floor with its barbed leg while simultaneously stabbing its tail through the chest of another. “I am doubting your sanity. You said you summoned how many of these abominations?”
“A couple?” Micah replied hesitantly, unable to take his eyes off of the Luoca as it ignored a glob of acid lobbed by an ogre shaman and cut the creature in half with a wing. Even as he watched, the body began to melt as the daemon’s presence eroded the very reality that kept it together.
“They’re incredibly powerful,” Micah continued defensively. “I could clear an entire dungeon with three or four of them without breaking a sweat. It made leveling up insanely easy.”
The daemon’s human head began to laugh, a shrill screeching sound. Its wings flicked outward, ripping apart the two remaining shade ogres. Without turning to look at the cluster of humans and evolved animals, its tail dove into the tangle of limbs and corpses to spear a torso, bringing the mauled body to its mouth to feast.
“I believe you.” Drekt frowned as the Luoca began tearing into the ogre’s flesh. “But the power level of your summons isn’t my concern. Well, after a fashion it is. How do you keep even one of those under control? Its very presence is twisting and destroying Karell. It’s clearly unnatural and a threat to everyone.”
“I didn’t have a lot of options in my last timeline,” Micah justified. He was scrambling, and he knew it.
“Just what happened in your last timeline?” Drekt asked, raising an eyebrow. “If you had a half-dozen of those things, I don’t imagine you’d lose to anything short of a mountain goliath, dragon, or a contingent of Royal Knights. How in the hells did a single Khanate stop you?”
“It didn’t,” Trevor interjected, an impish smile on his face as he leaned slackly against his spear. “He fought their army to a draw, but the method he used to summon all of the daemons tainted him. Apparently he started poisoning everything around him. Just something to remember when he pulls his ‘wise and mysterious master’ routine. Even if he managed to win last time, it ended up costing him everything.”
