B6 Chapter 639: The Pit, pt. 3

The scent of blood filled the underground arena, sinking deep into Porkchop’s snout. With every iron-tang breath, the fire in his belly swelled higher, and a familiar joy grew ever louder and demanding in his mind.

Wide-eyed and alert, he stared down at Kaius. He was laughing, laying next to Ivar as they talked softly about their battle. What a fight it had been! Without pretence, his brother had torn into his opponent again and again, finally allowing himself to fight and feel as his heart demanded. Oh, there had still been grace, guile, and technique — but there had been a purity to the brawl that Porkchop had rarely seen. Kaius had flowed with the soul-deep roar of battle, taking and dealing wounds with equal measure.

It made Porkchop itchy. He wanted some of that fun for himself.

Just across from him, Gars, the Gold on Helena’s team, let out a low whistle as he stared down into the sands.

“Never thought I'd see the day where Ivar met someone as reckless as him.”

Helena let out an appreciative hum. “That one's Goldname is already rather obvious, I think.”

Porkchop’s ears perked up and he turned — as did Ianmus and Kenva who sat between him and the other team.

“You do?” Kenva asked.

Helena just cracked a small smile. “I’m not saying a word.”

Porkchop stifled a huff at that — damned two-legs liked their secrets far too much. They would find out in a few months anyway, he didn’t see the need to make them wait.

While the rest of his team chatted away with the Golds, Porkchop scanned the seats for a good target. He needed someone strong. If he was going to show anything off, it was that he was unbreakable. The bigger the hammer, the bigger the statement. By the Matriarchs, he could already feel the ache of shattered bones and pulped flesh — he wouldn’t accept anything else.

Set on his path, he focused on the two delvers that stood out above all else. The Platinums. One was in the back row, watching on in vague interest, while the other smiled and joked with a duo of Peak Golds. Porkchop didn’t recognise either of them — the Platinum who had spoken up in their earlier meeting must have slipped away.

Both were clearly powerful, but which was the best? The stinging bite of their auras sat heavy in his nose, clear against the sharp smell of blood and sweat, but neither was particularly more potent.

Flicking his gaze back to the Platinum sitting alone in the back, his ears pricked up as he met the man’s eyes, chestnut-brown, and harder than oak. The Platinum looked perfectly at ease, yet ready to fly into motion in an instant. His clothes were a dark grey woven cotton, flowing and despite being swallowed in the fabric, the hard lines of a well tempered physique was clearly visible. Both of the man’s hands were rough and calloused from heavy use.

“Who’s that,” Porkchop said, interrupting the conversation he’d stopped paying attention to.

Gars looked in the direction of his mental nudge and then bent forwards to raise his brow at Porkchop.

“You want to fight Angstrom? The Grave of Blades?”

Hearing a Goldname like that, how could he not want to fight the man! An excited rumble built in his chest as he shook out a few of his shivers.

“Yeah, I do.”

A moment later, a bloody hand gripped the railing in front of them. Kaius swung over it a moment later, sliding into the seat next to him.

“Hey! How’s everyone doing?”

Porkchop rose to his feet. “I’m gonna go see what it feels like to be hit in the face by a Platinum.”

“Oh, this will be fun!” Kaius replied, summoning a rag and waterskin to his hands as he wiped at the gore that coated his armour.

Porkchop jumped from the stands, landing with a heavy thud that kicked up a cloud of sand. As he landed, the crowd went dead silent. It seemed like they hadn’t been quite ready for him to take the sands to offer his challenge. Clearly, they had never met one of his people if it was a surprise. He ignored the weighty silence; the Platinum was still watching him, his head tilted ever so slightly to the side.

Primal anticipation swelled as Porkchop met the man’s stare, building into a low rumble deep in his chest. The reverberation of it steeled his will, stoking his desire to fight.

“I want to challenge you,” he said.

“I can tell,” Angstrom replied, smiling just a little bit more. The man didn’t so much as twitch in surprise at the sudden mental communication.

He stared at the seated Platinum. Did he not want to fight? How could he not? Anyone who had made it so far must love the struggle. A huff of frustration escaped him, blowing back some of the sand. Perhaps it was because of the difference in their levels — he would probably take a bit to think about it if some random Iron asked him to fight.

Taken from NovelPhoenix, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Angstrom stood up, and a hushed wave of chatter spread through the crowd.

Joy flared bright through Porkchop’s chest. He released an excited roar, rearing up as the comforting weight of his armour snapped into place around him, sealing him off from the world.

…

Kaius felt the ground shudder as his brother slammed back down. He smiled at the sheer joy rolling across his bond, and focused on the Platinum that was picking his way towards the railing.

This was going to be good.

“Quick question,” someone said.

Kaius and his team turned to see a High Silver delver leaning towards them from the next row of seats.

“Is every single one of you insane?”

“Oh, definitely,” Ianmus replied, before he jabbed his thumbs towards Kaius and the arena. “Those two are the worst though.”

Kaius just laughed and turned back to the show.

…

Porkchop watched the Platinum land lightly on a patch of blood-soaked sand. The man looked relaxed, but every instinct in his body screamed at him to be cautious, for Angstrom moved with the controlled strength of a killer.

“What are your terms?” the Platinum said, his smooth baritone filling the underground chamber easily.

The arena was silent as the man spoke. Porkchop got the feeling he’d somewhat broken tradition, though he didn’t know if that was for taking the arena and issuing a challenge himself, or if it was for facing a Platinum at all. He didn’t particularly care either way, especially when he could see curiosity and interest in the eyes of the people who watched from the stands.

Above all, Porkchop wanted to know how Angstrom had earned his Goldname. Did he break so many swords that the name had stuck, or had he killed enough with a sword to fill a graveyard? Either way, he couldn’t wait to find out!

“You get five hits, I win if I'm still standing.”

“I will avoid the head.”

The Platinum immolated. Porkchop had none of the acuity that his friends had for mana, but even to his natural manasight, Angstrom glowed like the midday sun. It flowed with the violence of a landslide, a wave that crashed as the Platinum brought both of his palms together.

Liquid steel boiled in the man’s grip, and he thrust his hand into the orange mass — and drew out a blade. It was monolithic in its construction, built entirely from steaming metal with a broad, cutting edge that looked closer to a cleaver to Porkchop’s untrained eye.

A crackle filled the air as the glowing blade cooled, the faint haze around its edge vanishing. Mana pulsed again, and the sword floated from between Angstrom’s hands to hover just behind his shoulder.

Again, the man thrust his hand into the glob of molten steel and screaming mana that hovered in front of him, pulling free another blade. This one was long and slender, with barely any edge at all — though it came to an almost needle-fine point. Then came a longsword, close to Kaius’s own, if a little shorter. After that was a hewing blade with an exaggerated curve — before finally the man drew an immense greatsword. Nearly a full handspan wide, it lacked a tip entirely, and its cleaving edge started a full stride up the blade.

As every blade emerged, Porkchop grew ever hungrier. The man’s style was interesting — but this was only a tantalising hint. There had to be some reason or advantage to using multiple of the weapons over using an artefact, or even simply a skill dedicated to creating one, potent weapon. One by one, the swords floated up, fanning out behind Angstrom like a killing halo.

…

Angstrom stared at the hulking creature, with his slab-like heavy plate and demonically wrought helm. With every sword he had pulled from Killing Field of the Shattered and Broken, Porkchop visibly vibrated.

Common thought told him that no matter their advantages, a Silver could not survive a Platinum's wrath. Common thought died when that team walked into the room. Its corpse had been strung up and defiled when Kaius had severed Ivar’s spine.

He felt the impossible density of the meles aura, flaring heavier and heavier as Porkchop shuffled impatiently. Even without the impossibility of the Silvers achievements, Angstrom would have had to be a fool to ignore the simple physical potency of his opponent. He was a greater beast, garbed in enough orichalchum to crush most men outright, yet he bore it like it was simple hunting leathers.

What in the hells had Rieker fed these freaks? They seemed to breathe life and death battle, and sup on the very idea of violence!

Yet the fact they were monsters worried him little. Far more frightening was how clear it was that this team were the heralds of a new dawn. He eyed the waiting slab of excitement and aggression, feeling the rumble in his chest as Porkchop let out another unconscious growl. This was what the System wanted for its new age. It was hard to deny that currently, very few of the old guard matched up.

And yet… the monster in front of him was still a boy, and Silver at that. Angstrom reached back and grabbed the haft of the falchion floating behind him. Perhaps he best go easy — it would be uncouth to bully the youth at his age.

Gold and green eyes tore into his own, burning with a bright delight and excitement as he flourished his blade with a quick spin.

Angstrom paused, reconsidering.

No, he would not disrespect someone so dedicated to their art. Today he greeted the dawn, and he would do so with open arms.

Shifting his weight onto his back foot, Angstrom crouched low. Stamina danced to his touch, pulsing to the beat of a wardrum as he graced it with the touch of martial and war affinities. It whipped through him in a constant cycle, flowing through his sword in a complex and well controlled net. Platinum might surged out in a wave, carrying the cold touch of the grave — but there was no sound or glow. A blademaster was many things, but wasteful of their energy was not one of them.

Ahead of him, there was only the target — an indomitable statue that dug his claws in deep.

“I come.”

Angstrom exploded forward, Third Movement: Storm Assault, Shattering Vivisection crackling along the edge of his cleaving sword. He could already hear and feel the crunch of the spreading fractures working their way through his weapon.

Steel and orichalcum met in a twin scream. His blade disintegrated in his hands, cutting shards guided by his skill to continue their advance through fractured plate to rip through the flesh beneath.

A wet deluge swallowed him, and Angstrom tasted iron.

His opponents gargled rhythmically as he withdrew. There was a colossal rent in Porkchop’s chest, and his cleave had shattered the Silvers breastplate. But the meat boiled, closing before his very eyes — and the gargle cleared into a delighted growl.

“I stand strong! Again!”

Other than his summoned armour, the Silver hadn’t used a Skill. A new dawn indeed.

Angstrom reached for his next blade.