Enmity of Atlas

Leo’s eyes widened in fear, his mind suddenly snapping back into place at the words. The man looked down at them, his smile widening.

“Oh is it not beautiful!?” He cried out, “their corpses sing such a wonderful melody! I would cry if I still had the tears to shed. Whoever has lulled these sweet children to sleep has my humblest gratitude! Tonight’s slaughter has stricken the very heavens with awe. And now, the capstone, the finale, the zenith to this perfect moment, will be your fresh blood!”

The man pounced, drawing a longsword to his right hand, the blade already drenched in boiling blood. The man was fast, unnaturally fast, as if his entire body was lit ablaze with a great boiling fervor. Had Trenton faced him a month ago, almost assuredly he would’ve stood no chance, but now, he was prepared. No matter what stood before him, yielding was not an option. Trenton summoned his warhammer, now perfectly shaped, and hoisted it high over his head.

Too Slow

The man was already on top of him, his sword poised to strike straight through Trenton’s chest. With his current position, his arms aloft above his head, trying desperately to move the large hunk of stone down, he had no means of defense or movement. Just as the man's blade made contact with Trenton’s chest, exactly where his core would be, Trenton let go of his hammer, quickly pivoting his body left, causing the longsword to skid across the surface of his chest. The cut was deep, and stung like hell, but it was more than manageable. The man twisted his face to the side, staring wide eyed at Trenton’s fist barreling towards his head.

Strike

Just like he had done against Walibeld, Trenton used the momentum from turning his body to empower a blow, this one landing cleanly against the man's skull, a satisfying crunch sounding out upon impact. The man was sent sprawling backwards, quickly rolling over his shoulder to get back to his feet. He was experienced, and knew not to sit still for too long. But Trenton was already on him. Trenton grabbed his hammer, launching himself to the side without a moment's hesitation as the man scrabbled to his feet. The man staggered madly backwards, parrying and deflecting what spare blows he could, and using his superior speed to avoid the rest. Even injured, the man was slowly gaining distance.

The man backpedaled into a narrow alley, weaving his way around the falling rubble from the two burning buildings overhead, his smile wide. Was he enjoying this? Trenton pursued, pushing the man further back, now jumping over and around burning pieces of stone. He just needed to close the distance. Using magic was too risky in such a confined space. If the buildings collapsed, he’d kill both of them in one fell swoop. He just needed to-the man raised his right hand, now having put some distance between the two of them, and it began to glow with a brilliant arcane red. Fire!? A blood crazed shouldn’t have any magic.

Trenton slammed his foot into the ground, forcing a wall of stone made of the paved street to interject itself in between himself and the man’s attack, but it wasn’t nearly enough. A great fireball, its dazzling light blinding Trenton, easily blew past his stone wall. Trenton was knocked backwards onto his back front the sheer force of the blow, the searing agony of the fire causing his skin to crack and blister–melt and break. As the heat burrowed into every fiber of his being, flaying his skin from his body, he began to lose sense of who or where he was.

Focus

Trenton’s eyes shot open, the fire now dispersed. Above him, similar to Aria, a large piece of rubble easily big enough to crush his body broke loose from the adjacent building, the wind whistling as it tore through the air towards him. But this time, Trenton saw it. He was prepared. Pushing through the anguish of his broken body, Trenton flipped backwards over his shoulder, his feet against the ground propelling him in an awkward sort of sliding backflip. The stone slammed into the ground, its weight cracking the ground where Trenton was just lying and sundering the hunk into two massive chunks of stone. Trenton no longer had his hammer, the fire presumably having obliterated it completely, but he still had his body. A ways in front of him, now in a little square where they could move about more freely, Leo and the man were dueling, Leo barely managing to hold his own. His form was all off, sloppy, jerky–no precision. He was losing his calm. Trenton ran forward, twisting his body to put all of his might into one great palm strike against the stone. It was much larger than he should’ve been able to move, easily twice the size of his body, but he didn’t care. He had to try. It had to work.

Yield

Trenton, focusing all of his presence into his arm and legs, slammed his arm against the red hot hunk of stone, ignoring the sizzling of the flesh on his hand, and pushed. The stone, sliding across the ground at an astonishing speed, nearly catching the air as it went, broke through the alley, launching directly at the man, who was holding his blade high for a finishing blow against Leo. He whipped his head to the side, suddenly noticing the attack, but it was far too late.

The stone plowed into the man's body, his left shoulder snapping like a little twig under the might of the great boulder. The rock slid another 30 feet, still carrying enough momentum to send both itself and the man through the crumbling wall of another burning building, which promptly collapsed in on itself, the sudden shock obliterating what few supports had remained. Trenton limped forward, the pain of his injuries now getting to him, meeting up with Leo who was laying on the ground in a bloody heap, his sword next to him still glowing with a faint flame. Oh gods. Still holding onto his sword, Leo’s entire right hand, severed just below the wrist, sat there, a foot away from the rest of his body.

“LEO! LEO, LOOK AT ME!” Trenton shouted, picking up Leo’s head to face him. Leo’s eyes fluttered open, his eyes rolling around. He was barely conscious, but still conscious. “Leo, you need to cauterize the wound. We can fix it later, but if you don’t stem the bleeding, you’ll bleed out before-” Leo’s head fell limp, his breathing growing fainter by the second.

If Leo wasn’t conscious, then he couldn’t even focus his presence to slow his bleeding. And sure enough, the moment his head fell limp, blood began gushing out of Leo’s wounds at double the speed, a pool of blood quickly forming beneath both of them. Trenton summoned some spare healing clay Walibeld had given him and mashed it into Leo’s wounds. If Leo wasn’t awake to do it, then Trenton would have to make do with whatever he had on hand. Trenton twisted his whole body to look for anything to cauterize Leo’s hand with. There.

This fire, for whatever reason, was able to burn stone fairly easily, so even though there wasn’t a lot of wood, the fire raged on all around them. Trenton grabbed a chunk of stone the size of his left hand, gritting his teeth as it burned his flesh, and pressed it against the stump on Leo’s right arm. He held it there for a minute, Leo spasming in pain as the stone melted his flesh into one coagulated mass. It was a poor fix, but it would have to work.

Leo lied there, his breaths shallow, his heart beating faintly, his eyes fluttering. He was alive, but only barely. Were he not so durable, he probably would’ve died when Trenton tried to close the wound. Trenton grabbed Leo’s right hand and sword, stowing them away in his invisible storage. To reattach a limb, it required the original limb and a powerful druid. It was a task much easier said than done, but keeping the limb was the hardest part. With it safely stowed away, Trenton could fix this. He could save Leo.

Suddenly, from the burning building in front of them, the man burst forward, madly driving himself through the flames to re-enter the square. His face was contorted into a furious glare, most of his body blackened or burning, his left arm completely ripped off. The only thing that was left of the limb was mangled bits of dangling flesh and bone hanging from the man's left shoulder, a rather visceral sight. Trenton got up, staggering in front of Leo to protect him. The man was no longer holding his blade, which meant it was fisticuffs from here on. The man dashed forward, somehow even faster than before, adrenaline and rage pumping through his boiling veins. He was practically a blur as Trenton’s eyes strained to focus on his position. He grabbed Trenton by the throat, squeezing and picking him up.

“You little shit,” the man spat out, a viscous bile in his voice.

Trenton clawed at his throat, trying desperately to free himself from the man's clutches, but he was losing strength by the second, his vision slowly fading to black as the man shook him. Most anyone else at this point might’ve considered retreat, missing their entire arm, bleeding profusely, and severely burned, but not a blood crazed. They would fight until the very last.

Fight

Trenton dug his fingers into his own neck, burying through the skin to get under the man's fingers. Ever so slowly, summoning impossible strength, Trenton pried him, kicking against his body to dislodge himself from the man’s clutches. Trenton slammed hard onto his left shoulder, stray shards of bone tearing through the muscles in his left arm. Trenton staggered to his feet, his arms limp by his side.

The man took one powerful step forward and slammed his foot into Trenton’s left side, twisting and sending Trenton away from Leo’s body towards a section of the city that wasn’t burning. Trenton felt the already weakened bone in his left arm break from the impact, the joint twisting the wrong direction as his entire body ragdolled across the ground towards the edge of the square. He tried to get back to his feet, but the man was already on him again.

This time, the man rammed his foot into Trenton’s stomach, pushing him up as well as out, sending Trenton’s body sailing dozens of feet into the air. Trenton’s head clipped on the edge of a roof, his body curling inwards and rolling over itself to come to a stop atop a slightly slanted shingled roof. His whole body ached, and blood burst from every seam, but he couldn’t afford to die here. Using his right arm, his legs, and all the power left in his core, he rose to his feet, his whole body shaking violently. Even as blood seeped into his right eye, he focused, seeing only the enemy before him. Across the way, at the other end of the quite long roof, the man stood, slowly trudging towards Trenton, his movements now sluggish and weak.

Trenton started to backpedal, risking toppling over with every step he took. The man quickly closed the distance and swung numbly at Trenton who barely dodged. Even slowed down, the man was still unbelievably quick. They twisted around each other in interlocked combat, Trenton pushed back to a completely defensive state. Even as the man began practically pouncing on him, Trenton used whatever he could muster to swing himself out of the way, jumping or ducking the man’s attacks. He used his still functioning forearm to block some of the man's blows, one’s he couldn’t dodge, but their weight alone caused his arm to begin creaking. He wouldn’t last much longer at this rate. Trenton glanced back for a moment, suddenly remembering that they’d been moving backwards this entire time. In fact, just as he had suspected, they were coming to the end of the roof. He needed to make a move.

Trenton pushed backwards harder now, gaining a bit of distance between him and the man, who redoubled his pursuit in response. Then, just as Trenton reached the edge, he lurched his whole body down, suddenly driving his momentum forward towards the man. He rammed his foot into the man's right ankle, ducking under a stray right hook, and drove his elbow into the man’s back, sending him toppling over the edge of the roof. Trenton leered over the edge, watching as the man’s body splattered against the ground 20 feet below, his blood spraying every which direction.

It’s not over yet

Any normal man would’ve been long dead. But this was no normal man. This was a blood crazed, a maniacal murderer focused only on the kill before him. Trenton watched as the man slowly shifted his body, moving his right arm under his body to push himself to his feet. Without a moment's hesitation, Trenton hooked his foot under the edge of the roof, angling his body downward towards the man, and leapt, bursting forward with both his own strength and the power of gravity. Trenton slammed into the man’s quivering form, using his already broken left arm to shoulder bash the stranger into oblivion, nearly everything within his body shattering upon impact. But even still, bloodied, broken, weak, Trenton refused to give in. He would have the better of any bodily injury if it meant victory–if it meant life.

Trenton planted his feet into the ground and began to beat down on the man. Again, and again, and again he slammed his fist into the man’s already limp body, rejoicing in the give of the man's bones, relishing in the sound of the man's organs rupturing. When he was done, nearly a full minute later, the man beneath him was practically a pile of red paste, Trenton’s right involuntarily spasming from the time spent wailing against the corpse. The man was dead the moment Trenton hit him with his own body, but he didn’t dare relent until he was certain it was over.

Trenton stood straight, staring at his hand completely coated in the man's blood. He had just killed a man, savaged his corpse until nothing remained. And…it felt good. He didn’t have the sick, perverted joy that a psychopath would get from killing, rather the relief that the threat was over, that the danger was past, one way or another. It was necessary, of course, the death of this man. But was it truly? Surely someone would miss this man. Someone loved him. Someone would cry themselves to sleep in his absence. Trenton looked down at the body, lamenting over his actions. What had he done?

Suddenly, he noticed something that he hadn’t seen before. On the man's right hand, he was wearing a simple leather glove with a rune on the back of it. Of course, he should have realized. The glove was bloodied and battered, but he could easily tell it was a magical implement. Specifically, this was a device that allowed even someone without magic to cast–fire in this case. The only problem was that these devices typically had very limited charges, and once they ran out of power, they’d be completely useless. But it looked like the glove still had some power left within it, the rune shining with an almost blinding orange glow. Trenton slipped the glove off of the man's broken hand, his swollen fingers twisted at odd angles. Trenton put the glove onto his right hand. It fit pretty snuggly, hugging his hand like it was made for him. Good to know. Trenton stowed it away in his invisible pocket, willing himself to remember that he had it tomorrow. Right now, he needed to focus.

Well Done