by Ryan DeBruyn
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Azrael removed a hand from his sword and slapped his injured palm onto Gurg’s chest. He shouted, “Soul Release!” and his Soul Storage emptied a Soul Strike with ten charges.
A bass drum boomed following a massive shrieking crash, and Azrael stood eye to chest with Gurg. Slowly Azrael saw one arm of the giant fall limply to its side, then the other. Azrael glanced up and pulled his hand back. Gurg crumpled to its knees, and Azrael could see a hand-sized hole in the giant’s chest.
He backpedaled, realizing its upper body was going to collapse on top of him. His rush landed him on his rear end, where he continued to crab away from his deceased foe.
With a thundering crash and spray of sand, the heartless corpse fell the rest of the way to lie face down mere inches from Azrael’s scrambling feet. He stood slowly and dusted himself off. He couldn’t tell what was missing, but then heard the absence of the fighting. He glanced at Gurg’s back and saw it was entirely gone. His eyes tracked up from the creature and saw a swath of destruction with numerous dead or dying strewn around it.
Leading away from Gurg’s body were ten neat grooves in the sand. Almost like a massive creature had dragged claws through the Coliseum for fifty feet. The claws had sliced through anything in their path, and in some cases sprayed the corpse in all directions. Azrael swallowed his rising bile and looked up at the scoreboard. ‘225 Combatants Remaining.’
Some sort of forcefield separated the crowd from the fighting. Behind it the crowd was animated and clearly loud. In here? He couldn’t hear them.
The fighting resumed, so much louder after the silence. Azrael surveyed his safe zone and found a few individuals had chosen to inch along the wall into it. They hurriedly retreated under his scrutiny. He found Bat, leaning against the wall and shaking in the middle of that zone. Bat’s arms raised into a mockery of a combat stance.
Instantly, Azrael felt sick of killing. This creature wasn’t a threat, and he didn’t need the tiny amount of Etherience from it. He surveyed his surroundings to ensure he wouldn’t be attacked, scratched his head, and walked over to the sorry excuse for a combatant.
“What’s your story, Bat?” His approach went unnoticed in the din of the combat and Bat jumped.
Bat tried to orient its pathetic combat stance towards Azrael as it offered, “I am a powerful warrior! If you come close to me, I will eviscerate you. Don’t let my lack of eyes fool you. I have other methods of sight.”
Azrael felt his tension break slightly as he chuckled and retorted. “I heard you this morning in your cell. You can only see five-feet around you, and probably not at all in this ruckus.”
Bat’s head fell, and its ears twitched. After a few moments its head came back up. “You aren’t planning to kill me?”
Azrael glanced at the screen. It would be a waste at this point. This pathetic creature barely held any Etherience for him. It had suffered under Torin’s abuse as well. Perhaps he was feeling a warped comradery because of that? Either way he had no desire to kill the creature. “Nope, not today. Don’t worry Bat, after only ten more people die, we are both going to walk out of here. Care to tell me what race you are, at least?”
Bat licked his lips, seeming to hesitate before he said, “I’m a batman!”
Suddenly the noise of the crowd bounced over the sand, deafening Azrael. Bat seemed to almost go catatonic. “Congratulations to the victors. Collect your loot and exit the arena.”
Azrael stored his sword into his ring and then froze; he had forgotten about loot. In a panic, he rushed from corpse to corpse. For the most part, the individuals he killed had nothing of value on them, but he shoved everything into his ring to sort through later.
His storage ring gave him a unique advantage when it came to his sword. The guards might want to take the sword from him for example. But because they wouldn’t know about the storage device, they would likely jump to the conclusion that it was a Soul Blade. The ring’s Soulbound nature made it even more impressive, as people couldn’t take the ring from him unless he died.
He thought about the powerful item and even had a fleeting thought of thanks for his father. All the loot and his sword wouldn’t be taken away today...
After he finished looting, he moved toward the exit with a glance behind him. Bat stood against the wall, slowly inching along it. He closed his eyes, and sighed. He moved to assist the batman. He announced his intention before guiding Bat below into the staging area. Once they were out of the ramp, Bat began to walk more confidently. Azrael let go of his hand after a time and looked around at the two-hundred other survivors.
His eyes immediately met Jophi, who looked back at him. She made a motion at her hand and then symbolized an explosion. Azrael pursed his lips, still not sure who she had been talking to before the combat began. He gave her a shrug and continued to inspect the room. Verimy gave him a quick thumbs up from the grate before he got escorted out of the gallery with the other combatants that had been watching the melee.
Within a few minutes, every exit door opened, and arena guards streamed in. Azrael waited for instructions. A moment was all it took, and someone shouted, “Everyone stays still and waits to be collected by a handler!”
Azrael glanced around to see Torin striding angrily towards him. He groaned, the anger on the orc’s face promised punishment but also forced Azrael to hide a smile. He had wished to see this expression after all. Small victories...
The warrior punched him in the side, which broke a few ribs. Torin hissed, “You lost me my pay, noobie!” He looped the rope over Azrael’s neck and began dragging him across the stone ground. Azrael attempted to get to his feet, but each time he tried, a particularly angry tug laid him out.
By the time Azrael made it to his cell, he had fourteen health points remaining and a laundry list of debuffs. Torin, who hadn’t spoken once, shouted, “Your injuries from the combat prevent you from having lunch!” He then slammed the cell door and spat on Azrael, adding further insult to the injuries.
Azrael let his smile show then. Small victories...
Chapter Eighteen
The full night of training, intense battle, atrocious food, and Torin’s abuse combined to drop Azrael into unconsciousness. He would have slept through dinner if Bat hadn’t shouted, “There is someone still in his cell!”
Azrael started awake, sweating and hot. He had the wherewithal to grab a set of bloodied clothing from his ring and change. The clothing was missing a sleeve and he assumed it was from the tiger beastkin he had disarmed.
He stumbled out to join the line of prisoners. Torin scowled at his appearance from the second floor, where he was checking and closing each cell. Azrael breathed a sigh of relief and wiped his forehead with his forearm. It came away very wet and he checked his debuff bar. He was running a high fever and hadn’t eaten enough food. Bat was about ten people in front of Azrael, and he nodded exuberantly when Azrael joined the line.
Glad I saved that particular pawn. He may have just saved my life.
He squinted and checked distances as they stood to wait for the line to start moving. Based on Azrael’s assessment, Bat had increased his range on Sonar quite drastically. Azrael currently stood over fifteen feet away, and his cell probably doubled that distance.
The evidence of Bat’s increase reminded Azrael to look through his notifications.
Azrael Level 15
Class: Revenant
Class Skills: Soul Strike (V), Soul Cloak (V), Soul Storage (II)
Health Points = 135/270 Points (-50% Fever)
Ether Pool = 80/160 Points (-50% Fever)
You have 3 stat points and 3 skill points to distribute.
Stamina – 27 (-13.5 Fever)
Strength – 19 (-9.5 Fever)
Agility – 29 (-14.5 Fever)
Dexterity – 30 (-15 Fever)
Intelligence – 16 (-8 Fever)
Wisdom – 16 (-8 Fever)
Charisma – 16 (-8 Fever)
Luck – 12
Skills:
>
Analyze – Moderate 28
Combatant – Moderate 29
Endurance – Moderate 16
Martial Arts – Strong 38
Obfuscate – Strong 3
Sneak – Weak 18
Swordsmanship – Greater 15
Tracking – Weak 12
Three levels—how many combatants had his stored Soul Strike killed? He placed his new skill points into Soul Storage and unveiled the fourth tier of skills.
Despite the heat radiating off his skin and feeling extremely weak, Azrael felt a flutter in his stomach. Soul Storage upgraded and gained the ability to have two attacks stored within. This miraculous change in his skill tree sure seemed powerful. He would immediately refill his trump card when he returned to his cell. The talent had saved his life against the rock giant, after all. But now with two slots, it would probably be good to have some versatility.
Tier 4 Skills
Bloodletting
● Widen a wound, while simultaneously preventing most healing from taking hold. This Skill will increase damage dealt when blood is drawn by 20% and add a bleeding debuff stacking 20% of the initial damage every three seconds until the wound closes.
Passive Skill gained at 1/5, “Bloodletter.”
0/5
--
Soul Siphon
● Successful attacks return a small portion of Ether and power to the user. This Skill will return 1% of the opponent’s maximum Ether Pool to the attacker and transfer 1% of the user’s statistic points. The buff is stackable up to five times.
Passive Skill gained at 1/5, “Soul Steal.”
0/5
He didn’t have skill points to place. So, he put off making a decision on what to pick for later. He tried to subdue a round of coughing but failed. He should stop hoping for a Soul Blade skill. He recalled the unrivaled pain he had felt when he realized he wouldn’t get the Sovereign class. This fever paled in comparison to that disappointment, and each time the Fog of Discovery rolled back, he felt a muted pang of that same anguish.
He finally managed to control his coughing, and he checked through his final notifications. Azrael found where a large amount of that Etherience came from. To his surprise, he had been given and completed another quest!
Congratulations! You have completed a quest.
Dungeon Quest
Survival Quest
Battle Royale
● Azrael, you are one of the surviving members of the Battle Royale. The TechNet system realizes that you had no say in participating, but since you made it to the final 200 living participants, you will be rewarded.
Rewards:
200,000 Etherience
Advancement to Initiate Combatant
--
Summary of Etherience from recent kills:
44 kills. 252,312 Etherience rewarded.
305,688 remaining until level 16.
He couldn’t recall how many cowering combatants he had dispatched, but knew that it wouldn’t be over fifteen. His ten stacked Soul Strike had killed at least thirty combatants. For some reason, he was instantly glad Jophi hadn’t been in the path. He quashed the strange bubbly feeling in his chest. She likely had betrayed him to that guard anyway.
Does it matter? Oberan already knows you are a Sovereign Son.
The line started moving, and Azrael closed his windows. He kept his eyes forward and wobbled along as best he could. He wasn’t going to miss food again if he could help it. Torin was stationed at the door, and Azrael narrowed his eyes, thinking sluggishly for a way to avoid the stupid orc. Obviously, he came up with nothing.
With his stats impaired, it was like his head was stuffed with cotton wads. Inspiration finally struck as he tried to force his feet onto a straight line.
He activated his Soul Cloak skill and instantly felt the combatants behind and in front of him encroaching on the zone. He thought he felt the bright green Martian in front of him stumble and could time the combatant’s foot scuffs behind him with the image of the creature in his mind.
Torin made disgusting throaty noises, warning Azrael of the incoming spit wad. He swayed instinctively and almost fell as he bumped into the wall. He need not have bothered with the sway. Soul Cloak actually adjusted the course of the mucus projectile, causing it to miss by more than a foot.
So, it did adjust the ant’s strikes in combat!
He steadied himself on the wall and got back into line before he disrupted the flow. He watched the mucus drip down the wall with satisfaction. He could feel a continued glare from the toad as he hobbled away. It was a small victory, but only his second against the guard. He released his skill and followed the others, his fever feeling slightly better. Despite the debuff telling him it wasn’t.
Tonight, they were brought to a vast dining hall instead of the cafeteria of their morning meal. Many tables spanned the floor in a tiered system, and each tier had a decor. It was like the arena seating all over again. The highest raised tier had a single table, made of shining, well-polished, dark wood. The piece was surrounded by individual chairs that were closer to thrones.
The sapients around this single table helped themselves to monstrous platters that littered the center of the polished wood. Octorian stared despondently at his plate. Picking at his food with a lackluster energy, Azrael could only describe the man’s demeanor as a death row inmate. Other individuals from a multitude of races were talking jovially as they ate. Azrael recognized most of them from posters in the antechamber before the Battle Royale. They all contrasted Octorian’s mood like marble to obsidian.
Azrael clutched his bicep and flexed as his body shivered. Ogma sat sullenly amongst them. He, like Octorian, stood out. Ogma’s shoulders were slumped and his plate was empty. His eyes were fixed on someone Azrael couldn’t see in the crowd. He jerked his eyes away from the Firbolg as he felt waves of ice shoot over his shoulders.
I can’t believe he just let himself and us be captured!
Just below that, on the second highest tier, were beautiful wooden tables that still shone but looked less vibrant to Azrael’s eye. The individuals at these tables looked healthy and happy but didn’t converse with their neighbors. No, there was a subtle hostility in the air around each person on this tier. A space around each person eating. Every so often a set of eyes would shoot up to the head table, glaring with hate and jealousy. There were no platters on this tier, and Azrael had to assume the people upon it had gotten their own food before sitting to eat. Still, the food looked delicious and Azrael’s mouth watered.
On the third highest tier sat wooden tables and benches that were stained and cracking. This group avoided looking at any of the higher tiers as if the people there would take offense. Instead, the hateful glances were at the lineup. Azrael could feel the individuals on the third highest tier sizing him up. Based on the height, decor, and those hateful stares, he assumed these were one step up from his current initiate status. The food on the third tier was still delectable but the portions seemed smaller.
At ground level, metal tables formed long, segmented seating and two long metal benches were snuggled along the sides. This lowest tier took up most of the room’s floor. The setup of the room told him how few made it through the Combatant ranks. The most bedraggled of the room’s occupants sat on the benches of this lowest tier. These individuals didn’t meet eyes with anyone and ate hurriedly, like they worried someone would take what little food they had.
Another lesson that Azrael chose to learn as he watched them.
The portions on this bottom tier were the smallest by far and looked like they would barely satisfy a child.
He felt his stomach growl hungrily when the chef slopped a mixture of potatoes, meat, vegetables, and gravy onto his tray. He hadn’t gotten a good look at what people were eating on the lowest tier, but this was a far better fare than he had expected. The portion size was small, but at this point he would take any food he could get. Especially if it looked this good!
There was
no cutlery in sight. He hurried to a seat beside Bat, and prepared to devour the small portion of food with his hands.
Azrael began shoveling the food into his mouth, using his dirty fingers and saw Bat not following his lead. Mouth full, he sprayed, “Eat, Bat. Or someone will come to steal—”
His heart stopped as a tray slammed down, cutting his instructions off. He looked up to meet Jophi’s eyes and he narrowed his. But continued to wolf down his meal. He couldn’t afford not to eat every morsel of this tiny meal. He needed to regain some strength. Especially with his fever and lack of lunch.
Eventually he gave up the glare to focus more on his slop. His dish was empty with a few remnants clinging to the sides. He began cleaning it as best he could, not wanting a single scrap to go to waste. No debuff for bad food showed up this time, and he breathed a thankful sigh.
In fact, he noticed that his Fever debuff had decreased and was about to elapse, thanks to the meal.
Bat had commenced eating once Jophi sat down and finished his own meal a few heartbeats after Azrael. Jophi ate a bit more daintily. No one assaulted her for her food, but a few did eye it. Azrael wasn’t sure if it was her beauty or if Ogma’s constant stare kept the would-be thieves at bay. At least he knew who Ogma had been staring at in the crowd earlier.
Once she finished eating, she leaned forward and whispered, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us your heritage and now I am stuck competing to survive!”
Azrael blinked and saw Bat’s ears begin twitching animatedly. He met her eyes. “I already told you that this was going to happen with or without me. Also,” he looked around meaningfully, “not exactly the best place to bring up those sorts of things.”
Bat didn’t say anything, but Azrael could feel his attention. Clearly, his sensitive ears could pick up Jophi’s whisper. Azrael hadn’t noticed anyone else react, but luckily, she hadn’t let slip anything either. At least, not yet.
Jophi clenched her jaw, not liking being rebuked. Then she shook her head and conversationally added, “Everyone is talking about the Guild’s campaign against the Sovereign Empire. In fact, most of the people on Tech Duinn are captured serfs from recently-conquered worlds.”