Soulweaver 62: Plan B (Patreon)

NOTE: This is the week of july 4th, and as such there will only be two soulweaver chapters and one Ashborn chapter this week. Since I am out on a trip, I am releasing all of the lower-tier chapters for the week now, for both fics.

Aerion appeared with the suddenness and ferocity of a rabid wolf. Forget reacting—her attack was so sudden that the brute didn’t even notice until she was ripping into him.

Her shortsword connected, slashed, came back around, struck again, then struck a third time. I saw the telltale green venom coating her blade, and boosted by her [Reave] bonus to Dominion, the brute stood no chance.

Or at least, that was what should have happened.

Instead, the huge man slowly turned to Aerion, baring his naked chest at her.

That was when I saw there was no blood. Barely even a cut on his skin.

I learned two very important things in that instant. One—we were fighting a Blessed or a Boonworthy, and two—this guy had some form of iron skin ability. Something that made him impervious to such damage.

But did that apply to his senses as well?

I grabbed my poleax and aimed it up at the man.

He noticed the gesture and turned to me, which handily presented his exposed face to the full brunt of [Skunky].

The man, it seemed, did not have any resistance to smell. At F - 4, it wasn’t especially powerful, but it didn’t need to be.

It forced the guy to jump back and wince, closing his eyes against the sudden smell. Time aplenty for Aerion to get a running start and drive her shortsword into him.

That worked. Whatever protection the thug had didn’t make him invulnerable. Her sword penetrated deeply, and once again, I saw the telltale flash of green.

I fired again the moment [Skunky]’s cooldown was over, but this time, the guy was ready for it. 

So was I. Since I lacked Aerion’s monstrous Dominion stat, I lunged up, driving the speartip of my ax into his armpit—a soft, vulnerable weak spot. I wouldn’t need as much strength.

Turned out I needed more than I had. The speartip penetrated the skin… but stopped barely an inch in.

Still facing Aerion, the man’s arm clamped down the moment it did, locking my weapon in place.

I pulled as hard as I could, but it wouldn’t budge. Only then did he turn his head toward me—to grin.

“Aerion! Shock!” I roared. I prayed that she could follow commands in her state.

My prayers were answered. The man went suddenly stiff, and my poleax came free.

Despite the narrow confines of the grungy alley, I swung the weapon, bringing it down for an overhead strike with every ounce of might I could muster.

Poleaxes were devastating weapons. There was the speartip on the end, but on the sides, near the tip, were two other weapons. An ax-head. And a hammer.

I knew how tough his skin was. But could he deal with blunt force trauma as well? Could he deal with a metal hammer hitting him at a hundred miles an hour?

The hammerhead collided with his skull, and I heard a sick, cracking noise as the thug went still.

Then, for the second time in as many minutes, I was sent falling to the ground.

I landed hard on my knees, ripping my leggings. I turned just in time to see Tarquin raising a gold-encrusted dagger with both hands high  above his head.

Desperately, I glanced around. My shield was out of reach. I couldn’t get to my poleax in time. Even if I did, the weapon was so large, it’d do me little good.

So I did the only other thing that came to mind.

I reached into my spatial inventory and pulled out my spiked mace.

The haft emerged just in time to block the slumlord’s strike. There wasn’t much weight behind it, but it’d have been more than enough to slit my neck.

I really needed better armor. And more weapons.

I kicked out, sweeping Tarquin and bringing him down, before getting to my feet.

I looked at Aerion and the thug. They were still going at it, which set off alarm bells in my head. Aerion couldn’t have much more Essence remaining. When it ran out…

We had to take this guy down fast. But first, I needed to ensure Tarquin wouldn’t skewer my back. Or run away, as I fully expected him to.

I didn’t really know how to knock someone out other than what I’d seen in movies, and maybe jamming my elbow down on the back of his neck wasn’t the safest or best way to ensure that, but his head hit the stone with a smack, and he went limp.

The moment, I whipped around, bringing my spiked mace to bear. The smaller weapon was much easier to wield than my poleax in this confined space. I only hope it would do the job.

To make this work, I had one chance, and one chance only—I had to make full use of its ability.

“Aerion! Shock!” I roared. She didn’t reply, but a moment later, the big man stumbled just before his fist smashed into Aerion’s cheek, sending her spinning.

I winced for my friend, but I was already committed—with a running start, I jumped and struck the man with my full strength, just as [Bleed] activated.  

Again, my mace failed to penetrate very far, but thanks to the nature of the ability, it didn’t have to. Even the small wounds inflicted by a handful of the spikes grew, making the man bleed.

Whatever Boon or Blessing this guy had, it seemed to do nothing for the pain. He roared in agony, whipping around to face me, but instead, his fist caught the head of my mace.

Once again, it punctured his skin, and if I wasn’t mistaken, his movements were slower than what I remembered at the beginning of the fight.

Was he getting tired? No, that didn’t seem likely. Then I remembered Aerion’s [Venom Strike]. While she hadn’t gotten too many strikes in, the effects were definitely beginning to show.

And with my Steel Mace’s [Bleed] effects, the effect on the man’s body compounded. I flung the mace wildly, and I was sure the only reason I hadn’t been knocked out yet was thanks to the alley’s narrow confines. With his big frame, the thug had a hard time moving, while I didn’t care if my mace clanged off the stone walls, careening every which direction without even an morself of skill.

It was still deadly, and though it may not be able to inflict a lethal wound, it could still hurt him.

Meanwhile Aerion pummeled him from the other side, adding more strikes that dealt venom into his body. I hoped she had the awareness to target open wounds like I was doing. Each time I landed a proper hit, the man jolted back in pain.

“Aerion!” I roared. “Shock!”

I timed my strike to land just as Aerion activated her Blessing… Except instead of the man jolting in pain, I heard a soft thud from the other side.

The tuft of platinum blonde on the ground confirmed it.

Oh, no…

Aerion had reached her limit. She was now unconscious and helpless, leaving me to deal with this brute alone.

The tide of the battle shifted immediately. With only one opponent to deal with, the man pushed me further and further down the alley.

Worse—I was getting winded. That I’d been able to stay in the fight this long was a miracle brought about by all those Vigor stats I’d recently gained, but I was now at my limit. Despite inflicting over a dozen small, bleeding wounds, the man kept coming.

If anything, the energy behind his strikes increased.

It was only a matter of time until I took a blow that I couldn’t block.

The man’s fist slipped past my weapon and smashed into my chin.

I honestly don’t know what happened next, but when I came to, I was dangling in midair, my feet high off the ground.

My hands reached for my throat, only to find it wrapped in the bastard’s massive fists. He was choking me out.

I gasped for air, flailing desperately. My mace was gone. I was unarmed, and there was nothing I could do.

Nothing… except for one, last-ditch attempt.

Sucking in all the air my constricted airways could pull, I mustered all the energy I had left, and committed the most heinous act imaginable. 

I kicked the guy’s nuts.

Aside from a grunt, the man didn’t react a bit. His grip around my throat didn’t even loosen. Either he had balls of steel, or an ability that granted some similar effect.

Just my luck to fight a man with armored cojones. That was okay. I still had Plan B.

“HEEEEELP!”

Darkness encroached the corners of my vision. What little air I had in my lungs was gone after my cry for help.

Now… Now, it was a race against time. I knew the area was crawling with guards. Only question was—would they get to me in time? Or would I suffocate?

I looked back at the man, who grinned sadistically at my plight.

“Gave me quite a bit of trouble, there, you little shit. Now look at you. Red-faced, about to die. Pathetic,” he said, drawing out each syllable of the word.

I was about to respond with some witty remark when I gagged. I just didn’t have enough air in my lungs.

So I did the next best thing. I summoned up all the saliva I could, and spit—right into his face.

Hope you get conjunctivitis, you little fuck. 

With both of his arms around my neck, he couldn’t wipe it away. Now, it was my turn to grin. My last little victory.

But it wasn’t the last of my pain. Just before I blacked out, my shoulder ripped with agony. 

I couldn’t figure out what had happened. How could my arm have been injured? He was holding my throat with both hands!

I looked up. He’d dropped me. And now, he was on his knees. Hands behind his head. Staring into the distance.

At the legion of armored soldiers who stood a hundred feet away, at the end of the alley.

Tarquin shouted something, but I was too far gone to make out his words. I was barely conscious as it was.

That didn’t matter. The sound of metal boots on stone was growing steadily louder. The cavalry had arrived. And apparently so had the apocalypse.

Because when I looked up, the sky was on fire.

 — — 

Some indeterminate amount of time later, my vision came back, but from how groggy I felt, it’d been awhile. I was sitting against the wall of the alley. Aerion was missing, and shouts and screams of terror echoed through the streets, and it sounded like they came from everywhere.

An earthquake shook the ground, and I heard the sound of glass breaking.

The hell was going on?

I rubbed my eyes. My whole body hurt and it was hard to breathe. Then a voice cut through the pain like a knife. A friendly voice that felt so familiar.

“Hail, friend! You look like shit.”

I looked up, my oxygen-deprived brain struggling to make heads or tails of the man in plate armor who stared down at me.

He was City Guard—that much was obvious, but the details of his face were hidden under his helmet.

“I’m sorry…” I slurred, frowning up at him. I definitely had a concussion. “Do… Do I know you?”

“Ah, yes, the helm,” the man said, pulling off his metal, full-face helmet.

I blinked. No. My brain had to be playing tricks on me. It couldn’t be. Could it?

“Philip? The hell are you doing here?