Savage Awakening 326. The Festival of Might (V) (Patreon)

It felt like the fog in Zane's head was starting to burn away. His body was starting to feel good again too, tingling with pleasant, burning growing pains.

His body was nearing 100%—his muscles still full, pumping with blood, even though he was standing still. His wounds were healing well, leaving lines of phantom heat all over him.

He was ready to push himself again.

"This is your time, lad," said the Barbarian Sage, one hand on his shoulder. "It’s all about execution now."

Zane nodded.

The Heavenly Elephant, said the Sage, was no slouch when it came to durability either. But last time this event had been Zane’s finest showing.

89%…

There was a little haze of heat around Zane now, a crimson light steaming off his skin…

"Should I know what that's about?" said the Sage, frowning.

Zane explained—the notifications he'd seen, and the feelings lighting up his body.

The Sage blinked. "Huh."

The Sage wasn’t clear on what it meant either. But—

"I’ve heard of real strong Titles doing this sometimes," said the Sage, nodding. "Becoming one with Bloodline and body. Means you’re on your own path now. Could be something unique—something no one's ever seen before. You ever see when two stars collide, and make a new one that’s even brighter?"

Zane hadn’t seen that before, but he got the idea.

"It can only be a good thing," said the Sage cheerfully. "Whatever it is, important thing is—you’re healed, aren’t you?"

Zane nodded.

"Then you’re good to give it your all!"

Zane had had to go somewhere he’d rarely ever gone before to match Orin on the Lifting Stones. But Reina was quite convinced his endurance was his best attribute.

It would have to be enough.

***

"Next up—Orin Thunderfist!" cried the announcer.

Orin took the stage. The burning light in his eyes had never left. When he said he’d try harder, he’d meant it.

The next station was an enormous piston powered by a giant tank of liquefied Spirit Stones; it steamed and grumbled, pouring pure energy through a web of pipes. Leading straight into the crusher. It was large enough to crush houses—but the force going through it could crush a lot more than that. This thing could crush worlds.

It put the weight of the world on your shoulders. The Atlas Crucible.

"Disciple," roared the announcer. "Are you ready?!"

Orin gave a firm nod. He looked excited.

"Then drop the piston!"

It crashed over his shoulders. His knees nearly buckled at the effort, but he cried out, fought right back, and held. Purple veins stood out on his forehead as he battled the steel. One look at his face and you could tell he was trying ferociously hard. He was burning up too—burning with a massive amount of essence, pumping his body with as much as he could as he held against that apocalyptic weight…

At last, with a strangled cry, he dropped to a knee. Steaming all over.

"Thirty-nine seconds, under the weight of nine worlds!" said the announcer.

It was good for #8 all-time.

No one could even touch that score. Not Bol nor Viria, who managed #16 before collapsing.

Until Zane took the stage, that was.

Still—Zane knew, even for him, with the kind of form Orin was on—he’d be hard-pressed to match the man. Even if he gave it everything. Orin’s Bloodline—his Sacred Bone, and the level gap—they were all top-tier, and built to last.

But that was before the strange transformation in Zane’s body.

95%…

Zane stood.

Whatever this change was, it felt like it was only just beginning—like all that heat building within him was preparing. Holding for one explosive moment to come together.

But he was already starting to feel its effects. The way his Asura State had settled deep into his body—woven into his flesh and muscle and bone…

That fierce energy was leaving its mark on every cell.

It made him feel fully awake—beyond, even. Flush with raw power.

When he set his mind on a task, his body responded like never before.

He went up with confidence. Put himself under the piston. Set his jaw. And took the Trial’s best try.

An excruciating effort later, Zane collapsed.

With every major bone in his body shattered, every muscle torn…

But he’d gotten the job done.

"Th-thirty-nine seconds—under the weight of nine worlds!" gasped the announcer. "Zane Walker’s done it again—he’s tied Orin Thunderfist! These two generational talents are going toe-to-toe! Folks, that’s two ties, and one win to Orin… meaning this year’s Champion of the Festival of Might will all come down to one final event! In just an hour—don’t you miss it!"

***

The Barbarian Sage offered Zane a refreshing sip of Spirit Spring water after he dragged Zane off the stage, propped him up, and wiped the sweat and blood off.

By then Zane was mostly conscious again.

"Good effort!" said the Sage. "Breathe for me, lad—almost there!"

He reminded Zane a bit of a boxing trainer in the ninth round of a brutal fight. Trying to get his fighter through the finish.

"You can still win this thing, lad!" he said. "Keep heart! Put everything behind you now—two draws, and he’s got one win on you. All that means is you need to do damned well now in the Worldbreaker Hammer if you want to be the champ. Beat him here, and you’ll be tied—two draws, one win each."

"So to win on tiebreaks," said Zane. "I just need to do very well here."

"Yup."

"I can do that."

"That’s the spirit!"

He went to ruffle Zane’s head, then—"Hells! You’re smoking—how’s the progress?"

"I think," said Zane, looking down at his body—which had started to emanate a faint bloody light. "I’m about to change."

99%...

100%.

Transformation complete

Skills evolved!

Titan’s Body, First Form [Common (H)] + Asura Body [Signature] -> Asura Titan’s Body, First Form [Legendary (H)]

The Asura State has become one with the Titan’s Body. The vigor of the Titan Rhinoceros and the vitality of the Savage Sage are now one.

The powers of the Savage Sage, Primordial Berserker, the Origin Destroyer, flow through Zane Walker’s veins. He cannot be suppressed in body or soul; all stuns or sleep spells slough off him.

The more he burns his Bloodline and essence, the more his battle fervor grows, the greater his powers multiply. At its height, this state grants a threefold increase in raw power, regeneration, and essence regeneration.

Zane read it, blinking, then read it aloud to the Sage.

"Threefold?" said the Barbarian Sage. He whistled. "The best Title I ever heard of only goes up 50%—and that was only power!"

Zane nodded.

Then he saw the markings. Dark-red like dried blood, carving over his chest, his back, making winding runes. He wasn’t quite sure what they did. He did like the look and the feel of them. The latent aura emanating from them, though. Like seals holding in great power.

"Huh," said the Sage, inspecting him. He poked Zane on the chest, then grinned. "Neat! I like it. Not sure I ever saw runes quite like these, though."

Zane nodded. He was just about to explain more when the announcer piped up.

"Next up… Orin Thunderfist is challenging the Worldbreaker Hammer!"

The crowd broke out in deafening cheers.

Zane and the Sage looked over.

Orin stood before the platform, staring down that worn leather-bound handle. The head was as big as a small car, all dense black steel—a lifting stone unto itself.

Orin grasped it firmly with two hands. Let out a shallow breath.

And burst into action.

He lifted it like it weighed nothing at all. Ripped it clean off the ground, cranking it all the way back, making a crescent of huge tension with his massive body. And all the while Bloodline power built up in his limbs, bulging up his arms—

He let out a battle cry—teeth locked in a snarl, eyes shining with animal intensity. And the hammer burst through the air like a meteor.

BOOM!

A sound, a force so strong it sent vibrations jittering up the valley, trembling into the mountains all around them. A shockwave blasted through the Plaza—hitting all present—followed by a blast of gale-force winds, throwing belts and tankards of beer skyward. Shouts of surprise.

When it all settled, only a number was left on the gauge.

"12.6 AU!" said the announcer. Orin looked quite happy with that score.

They all turned to the steles and saw his name shooting past the top-20 all-time—the top-10—cementing Orin Thunderfist as the #8 strongest Minor God of all time.

"Freakish," said the Sage. "He’s not even a peak Minor God yet—nearly all of 'em folk ahead of him are in the 580s, 590s… that Orin’ll be a real force, and soon, I tell you."

He turned to Zane.

"Right. You about to show me what that new Skill of yours is all about?"

The Sage grinned. Zane nodded.

"Then you go knock 'em dead!"

Zane quite liked how the Sage went about things. It was always simple—a good word, a hearty slap on the back, that sort of thing. But every time, he could tell the man meant it.

With that, he strode for the stage.

***

The murmurs started the moment he took the steps, and they saw the runes like war paint all over his body.

"And here comes our final challenger," called the announcer. "It all comes down to this lift, folks—that man can win or lose it all here! Zane Walker—show us your power!"

***

"Do you think he’s got it?" chuckled Elder Summersteel. "It ought to be impossible, but that lad…"

"We’ll see, eh?" said Grand Elder Thorin. He would’ve said it was just an hour ago. But he knew better than to count Zane out now.

"He feels different." It was Lady Ironfingers. You could see nothing of her face behind that iron veil except her eyes. Cold and sharp—like she could slice down to the very core of a person’s being with just a glance.

She drummed her gauze-bound fingers against her walking stick, and even that casual effort opened up vicious cuts in the Heaven-grade Spirit Steel. They healed instantly.

"The lad’s broken through," she said. She sounded sure of it.

"Has he?" Thorin stroked his chin. "Well—the Heavenly Elephant’s famed for its raw power! It’ll have to be a hell of a breakthrough…"

"Quiet," said the Patriarch sharply. "He’s going for it."