Savage Awakening 342. The Third Planet (II) (Patreon)

The fifth wave rushed down the gorge and spilled more of Zane’s blood. It took another chunk of his essence with it.

If the mass of wounds crisscrossing his body bothered him, he didn’t show it.

Then came the sixth wave, and he stood just as firm as before, facing down the charge, bellowing in defiance—but it wasn’t a victor’s roar.

He just seemed determined to hold them off.

Haxorax stared down at the scene, unblinking, frowning slightly.

He saw Zane throw down smash after smash, tear through wave after wave—but it felt like each strike came with less force, less essence.

The big man was visibly wearing down, round by round. Haxorax could see it in the way he was moving. Sluggish, staggering.

And the waves were only growing bigger…

He still managed to wipe out most of the seventh wave with his opening salvo. But this time, a clutch of horsemen got through. He had to face them with just physical prowess.

Haxorax saw Zane more clearly now after his spat with Father. And he had to admit, through gritted teeth, that the human’s body was absurdly robust.

Those bloody tattoos gave him powers Haxorax had never seen, even in Minor Gods. In regeneration, in raw strength, explosiveness, durability… it was a showcase of physical dominance.

Zane wrecked God after God with only burning, chain-wrapped fists.

But still—it wouldn’t be enough.

That grew clearer and clearer with each passing wave.

Haxorax saw Zane get kicked in the head by those ghoulish horses no less than six times. Saw his head snap back, though he took the blows well; saw him stabbed down the middle so many times the Prince lost count.

By the end, his body showed more wounds than skin.

None of these, on their own, were enough to down him. But he cut a sorry figure.

Zane heaved in deep breaths and had to wipe sheets of blood out of his eyes every few seconds just to see. He stood a little wobbly, staggered. It was hard to tell if he was woozy from the blood loss or if it was merely his savaged thighs. Likely both.

But yet another wave was coming…

They seemed an onslaught without end. It was enough to make a man lose hope.

Zane only hunkered down and put up his hammers again. And Haxorax felt a grudging respect.

No one could say he wasn’t a fighter.

But the essence he mustered now was a shadow of what he'd managed that first wave.

Haxorax’s stare grew harsher.

Zane had somehow been lodged deep in the Prince’s mind—a man who cast a shadow nearly as big as he was.

It took a special kind of man to make a genius like Haxorax respect him, and even fear him. Fear the man he could become.

Yet if Zane went down in this fashion, all the Prince would feel was embarrassment.

He looked at Zane struggling, staggering, and gritted his teeth.

“Don’t you dare fall here, Zane Walker,” he snarled under his breath. “I’ll be the one to crush you. Until then, you are not allowed to lose.”

Only that kind of man was worthy of that standing in Haxorax’s mind.

There was a reason that most everyone who cleared the third planet of Ragnos was already a true God. The rare exceptions were those near the peak of Minor God—and talented ones at that.

In the realm of Minor God, there was vast variation. One top-flight Minor God—a Minor God with the greatest Law, Bone, and Bloodline, like Haxorax had been—could crush a host of lesser, cannon-fodder Minor Gods…

But even then, there were limits.

And this planet was designed to push that limit to its breaking point.

Zane wasn’t yet a Minor God, even—still just an Ascendant. Only a monster of an Ascendant, fighting far above his station.

It was looking more and more like the task was simply too big for him.

***

Burnwater winced.

Zane’s ribs, kicked in again and again by steely hooves, had finally shattered at last at the end of the round.

The big man took a knee between rounds, trying to get back what he could, hacking out mouthfuls of blood.

Noughtfire frowned at the scene.

His only saving grace then was his Asura State—working as fiercely as it ever had. And though it couldn’t close up his wounds, it did stop the poison from spreading—holding back that mass of Tier 6 Law. Mending the bones, the organs inside him, healing cracked bones in an arm. Zane shook the limb loose, testing it, and it seemed whole again.

He staggered to his feet, gearing up to fight once more.

The question was—how much longer could he keep it up?

It was getting a little hard for Burnwater to watch, truth be told. He knew Zane well enough by now that he was sure his body would break before his spirit did.

That… he very much did not want to be around to see it happen.

There was nothing to do now but hope.

“That’s his Signature Title at work?” muttered the Patriarch, stroking his beard, eyes gleaming. “How fascinating. ‘Savage Sage,’ was it? I would have thought I’d have heard its name before… the only powers I’ve seen come close belong to the Founders themselves—and they came from beyond the galaxy.”

There was no time to think more on it. The trembling started up again, shivering the gorge…

“Come on, Zane!” said Burnwater. “Just a few more—you’ve got this!”

To his relief, Zane staggered up. Set his jaw.

And shattered as he was, his eyes were as bright and hard as ever as he gazed into the distance.

He was still lucid. Still focused.

“Strange,” said the Patriarch, crossing his arms. “After his performance on Planet Two, I would’ve expected more! It looks like the kid’ll hardly get to the Final Boss, if that. His essence went faster than I’d thought… perhaps he’d burned too much killing that ape?”

He shrugged. “The only way he’s got a shot against the Final Boss is if he hits it with a full-powered Flare. He’s got nowhere near enough left.”

It was true.

Zane looked well under 50% Health, and dropping. Still bleeding heavily.

This time he didn't bring out the hammers—just wrapped his chains around his fists and set his whole body on fire. Constrained his domain to a hundred feet around him.

That was all quite a bad sign for how much essence he had left. He was bleeding so much from a gash on his temple he didn't bother wiping it away anymore.

Maybe he really was spent, Burnwater thought with some despair. He’d asked so much of his body before…

Noughtfire stayed silent.

His expression gave no indication as to what he was thinking.

***

That final wave was a display of pure heart.

It was all that got Zane through it.

He managed to summon all his strength just before it hit. Roar proudly, Asura flaring as bright as it ever had.

The darkness crashed over him—and Zane just kept fighting, sending golden explosions rocketing up the gorge walls, smashing and slamming his foes into each other, vaporizing horses and horsemen with fist after fist.

But he took a dozen slices, and just as many horse-stomps, for every blow he dealt.

The Zane that was left after he broke that wave was nearly broken himself.

His body was a mass of poisoned scars, so bloody it was a shock he hadn’t blacked out. You could hardly see the ground around him anymore. There was a circle of dozens of feet streaked vivid red—a red that streaked up the walls in thick bright arcs.

That was all Zane’s blood.

He was nearly keeled over now. Head bowed, sank down on a knee, taking low, shallow breaths.

He seemed to be fighting just to stay upright.

His Asura powers were working overtime. Propping him up with supernatural energies, but it was clear his body had already been taxed far beyond its limits.

Burnwater could tell just from looking at him that he couldn’t be far from Critical Health.

Then there was a silence.

Only the sound of Zane’s shallow breathing. The only movement came from his heaving back.

No rumbling, no trembling. No noise. After all those waves, it was an eerie thing.

Burnwater went cold when he heard it.

"It's coming," said the Patriarch softly. His eyes grew bright, intense.

Then they all saw it—a smudge of bleak gray in the distance. Floating slowly closer, gaining definition, breaking out of the shadows...

A tattered cloak that looked woven out of the night itself. Stretching from one end of the gorge to the other, fluttering soundlessly. Fastened around the neck of the Final Boss.

A lich. A massive skeleton, twenty feet tall. A silver mask where only the eyes showed—slits of burning purple. And in those long bony fingers—fingers shining with the light of a hundred-thousand-year-old Monstrous Bone—there lay a scepter carved of gold, topped by a blood ruby.

It began to glow as the creature drifted closer…

Witch-King of the Nightmare Gorge (Simulated Monster Prince)

Essence Level 583

"Get up, Zane," croaked Burnwater. "Come on, now!"

Somehow Zane found it in him.

His shaggy, blood-soaked head jerked up.

And it was like he’d found a second wind—or maybe he’d been saving himself for just that moment.

He gave a hacking roar, staggered up, and his Asura State, which they’d all thought was running at its peak, raged to heights even Burnwater had never seen.

Burnwater had a moment of hope.

Then he saw how wobbly Zane still was, how much his big frame was trembling, how he blinked just trying to see straight.

This wasn’t a miraculous revival.

He was simply burning everything he had left.

This was Zane’s last stand.

//

A/N:

Book 3 is now up on Audible! :D

https://www.audible.com/pd/B0DNKTTZ23