121. The Touch of Death (IV) (Patreon)

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Zane could tell when they both hit a wall six moves deep.

Every new level just ballooned. For Zane, it felt like his soul was stretching, tearing at the seams.

Eze, meanwhile, was doing stuff Zane couldn't even start to understand. While Zane felt everything out—like putting white noise on full blast; he just had to bear it, withstand it—the guy was processing everything.

He was remembering every move, and the move after that, in sequence. So much a spike of hot pain was building in his skull. He must have one of those perfect memories or something. But still—once you got this deep there was just too much to remember. It shouldn't have been possible.

And yet…

Joy blossomed on the other side of the ring. And Zane's heart sank. Wait. Did he just…?

Eze smiled.

And lunged. And Zane defended the best he could; it wasn't enough. The man dragged him through a brutal sequence, a sequence that had his head ringing, his organs churning in protest as he struggled to get his chains up, barely blocking shot after shot—

Until, six moves in, he slipped up. And a Seismic Smash landed flush.

And flattened his face.

He hit the ground. He spun three times, splattered against the wards—and slid to a sorry halt.

When he picked himself back up, blinked the blurriness out of his eyes, he saw—

Warning!

Health under 75%

Drat.

And his nose was broken again. A cheekbone might've been too, judging by the pain flaring up when he moved his jaw around.

There was nothing to be done about it—as for his nose… Zane just left it. He'd fix it after. He had a feeling it wasn't the last time it'd get squished. Folk really seemed to like punching him in the face.

The main issue now, he thought as he lurched to his feet, was Eze was ahead again.

But this race was far from over. Zane was already raring to go again, to give it another crack.

Eze studied him. "You take it well," he said. "Most of those I hit that cleanly stay down. Even top World Rankers."

Zane grunted. Zane could say the same of him. Eze was a lot less splattered than most folk who would have taken a meteor to the dome.

They grinned at each other.

And then they were at it again, racing through that deep dark forest…

One move. Two. Three. Strange thing—it felt a lot easier clearing these early bits. Zane wondered if his soul was adapting somehow to it—he was pushing it so hard, like a muscle he'd never really stretched in this way. Not comprehension… he was wielding it like a weapon, and it protested. But less and less the more he did.

Four moves, then five, and he was starting to feel the strain. He'd gotten so close to seven before—one more push took him over the edge, and there he was, hissing, gritting his teeth, as a burning tearing feeling lashed his soul; he wobbled, trying to keep his feet. The world spun under him.

And all that noise, all those screaming souls, got even louder—turned into a relentless howling everywhere, all at once; he was trapped in a raging whirlwind of feeling, of wants, running over each other hog-wild. He thought five was his limit but this... he could barely make sense of it; he could barely even think anymore.

Eze wasn't having a great time of it either. His brow was creased, his jaw clenched tight.

He wasn't giving up. He was still pushing, trying to hit eight—so Zane bit down and shoved too.

He felt like his soul was bleeding. It got so loud it felt like his heart might explode; he staggered, almost fell over; his jaw unhinged; he started screaming just to let all the feelings out. This was it—he couldn't stretch any farther; his whole soul was trembling, tearing—

If his soul was listening, it felt like its ears were bleeding.

He just refused to back down.

And then—suddenly—the sound shrank.

Or rather—it felt like his hearing got a lot clearer, all at once. His soul didn't get any bigger but his perception was suddenly so much sharper. Suddenly each layer came in stark focus—he could pick out those feelings again, tell them apart, keep it all together! His feeling just got… better. Like that.

Suddenly, feeling ten intents, a hundred intents, was just as easy as feeling one.

Skill up!

Sage Mind II -> III

He doubled over. He spat out a mouthful of blood, felt a sick lurch deep down in his gut… and he grinned. There—he felt it—the way ahead, one beautiful silvery note rising above the rest, drowning it all out until it was all that was left, the one true way shining over it all—Yes!

And Zane went for it. Explosions rippled the air. Essence and Law splattered the wards, made terrible war, as two hulking titans brutalized each other in the middle of the ring. They went toe to toe. Neither was willing to give a single step—until the seventh move.

When Zane snuck in a brutal Stormfire Smash. It sent Eze stumbling, gauntlets blasted apart, leaving him wide open exposed—

and Zane slid two Stormfire Smashes down the pipe.

Light and heat seared the air; a blast so strong it was painful to look at, like staring at the sun with the naked eye.

BOOM-BOOM!

By the end of it…

It was pretty clear Zane took the lead again.

Eze looked pretty shabby. He was easily under 75% now—Zane would have even said under 50%. A fair few bones were clearly broken—but more than that, his skin was melting off his body. A chunk of his massive chest was all caved in.

It was immensely painful; Zane could feel the sensation. Yet none of it showed on Eze's face. All the guy did was purse his lips—and nod.

When he smiled again he was seething.

Oh, boy.

That was another way they seemed to be the same—getting hit hard was supposed to scare people, supposed to deter people. But whenever they got hit, it only got them more fired up. They wanted to get it right back.

As they started prowling again, started delving into the future, both of them could feel the race was coming down to the wire. Who knew how many exchanges they had left? Four? Three, even?

Every one from here on out was critical.

Yet again Zane forced his way past the first few stages. They went by easily—with his new Sage Mind small crowds were nothing to him.

Once they got past seven though… once thousands of souls, thousands of intents came into play—he started to struggle a little again.

Eight, and he was really starting to strain…

But Eze was here too—and he was throwing everything he had at it. His mind was buckling under the weight of all those futures.

But he didn't have a a single ounce of quit in him. That man was stone cold determination. He would break Zane. He would prove he was the best!

They locked eyes again. And he could tell Eze was in tremendous pain—and Eze could tell he was, too. Yet… neither of them gave an inch.

They both knew from here on out it was a battle of sheer will.

A great fight was like a great dance—you had to have a partner who was game, who could push you to places you never thought you could go. Well—if he wanted to dance, fine. Zane would rise to it!

The moment he made it back eight moves deep, he was struck by an intense wave of nausea. A warmth leaked down his face—it was his own blood, down his nose, down his mouth… it wouldn't stop. Oh dear.

And the feeling all around him… it wasn't a storm anymore, but this restless sea of feeling swirling all around him—but he was making it through. He knew he could make it. It hurt like hell, but if there was one thing Zane believed in it was his soul. After that last Skill-up Sage Mind had been cranked up four or five times—he would hit nine first!

He was just getting close when he heard a laugh. He felt a shock of feeling, of essence, a brilliant spike of joy—

There was Eze… He was bleeding too, hacking out huge gobs of blood. But he was smiling a bloody smile.

His eyes flashed a stark purple. His soul swelled suddenly—

…Shit. Had he just leveled up his Skill too? He needed to—he knew he had to to win. So he did.

…This guy was a monster.

Then Zane remembered he'd just done the exact same thing. Eze just… responded in kind.

…Huh.

Was this what it felt like to fight him?

Suddenly a lot of things made sense.

"It was a true joy to fight you, Zane Walker," said Eze softly. Then he raised one giant fist. "You were my greatest challenger. I must thank you for a wonderful fight—truly, I'm deeply grateful… you've proven you can stand with me. I… had given up hope there was one like you. I doubt this is the last time our paths cross…" He paused. "But I'm afraid we've reached the end of this one."

Wait.

Was he implying…?

Well. Zane snorted and decided he didn't care. He grunted. And put up his fists.

It didn't matter what happened. He'd fight his heart out anyway.

Then Eze came for him.

Zane knew the future; they moved in perfect sync, unnaturally smoothly, as though in a dance. A very violent dance. Six moves in he was still holding up. Seven, and he felt okay.

The eighth shot was a Seismic Smash that hit him from an angle he hadn't even known was possible. He just hadn't felt it in time; it looped around the back of his head and smashed him there. The next thing he knew he was driven face-first into the canvas.

And the gauntlet held him there. The full weight of it bore down on his skull, forcing him still—the eighth shot was still coming. The real kicker. Blood and dust wiped out his vision but he could still feel the aura moving over him, dipping in a slow wide arc—an ordinary punch, not hurrying, not rushing…

It was a punch that needed a little time to run its course.

And Eze had finally found a future where there was just. Enough. Time.

NO!

Zane bucked with all his might, once, twice, forced the fist off his face—precious fractions of a second, burned away—he wrenched up a Chain just as the fist touched down.

It glanced off a Chain link—and hardly slowed at all.

He felt it coming, a yawning blackness opening over his soul, looming over him like a tsunami about to crash—

The fist landed square on his chin.

BANG.

***

Interstellar Bastion

Seattle

All was quiet outside the Interstellar Bastion.

Then, from the topmost floor, a scream rang out—so loud half the building heard it. It was Reina—they dashed up the stairs, shoved their way into the throne room. They all thought she'd been stabbed.

They found her sitting before an essence projection with her head in her hands. An essence projection of a big muscular man face-down in the ring. Unmoving.

***

Siberia

A similar sound—less angry, more pitiful—rang out of a certain yurt. "Noooooo!"

Irina Volkova frowned baffled at her daughter. "What is wrong with you?"

***

Tower of Empires

New York City

"FUCK!"

Jason Walker smashed the ground in fury.

The force of it shook the whole tower.

Then he pointed a trembling finger at the projection. At Eze's stoic face.

"Whatever you just did to my brother's soul," he snarled. "You'd better hope that wasn't permanent. I swear to god—I'll gut you like a fish!"

To his side, D'Angelo Hall raised a brow. "Really, now. This is the same brother you called a useless waste. Didn't you say you shoved him off a bridge once?"

"That's different." Jason paused. Then looked side-eyed at him. "Very funny."

***

It took half the folk at the Thousand Ray Desert rushing out in a tizzy for Avery and Evan to figure out what was going on.

They rushed over at once. Just in time to see it happen.

Evan screamed.

Then he tried rushing the stage—he didn't manage making it past the wards. He stood there pounding on it.

"C'mon, Zane!" he cried tearfully. "Get up! You can do it, I know you can!"

Zane did not get up.

***

Eze shook his head, turned away, and sighed. Frowned at the wards.

Then at the Coven officials manning the stage ringside.

"Why are they still up?" he rumbled.

"Sir Eze—" said one of them, a blonde lady. She scrambled to examine one of the crystals embedded in the flooring. She blinked. "It... the readings here say the fight isn't over… I'm so sorry—it must be a malfunction, we'll get this fixed as soon as we—"

Then Eze noticed she wasn't looking at him anymore.

She was looking behind him.

Her eyes began to widen.