Author's Nightmare: Chapter 127 (Patreon)

Beam POV: Day 104

Current Wealth: 222 gold 0 silver 37 copper

What is happening?

It was the voice, the one that always spoke up in those moments that most mattered to me. This time, I heard more than just its usual, collected confidence. I heard doubt. 

And I understood why, because we hadn’t told it about the scheme. 

The King was so strong, even lasting a minute against him would have been a challenge for me. So we made it one. A big one, with Solitaire dropping a hundred gold coins onto the attempt- knowing that Byror’s interference kept us from spending much of them anyway- and wagering them against my lasting until that sixtieth second. We’d taken a risk, threatened ourselves with a setback, and given me a challenge. Because there was a lot to gain from five to one odds- five hundred gold in this case. 

And our experience had always been derived from difficulty and potential gain. 

This task you set yourself, it was a fierce one. The voice echoed, probably reading my thoughts rather than catching on, but no less smug for it. And I acknowledge your tribute of glory. Bask in my power, Champion, and make it yours. 

Before I could even formulate a thought- let alone a response- I knew exactly what it meant by power. It was my Beloved, my armour, a weapon of ethereal magic against my skin. It was all of this, and a thousand, million times more. I gasped, the King stiffened, and the change began. 

It started with my skin. 

Hot, itchy. It was like boiling water hissing down atop it in tiny droplets. Could that even still hurt me? I wasn’t even sure, but I became more certain as the pain worsened, then changed. It was tight, the next moment, and growing tighter. Fingers and hooks digging into the epidermis, pulling it taut, tearing it at the seams. Then stillness. I felt its weight now- it had weight?- and I felt a calm certainty from it. I wasn’t given the chance to consider the sensation before a new change was coming.

A deeper one, this. It went down into the viscera beneath. 

My muscles were spasming, screaming. It was like the lactic burn of a difficult exercise, felt for days and days, compressed into moments. The bones permeating them shifted too. Grinding and popping as their joints fractionally turned, elongating, thickening. Hardening.

My vision turned red, mouth suddenly full of salty blood, ears ringing so loud I couldn’t hear the screaming crowd. Then it was over.

I was on my knees, blinking. My body was fine. 

No, it was more than fine. I felt exhilaration that hadn’t hit me since my first gold medal, and I felt it with every ounce of myself.

Then I remembered where I was, what I was doing. A fighter, fighting. A champion winning.

In one motion I leapt to my feet and snatched my fallen rapier from the ground, wrapping it in its ethereal cutting edge mid-swing. It was just complete in time to catch the King’s pauldron. A solid connection, good, and made with more strength than I could ever have mustered before.

Somewhere in my convulsive episode, I’d spent my experience. That wasn’t what was happening now though.

Because I hadn’t had nearly enough to smash so long and deep a crack across the mystery-metal protecting my opponent’s body. 

He slid back, almost like I had. Only a yard or two, mind, with all that steel he probably weighed close to five times what I did. But it was a start. I closed in while he was still reeling with surprise, swinging again. The King raised his sword to guard, but I twisted, letting mine slide along its edge just right and sending it low for his arm. 

Like the genius he was, he foresaw the attack just in time to whip his limb aside- even throwing in a counter as he did. I smacked that away, noting with satisfaction that my arm was only throbbing rather than tantruming at the disparity of our strength. My riposte was like a bolt of lightning. 

The King saw through my feint, then saw through the next. There was no third- until I saw a weird tension to him one moment before swinging low for his thigh, and instead flicked my blade upwards to scrape along the visor of his helm. It served well to make the King flinch, opening him for a thrust to the chest which left another split in the metal’s face. He swung fast enough to almost catch me as I darted back, and suddenly we were four paces separate. The whole exchange had lasted only a second or two.

As one, we started pacing. 

This wasn’t cat and mouse, not anymore. I was stronger now, a predator staring down a predator. The creature I’d been, scrambling away and cowering in the corners, that thing wouldn’t last a minute against me now.

But it had lasted that long against the King. Which made me the deadlier predator. Time to prove it to everyone. 

I closed in, apparently surprising the giant with my aggression. He adjusted quickly- genius, as I thought- and feinted in a way so painfully obvious that I was almost insulted. His following bodycheck was more nicely done, but still sidestepped simply enough.

What surprised me was his sudden pivot, sending his sword twisting around to slice a notch out of my plate armour, ethereal undersuit and…Yes. And a bit of the shoulder beneath. 

No wince caught me, and I didn’t anticipate the pain that failed to show. I knew, instinctively, that I was beyond such things now. My blood sizzled and hissed for a moment before I reformed my plate, carefully dropping a layer down to compress the wound. I hadn’t been capable of that before, and so I did it again to my earlier cut to stem more of the leakage.

The King was on me by then, demanding that I do other things with my focus. 

I’d fought someone faster than me once, and it had been quite the interesting novelty. The difference was bigger now, even with my lighter armour, but…It was manageable. The King was skilled, but I’d fought more skilled. He was strong, but I saw now that there were limits to the physical force he could throw at me. His sword chased me everywhere, thirsty and darting in to drink its fill. I barely kept it at bay, but managed all the same, watching the man wielding it and waiting for my moment.

The moment came. An instant of pause, a slight delay, a habit so tiny and unfelt that even I needed an entire three glimpses to realise it was there. My rapier found the mark I’d already left in the King’s breastplate, and I felt something softer giving beneath the stab this time. 

He didn’t let me enjoy it for long before taking a hand from his weapon and punching me. That one, I will admit, fucking hurt. 

For the dozenth time that day, I flew like a shot put. My body crashed into the wall, bounced off it, hit the ground hard. I realised, then, that the King hadn’t really put his back into the other swings. Not holding back, just fighting like a man who knew he’d win. Sparing the excess strength. 

I got to my feet, head perfectly clear, body perfectly fine. Impact of stone and metal barely even a dull throb at my shoulder blades. I glanced where the wall was cracked and crumbling, glanced back where the King was closing and staring. Grinned. 

He wasn’t fighting, anymore, like a man who knew he’d win. 

We crashed into each other like waves on the ocean, twin storms. Our bodies were the convulsing hurricanes, always twisting and jerking, never where we seemed, always on the move. The swords between us were flashing bolts of lightning, forking between our bodies and spitting sparks into the air as they kissed and bit. The ground cried out where our booted heels crunched down, cracking, shivering. The crowds screamed, but not as loud as me. 

This was combat, this was a fight. This was a man whose head was worth the taking, who’d leave all the halls in all the world loud with the sound of my name. 

This was something to give a purpose to my brother’s death, and prove that his genius hadn’t been wasted after all. 

I ducked a swing, parried another. My boot found the centre of the King’s chest, hurting him about as much as harsh language but breaking his balance for that precious moment I needed to scrape another chunk from his armour. This time I leaned back from the punch he tried to retaliate with, right into the foot he’d slipped behind my heel.

For one moment, I was stumbling. Not long, less than the blink of an eye. But long enough for him to swing one last time, and catch me directly along the chest.