A Novel Concept - He Who Eludes Death-Chapter 419 - 408: Showdown - part 2

Zulkar bowed to his master's decision. "Well that settles it. Let us bask in the selfless generosity of Lord Aelbe and the forgiving nature of the Snahert survivors."

Priam couldn't help but laugh at the jab. The Aelbes had secured a second Tier 3 slot, while a few Snahert elites had ensured their futures. Yesterday, their leader Ophis had died at enemy hands; today they rushed to embrace those very hands. Clearly, blood ties paled before mutual interest.

"Anyway! On to the second semifinal: Hissy the Anaconda versus the Gaeserts' still-unnamed contender. The winner takes second place on the tournament podium!"

The crowd's attention swung back to Hissy. Silent, perhaps ashamed of his betrayal, the gladiator waited for his opponent. After ten seconds, Priam cast a glance toward the Gaesert lodge.

"What are they waiting for?"

"Rumors have named several candidates for their best Tier 3, but none stands out," Jasmine replied. "I can't tell you who they'll send, but all the Gaeserts I met were really confident."

"Doesn't surprise me, I'd bet on them too."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Because Esmée believes the Aelbes will soon visit Proxima. Léo will find the planet far more appealing if it's their only chance at survival."

Behind him, Priam felt Kazuki stiffen. Before he could reassure his friend, movement caught his eye. The Gaesert leader, Braato, had risen. He vaulted from the balcony and strode deliberately toward the center of the arena.

"The fuck?" Jasmine blurted.

She wasn't the only one shocked. Léo shot to his feet. "What's the meaning of this?!"

Braato shrugged as he faced Hissy. "When I took up my father's mantle at the all-clan council, you challenged me. Took you five minutes to beat me, and everyone assumed I was a Transcendent like you. I wasn't. I was just good at taking hits. Now I'm good at giving them."

"Identification skills—"

"My shaman is good."

"And your spiritual pressure? It's that of a Tier 4!"

"I'd call it half-step. The hallmark of a polished Mastery. A true Aura, born of Micro, and a body tempered twice over helps too. You'd know that if you didn't think yourself above everyone else."

"YOU—"

"Braato Gaesert is a Tier 3," the Demiurge cut in, weary of the clans' bickering. "Begin."

Léo's face was purple, but nobody cared anymore.

In the arena, Braato folded his arms. "The first strike is yours."

From another Tier 3, it might have come off as arrogance. Not with this one. Towering well over two and a half meters, the mountain of muscle bore scars as formidable as his natural tusks. His two lower canines had mutated into lethal weapons; one kiss from him could skewer your brain.

More than his physique, it was his eyes that left a deep impression. The gaze of a warrior who had waded through blood and shit to reach his station. When he wasn't laughing with his own, Braato inspired fear. Perhaps that was why he had managed to deceive tribal Transcendents for an entire decade.

Hissy's face twisted. He looked toward the Aelbe lodge and found it empty. His new master hadn't even stayed to watch. Jaw tight, he turned back.

"You shouldn't underestimate me. We're both Tier 3s."

Braato only smiled.

Snarling, Hissy threw back his cloak, revealing a body covered in ink. Priam studied the markings but detected no runes, no pattern resonating with aether. Purely cosmetic?

Then the warrior began to dance. His tattoos rippled, merging in motion until new shapes formed—like a logo appearing on a spinning wheel. Fed by aether, the lines lit up until a serpent's outline appeared.

"Jörmungandr!"

Both a skill and a call.

The air itself thickened, almost solid. Behind Hissy, the image of a colossal Myth rose, looming over the world. A beast capable of ending a country with brute force alone. Its head pierced the clouds, with a single scale able to house the Colosseum. The invocation was vast…

And yet strangely light.

That was the word. Rohan's White Tiger, or the Nekomata from the earlier duel, had been heavy with a deep presence. Their images were tangible, colored, crushingly real. By comparison, Hissy's serpent seemed translucent. Illusory.

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"A Myth too vast for a Snahert too small," Braato observed. "You'll never reach Tier 4."

Fury blazing in his eyes, Hissy slashed downward. Jörmungandr's tail followed, crashing into the arena. Had the original been present, Priam was certain the world itself would have popped like a soap bubble. It wasn't to be.

Still, the Colosseum quaked, its barrier glowing gold under the strain, sand exploding outward like shrapnel after a bomb blast.

When the dust cleared, Braato hadn't moved an inch. A faint red welt on his forehead was proof he hadn't dodged.

Priam felt an elbow dig into his ribs. He glanced at Jasmine. In her eyes he read the question. He gave the barest nod.

"It was more powerful than Arnold's nova. I'd be dead if I'd had to tank that hit."

"Ah. Noob."

The young woman had been picking up vocabulary from Rose. Normally, it amused Priam. Not today. His pride smarting, he felt compelled to reply.

"I just haven't tempered any physical resistance yet."

"Skill issue."

"Fuck you."

"Yes, please."

In the arena, Braato ran his tongue over his teeth. "A Myth has to be earned. You shouldn't have used the System that much."

Gripping the fallen scale, the clan leader heaved. Muscles corded, his twice-tempered body strained against the weight of a summoned Myth.

After a ten-second fight, the image of Jörmungandr shattered in a spray of sparks.

For the briefest instant, an immortal presence flared. Time froze. Fear bloomed.

"Unworthy."

Then Hissy detonated, and Jörmungandr left.

Finally able to move, Priam widened his eyes.

"What a fool," the Demiurge muttered after a few seconds. "Let's proceed."

While Zulkar proclaimed Braato's victory, Priam realized Hissy wasn't coming back. The Snahert had dishonored Jörmungandr, and the price was his life.

"It seems a Mythic skill comes bound to a contract, signed or not," Priam mused.

A hand settled on his shoulder. "Not the time," Kazuki said, pointing at the empty Aelbe lodge. "They left at the start of the fight."

"So it begins."

Priam exchanged a look with the Demiurge, then he and his companions headed for the portal to Elysium. A crowd was already gathered, but it parted quickly at the sight of the grim-faced Champions of Oasis.

Before the rift, they paused, waiting for Jasmine's signal.

"... My instincts don't pick up any immediate danger," she reported.

"Mmh. I go first."

Taking a steadying breath, Priam stepped forward. A blink later, he stood face-to-face with a dozen Tier 3s, their expressions stern, their intent obvious.

"Lord Priam Azura, our leader Léo invites you to his manor," one of them announced.

Priam ignored him. His attention was on the new notification flashing before his eyes.

New Quest: Proxima - Defense

An Elysium tribe has invaded your Bastion-planet.

Eliminate them.

(10 T3; 50 T2; 1 T0)

Reward:

You Are What You Kill boost: while on Proxima, any visitor from another Sector/Universe leaks their aetheric code much more readily. Gather enough code allow one to acquire their racial Talent(s).

The size of a code fragment scales with the difference between your Soul/Noble Tier and your victim's.

As Homo Elysium (Tier 2 race), you may collect Talents up to Gold rarity.

Current Racial Talent Slots (2/3):

- [Spectral Familiarity - Bronze]

- [Hoplite Warpath - Gold]

- Free

"Priam… please?"

The young man barked a laugh at the pleading tone in Jasmine's voice. The assassin was already dreaming of feasting on the Aelbes. How can he blame her? Her build would surely be compatible with the pseudo-felines' racial Talents.

It was too good to pass. After all, to get [Spectral Familiarity], Priam had needed to slaughter more than fifty thousand Xa'Dawps during the Reunion. An insane number. Here his instincts told him only a handful of Aelbes would suffice. Apparently, Jasmine felt the same.

"Go, but the plan comes first."

Jasmine nodded once before melting into shadow, drawing curses from several guards. Priam raised a hand to calm them.

"Hey, I'm the one you want, right?"

The guards exchanged glances, then nodded. "Yes. Will you come?"

"A visit to Léo? Of course. But first…"

Clad in Knightmare, Kazuki stepped forward, raising his arm. "First we pull the tiger's teeth," he said, and fired.

The Aelbes tensed, bracing for an attack. Instead, a flare arced skyward. A heartbeat later, a sound rose from the supposedly deserted Snahert quarter. The dreadful clatter of thousands of iron-shod boots.

By opening a portal to Proxima, Léo had laid his cards on the table. The other players had to follow. Time for the showdown.

Priam was certain he held a winning hand.

[He Who Eludes Death] charge: OFF. Reloaded in 19 hours 10 minutes 52 seconds.

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