August Intruder- Chapter 198- As It Should

The tornado hit with enough force to wipe the light from Melmarc’s eyes.

It knocked him back, even with [Weight of Jupiter] active.

[Skill Knowledge Is Power is in effect.]

[You cannot receive or inflict damage.]

He knew that. By God, he knew that. But it did nothing for the pain. It tore at his skin, friendly fire being nobody’s friend.

Balusad, however, wasn’t just knocked back, he was sent flying. He soared through the distance, bouncing through the ground and raising up dust and dirt and rocks. He ruined the ground until he came to a final stop.

Melmarc staggered, the blast of mana already returning to him.

Blood dripped from him in rivulets of red that weren’t quite red. Each drop had a tinge of white to it. He knew why? The trait [Pure blooded] told him that pure mana flowed in his veins. If it was not being metaphorical, and he had physical pure mana in his veins, it wouldn’t be surprising that it would stain his blood.

He staggered again. This time, he failed to catch himself on time. He dropped to a single knee. The pain was still in his head. For some reason, his mind did not do to it what it had done for his hand. His mind did not numb it. Perhaps there was a limit to how often it could do it.

Famon and Flenki were at his side immediately, moving faster than the others.

Famon slipped an arm under him and tried to help him up.

Melmarc helped. “Not yet,” he said. “He’s not dead yet.”

The Oath had to die, but he wasn’t sure how he was going to pull it off. [Rings of Saturn] would work best, but he needed a way that would give him a higher chance of landing actual blows with weight behind them.

His eye slipped to the daggers in Flenki’s hands. He reached for it instinctively. Flenki watched his hands carefully.

“This?” she held the daggers out. “You want these?”

Melmarc grabbed at them as he got a new notification.

[Skill Knowledge is Power is concluded]

Ignoring the list of skills since he already knew what they were, he grabbed at the daggers. With all the pain in his head his depth perception was off and he grabbed the air. Flenki brought them closer, a worried look on her face. He grabbed again. His hands were weak. They landed on them and she let him have it.

They were what he needed. Weapons. They would cause more visible damage than punches. And unlike [Rings of Saturn], every attack didn’t have to count.

The problem was that he and Ark had not been taught how to fight with any weapon. They knew their amateurish way around some weapons, mostly blunt force weapons. But they were no better than the ordinary person, just the things they saw in movies. With blunt weapons you just had to swing. With sharp objects you stabbed and cut.

Why did he pick the daggers? Because they were the closest things to his fists.

Famon’s attention sharpened and Spakkow was already stepping back. All eyes turned to the distance. Balusad had found his way back on his feet.

His face had too many evident cracks in them now. It was completely broken in some places, revealing holes. Black mist leaked from those whole, descending instead of elevating. Even his flowing beards had spiderweb cracks running through them as if they were nothing but the beards of a sculpted statue.

He took a step forward and Melmarc saw hope bloom in everyone’s eyes. The step was jerky, like a failing contraption. The Oath staggered as he walked. He held his glaive so low that the blade scraped the ground.

Melmarc’s eyes settled on the chipped blade and the crack on the handle that still spilled black ichor.

Would a glaive be a suitable weapon for him?

He could see himself twirling and turning, swinging with rings of mana along the length of the weapon. Fighting with it required constant motion, and [Rings of Saturn] required constant motion.

But he didn’t even know what he was supposed to do. Defeating the Oath was knowledge he had because Helpers in portals helped Delvers defeat the final boss.

And whatever the quest was, he had no idea what the reward was.

Did this type of quest even have rewards?

He staggered forward as well.

Was this a fight he could win?

Arrogance aside, madness relegated, he did not know.

But would he still fight?

Yes. They wouldn’t be able to pull him off Balusad’s body. And why? Because he felt disrespected as an [August Intruder]?

Pride, he thought. He was not normally a proud person.

But he knew why.

Pride was not the rightful domain of men. The thought straightened his back and aligned his shoulders, because he knew what was coming next.

Pride was the domain of gods.

Shoulders squared, he pushed through the pain and damage and charged Balusad, wondering just how long his mana was going to last.

Balusad twirled his glaive in readiness and his face morphed in rage. Black ichor trailed down his arms and settled over the blade of his weapon. It burned a bright black, drops of ichor staining the ground, burning holes that evaporated into smoke.

They met in the middle.

Balusad struck first, an underhand swing. Melmarc stepped to the side. He heard the bird people cry out as black aura tore through the air, heading for them. His jaw tightened. He had claimed that they would be under his protection.

His worry faded as each of them scattered away, flying chaotically in different directions.

Another strike came. This one went for his neck. Melmarc dropped low, avoiding it. Another blast of black aura tore through the air. It rend the ground behind them, leaving nothing but a wave of black flames, that cut them off from the rest of the cavernous chamber.

Melmarc stepped into the Oath with rage in his eyes. “That’s enough!”

The fight was between the both of them, not those he was here to protect. He moved his hand, felt the familiar weight of the rings of mana and slammed it into the ground.

[You have used skill Secrecy]

[Remaining uses: 0/4]

He frowned as the ring exploded, encasing them in a dome of pure mana. Melmarc could feel it in the air, the lightness, the certainty.

The assurance that nothing would go beyond them.

The black flames around the blade of the glaive burned a little lesser. Seemingly unable to help himself, Balusad paused to look around, taking in the air, the soft subtle hue of bluish-white that mixed in with the air almost visible.

“The power of the divine,” he mused, reaching out with one hand as if he could grasp it. “In the palm of my han—”

Melmarc lunged, slashing a line along his wrist. Balusad pulled back, as if surprised that he had actually been injured.

“You shame the nature of war,” he told the Oath.

Balusad looked at him with scorn. “I will not be educated by a child that does not even know what the world has in store for it.”

He swung his glaive. Melmarc ducked it once more. This time, there was no blast of aura. This was good. Melmarc would only have himself to worry about.

They stepped into a flurry of blows now. For every blow Melmarc dodged, there was one that he could not. It was either a kick or a slap. Once it was a strike that broke his nose with the butt of the glaive.

Melmarc would’ve liked to say that he gave as good as he got, but he did not. His blows always came up short or were too shallow.

The short stay in the domain was poor for him. He was outclassed in fighting prowess. He landed a few blows of his own, but they were superficial when compared to the devastation Balusad had left on him.

When [Secrecy] came to its conclusion, Melmarc was a mess of blood and gore. He was torn and tattered.

He staggered back, unable to hold himself up. But there was hate in his eyes, hate at being disrespected and still being shown that the disrespect was justified.

It didn’t make sense to him.

Balusad was an A-rank. He was, by every right, supposed to be stronger. It was natural. He was supposed to trump Melmarc easily.

Melmarc knew this.

But it still enraged him.

An Oath was not supposed to be stronger than an [August Intruder]. Their place was not to be superior.

Pride.

It was strong and heavy. The Christians called it a deadly sin for a reason.

Balusad stared at him, took him in. The blood that flowed from his injuries. His tattered pants. His broken nose and swollen eye. His torso covered in blood. The three cut marks that still burned in black ichor from the cuts he had given him.

“You tried,” he said with something that sounded like solemnity. “You gave it you best and failed. Fewer beings than you can say that.”

Melmarc said nothing. He had options going through his mind. Gambles all of them. He had regained one more iteration of [Ring of Saturn]. He also had [Knowledge is Power].

Balusad would kill him, maybe put him in a state between life and death to harvest whatever made him produce pure mana. Melmarc did not know. What he did know was that he could not win a drawn out battle with the man.

The truth was enraging, but true nonetheless.

Uncle Dorthna liked to say that even when you were at the peak of your victory, it was best to not let your guard down. Melmarc had always understood what he meant, but he also knew that such a command was not the easiest thing to follow.

So, when Balusad stood before him and raised his blade for a finishing blow and he saw the opening, he took it.

His hand moved.

[You have used skill Secrecy]

[Remaining uses: 0/4]

With everything he had in him, he pushed through the pain and defeat, and swung his arm, letting the ring fly. Balusad’s eyes widened. His arm flickered. The glaive, still coated in black ichor, struck the ring of mana, sending it flying upwards.

Then he brought it down on Melmarc.

Melmarc moved to trigger [Knowledge is Power], but he was too late. A step behind. Pain flared in his mind. His hands shot up and grabbed the glaive by the haft.

The blade buried itself in his right shoulder. Pain exploded. He roared, pushing the weapon back while Balusad pushed it deeper slowly. Melmarc fought harder. Tears pooled down his cheeks, they were hot.

He swallowed. Breathing became hard as he fought for his life, struggling from nothing but stubbornness and a desire to live—a desire to not die by the hands of an Oath.

Balusad lowered his head, leaned into Melmarc and looked into his eyes.

“Yes…” Black mist leaking from too many cracks and holes. “There,” he said, his voice maliciously hollow, mocking. “On your knees.” He leaned closer. “This is where our eyes should meet.”

Melmarc groaned as he channeled all his strength into his hands, pushing with his legs. Pain filled him, but so did strength. He roared as he rose, pushing Balusad away.

Balusad watched him for a moment, then placed a hand on the blunt side of the blade of the glaive. He pressed down, and Melmarc was forced back down to his knee.

Melmarc heard bones crack but wasn’t sure which ones. His eyes were too busy settling on a whisper of hope in the sky.

“Kneel, child,” Balusad hissed. “No one saves you now.”

Melmarc looked into his eyes. Pain fought to take his sight as darkness clawed at the edges of his vision.

He had lost too much blood.

“You will pay,” he swore.

The creature smirked. “How?”

Melmarc allowed one of his hands to fall to the side as he sought to do something he had never done before. He opened it and white hot pain filled it. His hand grew numb and he almost lost all sensation in it.

The potatoes won’t cook themselves!!!

he had no idea what that meant, but it jarred him straight. His hand closed around the pain. Balusad’s gaze moved to it. His eyes widened in horror. He moved.

But he was too late.

Melmarc roared as he reached forward. The glaive dug deeper into his shoulder, but he ignored it, allowing the pain to wash over him, to claim him. He understood it. Pain was not the enemy, it was just a reminder that something was wrong. And, right now, everything was wrong.

But he was about to make it right.

His closed hand reached upwards and he buried its content in Balusad’s chest. White and hot, a ring of mana dug halfway into the Oath’s chest.

Balusad staggered. Still holding on to his glaive in Melmarc’s chest and Melmarc still holding on to the ring of mana, he took Melmarc with him.

Balusad coughed up a bout of black ichor that splashed hot on Melmarc’s chest. It burned but was merely a drop of water in a sea of pain.

Melmarc pushed the ring deeper.

Balusad looked up at him. Both of them knew the truth. The fight was over. Balusad had lost.

“Child,” he said, his voice weak, dying, yet almost prophetic. “Your death will come on an ordinary day. You will leave behind those you love, unfinished plans.” There was regret. It was real now, not hollow as all his emotions had been. “And the world will continue on without you.”

Melmarc looked into the Oath’s black dead eyes and watched the life fade from them. Only when he saw none of it did he answer.

The Oath’s hand fell from his glaive. Melmarc released the ring of mana and shoved the man away with his foot.

“As it should.”