(TATB) Ch 33: Victors Arrival, Raging Of The Crimson Spear!

(Viral)

I wasn't holdin' back anymore.

"You're outta your damn mind, y'know that?!" I barked as I clashed with Nemu again, my crimson spear grinding against that fiery blade of hers like we were tryna split the world in two. "You're defendin' them?! Them?! After what they did?!"

She didn't answer—not with words. Just grit her teeth and pushed harder.

"Tch. Fine."

I twisted, sidestepped, and brought my spear up high—then slammed it down with everything I had. It cracked against her sword, knocked it away with a flash of sparks, and sent her skidding back.

She stumbled. One foot gave. She dropped to a knee.

"That's all you got?" I spat. "All that fire, all that talk, and look at you—already on the damn floor."

Didn't wait.

Didn't need to wait.

I kicked off the dirt, body spinning up into the air like I was born to fly. The world slowed down. Wind screamed past my ears. The spear in my hands? It pulsed, no, roared—hungry. It knew what was comin'.

And so did I.

I came down with that thing like a meteor. Red light flared so bright, it looked like I'd torn the sun outta the sky and nailed it to the tip of my weapon.

"BOOM!!"

The world exploded. Shockwave blasted out like a hurricane made of thunder and hate. Dust flew everywhere, so thick I couldn't see shit.

Didn't matter.

I could feel it.

My spear had hit something solid—dead center. That sick little gut feeling when your weapon don't just hit... it sticks. It bites in and claims.

"Gotcha," I hissed under my breath, smirking like a bastard as I tried to pierce through the cloud with my eyes.

Then I saw it.

No, not "it"—him.

The dust started to part like some divine curtain, and out stepped this tall-ass dude, silhouette cutting through the haze like he owned the damn place. Short black hair. Black jacket. Black pants. Black freaking vibe. Dude looked like he rolled straight outta a funeral and forgot to bring a coffin.

Except he was the coffin.

And I was probably in it.

My spear—my spear—was in his hand. Just... chillin' there, like he'd caught it mid-swing. Like it wasn't burning with raw Geist Elan energy. Like it wasn't meant to blow a hole through Nemu's chest.

My smirk twitched. "...Who the hell are you?"

He looked me dead in the eye, calm as hell, like we were just two guys waiting in line for coffee.

"Oh," he said with this bored tone, "just a fool."

Then he pushed my spear away.

Like it was nothin'.

Not "blocked." Not "parried."

Just pushed. Like I handed him a stick and he was tired of holdin' it.

I stared at him, my grip tightening. Heart pounding. Not with fear, no—that wasn't it. It was that old, familiar rush. That feeling you get when you realize you're about to throw hands with somebody real. Somebody who doesn't just talk like they're dangerous.

Somebody who is.

"Alright, 'Fool'," I said with a crooked grin, cracking my neck. "Let's see how foolish you feel after I shove this spear through your spine."

***

(Victor)

Okay, so... maybe I underestimated how fast those three could move.

Day one, I was hyped. I thought, "Yeah, I'll catch up in no time. I'm practically a ghost in these tunnels." Except ghosts probably don't get lost five times and end up face-deep in sewage while trying to backtrack to a stupid junction they already passed twice.

Also, shoutout to Joe for being absolutely useless. Every time I turned around—poof. Gone. Like he had a talent for vanishing the second I needed him to confirm if we were even going the right direction.

Anyway, three days. Three whole days of slipping, running, tripping, arguing with pipe rats (long story), and almost falling into what I hope wasn't a colony's makeshift toilet system. And finally—finally—I find the place.

Only to see Nemu about to be skewered like a shish kebab.

"So much for talking things through," I muttered, my boots skidding to a stop as I burst into the clearing.

Standing across from her was this smug bastard with red eyes and a grin like he'd just won the lottery and decided the prize was violence. His spear glowed, crackling like it was charged up with pure spite, and he looked right at me like I'd just interrupted his favorite show.

"Victor?" Nemu shouted, still on the ground, eyes wide.

I blinked, offered her a half-grin and a two-finger salute. "Hey, fancy seeing you here. I got lost like... a lot."

Then I turned just in time to catch the blur of red closing in.

"Oh, hell—" I threw myself to the side, barely dodging the strike as Viral's spear missed me by a hair. I felt the wind from it graze my cheek and swear it singed my dignity a little.

He laughed. A real wild kind of laugh, like this was a game and I'd just been tagged in.

"Wow," I panted, ducking another jab. "You're like a rabid dog, huh?"

He grinned wider. "What, you don't like to play?"

"Not with guys who open with murder."

I flipped back, just narrowly dodging a low sweep that would've gutted me like a trout. My boots scraped against the stone, sparks flying.

"Listen—" I huffed, keeping my distance. "I come in peace, alright? I actually have a proposition."

"Oh?" he replied, smirk never wavering as he twirled the spear in his hand like it was an extension of his arm. "Does your little 'proposition' involve living peacefully under a giant Brob who could squish us all like lint?"

There it was.

I tilted my head, lips curling. "Oh, so you already know about it."

He lunged again, and I dropped low, rolling under his swing and popping back up behind him, brushing a bit of sewer grime off my jacket like I wasn't almost a corpse just now.

"I gotta say," I continued, "you're way more informed than I expected from a guy who fights like he's got unresolved trauma and something to prove."

"You talk too much," Viral growled.

"And you stab too much. Maybe we both need therapy."

He came at me again and I danced back, weaving between the strikes like a thread in a needle. I wasn't trying to win. Not yet. I was stalling.

Because let's be real—if this guy was as pissed as he looked, nothing I said was gonna get through his skull until he burned off at least some of that righteous fury.

And I still had a card or two left to play.

"Come on," I muttered to myself. "Just a few more swings, Red... then maybe we can stop playing tag and talk like semi-rational people."

Or, y'know. I'd die.

But hey—three days in the sewers for this? It was almost worth it.