MM - Chapter 155 - A JOB TO DO

Jedidiah frowned, releasing a weary sigh. “Such a shame. That was a fine punch for one at your level. Your skills are real. With twenty years to mature, you would be my better.” Killing intent blasted from the old master as he took a step toward Raine.

Jedidiah’s mental energy was met halfway and stopped cold. The young fool’s killing intent was accompanied by an animalistic grin rife with madness. Growling, Jedidiah redoubled his efforts, going all out. His brows shot to his hairline when Raine’s killing intent held his back without relinquishing an inch of airspace.

Raine dove in again, unleashing a solid combo of hard punches and elbows, not daring to strike the durable master with a knife-hand or chop that really would result in broken fingers. Jedidiah weaved and bent as his arms became a blur. Seven blows were countered with deplorable ease, yet they were all a buildup to the final punch that landed true. Raine’s fist burrowed into the exact same spot as his first punch and with an equally unnoticeable result.

Without any outward indication, a portion of Jedidiah’s mental energy condensed into the shape of a lance and thrust toward Raine’s skull. Reacting on instinct, he condensed his killing intent into a shield and deflected the mental attack. It had been a feint. As Raine’s energies coalesced, the rest of Jedidiah’s used the opportunity to close the distance, attempting to surround and overwhelm.

The instant Raine’s bloodlust swelled to push back, Jedidiah once more formed a lance, except now there were two of them coming from opposite directions. Raine leaped back, creating space to recover, and the old bastard let him.

“Do you see now your folly? That was nothing more than a basic training exercise any first-year should have mastered. The fact it came as a surprise only showcases how utterly unprepared you are for this stage.” Behind Jedidiah’s condescension was the unmistakable flash of greed. “This is truly your last chance. Become my disciple, and I will fill the gaps in your knowledge. Your potential is astounding; it should not be squandered by those who fear to properly instruct you.”

The crowd gasped, and even the masters on stage joined in. Only Moriot maintained an outward calm despite the absurdity of the offer. To attempt poaching a student from a grandmaster while standing in front of said grandmaster was truly absurd. For it to be done by a mere master was an insult that would almost certainly result in death. Jedidiah was taking a gamble, betting the grandmaster himself wouldn't intervene, as that would trigger severe legal ramifications. The shrewd master was willing to fight every one of Moriot’s disciples for the chance to acquire Raine.

Why he was going so far was a mystery Raine didn’t even consider. His answer came without an ounce of hesitation, “Astra Infernum has only one master! Now shut up and fight!” He raced forward again, bloodlust solidified into two layers, one smaller, condensed, and tough, the outer loose and malleable.

Jedidah tried the same trick as before, though now there were twelve lances. Raine ignored them, diving inside his opponent's guard to strike his side with dizzyingly fast blows. The lances punched through the outer layer and halfway through the inner but could go no further. Jedidiah’s frown deepened as he gave ground for the first time, fending off Raine’s physical blows while attempting to spear through his mental defenses.

Both mens’ limbs were invisible to the onlookers, internal force pushing their bodies beyond normal comprehension. After the first punch, it was clear to Raine that he was ridiculously outmatched in physique. The old man was not slightly superior, he was at least three times faster and stronger. If not for the monsters in ZionLine being many times faster, he wouldn’t have stood a chance of avoiding contact. And that was precisely what he had to do.

Two martials on even footing, fueled by internal force, could tear off limbs with a single hit. Meaning that if Raine allowed even one strike through, he could easily be ripped in half. Jedidiah’s shoulder lifted a millimeter as his torso rotated a fraction. Raine ducked the invisible knife-hand before it began to extend. His knuckles dug into Jedidiah’s obliques again. Judging from the pain radiating up his arm, something broke with the punch.

Raine didn’t let up, couldn’t let up. Giving Jedidah a moment to think could turn his only chance at victory into dust. The dance continued, Raine giving chase in circles around the stage as Jedidiah stubbornly assaulted his mental defenses with ever more vicious attacks. The many lances were now concentrated in one spot, spinning as they burrowed deeper toward Raine’s skull. He wasn’t sure what would happen if they reached his brain, but it couldn’t be good considering how much effort Jedidiah was putting into them.

Meanwhile, the master fended off Raine’s assault with ease. Each block had to be avoided, as they would undoubtedly result in broken bones. This made leading Jedidah’s defenses elsewhere for each actual strike all the more challenging. It was taking longer and longer to land each punch as the old man grew wise to Raine’s strategy.

Despite the lack of outward response, there was no way Jedidiah was actually immune to the repeated punches; no matter how tough the exterior, solidifying organs was another thing entirely. The reverberations released into his sensitive innards had to be doing damage. If they weren’t, then there would be no point defending himself.

For a brief instant, Jedidiah drastically altered tactics. His arms, legs, and even forehead flashed out in a sequence of attacks so rapid that he seemed to vanish entirely. Raine contorted, narrowly sliding through the near-instant assault with sublime perfection. Jedidah might be ninety, but after thirty years of ZionLine’s time dilation, Raine’s age wasn’t much different. There was, however, a monstrous difference in combat experience. While Jedidiah likely fought for real once every few years, Raine had battled with his life on the line multiple times a day, and against enemies that would end them both in an instant.

Experience alone could not bridge such a gap in training. The speed of Jedidiah’s attacks could be compared with the Avatar of Rhashkahal raid boss. Smaller and in closer quarters, that should have left Raine utterly unable to defend. Yet, there was no way for a human to attack without moving multiple parts of the body, and if the body moved when Raine could see it, his experience allowed him to know precisely which attack was coming. Then, it was only a matter of getting out of the way.

It was clear Jedidah hoped to put Raine off-balance with the sudden barrage, then resume his mental assault to finish the fight in an instant. Not only were his attacks nullified, but they were also countered by a punch and kick to the gut. Meanwhile, Raine’s bloodlust didn’t falter in the least. Jedidiah didn't let up, launching into another complex series of deadly attacks. In a display that should have been impossible, Raine held his ground, dodging every one of them.

In Raine's past, the thirty years of ZionLine’s monstrous combat had evolved Earth's martial scene more than the last two hundred years preceding it, giving rise to commonalities that the current martials could hardly imagine. One such technique was absolute control and manipulation of every minute facet of the body. With supreme control over his muscles, the angles Raine could contort himself into defied belief. As Raine bent, weaved, and distorted, the masters who once looked at him with pity gazed on with gaping jaws. 

Another strike landed on Jedidiah. The first sign of pain appeared as a twitch in the old man’s left eye. Unfortunately, it came at the cost of at least two broken toes. The pain was nothing compared to the soul flame burning him alive. If anything, each fresh misery only made him feel more alive. As Jedidiah stepped back to reevaluate his strategy, Raine redoubled the assault. Jedidiah answered with a roar packed full of killing intent. Sensing that his foe was finally growing serious, Raine hopped away.

Jedidiah’s foot smashed into the stage, propelling him forward at incredible speed. He sprinted headlong toward Raine, each step blasting apart large chunks of plasteel flooring. Luckily, there was a much more durable layer beneath it that even a grandmaster would struggle to damage. Murder now shone in the old man’s eyes, and avoiding his onslaught became Raine’s entire existence; there was room for nothing else; each punch and kick was dodged with so little room for error that his bandages were quickly reduced to rags. Despite missing, the force behind his attacks was enough to tear apart Raine's skin. Splattered blood slickened their footing. Desperation flared within Raine’s chest. Only twice in the past had he felt so pressured, both times facing assassins that he only survived because he had help.

On this stage of his own making, Raine was alone, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. The real match had begun. It was time to take a step forward, or die.

Melani Feladay

- Carter City Central -

Like everyone else watching in the crowd, Mel couldn’t believe what her eyes were telling her; nobody should be that fast. The fact Raine was repeatedly dodging him by the slimmest margins made it even more outlandish. Absolute silence washed through the people around her the moment they began trading blows at lightning speed. Her heart hadn’t beat once since then. She gasped when the coalition’s master released his shout, sweet oxygen filling her lungs. Color and sound returned in a flash, along with the panic she should have felt from the beginning.

Exactly as Raine predicted, Jedidiah wasn’t using any martial techniques. To be more accurate, he wasn’t permitted to use them. They were only to be displayed behind closed doors, never on an open stage. Raine was under no such constraint. He used everything she’d seen him wield in ZionLine, repeatedly side-stepping, dashing, and even a few new moves she didn’t know he possessed. His mysterious footwork, combined with inhuman contortions, allowed him to stay just out of reach.

But all that changed when the master got serious. Now, stepping into the range of his limbs was sure death. It was as if the master used a berserk skill. Worse, Raine’s ruined fist and foot—which she doubted he was even aware of—were slowing him down. Any second could be his last.

Fear for Raine’s safety slithered into her muscles, choking them into inactivity. As quickly as the emotion came, rage, unlike anything she’d ever known, battled back the terror. She worked so hard for the chance to stand at the stage’s edge. To almost lose herself at the most vital moment and risk everything was infuriating. Tears threatened, only to be denied with pure force of will. 

Mel had a job to do.

Spinning away from the intense duel, she watched the crowd with eyes wide open, not missing a single detail. They were here—the assassins sent by Damian Tafell—Raine had been sure they would strike the moment his battle reached its climax, and it was her job to stop them. To fail was to let Raine die. She was the only one who could protect him, and nothing could be allowed to stop her, certainly not some unimportant emotions that could be spilled after this insanity was over.

Mel didn’t see them anywhere. All eyes were on the stage to the point nobody around noticed her staring. They hardly moved, jaws agape and just as unable to breathe as she had been moments ago. She couldn’t blame them; masters never went all out in public view. This was a sight rarely witnessed, and never by an open crowd.

Dread-packed seconds ticked by without the slightest sign of movement, but Mel wasn’t fooled. She had been trained in ZionLine. Even if she didn’t notice, the new combat instincts brutally drilled into her flesh knew something was coming. The fine hair on her neck stood at attention and unfamiliar strength flooded her limbs as adrenaline soared through her blood. The danger was here; it was all around her.

They came from below.

Ceraphault pavement exploded beneath Mel’s feet as a highly advanced military drone burst from underground. Arms covering her face, Mel jumped back, but not fast enough to avoid being burned by a drone producing heat capable of melting through durable city infrastructure. A hiss escaped her throat as the skin on her forearms sizzled. Screams filled the air as more than twenty of the drones ripped their way into the air from all around the stage. With pitiless programming, they zipped toward the grandmaster.

A second wave of drones followed through the holes they dug, swarming right for Raine. If not for the relentless training she’d been through, Mel never would have spotted the dozen dark shadows using the distraction to rapidly weave through the crowd.

The assassins had arrived, and so had Mel’s moment to rescue her man. With all the strength and speed her body could muster, she smashed a fist into the device Raine left just for her. It was a simple thing, an ancient, analog remote attached to the side of the stage. At its center was a shiny red button that her knuckles painfully dug into.

The duraplex layer covering the stage crumbled away in a series of harmless microexplosions, revealing the real setting they'd been battling atop—a massive, ceramasteel box. With a shuddering clang, the center of the box opened like a zooming camera lens. Raine and Jedidiah fell into the darkness within, Morty’s drone following right behind them. An instant later, the armored trapdoor clicked shut, sealing them in. According to Raine, the whole stage was actually an armored container capable of withstanding an ‘orbital bombardment,’ whatever that meant.

I swear, the terms boys come up with to grandstand about their fancy toys are nonsensical in the extreme.

Without waiting to see if they were safe, Mel ripped the remote from its connector and ran, the only way inside the stage clutched desperately in her fingers.

Glancing up at the side of a building, she briefly observed the live feed of assassins battling masters. Meanwhile, the grandmaster flicked drones from the air without letting them draw close enough to singe his dark bandages. The image flickered, revealing a dark space where Raine and Jedidiah’s duel to the death continued unabated.

Those lunatics are still fighting?!

Movement to Mel’s right registered as a threat and she dove to the side. A skinny leg flashed through the air, barely missing. Mel came up in an awkward roll, narrowly avoiding a collision with several people. A lithe woman in a dark bodysuit sneered down at her, the top half of her face hidden behind a mask. There was something about the condescending expression on her thin lips that tugged at Mel's memories, but this was no time for solving mysteries. 

Mel turned and ran like her life depended on it, because it very much did. Two thrown blades slid through the cerpahault where she'd just been standing, their edges so sharp they barely made a whisper of sound as they burrowed deep. Still, Mel couldn't find it in herself to fear for her own life. All that mattered was protecting the remote. If they got their hands on it, nothing would stop them from reaching the man she loved.