Amazon Apocalypse 4: Chapter 57

The arena was easy to find. The last time we toured the city together, Cyra had pointed it out to me from afar, and it was hard to miss. To me, it looked like a copy of the Colosseum in Rome but blown up to larger proportions.

It was about half the size of some of the larger modern football stadiums I’d been to but dug deeper into the ground. Fighters would be competing at least partially in a pit, but that was a necessary safety precaution when people could be throwing around powerful offensive magic.

The structure itself was much as I expected and made mostly of uniform gray stone. I would have mistaken it for concrete, but closer inspection revealed it to be more like porcelain. I suspected it was the product of a mighty earth manipulation spell, since most construction here in the Mucaria pocket realm utilized considerable magic.

Right now, both the stands and the booths high overhead were mostly empty. Only the area nearest to the arena had any bystanders, and most of the bystanders looked like fighters. And soon, I would too.

I looked around to ensure nobody was watching, then stepped into a nearby alley.

“It’s morphin’ time...” I muttered to myself. Then I activated my Multipurpose Glyph spell and conjured the various disassembled portions of my Doomblade armor.

In seconds, I gained nearly three feet of height and put on two thousand pounds of magical metal. I settled in comfortably, and the new interface immediately felt a lot more intimate than my previous one. I could vaguely sense the cobblestones beneath my feet and the cool air on my armor, though neither sensation was as vivid as it would have been in my own skin. That level of tactile feedback would have to wait a few more upgrades.

Most importantly, the field of view and ventilation systems were working properly. Cameras augmented my vision so I wasn’t reduced to a narrow slit of sight like most sets of armor, and I always hated the stuffy air inside a regular helmet.

My hulking silver frame hopefully looked some combination of intimidating and impressive. If I had a mirror somewhere, I would have made sure, but the best I could do was check out my own reflection in a nearby shop window.

People milled by, and I didn’t stand out anywhere near as much as I thought I would. There were plenty of humanoid races that were particularly tall, so to anyone who saw me, they probably thought I was just an ordinary eight-foot-tall man in armor. Nothing out of the ordinary here.

My enchantments crawled along the length of my armor. They were so omnipresent and so tiny that they looked like a dull matte texture over the entire set of armor. Much to my alarm, I realized my enchantments were actually good enough that most people wouldn't even realize they were there. My armor had finally looped around to being so good it looked kind of mediocre.

Maybe in the future, I’d need to add something more obvious because right now, it looked like I was wearing second-rate armor, despite how hard I worked on this set. The feeling was a bit of a punch in the gut, but this kind of thing was what prototypes were for. For now, it might be better to draw less attention, at least until people saw me in action when the tournament began for real.

I made my way to the arena’s front entrance, where I was greeted by a teller.

“Seats are one contribution point to watch the arena duels. If you want to compete, you can enter on ground level for free, though the betting tables will take a fee.”

I nodded, then deepened my voice a little. Last time I was Doomblade I wanted to mess with my friends. Now, I needed something a little more heroic. Maybe I could blend in a little of that heroic aura I’d cultivated on Eowyn’s world. I considered what to say and how to act.

“Then into the arena I go,” I declared, quickly excusing myself as I left in the direction of the ongoing fights.

Several fights were going on at once, scattered in different parts of the arena in various chalk-lined boxes. Most were D-Grade fights, and while they would be nice to watch, I was far too strong to compete in such battles, even in this armor. My Doomblade armor limited me a bit, since I was acting as a melee combatant, but I still felt like I was a match for the average C-Grade. And hopefully, I would only get better from here as I made improvements to the armor and my own abilities.

So I needed a C-Grade fight to test myself, and there was only one of those going on. I made my way in that direction.

The battle in question was one of opposites. On one side was a strapping Minotaur man who was nearly as large as my armored form. He swung a battleaxe with reckless abandon. Each wave of his arm carried the strength to cut down a small grove of trees or carve a chunk out of a mountainside. But right now, his swings were hitting nothing but air.

His opponent was about half the size of a normal woman and had a pair of glittering wings on her back. She held a tiny needle-like rapier, and she flickered from place to place as fast as I could blink. Golden sparkles trailed along behind her as she flew, and it was clear she intended to overcome her much larger opponent through a combination of magic and a thousand tiny cuts.

I received a few nods of an acknowledgment as I approached, but only a single greeting.

“Hey there, big guy. You here for the tournament qualifications?” asked a tough-looking woman. She looked human enough, but she was bigger than she should have been. Now that I was looking closer at her, she smiled a little too wide, and all her teeth were pointed like a shark’s.

“I hear you aren’t taken seriously unless you win a match here.” I nodded in the direction of the ongoing fight.

“Damn right. Rumor is they won’t even let people in the preliminary matches without a win in the arena. You think you can pull one off?” the shark woman eyed me up and down, assessing me for threat. I felt a tingle run up and down my armor’s signifying she’d taken a look at me with examine. Apparently, whatever she saw was somebody she decided not to fight because she didn't issue me a challenge after that. She did turn her eyes back to the match, though.

“The Minotaur’s name is Ivanar. The flighty fairy is Slyva. Both of them are pretty strong C-Grade contenders. Either of them should have had an easy win under their belt, but they were the two strongest, so they decided to challenge one another. It’s a bad matchup for Ivanar, though. He can’t land a single hit. Slyva’s just too small and fast, and she’s damn good with illusions, too.” She nodded in the direction of the fight.

“I sense a plan in Ivanar. His shoulders slump, and his axe droops lower with every swing.” I pointed out the obvious signs of exhaustion.

“He’s getting tired. I’d be getting tired too if I was swinging around that big lump of metal and hitting nothing.” The shark-woman shrugged.

I shook my armored head. “Perhaps. But I don’t think he’s as tired as he appears. He’s baiting his opponent into finishing the fight too early.”

The shark-woman didn’t believe me, especially after a minute passed, and Ivanar the Minotaur only seemed to grow more tired. When he fell to one knee without so much as landing a single blow, a few people started walking away.

“Damn it! Thanks a lot, Ivanar. I just lost a week’s pay on that bet...” said a man as he kicked the ground in disgust and headed for the stands. From the looks of things, he hadn’t been the only one to gamble on a last-minute win on Ivanar the Minotaur.

But then Slyva the fairy finally made the mistake he’d been waiting for. She dove directly toward him, clearly going right for the throat. It seemed like a particularly aggressive move for just a sparring match and one that could kill even a C-Grade like Ivanar if he couldn’t protect himself somehow.

But Ivanar could do more than protect himself. He waited for Slyva to dart in far too close, then he dropped his axe and brought his hands together in an air-shattering clap.

The wave of sound and air pressure knocked Slyva right out of the air. The shark woman next to me was covering her ears, and considering how much closer the fairy was, it had to have been even worse for her. I’d built noise-canceling headphones into my helmet, so I was fine. Originally, it had been because it included the radio headset I wanted and I thought battle-appropriate music might be neat, but it worked just as well for protecting against sonic attacks.

After the slap knocked Slyva out of the air, Ivanar followed it up with a devastating downward swing of his axe. Like his fairy opponent, he wasn’t pulling any punches either. Blunt or not, his weapon carried enough force behind it to split the tiny fairy in half.

“Surrender!” Ivanar demanded as he brought his axe down.

Ivanar halted his axe a hair’s breadth from Slyva’s chest. The smallest nudge further, and it would have split her in half.

“You’re pretty good, big guy. How’d you know Ivanar was going to pull that off?” the shark woman nudged me in the side of my armor.

“Instincts. But it’s not over yet. The fairy has a trick too.”

As we watched. She leaned back and flashed the crowd a cheeky wink. Then, she grabbed the Minotaur’s axe with both hands and tugged it down on top of her. Her body exploded into fairy dust, proving it had been nothing but an illusion.

And the real fairy was overhead, hovering just in front of Ivanar’s unprotected eye.

“I had you there! If this wasn’t a duel, you’d be dead already.” Ivanar growled.

“Maybe. Or maybe it was an illusion the whole time. It’s my win, you stubborn old bull!” the fairy chimed playfully.

Ivanar grumbled, huffed, then dropped his axe. A few people applauded the dramatic fight, and I joined in.

“Now that was a fight! Seems like Slyva is certain to be a contender in the tournament. Ivanar too, if he can find somebody to beat after that loss.” The shark woman shrugged.

Ivanar, for his part, seemed rather cross with his loss. I suspected he really had Slyva back there toward the end, just as he claimed. But the arena rules hadn’t worked to his advantage. Nor would the tournament rules.

The massive Minotaur man was clearly angry with his loss, and I sympathized. He was a strong opponent and a capable fighter, but he’d been countered hard by his opponent. I was curious about what he could do against someone he could actually hit.

While Slyva skipped out of the ring and took flight to leave the arena after her win, Ivanar stayed behind. He huffed hot steam and leaned on his axe as he scanned the crowd.

“Well, who wants to fight me? Don’t be shy. I just lost to some little girl. Maybe I’ve lost my touch.” Ivanar scanned the crowd, especially those who’d been cursing his name moments before because of their lost bets.

None of the fighters besides me stepped up, but a lot of them stepped back, including the shark woman next to me. Soon, I was at the front of the crowd, arms crossed and staring Ivanar the Minotaur down from across the arena.

Naturally, all eyes were drawn to me, especially Ivanar’s. The scattered groups in the stands were already pointing my direction.

“You there, in the armor! I haven’t seen your face before.” Ivanar hefted his axe back into his hands and pointed it in my direction.

“I’m new here,” I replied.

“What a great coincidence, new guy! It just so happens we here in the arena have a bit of a tradition. Everybody fights on their first day.”

I glanced at the crowd behind me. Many were looking at me expectantly. Those that weren’t were busy placing new bets on Ivanar to earn back the money they’d just lost on the previous fight.

I looked the Minotaur up and down, examining him in the process. Others weren’t shy about using the ability on me, so I figured it was fine in the arena.

Ivanar the Iron Bull (Level 174)

The Minotaur man was pretty far into the C-Grade. Not as far as I was, but he’d be strong just about anywhere. With my spells, I knew I could handle him without issue. But my melee abilities weren’t quite up to the same level.

“You’re wounded,” I said, nodding in Ivanar’s direction.

“And exhausted, too. Don’t think that’ll make me a pushover,” Ivanar chuckled.

Within the armor, I couldn’t really use Morgathor’s Satchel too well, but a bit of juggling let me pass a biscuit through my armor’s storage compartment and into a higher dimension, then into a pouch on the hip of my suit. To an onlooker, it’d probably just look like I’d reached for the bag of holding on my hip.

In my hand, one of Bridget’s biscuits appeared. I tossed it to the tough-looking minotaur man.

“That should help with your wounds and exhaustion.”

He caught the biscuit with nimble fingers, gave it a sniff, then shrugged and bit into it. As he did so, his eyes widened.

“Not bad. I thought you were just throwing me leftovers. You eat well, tin man. Maybe you should spend less on breakfast and more on gear.” Ivanar shot a glance at my armor as he licked his lips as he hefted his axe over his shoulder. I did the same to my oversized sword, then stepped into the ring.

“This armor is better than it looks,” I assured him.

Ivanar scoffed. “I’ll be the judge of that. Begin!”

And just like that, the fight started. He rushed me with his axe, swinging wide. I stepped back, lurching out of the way with a mechanical jerkiness I hadn’t entirely ironed out of the power armor’s movements.

He swung twice more, and twice more I dodged. Wielding my sword felt like I was wearing gloves far too thick, and the fact I was two feet above the ground in my power armor made positioning difficult.

I’d ironed all this out as best I could in practice, but practice and actual combat were two very different things. If not for my fight against the Lich King, I probably would have already taken an axe blow to the head.

But I was a quick learner, and soon I was quick on my feet too. I fell into step with Ivanar's advance, and my fingers tightened around my sword.

“You’re fast for a big guy in heavy armor. But not as fast as me!” Ivanar jumped, axe held high overhead.

I shifted my weight and lifted my sword, presenting its tip to him as he leaped in my direction. He compensated by slapping the tip of my blade aside with his axe, but that left him wide open. My gauntleted fist collided with his stomach, and the motorized punch packed enough force behind it to crack granite.

The blow flung Ivanar backward and knocked the wind out of him, but only for a moment. He was on his feet again before I could press the advantage. Behind me, I could hear the taunts and cheers go quiet as people realized this was going to be an actual fight instead of the one-sided stomp they’d expected from Ivanar.

“Maybe I really am losing my touch.” Ivanar’s lips curled into a snarl, and his knuckles went white on the haft of his axe.

What followed was a wild series of swings meant to overwhelm me with a combination of strength and ferocity. And once upon a time, it might have done just that. But I’d stared down the jaws of scarier enemies than one angry Minotaur. Something like this wouldn’t make me flinch.

I fell back on the training I’d done with Cyra and the memories of all the horrible monsters I’d cut down. I held my sword level before me, refusing to shrink back or give ground. After deflecting the first dozen blows, I rushed forward and shoved with the base of my sword. Ivanar went flying backward again, but this time, I was on top of him before he could roll to his feet.

I swung my sword around, moments away from burying it in the sand, a hand away from his head. He bucked like a bull and kicked me off, though I hardly felt the kick within my armor.

I decided I’d gotten a feel for fighting in power armor again. I could fight well enough, now I wanted to see what kind of blows I could take.

So I raised my off-hand like a shield and lowered my shoulder. I hoisted my sword high overhead with my other hand, then rushed forward. Ivanar accepted the obvious opening and lashed out at my arm, but the enchantments lining my armor sent the tip of his weapon glancing off to the side.

With my armor protecting me, I realized I didn’t need to be nearly as careful as I was used to. Normally, I did my best to dodge every incoming attack and take any opportunity I could to retaliate with spells. That was good practice for any squishy spellcaster. My sword was largely a defensive weapon if enemies got close or if I got surrounded.

But that fighting style didn’t suit Doomblade. Right now, I was a hulking warrior in heavy enchanted armor. I could wade straight into the fiercest parts of the fight, ignore incoming attacks thanks to my armor, and focus on cutting down my enemy. So, I switched tactics and did just that.

This time, it was Ivanar who faced a series of wild and ferocious blows. He was driven back, forced to the far side of the arena. Like me, he wasn’t intimidated by the sudden overwhelming aggression, but unlike me, he couldn’t take advantage of the opportunity. His next two axe strikes did nothing against my enchanted plates.

“Damn it! What is that suit made of? Solid adamantium?” Ivanar growled.

“Like I said, this armor is better than it looks,” I replied.

From there, the rest of our fight took on a very different tone. Either wasn’t willing to use his most powerful abilities, or he simply didn’t have anything that could get through my armor. I could have stood in the center of the arena with my arms crossed and ignored his attacks, and the fight would still have been my victory.

I could tell the effects of Bridget’s biscuit were wearing off on Ivanar. His wounds from the previous fight were opening up, and he was moving slower than he had when the fight started. Wearing him out like that wouldn't be sporting, given he'd fought a prior match and I hadn't. I'd need to end this soon.

We locked sword to axe, and I realized I wished we could have fought when he was fresh. That would have been a much better test of my new power armor.

I shrugged off blows that should have killed me, where I still had squishy flesh and blood. It was one thing to know the armor I was wearing added the equivalent of a thousand stat points to my health pool, it was another to feel Ivanar’s axe battering helplessly against my chest and arms and leaving little more than tiny scratches despite the strength behind his swings.

The Minotaur was growing increasingly frustrated at his lack of damage. It was no wonder, either. First, he fought an enemy he couldn’t hit. Now he was fighting an enemy he couldn’t hurt. Between the two, he had to feel like his power had suddenly left him, and a few in the crowd who hadn’t bet on the Minotaur were snickering at his plight.

I decided I’d rather not embarrass him too much. It wouldn’t be good to sew bad blood among the other competitors, and it was a poor strategy to show all my suit’s powers before the tournament even began. It was time to end this.

I brought my heavy two-handed sword around in a sweeping arc, knocking Ivanar off his feet with the flat of the blade. He retaliated instinctually, but my armor shrugged off his return strike as I slapped him across the jaw with the flat of my blade.

He lay there for a moment, tense and unyielding, but he mulled over the last few moments of the fight and realized he’d lost.

“You could have used the edge on that last strike and I’d be without a leg. Or the edge on that second strike, leaving me without a head. I yield."

The Minotaur made to push himself to his feet. I reached one hand around his arm and hauled him upward, then placed his axe back in his hand.

“You fight well,” I congratulated him.

“Not well enough,” Ivanar grumbled.

“Perhaps you can try again sometime.” I shrugged.

“I might take you up on that. What’s your name, Metal Man? Examining you only leaves me more confused.”

“They call me Doomblade.”


<Note>
Yes, Carter watched Power Rangers. No, he will not need to shout 'It's Morphin' time!' every time to transform. This was a one time thing.