RD 4 Ch 33

Vidar let out an incredibly fake laugh. "Oh, Bran, it'll take a lot more than your face to anger me." He stepped forward, and I could feel the purpose behind his movement.

The years of fighting had honed my instincts, and I noticed how his hips shifted down slightly as he took that step. His entire posture went loose, like a fighter ready for the first punch.

With his next step, he kicked off the ground, crossing the distance between us in the blink of an eye. His fist was about to slam into my face.

Yet, I didn't so much as blink. There was no need to be concerned, not here next to Ozzy.

A hundred skeletal hands broke out of the walls in every direction grabbing onto him and halting his attack as if he’d hit a solid wall. Most importantly, stopping his fist an inch from my face.

My dark hair blew back with the breeze.

"Vidar, I know you Borrsons have a horrible temper, but unfortunately, Bran is currently my guest," Ozzy said, stepping out from behind me, his eyes alight with ghostly fire.

The skeletal hands pushed Vidar back before retreating into the walls. The sandstone smoothed back over, hiding them once again.

We were standing inside the largest crypt ever made. Hundreds of thousands of the dead initiated over the years, had been prepared by the Ennead clan and entombed within the building. Each and every one of them retained some measure of their strength from when they were still alive.

As a core member of the Ennead family, and also a lich, Ozzy most certainly had access to all of that strength when he stood inside its walls. Even if it was me at my peak in my past life, I wouldn't pick a fight  with a core member of the Ennead in their home. To do so was absolutely stupid beyond measure.

Vidar clicked his tongue and stepped back. "Little whelp had the gall to try and upset me. I wasn't going to kill him, but he did deserve a lesson."

"I'm the one who deserves a lesson?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. "You can't even inspect me, Vidar, and yet you tried to throw a punch. Who knows if you'd have kicked a wall far harder than your fist."

Vidar laughed and glanced over at Ozzy. "I assume he's attempted to be mysterious with you as well. Let me dispel the notion that he has any strength. The boy," Vidar emphasized the word, "standing in front of you, is eighteen years old. I think even if he was Zeus' firstborn, he wouldn't have the strength or experience to come close to matching me.”

Vidar turned back to me, eyes sharp with anger. “You need to learn to respect those who are your elder in age and strength. As far as I'm concerned, all I see is a cocky twat that needs to learn a few lessons."

I knew that Vidar was doing his best to anger me. I let the jabs roll off with the smug satisfaction of knowing just how surprised he would be if he learned my actual strength.

Ozzy gauged both of us evenly. "If I had to bet which one of you is eighteen years old, I would have picked you, Vidar," Ozzy stated before turning his back to all of us. "But you've come, and I owe you a meeting. Come now, Vidar. And Bran, do be careful on your way out."

Vidar gave me a smug grin, though I felt half of the look was him attempting to re-establish some sort of pecking order after Ozzy's words. "Seems I interrupted something. Oh well." Vidar turned and followed behind Ozzy.

His adopted daughter went to keep up with him, only for me to place a heavy hand on her shoulder that stopped her from taking another step.

"And where do you think you're going?" I said, having other plans for her.

"Unhand me, you mutt," she growled, her eyes flaring with venom.

Perfect, her anger would work wonderfully.

“Bran…” Circe warned, but I ignored her.

"Oh, perhaps I assume you're closer to my age than your adoptive father. Why don't we have a little match. Ozzy? I'm certain your clan has a space that we won't completely destroy. Just to test each other. I don't think a Borrson would turn down a spar, after all that’s how we learn. Especially not when the alternative is to sit in a room while people far older than them talk their ears off." I raised my eyebrows in challenge at Venthra.

She looked about as fiery as her hair.

Ozzy paused before turning back, as if assessing what I was trying to do. 

"I will make you eat those words," Venthra snapped. 

I grinned, knowing that I had gotten to her.

Despite Vidar's brashness, and every other action, he hesitated, his eyes calculating as he searched over me. He might talk down to me, but he wasn’t so sure. "It seems you really do like my adopted daughter. That is fine. Go play and flirt to your heart's content. Just don't break too many of his bones," Vidar laughed and waved us both off. 

Ozzy stood for a moment before making a gesture. A pile of bones spilled out from the ceiling with hollow clinks, before they scrambled together, building themselves up into a whole skeleton. After that was done, he led Vidar away.

"Right this way," it gestured with a hollow voice. 

"Bran," Circe said, walking up behind me, her tone filled with threats. She wasn’t the only one that didn’t like this plan. Merlin’s gaze was filled with caution, but she didn’t object.

"What? I am a Borrson. And she is too. From everything my father's told me, this is how we get to know each other.”

“It can also be how to subtly break someone's leg, poison them, or otherwise incapacitate them in the long run.” Circe cautioned.

“Or that. But you wouldn't do that, would you, Venthra?" I said, speaking up, knowing she could hear Circe's words given how close we were and how little effort Circe had put into whispering.

Either she was leading Venthra along or she’d conveniently forgotten about my Immortal Body. I’d guess the former and I was happy to know she was at least more in my corner than she appeared.

"Of course not," Venthra said. "And after all, the great Circe Heros will be observing. We couldn't slip anything underneath her watchful eyes, could we? And she could intervene before either of us got hurt or either of us got permanently injured."

"Great point.” I offered, now absolutely sure she’d pull a dirty trick or a dozen. If Circe was here to ‘watch’ and didn’t stop it then Vidar could blame the Heros Clan.

Circe shook her head. "I'm not taking responsibility for what Bran might do.”

"Why not?" I asked, sounding offended. 

"Because I'm not going to be responsible for when you cave her skull in. You and Vidar seem to be like oil and water. Can't even put you two in the same hallway together without the two of you looking like you're about to start trading blows.” Circe answered.

“Blame the Borrson. Every time he sees me, it's like he just wants to rip my heart out and eat it like an apple." I told her, “How can I not bristle when someone looks at me that way?”

Venthra laughed. "Hearts are far sweeter than apples. If you were a real Borrson, you would have known that."

"Oh, and I suppose you're more of a real Borrson than me? Sounds like you were adopted." I observed.

Venthra spun around and hissed at me, only for the skeleton to touch a panel that slid away and revealed a large arena in front of us. It was enough for her to compose herself and straighten up rather than put on some unsightly display.

She was a wild one when no one was watching. I’d bet she did some pretty nasty work for Vidar, poisoning my mother was likely the tip of the iceberg.

A number of people I assumed were Ennead clan members paused in the midst of duels. Most of them were low levels with a few higher level ones in participation. Probably training new recruits.

The two of us, clearly with no love between us, stepped down into the area.

The amphitheater-like seating to the floor below. As if by some prior agreement, the spars stopped, and people scattered up to the stands, a few running out of the arena as Venthra and I stepped down to the floor and walked to different sides. 

"Rules?" Venthra asked, loud enough that all the spectators certainly heard. 

"Anything goes, of course. Just stop before killing the other. I'm sure Vidar would be most displeased if I returned you in a body bag, but in a wheelchair or a sling, he'd be fine. After all, what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger," I grinned at her, having learned quite a bit from my father on how to be a Borrson over our time together since he entered into my life.

Showing any interest in the clan's ways had turned into an outpouring from my father. It was as if he'd waited his whole life to explain the barbaric and violent rules of the Borrson clan to me. 

Venthra snorted. "Fine by me. It's alright if you try and pretend to be a Borrson. I will quickly dismiss that notion from your skull around the same time I start bouncing it around the floor." She gestured to a spot as if she'd already planned out this fight and knew how it was going to go. 

"Well, since you're so sure of yourself, I'll let you come first." I relaxed myself into a fighting position and motioned her forward.

She didn't hold back at all. Her red hair flew behind her as she threw herself across the arena. To many of those present, she probably looked fast and skilled enough to win this fight.

However, to me, she was simply far too slow. 

I stepped in quickly, catching her fist

Only for a spear to fly out of her spatial ring, and try to spear my palm.

I twisted back brushing aside the tip of the spear and striking her forearm hard enough to make her drop it before coming in with an open palm to her chest and sending her flying back.

Since no one could see my stats, the best thing I could do at that moment was to make it look like I was playing with Venthra.

If I could handle someone with all of their stats in the 2000s as if they were a joke, then their evaluations of me would rise significantly. One of the best perks of hiding myself from everyone's inspects was to be able to create the illusion of any strength that I desired. 

"You're stronger than I expected," Venthra got up quickly despite the harsh landing. But she was a Borrson. She’d been raised in brutal duels and a constant battle; getting up was second nature otherwise they’d beat you while you were down. She should at least be able to handle a few solid blows. 

"That's a shame. You're weaker than I expected. I thought a Borrson would be a little more than a single cheap trick. Throwing in the towel already?" I egged her on. 

"Just warming up," she insisted, bouncing back on the balls of her feet. "You said anything goes, so there's no such thing as a cheap trick." She shot back.

A small crowd began to gather around the amphitheater. It seemed our little duel was going to be the show fight of the day for the new recruits.

"I'm going to make you regret this fight," Venthra spat. "Make you regret attempting to step on the entire honor of the Borrson clan," she stood proudly in the center of the arena, retrieving her spear and striking a heroic figure.

So proudly, in fact, I wanted to break her down. I was ready for her to lose the prideful edge.

Venthra lunged at me again, her determination unwavering. Her spear scraped the ground, a faint green light glowing at the tip. As she struck, a serpent of magic coiled around the shaft, attacking from a different angle than the spearhead.

I deflected her spear, my other hand seizing and dispelling the magical serpent.

It vanished in a burst of light as I disrupted her spell. 

But she used the momentum carrying her forward, a spike protruding from the toe of her boot.

I raised my knee, colliding with her heel as I leaned back, causing her kick to swing short. I spun around, seizing her ankle. Using her momentum, I shifted my weight and hurled her over my shoulder, slamming her into the arena floor.

The crowd gasped at the force of the blow, but I merely crossed my arms and looked down at her disdainfully. "Get up, Venthra," I taunted. "Prove to me that you're more than a disappointment. If anyone here has inherited your father's ferocity, it's not you."

I needed her angry and to go too far. That would give me the justification to really take out my anger on the woman who killed my mother in my past life and tried to do so in this one. 

She growled, flipping onto her hands and knees before charging at me, driven by nothing more than raw rage and instinct.

I sidestepped, kicking her hand aside as she swiped at me. I noticed for the first time the bright red nail polish on her fingers. I wondered if it was poisonous, like everything else about her. 

"Is that all you've got?" I goaded her.

As she lunged at me, wild and uncontrolled.