II-8 Brawl

There is no easy way to tell how powerful or dangerous someone is. After years in the forces, I can tell you with certainty that the whole advancement classification we use is pretty felling flawed. That fancy soul-measuring thing they do at the academy these days to judge your total mana output only offers a partial picture, too—and let’s not even start with the damn fools who just “eyeball” things with their Analyze Skill.

The first part about being recognized as a Master is having a Master-Tier Skill. This means that a genius at Practical Physics will be regarded as a Master Pathbearer, too. And that doesn’t make them a “fake” Master by any means, but their Skill Evolutions and knowledge mostly goes toward understanding how physics works on a whole other level. It lets them make cool bombs, but functionally… they’re pretty vulnerable and about as dangerous as an Advanced Pathbearer because a lot of pure intellectuals don’t bother leveling their damn Physicality or Toughness at all.

Moving beyond that example, there are also levels to master. Low Master to me means a few things. The first is having only one Master-Tier Skill and maybe not even being in the Level Threshold. Even if you’re at the Level Threshold and have around two Master Skills, I’ll still call you a Low Master because a mid-to-high Master can’t be a one- or two-trick pony. That’ll just get them dead without support.

Then the considerations after this are what skills they are Master-Tier in. My wife is a Master of Physicality, Reflexes, Sword Proficiency, and Blacksmithing. She’s a terror up against anyone she can see—but Master Archers and Magi can still blast her from far, far away without her being able to do much. And her Magical Resistance means that she can’t operate entirely independently without a lot of magic support of her own.

Comparatively, I have a fused Master-Skill for both Physicality and Geomancy. I also have Alchemy, Practical Metallurgy, Quakesense—which I evolved from my Awareness. I can assemble a durable fortress for an entire army in less than an hour. I can tell how many men are marching from over the horizon and what forces they’re bringing.

What I can’t do is survive a single cut from my wife without a lot of preparations. Because when it comes to Toughness, I’m just an Adept.

Master is a title worthy of respect, but we war in degrees and details. Know what you got, because no skill is truly absolute.

But Hero-Tier Pathbearers? That’s another scale of power entirely…

-Memoirs of a Master-Tier War Mage

II-8

Brawl

Lightning flashed. Thunder rumbled. The ground shook. And 811 found his cruel grin once more.

The orc unleashed his full might with wild abandon as he brought his boot down on the ground. A thunderstorm exploded out from him in the same moment he unleashed a rolling landslide. Those around him fried as bolts jumped through them—fried, and were launched off the bridge and into the molten rivers below. Two bolts smashed into Shiv, but he just scoffed. Patches of his armor were now burned and blackened, but bone wasn’t much of a conductor for electricity.

The elemental golem fight prepared him pretty well for this encounter.

What concerned him more was the landslide coming his way—and how the bridge sounded like it was going to come apart at any second. Shiv moved. But he didn’t move alone. He launched his first bone drill at the orc—found it swept away by sheer force of wind. A small, but protective hurricane was twisting around 811, keeping him shielded. Shiv grinned

Good. He needed an easy source of momentum.

He charged 811, and the orc just barked a laugh and charged him right back. Groups of armed  demensionals rushed in to stop them. Most were electrocuted the moment they got within fifty meters of 811, others were swept back by the billowing winds gushing out from the orc’s body. But at the epicenter of elemental chaos, Shiv stomped forward like a juggernaut, ignoring the lighting, using his Biomancy to hover over bursting hands that erupted from the ground, and filling his Momentum Core with every bit of distance traveled.

And with each step, his rage only grew as the orc focused his powers on the slaves. He cooked them with his electricity—ground some to paste slowly. And all the while he smiled sweetly at Shiv, taunting the Deathless with his eyes.

He knows I care, Shiv realized. Cunning, cruel monster. Cunning, cruel dead monster. I’m going to make you regret every last godsdamned thing you ever did.

“Come on!” 811 cheered as Shiv smashed through one of his hands outright. Even with his full set of skills unleashed, 811 was slow—and getting slower to Shiv. His Momentum Core was half full already—and that was the beauty of fighting a big, heavy bruiser: they topped him off fast. Shiv slipped under a lance of lighting and seized both of his remaining drills. He was going to put these through the orc’s neck this time—give him a fatal wound to complete the bleeding flap on his cheek.

The bleeding flap that was already healing.

Shiv realized there was another reason the orc was committing mass murder: it nourished 811. It made him stronger and slaked his urges. And now, he had all the excuse to let loose and butcher as many people as he wanted to bring Shiv down.

Godsdamned cunning, cruel monster, Shiv thought again.

With a shout of effort, 811 launched his mace at Shiv. The Deathless twisted out of the way, barely letting it scrap his chest armor. Then the mace detonated with lightning and stone, with enough force that it tore the bridge asunder. The ground at their feet turned to twisted scrap and debris. The lesser Pathbearers and slaves around them became puffs of crimson mist or broken specks of machinery. But the exploding mace did one more thing.

It filled Shiv’s Momentum Core, and without anyone left alive as collateral damage, he didn’t hesitate to discharge.

A second blast swallowed the area. Shiv drove both of his drills into the orc’s neck as the sound barrier shattered for both of them. 811 was laughing, holding his arms out in embrace of the blow as they shot across the collapsing bridge back into the plaza they passed earlier. The screams of the wind and air turned to wails from the crowds as they approached. Through it all, 811 never stopped channeling lightning from his body—but he did stop being able to shape any stone or unleash tremors. Shiv thought he might need to be in contact with the ground to do that. Shiv then found himself updating his guess as his bone drills slipped through the initial layer of skin only to grind against a layer of dense, crystalline muscle.

As Shiv pushed, 811 gripped his body and squeezed. A shout of pain left Shiv as the ribs 811 fractured earlier broke entirely. The godsdamned big bastard was strong. He didn’t hit nearly as hard as Harkness did, but that was a factor of her Reflexes working alongside her Physicality. 811 wasn’t fast at all, but when it came to grappling, control and strength went further than acceleration and impact.

They crashed down along the plaza and bounced several times. People splattered against them. Shiv tried not to think about it. 811 just laughed. As 811 pulled him even closer, Shiv reshaped his bone drills into daggers—from which he took two and started cutting. He slashed and stabbed at the orc’s face and eyes. Flaps of skin and outer flesh parted and bled, but 811’s eyes were like impenetrable studs of armor. The orc laughed as squeezed harder. Shiv felt his armor crack—started draining momentum, but breathing was getting difficult.

That just made Shiv attack harder. His arms turned to a blur, cuts leaving them both painted in the orc’s dark, thick blood. 811 smiled sweetly as Shiv tried sawing through the wounds left along his neck. They finally came to a stop against a set of metal doors. Doors that opened to reveal a very confused Umbral staring at them. An Umbral that was promptly splattered against the ceiling—along with everyone else nearby, as rows of stone-shaped fists exploded up from the ground.

Shiv’s fury combusted. His hits got harder and quicker even as darkness crept along the edges of his vision, even as his lungs fought for air.

“You’re so beautiful,” 811 sighed, even as the Deathless opened his entire cheek. “A real brawler. A real killer to the bone.”

He headbutted Shiv. Shiv’s helmet shattered. The Deathless didn’t care. He headbutted the orc right back. 811’s fangs broke. Shiv’s forehead began gushing blood. It didn’t matter—-it didn’t matter that he was on the verge of passing out, that one of his drifting ribs was slicing through his insides, that 811 was just laughing. He was going to kill this orc, his Momentum Core—

811 spat blood in Shiv’s eyes. The Deathless cursed, blinded; still attacking. Then the bastard took the rest of Shiv’s senses away from him by clapping his massive hands together along the sides of Shiv’s head. Shiv felt his left eardrum burst. His right was ringing. Equilibrium and balance became a distant memory, but he still kept ripping and slashing. He could still feel 811, taste the orc’s blood on his tongue.

He was going to kill the monster. No matter what it took. Even if he had to rip the thing’s throat out with his teeth.

Then, something gripped him. Something heavy and strong, and Shiv drained whatever momentum he could from it. But soon he was being crushed again—a brief inhalation of air forced out from his chest. It was a testament to Shiv’s Physicality and Toughness that he hadn’t blacked out yet. Adrenaline, hate, and bloodlust kept him going. But the damn hand kept him in place.

Diamond Shell > 88

As he blinked the blood clear from his eyes, he realized he was being held in a massive crystal fist, that 811 was approaching him with a smile on his face. And what a face that was. The orc’s face was a bloody, swollen mess interspersed with cuts, broken teeth, and a dislodged eye. 811 laughed as he forced his left eyeball back in a socket with a finger before he came to a stop before Shiv. The Deathless struggled, stabbing, writhing, twisting against the crystal hand, taking in what little momentum he could to fuel his core. He just needed another hit. Another hit to reset the situation.

He struck out at 811 with his Biomancy. The orc barely reacted. His Magical Resistance as about as strong as his body. He advanced leisurely, ignoring the bone daggers Shiv launched into him, chuckle at the Deathless’s feeble Pyromancy. As he got close, Shiv’s only working ear cleared, and he heard the orc speak to him.

“You’re system-sent gift, you know that? So many humans… they run from me. They’re afraid of me. They don’t give me the fight I want. They refuse to bleed with me, they reject what they are, what they can do. But you don’t. I see it in you. I hear it in you. You’re not afraid of it either. Death. You just enjoy life. You just want to fight. But…” the orc sniffled as he picked up a severed limb—a limb that belonged to a slave. “You also care. So. Not entirely like me in the end. Still human. Just enough.”

“Shut up and fight,” Shiv growled, his voice hoarse and vicious.

811 drew in a huge lungful of air—a lungful he knew Shiv couldn’t take—and nodded. “Well said. I do get a little distracted sometimes. Well. Let me show you my final Master-Tier Skill.” And the 811’s eyes crackled with electricity, and his fists hardened to dense slabs of stone and crystal.

Here come some new Diamond Shell levels, Shiv sighed internally. Better use this to charge up my Momentum Core quick.

But the first sign that it wasn’t going to be so easy to fill Momentum Core came with 811 adopted an actual fighting stance. He brought his fists high beside his face and began to bob and weave as he approached. 

Shiv blinked. Oh, shi—

And then the beating started.

Shiv twisted his body in anticipation of a jab—but then the orc disappeared as he ducked. Only to reappear right under Shiv, corkscrewing what felt like the hardest body shot in existence into Shiv’s liver. Shiv’s Biomancy gave him every last ugly detail as he felt his body go into shock. His liver was ruptured. His small intestines were shredded. Even with how thick his armor was, the orc’s blows came all the way through—passing deep like Diamond Shell didn’t matter at all.

Is this where Master-Tier Striking Proficiency gets you? Shiv wondered, his thoughts drifting in the throes of agony. It was only thanks to the focus crystal bracelets that he managed to shape a spell with his fingers, pulling his organs and broken bones back in place to stop the damage from getting worse.

811 roared a laugh. He bounced on his feet in front of Shiv, grinning. “Look at you. Not even shaking. Are you sure you’re actually a man, and not a piece of iron.”

Shiv spat blood at orc—and got it on the insides of his mask. Oh, gods, I’m a—

That thought vanished along with 811. And then Shiv knew nothing but pain and agony as the orc reappeared at random places to drive bomb after bomb into Shiv. Momentum Core required Shiv’s focus to use. He managed to partially absorb one or two shots, but the orc vanished every time he dodged, only to appear somewhere behind or beside Shiv to brutalize his abdomen.

By this point, Shiv accepted himself for dead. He accelerated his healing and began to line his insides with tumors—at least the growths would keep his broken bones in place and cushion his organs. Except that didn’t happen. Every one of 811’s blows keep passing through all the way—it was like the forces of his punches had to travel straight through Shiv. If the Deathless didn’t have Diamond Shell, he suspected that his insides would resemble little more than soup right now.

Might of Mass > 77

Diamond Shell > 89

“Taking it like a true Pathbearer!” 811 cackled as he began to blink everywhere with every duck. Shiv blinked, trying to track his enemy—only to catch the worst uppercut of his life coming from an angle he just didn’t see.

Peace. Silence. Nothingness. The pain was gone. Shiv’s thoughts were settled. There was a sense of bliss, even if he wasn’t fully aware of it.

The bliss broke like a bubble as Shiv slammed against what felt like a wall. A ragged cry out of pain escaped him as his entire body felt like death—made him yearn for death. He tried to rise, but the movement nauseated him—almost making him throw up right then and there. He ripped his mask off and chucked it into his cloak before what felt like an ocean’s worth of blood spilled out from his lips. Shiv gagged. Darkness crept around his eyes as he considered blacking out again. He decided that he really wanted to fight instead. Using his Biomancy, he wielded his broken body like a puppet. And he was broken. Most of his lower spine was cracked. One of his arms had a bone sticking out. All of his organs were bleeding.

Looking behind him, he saw that he was halted by some kind of monument he couldn’t read. As he tried to find where 811 was, he winced as he saw a trail of scratches running along the ground—running for what seemed like 200 meters. Even with Might of Mass and Diamond Shell, the orc had hit him so hard he went sliding across a good portion of the plaza. And 811 was advancing on him, a heavy fist stained red with Shiv’s blood, another clutching the head of a struggling Umbral, her shrieks the sound of absolute terror. It ended with a pop as 811 closed his hand again—an echo of the way he killed the boy.

“Godsdamnit,” Shiv hissed with seething rage, yanking himself back on his feet.

The orc’s expression by contrast was borderline euphoric. “Ah. Finally. You show your true face. Quite the skill, being able to disguise yourself so effectively. But an odd combination of Master Skills to have, being so brutal, so direct, so tough, yet so subtle.” 811 clicked his tongue. “Or maybe it’s not your skill. Maybe that’s from the mask you just took off. Right. That’s it. It fits better. I think I’ll keep it after you're done using it. There are a few things I’d like to do with a mask like that.”

Godsdamned… cunning… monster, Shiv thought again. He dragged himself forward with his Biomancy—doing his best not to pass out. This still wasn’t as bad as the anchor, but Broken Moon it was an ugly eight out of ten.

“Oh, you’re still coming. Still!” 811 looked like he was in love. “You can’t even imagine running away, can you?”

“Not with you,” Shiv growled. “Not right now. Besides. I can’t beat the shit out of you without getting any closer.” 

811 crooned with delight. It was such an un-orc-like thing to do that Shiv stared in disbelief. “Come on, then,” 811 said, getting into his stance again as he came at Shiv. “Let’s do this dance until the blood runs dry.”

Shiv launched himself at the beast with a snarl—masking just how much pain he was in. He needed to grab onto 811. If he could just get his hands around the orc and discharge Momentum Core while holding onto 811’s neck at the right angle. 811 ducked and vanished. Shiv lurched back on a guess and watched the orc’s fist blast through where he just was.

Got yo— was Shiv’s incomplete thought as 811 twisted on his heel and slammed an elbow into Shiv’s temple. Unconsciousness took him again. Only for the next five punches to hammer him back to life. Shiv felt his cheek shatter as 811 loomed over him, driving fists down like falling hammers. The Deathless snarled. Damn the pain and damn this life. He was going to take this orc with him no matter what.

As 811 hit him again, Shiv stole a technique and spat blood at the orc’s eyes. And Shiv couldn’t miss with his Biomancy guiding the splatter. A final blow landed against Shiv’s chin, but instead of getting knocked out again, his Momentum Core boomed as it hit capacity. Through the agony, Shiv grinned. “My turn.”

He discharged his core as he hit 811 with a monstrous uppercut of his own.

Might of Mass > 78

Striking Proficiency > 23

The plaza came asunder from the sheer force of the blow. The monument nearby turned to rubble. Even people fleeing across the bridge in the distance were flung off their feet as Shiv launched himself and the orc into the air. 811’s head snapped back, and this time, the orc’s eyes rolled—but he blinked and gritted his teeth as he barely avoided passing out. Until the back of his head smashed through a nearby building. Then 811’s body went limp. Shiv and 811 exploded out through meters of dense stone again, emerging into what seemed like a loud, densely packed bar filled with heavily armed customer and practically naked servers.

 “That’s right, you tainted bastard!” Shiv hissed his triumph through a haze of pain. He slammed himself against the orc using his Biomancy, bashing 811’s body as the final rush of momentum died. They smashed hard against the countertop as Shiv continued smashing his head against the orc’s face. A faint, undamaged part of his brain was surprised about how well the countertop was holding up. The rest was being used to reshape 811’s face.

By this point, Shiv heard cheering. Rather than running, the customers in the bar looked on, treating the fight as in-house entertainment. Out of the corner of his eye, Shiv spotted the heavily armored Umbral from earlier. Her helmet was off, she looked drunk, and had two scantily clad men laying on her lap, but it was definitely her. She blinked as Shiv tried to kill 811, and started cheering hardest of them all.

“Kill the bastard!” she said, holding up a massive jug of liquor.

Shiv endeavored to do his best. With each hit, Shiv recharged some of his Momentum Core—but it also cracked open his own face as well, and the tumors were spreading fast…

Not going to be long now, Shiv realized. As he reared his head back once more, 811’s eyes snapped open—and lightning exploded out from him. Stone rose from the ground. The people in the room were knocked back—but unlike many of the slaves or the non-martial Pathbearers, they survived with varying degrees of injuries.

Shiv didn’t get to check how injured they were because a column of stone blasted up under 811, and they were speared through the ceiling. Shiv howled with agony as his lower spine broken entirely. He stopped being able to move his upper body that well. So he just a bit down on the orc’s neck. 811 reciprocated, biting—and ripping off one of Shiv’s ears. They emerged out from under a bed as a man and a woman cried out together.  811 swung Shiv around, slamming him into a wall and punching him.

Shiv pushed back with his Biomancy—the only actual working muscle he had left, but the bastard orc held him in place.

Biomancy > 48

“Hey, you two get your own room,” a vampiric Pathbearer said as he used a bedsheet to shield his modesty, leaving his automaton companion exposed. As much as an automaton could be.

“Sorry,” 811 said, politely. “We’ll be heading next door now.”

And then he hit Shiv with the hardest straight he could muster.

The room blew apart. The walls blew apart. The only thing that didn’t blow apart were 811, Shiv, and the sex-interrupted Pathbearers. Shiv did however tumble through three more rooms before he bounced on a bed. And found himself staring at an Umbral male and female engaged in activities.

Shiv gurgled and wheezed. They locked eyes with him, and then looked at each other.

“Did you hire someone to watch?” the female Umbral said, breathing heavily.

“No,” the male swallowed, still going. “No.”

811 casually walked into the room, giving the active couple a “sorry,” and a grin. Shiv snorted and tried to pull himself back up. The orc’s eyes widened in surprise before he broke from his astonishment and swung a hook into Shiv’s now mostly tumorous liver again. Getting blasted out from their own room and getting cut up by shrapnel did nothing to halt the lovers’ continued intimacy.

It did, however, make Shiv fold over and let out a string of curses. “Agh! Bastard! Godsdamned bastard piece of tainted shit!” He wanted to black out. He wanted to kill his orc. He wanted a lot of things. The system gave him another two levels in Diamond Shell instead. If nothing else, he was getting a lot of what he wanted: More Toughness.

Diamond Shell > 91

Once more, Shiv pulled himself up with his Biomancy—only for 811 to grab him back his waist. Shiv howled in pain, and decided to express that by headbutting the orc again. 811 grunted in discomfort. His own face was practically a bloodied crater too. But rather than hitting Shiv again, he just chuckled. “Do you know how many levels you gave me over the course of this fight? Because I’ve gotten more Toughness from this little bout than I have in the past twenty years.”

“Come closer,” Shiv spat. “Let me give you one more.”

He smashed his head into the orc again, but his Biomancy was beyond strained. Shiv was pain. And he was dying. He couldn’t move if he wanted to. He groaned as he had his forehead pressed against the orc, and 811 just smiled sweetly back at him. “You want to hear something funny? Even if your answer’s no, I’m telling you anyway: Guess where we are?”

Shiv tried to move. It was all he could do to avoid screaming as his body descended into a paroxysm of pain.

“We’re at Little Gomorrah! You found it!”

And something about that revelation was so absurd, Shiv laughed. Even if it hurt. Even if he hated the damn orc. “I’m going to kill you,” Shiv muttered in response. “For what you did. I’m going to…”

811 brought another hand up and clutched Shiv’s face gently, almost intimately. Shiv noticed the damned orc was crying. Weeping. “I’m afraid not, sweet enemy. You’ve given me a taste of a lifetime. Memories eternal. But you are done. You are broken. And I cannot ask anything more of you. You were perfect. I… lov—”

Shiv was done with this intellectually cruel orc horseshit. He used the last of his strength to spite 811 by biting down on the bastard’s tongue.

For the first time, Shiv heard 811 yelp in genuine pain. The orc struggled. The orc pulled. Shiv bit harder, tasting the sludge-thick blood of the orc in his own month. 811 let out a bellow as he turned Shiv’s neck one way and his body the other. But unlike with the slaves, he couldn’t just crush Shiv. Even finishing the Deathless off required a final exertion of force. An effort that was interrupted as Shiv finally remembered something: His mask was off. Psychomancy was back on the table.

He did the same trick he pulled with the high vampire. He tried to reach into the orc’s mind. Only for his mana to bounce off.

Ah, great, forgot he had Magical Resistance. Good thing brain damage doesn’t carry over when I—

811 roared and snapped Shiv’s neck. It still took the Deathless a moment longer to left go of the orc’s bleeding tongue. Long enough for Shiv to drain the orc’s vitality and make the bastard bite his own tongue again.

“Gah!” 811 roared as he collapsed to one knee.

Vitality Drain > 10

Revenant > 6

Might of Mass > 84

Momentum Core > 69

Diamond Shell > 100 (Skill Evolution Imminent)

Striking Proficiency > 28

Grappling Proficiency > 45

Knife Proficiency > 37

Pyromancy > 9

Biomancy > 49

Parry > 41

Alright. Let’s do this again. Shiv drank in the orc’s heat—and was surprised to feel plenty of heat left in the bastard. Broken Moon. Just how high is his Toughness? He bleeds easy, but it’s like trying to hammer apart a mountain. I did manage to knock him out earlier though… That, paired with Shiv’s imminent Skill Evolution for Diamond Shell gave him a surge of excitement.

Despite all the death the orc inflicted, all the pain Shiv endured, he wanted part of this. A hard death. A major jump to his Diamond Shell. He got just that. If there was only a way, he could have achieved it and kept those people from dying…

The way is getting stronger. Becoming a greater Pathbearer. The system wants strife, so I have to be good enough to win every time. So I need to die more. I need more of this. But I also need to finish this and vanish before a Psychomancer finds me. Master-Tier Pathbearers aren’t too common, but there has to be more than a few in this place, and if the Jealousy comes in here when I’m not wearing my mask, my Toughness isn’t going to matter. But before that, there’s an orc I need to butcher first.

Darkness congealed around Shiv. 811 writhed and turned, his eyes widening as he finally noticed the human figure hatching from a shroud of blackness behind him. “How… unexpected…”

Shiv didn’t even bother with his Biomancy field—using it made his very soul feel shredded. His other magical skills didn’t matter either. Not when the orc’s Magical Resistance was as strong as it was. So. Down to the bloodstained, tattered rags he had for clothes and bereft of all weapons, Shiv set about killing a mountain of power and muscle with his bare felling hands.

And felt good about his odds.

He burst out from his resurrective cocoon and jabbed a thumb into 811’s left eye. The orc flinched slightly. Ducked. Vanished. Shiv dove to the side just as a massive fist blasted through the place where Shiv’s midsection was. The Deathless scoffed. “Really? There? Always?”

The orc began to circle him. The room they were in trembled and cracked as a cage of stone and crystal came crashing in from all sides. “It’s effective,” 811 smirked. “So. What are you? How are you still alive?”

“Technically, I’m an assistant chef,” Shiv said, mocking the orc with a partial truth. “Functionally, I’m alive because you’re not dead yet. If you want me to go away, you better kill yourself.”

811’s smirk turned feral. “And lose out on all this fun? No. No, I don’t think I will.”

And then lightning exploded out from the orc. Without his bone armor, Shiv tried to dodge—but spasmed as electricity surged through his body. The stones crushing down on the room made everything cave in next, pinning him in place. And finally, as a capstone, 811 hit him again—another uppercut. Enough to blast Shiv back out of the building, and push a certain skill over the edge.

Skill Evolution: Diamond Shell (Adept) > Adamantine Adaption (Master)

Adamantine Adaption > 101

Shiv’s jaw cracked—but didn’t break. The diamond gleam that characterized Shiv’s skin turned a bit more metallic. As he blasted out of the building, the rags that used to be his shirt shredded off of his body. Before he could get his bearings, Shiv found a swarm of dimensionals chasing him on the way down, their bodies armored and blazing, their heads orbs of brightening flame.

They were promptly flung aside as a gust of massive wind came rushing forth, carrying with it 811. The orc crashed into Shiv like a falling meteor. The impact between them blew out all the glass on the outside of the building. The world tumbled around Shiv as 811 poured lightning into him. Shiv twitched briefly—and then the feeling wore off. He snarled and elbowed 811 in return.

The orc’s lip was cut wide open. 811 held back a hiss of pain. Shiv’s Momentum Core filled.

With an animal roar, 811 gripped Shiv and squeezed, the orc’s raging tempest taking them downward. As they plunged, Shiv felt his ribs creak momentarily—and then that pain wore off too as his flesh turned even harder everywhere. 811 strained and shouted, exerting himself. Shiv responded by slamming his own hands on the side’s of the orc’s head. 811 snarled as his equilibrium was lost this time, leaving him open to a counter-attack.

Or it would have if they hadn’t struck the ground at that point.

To Shiv’s surprise, the impact did little more than briefly stun him. It was more like smashing through a wooden door. But as he rolled, a fist burst from the ground and clutched him again. The Deathless sighed and watched the orc stagger toward him, stumbling as he struggled to keep his balance. Shiv tried to break free, but it was his Toughness that evolved again, not his Physicality.

Once more, 811 hardened his fists. This time, lightning crackled from his eyes. “I’m not going to stop this time. Not until you’re good and ruined.”

Shiv spat. “Then stop moving your mouth and start using those hands. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Dimensionals closed in on them. A blaring declaration sounded somewhere, saying curfew was in effect, calling people to stay out of a certain area.

None of that mattered as 811 ducked and then blasted off the ground, throwing a colossal overhand strike into Shiv’s jaw.

The first hit snapped Shiv’s face to the side and gave him a nosebleed. The second went into his liver—but just made him grunt. The third, fourth, and fifth sounded like the orc was swinging a club against a metal pole. Shiv barely felt any those. And all the hits after that mattered less and less.

At the start, Shiv was too surprised by how durable he was to drink in any momentum. Every subsequent hit felt weaker than before, lightning or fist. And by the twentieth punch, Shiv’s Momentum Core was full, and 811’s wrist made a horrid snapping sound as the punch landed at a poor angle.

“Gah!” 811 cried. “What—-how, oh…” He saw Shiv’s grin, how the man only had a thin trickle of blood running down his nose after all those punches, and noticed the rippling distortions building around his supposed punching back. “Oh, dear.”

“Yeah,” Shiv growled. And then he launched himself and the orc back into the building as he discharged his core.