Untapped ~ Chapter Eight!

“Must you drag this out, Istvan? If you truly had an angle, you’d already be gloating about it. This sly tone you’ve taken is unlike you.” Pete strolled out of the apparently tenuous safety of the secured courtyard, casually walking an arm’s length from the group from the Tower of Blood Rights before stopping and taking his position more than a hundred yards away from the tower. “I accept the duel. Let's get this over with, so you can go and tell Violetta you’ve failed yet again.”

Joe watched with great interest as the vampire flinched at Pete's casual mentioning of the person who must have been his superior in his tower. “Mmm. I think I'm getting the hang of this, Mir. This guy is challenging Pete because they’re both Grandmasters, but he's not the Tower Master because his tower has a Sage?”

“Correct. But I'd rather not talk to you right now. I'm trying not to slap you hard enough to make a crater in the ground for acting the fool in front of Pete’s rival.” Mir spat to the side, giving Joe a hard look that actually strained his Exquisite Shell. “You all but announced yourself as being important to him, not to mention directly sponsored, and made it harder for Pete to refuse the fight, if he’d wanted to do so. Masters don't get to act so familiar with higher tiers unless there’s a good reason for it.”

“Hold on… I said nothing I wouldn’t have said if I was alone. I’m not using him as a shield. Next, I've never been one to, as they say, ‘know my place’.” Joe stood straight and crossed his arms as he rejoined against the powerhouse. “My plan has always been to treat everyone equally until they prove they don't deserve it. I did it when I was only a Novice, and I'll keep doing it when I'm the Class Sage. Too many people blowing smoke up your rear-”

Mir placed a hand on Joe's shoulder and squeezed. The Ritualist’s Exquisite Shell let out a high-pitched whine and shattered in an instant. “What did Istvan do to you that made you think he didn't deserve respect, then? Offer you a position in his tower? He was nothing but polite to you and frankly even has good reasons for trying to drive your class out of your tower. Just because those two don't like each other doesn't mean you needed to spit on his gesture made in good faith. The world does not always have to be black and white. You don't have to have only enemies or allies. I want you to stand here quietly and watch this, then reflect on your actions before we meet again.”

Completely taken aback by this unexpectedly, casually violent response, Joe simply closed his mouth and looked on, though his mind was already carefully scrutinizing the events that had led him to that point. “Is this a culture thing…? Thousands of years being in a closed-off world making everyone super touchy about perceived respect?”

The Grandmasters remained a dozen paces away from each other, poised to strike. It quickly became clear what they were waiting on as the air shimmered above them, bright numbers appearing and beginning to count down. Pete slowly clenched his gloved hands, and across from him, Istvan smirked, fangs glinting as his skin flushed pink, red, then a deep vermillion.

“I don't know what your depth of knowledge is in combat yet, as I haven't had a chance to assess you, but you need to watch carefully.” Mir spoke into Joe's ear, carefully modulating his voice so as not to do anything to interrupt the combatants’ concentration. “Pete has been fighting for the tower for hundreds of years, and he’s fantastic at it. Ritual combat isn't about speed, brute force, or enormous, flashy explosions. It's all about… control.” 

3…2…1… 

*Ding!*

Even before the bright, cheery sound had reached Joe's ears, the two Grandmasters had begun moving, their hands flying through the air as they channeled their mana into intricate patterns, superimposing their will and intent on the world. Pete finished first, his right hand slicing through the air as the ritual circles on the back of his gloves flared with violet light. Joe's eyes went wide as he realized that the sigils on his robes weren't merely decorative. They must be keystones to an unknown number of rituals, which had been created and placed across the entire battlefield ahead of time.

The ground rumbled, and the air hummed as luminous blue chains erupted through the stone from seven points around the vampire, pulsing with mana and lashing out at the Grandmaster like a particularly vicious slither of snakes. Istvan dodged to the side, even managing to twist in midair, body blurring as he sought to escape from the center of the containment. Yet, the chains weren't easily denied, puppetted as they were by a Grandmaster Ritualist. Shifting dynamically, one *snapped* through the air and managed to wrap around his ankle; and from there, the rest managed to latch on.

Once each had a hold on a different part of his body, the chains went taut, each pulling in a different direction as they tried to force him to the ground. It wasn't enough, and though Istvan showed signs of strain, he was able to remain standing and moving, though his graceful movements turned slow and rigid. 

Pete didn't relent on the pressure, tapping the air and activating another ritual in the distance, which launched a beam that seemed to consist of a swarm of biting insects. It impacted his slowed opponent, and the bugs vanished, leaving behind a pulsing green and black energy which slowly began to sink into Istvan’s skin. The vampire let out a strangled yell, lifting his hands in front of him and channeling a catastrophic amount of power into a sphere made entirely of crimson energy. Pete glared at the orb, a hint of concern appearing on his face, but neither stopped or changed their attacks.

Another ritual pulsed with power, and though Joe didn't see exactly what it did, a moment later, Istvan coughed wetly, a dark splatter of blood escaping his lips—only for Pete to reach out with his left hand and gesture, summoning the fluid over to himself before it could hit the ground. As soon as the vital juices landed in his palm, he clenched his hand into a fist and closed his eyes.

“That was beautiful,” Joe murmured appreciatively at the move, only to stutter to silence as the vampire finally released his spell.

“Crimson Tribunal of Thundering Blood!” Istvan shouted hoarsely, clapping his hands onto the bright red orb—which popped like a soap bubble and released a strange shockwave of pink-tinged power. It washed over the combat zone, then continued outward, further and further. Joe blinked as it swept past him, lips curling into a snarl as he glared at the vampire who was attacking the first person to give him a real shot at growth.

“Four worlds I've been on, and I've met exactly one person who is clear with their intentions. You want to fight him? Over my dead body!” Joe tried to launch himself forward, his mana already flowing to his fingertips, only to find his feet running in empty air as the iron grip around his shoulder held him in place.

“That's a trait of the Tower of Blood Rites,” Mir calmly explained as Joe fought to rush forward. “Each of their blood-based spells creates a powerful compulsion. This must be a particularly powerful attack for it to create such a large-scale taunt.”

Skill increase: Mental Manipulation Resistance (Journeyman 0 → Journeyman III)

Joe felt the strangest anomalous feeling, calmly reading his skill increases as they rapidly accrued, while at the same time lost in a deep bloodlust. Then the main portion of the Blood Rite began, slurping away the remnant energy that had been infesting his thoughts. Joe looked around, realizing the world had taken on a soft pink hue—only for the accruing energy to *crackle* and condense into a bolt of crimson lightning as thick as his torso.

The dense energy crashed down, and Pete dodged—or at least tried to do so. It didn't matter how perfectly he shifted to the side, flipped, or threw himself out of the way, the arc of energy simply adjusted itself midair until it slammed into his body. At the very last moment, Pete managed to block it from hitting his chest by throwing his right arm in the way, but was sent skipping across the ground as the plasma detonated against him. 

The light in the area spasmed and condensed again, another bolt striking and splitting the air. Another, and another. 

Pete shifted his stance and channeled mana from both hands onto his chest, revealing yet another ritual diagram woven into the fabric. With a grunt, he spread his arms wide, and a translucent bubble of mana appeared around him, lifting him slightly off the ground as it kept him in the exact center of the barrier. For his part, Istvan had moved on from the spell, allowing it to run autonomously as he began spinning his hands in the air, each forward motion creating a spike of half-fluid, crimson energy that whizzed through the air and broke against the new barrier. 

“Ugh~” Joe went limp in Mir’s grip, getting a conciliatory pat from the man's off hand when he realized the younger man had finally gotten control of himself. “How's he doing that? It almost looks like a ritual?”

“Blood rites are… similar to rituals, but they’re a much more focused branch of combat-specific magic. Where blood can be used in rituals for targeting, and perhaps some alchemical purposes, blood rites specifically use the material as the output. It could be anything from simple spikes to creating portals and familiar contracts to, apparently, tribulation storms,” Mir explained in a mild, vaguely interested tone. “I have to say, I don't often see innovation coming from the towers these days—nowhere near enough fresh blood to come up with new ideas—so this really gets me going. I wonder if I should go see what else Violetta has come up with?”

“Are you a battle junkie, or something?” Joe grinned at the powerful man next to him, his smile fading as the Sage nodded excitedly.

“But of course I am! What did you think Pete meant when the stipulation for me training you was when he said that my goal is to ‘make you the first Ritualist worthy of fighting against’?” Mir shook Joe slightly, making his head lash back and forth. “When you finally become a Sage, we’re going to fight for real.”

“O-oh,” Joe murmured with no small amount of concern, only for a strange motion by Pete to recapture his attention. 

The Grandmaster was sweeping his arms in opposite directions, his right hand pointing up to the sky, and his left was pointed to the ground. Slowly, he began shifting until both arms were parallel, then had completely switched positions. 

Istvan let out a vicious snarl. “What is that? Oh, no you don't!”

Joe didn't see anything happening at first, but his eyes shifted slightly out of focus all on their own, allowing him to view a golden wheel which appeared in the air in front of Pete, traced out intricately wherever his arms passed. Mirroring his opponent's movements, the vampire swiftly twisted both palms in opposite directions, unleashing a spiraling corkscrew of blood-red energy.

The vicious attack slammed into the barrier with tremendous force, splintering its surface. Slowly, methodically, the blood-drill ground its way through the magical shield, shards of energy splintering outward as the relentless storm of lightning continued to hammer down and dissipate against the protective barrier.

Pete’s hands began traveling toward his midsection, finally stopping just in front of his heart. Then, he gently clapped, and an almost-imperceptible sheath of golden energy surrounded his entire body. Joe waited for some dramatic effect, but whatever the Grandmaster had done had already run its course in a terribly anti-climactic way. It wasn't until the next bolt of lightning struck that he realized that something actually had changed—since the crimson energy impacted the ground nowhere near the Grandmaster, instead sending an eruption of molten dirt flying into the air.

Whatever technique Pete had used, it had drained him heavily. His face was contorted with exhaustion, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 

Joe wasn't the only one to notice this, as Istvan began mocking him. “You're getting old, Stompetti. Finally noticed it was your own blood targeting you, huh? Tell me what that technique was, and I'll send you a wheel of cheese as thanks.”

“You're not the first person to use my blood to target me. We all have our own ways of keeping ourselves safe from being targeted at a distance—all I did was sever any ties to parts of myself not contained within my body. Where did you get it? A previous duel? That doesn't seem sporting.” Pete allowed himself a ragged smile as he slowly reset his stance. “I'll take parmesan, thank you very much.”

“It'll be sent to your new tower,” the vampire snarled in response, surprising Joe by actually following through on his words. “Sporting, you say? You’re one to talk, relying on your homefield advantage to the exclusion of all else. How is using what amounts to little more than pre-made traps honorable? Not that it matters, not today. You're already on your last legs.”

Pulling out a bottle of what must have been Pete’s blood, Istvan tossed the now-inert liquid to the side, where it splashed against the pavement. The Grandmaster Ritualist grimaced in disgust but said nothing. Instead, he lifted his hands and began rapidly tapping at the air, sending bursts of mana out and away to activate ritual after ritual. More circles flared to life, more sigils ignited, burning with a luminescent blue glow as layers of afflictions and debuffs began accumulating on the vampire. 

Even as his skin burned, and his bones creaked from strain, the vampire pushed himself forward, countering the low-damage rituals with an immense amount of vitality. His regeneration almost able to keep pace with the first, second, and even fifth wave of damaging energy that latched onto him. 

But as they kept coming, anger and unwillingness began to fill Istvan’s expression. Shockwaves of blood left deep craters in the ground and caused the barrier around Pete to shimmer. Curses which should have managed to reach and effect the old man fizzled out—their ability to target him having been lost.

“Looks like you'll have to try again another time, Istvan.” Pete finally allowed himself to break out in a smile as the numbers in the air above them finished their countdown. “Same time tomorrow?”

3…2…1…

“Enough!” The vampire’s voice boomed across the battlefield, echoing off the towers in the distance at least twice. “You win this time, Stompetti… saved by the bell once again. It means nothing. We all know the truth, Ritualist. As the defender, the Honor defaults to you when there is no clear victor in the time limit. But that's all you can do. You haven't walked among us in decades, so you don't know the truth. But your time in that ivory tower is coming to an end. If you were to ever step outside of your grounds, you would become easy prey.”

His sunken, crimson eyes flicked toward Joe. “That goes for all of you.”

With a dramatic flourish, he turned on his heel and stalked away, quickly followed by the members of his tower. It didn't escape Joe's notice that they walked easily and freely, without any fear of being challenged as they left the area and walked down the streets in broad daylight. Then, his attention was caught by something odd. Off to the side of the tower, just barely able to be viewed from inside the wall, hundreds of people were starting to disperse, clearly having gathered to watch the battle.

One familiar face stood out above the others, and Mak sent him a jaunty wave as they locked eyes. A few moments later, the man came rushing over to the open gates. “What a rush! I always have a soft spot in my heart for the Tower of Rituals—truly, the most reliable place on the planet to find a battle on a regular schedule. It makes the logistics of preparing grilled treats and cold drinks so much more logistically feasible.”

“You were using this incredibly fraught battle as a way to sell snacks?” Joe blinked and shook his head, “Abyss, man… that's brilliant. What about seating? Do you have spare seats you can set up? I bet you could charge a premium for offering a little bit of comfort.”

“Ooh, I like you. Tell you what, I'll try it out and cut you in about five percent if the idea takes off. Still happy with your choice of tower? I'd love to know that I pointed you in the right direction.”

“You know? I’m getting more excited by the minute.” 

Mak winked at him and went back to his wagon, just as Pete slowly limped through the gate, bleeding from a dozen small lacerations that Joe hadn't noticed him accumulate. He smelled of copper and ozone, and looked close to passing out on the spot.

Stepping close, Joe made sure the Grandmaster was within his Neutrality Aura, allowing the passive spell to cleanse his wounds, hydrate the man, and begin the process of healing him up. After a few moments, Joe frowned softly as he noticed the damage was barely being affected—as if it were actively resisting his attempts at healing.

“Well, what did you learn from this battle, Joe?" Pete inquired in a heavy, tired tone. “Anything new or interesting?”

“Uh… so much.” Joe admitted freely and vehemently, causing the Grandmaster to perk up and look at him questioningly. “The way you just kept piling ritual effects up on him? I've never seen anything like that before. I lost count at ten, since I was trying to figure out what each of them did and how you did it. Let me know if I got these right… you started with that set of spectral chains that weighed him down and made it difficult for him to move, then there was one that forced him to bleed, which you then used to activate at least three others. I was pretty sure I saw you actively dehydrate him? Was that a thing, or were you doing something else to his skin? There was one that just amplified the injuries the others made, right?”

“Yes… all of that is correct. I started with Crippling Chains, hit him with a bloodletting ritual, which let me infuse him with the Ritual of the Decaying Sun. It causes his body temperature to rise, forcing dehydration and exsanguination, then heat exhaustion and collapse, if I can get through his resistances. It's especially effective on entities like that, who require fluids specifically in order to maintain their combat proficiency. But…” Pete tapped his fingers together, a troubled expression on his face. “What do you mean you've never seen anything like this? Many of those could be found in the first few chapters of the standardized grimoire of ritual combat.”

“There's a guide?” Joe gasped excitedly, his eyes going wide. “Do you have a spare copy I could look over?”

“A spare…!” Pete shook his head vigorously, looking at Joe as if he’d just seen him sprout feathers and begin flapping around like a chicken. “It's the primer we give anyone who is even interested in becoming a Ritualist. I've got hundreds of them lying around. Come along, it's time to get you properly outfitted. Thank goodness I made the deal with Mir before you revealed the true extent of your combat proficiency… or lack thereof.”

The gates began to swing closed, just as Mak’s wagon began rumbling by. The merchant waved, and Joe nodded politely in return. Then the follow-up cart kiosks trundled in front of the gates, still determinedly following the larger conveyance. His eyes locked with the disinterested gaze of the orange-haired Nyanderthal, and after a moment of hesitation, he lifted a hand to wave at her as well.

“Customer. I have flowers, chocolate, and coffee. Feel free to-”

“I see you’re repeating yourself again.” Joe half smiled at her, determined to get through to the robotic person. “I understand. I also like to have my routines and standardized practices. Keeps me happy. If you’re ever looking to take a break, maybe join a tower, come chat with me. You won't find a more understanding group than the people here. After all, we’re all about rituals.”

Her ear twitched, nose scrunched, and the hand she wasn't using to grip her cart kiosk shifted to straighten out her jacket. 

“Ah… there we go. I love being polite, especially since Mir might accidentally pop my head off if I mess that up again.” Joe lifted Mate’s cup to his lips, taking a *slurp* of the hot coffee and letting out a long satisfied sigh. “I'm figuring this place out, and I’m getting through to her. I just know it.”