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The Gamer Chapter 1793 – The not-so-Small Tournament 14 – Day 3 of the Tournament
🕑 Added 2024-11-28 16:00:37 +0000 UTC
“THIS IS WHAT I LIVE FOR!”
Hypercrush raised a bag of pills up in the air. John did not have to be an expert on drugs to know that the pressed pieces were some variant of ecstasy. There were well over thirty pills of it.
“The high is my lord and saviour and I am the devoted acolyte of its divine blessing!” the drug-fuelled Latebloomer declared. Unzipping the bag, Hypercrush proceeded to pour all of the contents into his mouth. A comedically heavy gulp sent the clump of ecstasy down his gullet. “Ohhhh YYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEAH!”
A prismatic aura surrounded Hypercrush. Guitar sounds emerged from everywhere and nowhere. “Do you think that may be similar to the Fusionals?” John asked the woman next to him.
Rex Magnar let out a displeased shredding noise. “I don’t think my weapon appreciates being compared to that,” Metra gave her own answer a moment later.
“I’m just saying, rainbow aesthetic, guitar noises…”
“Like, I’m super stupid,” Nahoa weighed in, “but isn’t that more likely ‘cause they’re both common themes?”
“Sure, but that answer doesn’t let me tease people.” The axolotl maid and the First of Wrath both rolled their eyes and committed themselves to their task: polishing and oiling their weapons. Neither of the Fusional weapons required maintenance. Still, a wielder should care for their armaments sometimes. It was a spiritual thing. “Probably says something about me that I never maintain my weapons.”
“What are you talking about?” Metra grabbed his arm and leaned over, a broad smirk on her face. “You maintain your weapons expertly, my… Master.”
She barely managed to stop herself from using her preferred title. She had gotten more brazen with it over the years, to the point that everyone who looked into it knew with certainty where she stood. Still, John preferred if she didn’t call him king in public. It sent the wrong message to anyone who did listen.
“Well, you can put it that way.” John scratched his favourite wolf woman behind the fluffy ears. Her tail wagged left to right. ‘So adorable and so dangerous… Which only makes them more adorable.’ The Gamer’s attention was split, Nahoa stretching up to him with an attention-demanding, evil smirk. Scratching the base of her frills was the natural thing to do. “Alright, we have a fight to observe!”
Metra and Nahoa pulled back to sit comfortably in their chairs. Their weapons hummed in their individual instrumental ways when the caress of cotton swabs continued. “This won’t take long anyhow,” the First of Wrath stated.
Anna stood across from Hypercrush, as dignified as ever. A dignity that did not hide the nervous twitching of her shoulders. Repeatedly, she glanced upwards, waiting for the star to fall. Hypercrush, on the other hand, was grinning like a maniac, screaming his lungs out.
“OH YEAH! I CAN FEEEEEEEEL IT! I CAN SEEEEEEE THE RADIO WAVES OF FATE, TRANSMITTING MY IMMINENT VICTORY TO THE RECEPTORS OF DESTINY!” He clapped his hands. “I’M ALIVE! SO ALIIIIIIIIIIIIVE! I – AM – THE – HYPERCRUUUUUUUUUSH! WUUUH!”
The star fell.
Hypercrush continued to amp himself up while Anna bridged the distance between them. The anti-healer tried to exploit the scatterbrained nature of her enemy. Her hand found the broad chest of the white-haired rainbow warrior. John saw the noxious green of necromantic energy flow from her palm in a liquid state, seeping into the bodysuit and chest of Hypercrush.
The veins of the drug-fuelled man bulged all around his face. He spat out blood that was too dark to be fresh. Anna allowed herself a momentary smirk, then Hypercrush brought his fist upwards. It sunk into the gothic woman’s midriff, bending her over the knuckles before flinging her away.
“Can’t ruin my high, thigh highs!” Hypercrush declared and beat his chest. All of the veins that had been popping glowed with rainbow goodness, reaching all the way to his eyes. It was like looking at a human arcade machine. “Oooooh, yes, I can feeeeeeeel my body heealing. What a rush! A hyper-crush-rush-rushdown!”
The man bounced on the spot like a yo-yo upscaled into a musclebound adult, then charged forwards. Anna had barely managed to get back on her feet. Hypercrush brought his fist down. Anna slammed her palm against the side of it to divert the attack while sending more of her harming magics into her opponent’s body. She succeeded at the latter, but lacked the strength to even budge the path of Hypercrush’s attack.
A crunching sound filled the arena. John was worried it had been Anna’s neck. It turned out to only be her hairpin. ‘An emergency shock absorption enchantment?’ he theorized.
Whatever it was, it allowed Anna to deliver several more hits to Hypercrush. Retaliating swings by the drug-fuelled man were slow and sloppy. One of his arms moved more like a flail than a limb, the tendons apparently decayed to the point of non-functionality.
“She does have a pretty nasty Innate Ability,” Nahoa commented. “Shame it’s still not enough.”
Hypercrush inhaled dramatically. He planted his foot down with such force that people in the lower seats jumped up and down. “I am the will of my high. Ecstasy is my body and alcohol is my blood. I have experienced over a thousand drugs. Unknown to overdose, nor known to be sober. I have withstood pain to buy yet more drugs. These hands will do all the talking. So, as I trip – UNLIMITED DRUGS WORK!”
John rubbed his temples. ‘That wasn’t even a Babel Phrase, he just wanted to say that.’
A surge of vitality regenerated all of Hypercrush’s limbs in a flash. Anna was caught in the middle of an attack and overwhelmed by the resurgent speed of Hypercrush. The first hit knocked her into the air and a manic flurry of attacks followed. It looked like – no, it was the case that Hypercrush suddenly had six arms, all of them moving at an incredible pace to keep pounding the gothic woman in the least pleasing manner possible. Anna was getting turned into a pulp gradually.
“Metra.”
The First of Wrath moved like greased lightning. One moment she was oiling Rex Magnar, the next the weapon was hurled into the arena. The weapon slammed into the ground, causing another, stronger earthquake. Metra manifested through a dimensional tear and grabbed Hypercrush by the shoulder. He stopped, his extra arms disappearing as if they had never been there.
To everyone besides the other contestants and VIPs, it looked instantaneous.
“You won,” John declared. “Further brutalization is unnecessary.”
Hypercrush hurled his fist at Metra. The First of Wrath blocked it with one hand. The resulting shockwave pressed people into their seats. “You want me to guide you to the afterlife?” the First of Wrath asked with a huge grin.
“Sorry, I just have all of this energy! WUUU! I love ecstasy!” Hypercrush stepped away, clapping his hands over his head repeatedly. This time around there was little applause. For many reasons, watching Hypercrush stomp Unswift had been entertaining to people, while watching Anna getting beaten in a series of merciless strikes had them… uneasy. Although the sensation was muted in the Abyss, violence against women remained more scrutinized. Adding to that the continued and unnecessary brutality of the beatdown and the mood was quickly souring on the drug-fuelled Latebloomer.
Not that Hypercrush cared. He was clapping for himself with all of the joy that only someone not sound of mind could have for repetitive action. Metra poured some healing potions into Anna’s mouth as a stand-in for first aid, while the hired healers rushed into the arena.
After returning to John’s side, Metra showed him her palm. Two indents were left behind where Hypercrush’s knuckles had slammed into it. “If you gave the guy the right substances, he might be a decent fight,” she said, then allowed her hand to heal.
“Too unhinged to be an ally though,” John added his thoughts.
The usual interplay filled the next thirty minutes, then Justinian and Ankleshanker took the field. “You should surrender now,” the blonde, golden-eyed swordsman declared. “I have heard your tale. You fought against the tyrant once. There is no need for you to stand in my way.”
“…Yeah, no, if that’s what you heard, you suck at listening,” Ankleshanker stated. “Let’s do this.”
The star fell between them.
Justinian rushed forwards. There was a hint of surprise on his face and he overshot his target by several metres.
“Looks like he hasn’t gotten used to his new strength yet,” Nahoa commented. “I can empathize. Explosive growth is weird.”
Ankleshanker had not used his Innate Ability yet. Instead, the goblin turned on his heels, sending several knives flying after his opponent. His technique was flawless, his timing as good as it could be, but Justinian was just too fast. The gleaming blade of the self-righteous swordsman deflected each individual knife as he walked forwards.
“I really have to admire your density!” Ankleshanker shouted and turned large. The dagger in his hand expanded rapidly, growing from a precision instrument into a cleaver. “Everyone around you is telling you that John Newman is not evil and you just keep on trucking!”
“Everyone in Germany would have told me the same about Hitler!” Justinian declared.
“…Fucking green tits, man, Goodwin is cringing in his grave!” Ankleshanker’s voice was now deep and booming. Raising his sword up, the goblin brought his weapon down. It was only the first of several repeated strikes, each of which Justinian blocked casually. “Let me tell you something about me! I was a spiteful little creature!”
“Not so little anymore!” Justinian shouted back with a smile.
“HAH!” Ankleshanker laughed, then suddenly shrunk down. It happened in the space of a blink. Even that wasn’t quick enough to overcome the difference in their Agility. One dagger met Justinian’s blade; a second, drawn swiftly from a hidden sheath, was blocked by a shield of radiant energy. “I learned how to control my size because I hated people that looked down on me!”
“The proper reason to wield your powers is to protect people!” Justinian pushed Ankleshanker back with a shove of might and magic. Ankleshanker skipped back, taking the force as gracefully as he could.
“This is why you’re a cock-socket,” the goblin growled. “You don’t get it. You don’t understand the Abyss or sapient nature at all!”
“Humans… sapients are good!”
“Fuck no! They’re neutral, you idiot!” Ankleshanker threw another handful of knives at Justinian. “I took these powers to lie and steal and kill people for money! I was a hired assassin, because I wanted to put the Gobbo Nation on the map! I needed cold, hard cash to make us a nation that’s more than salivated over because shortstacks are the hottest thing since sliced bread!”
“…You were an assassin?” Justinian muttered darkly. The radiant power around him swelled. “Perhaps I did not inform myself as well as I should.”
“And you need to clean out your fucking ears!” Ankleshanker charged forwards, meeting the Latebloomer head on. All of his attacks were reflected with absolute ease. Justinian toyed with his enemy, his gaze merciless.
The radiant blade of the self-righteous man suddenly swung in an arc. Before Ankleshanker could resize out of harm's way, he had already been carved open. A bloody trench cut from his left side to his right shoulder. Justinian added a kick to the injury, throwing Ankleshanker on his back. “You have sinned.”
“Aye,” the goblin growled. “I did it because that was my way forward with what I was given. Not all of us are lucky enough to be born a Latebloomer into a good world, fucktard.”
“Excuses. You could have done better.”
“Yeah, maybe, I don’t know, maybe all of us can do better, maybe I never fucking asked for a chance at redemption, but now I’m right here! Newman is giving me hope for more, he’s giving all of my people hope for more! Can a goblin like me really ask for more in this fallen fucking world?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MAKE IT ALL BETTER, HUH?!”
Justinian’s aura of self-righteousness flickered. Whether that had been Ankleshanker’s plan from the beginning or not, his emotional tirade was putting a dent in the ‘Righteousness’ that the Latebloomer relied on. Screaming valiantly, Ankleshanker jumped to his feet and stabbed both daggers at his opponent.
The first weapon connected, catching Justinian in a moment of doubt. Being injured flared either his survival instinct or his conviction that he was being lied to. Either would have worked for him moving with all the speed that he could muster and slicing Ankleshanker’s head off. Rather, that would have happened if it hadn’t been for Fateweaving.
Justinian clutched his stomach. He inspected his hand when it came back bloody. His fingers trembled. A singular, enraged gaze was all he had to spare for John this time, before leaving the arena.
“In a way I can empathize,” the Gamer told the two women with him. “His Innate Ability encourages him to keep thinking he’s right. If he doesn’t, he’ll become weaker.”
“You’re giving him too much credit,” Metra stated. “Innate Abilities manifest in a manner befitting a person’s character. He must have been a prick before he got power.”
“Well, it probably didn’t help the disposition,” John pushed back mildly and sighed. “In any case, if he can feel doubt, then maybe he can still be taught what the world is like…”
An issue for after the tournament.
Comments
Quyan640
Does the type of drug consumed affect the outcome/personality? Because what if instead of recreational drugs he consumed mind or body enhancing ones? Or calming ones like weed? Could become a productive member of society.
