BlueShear
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Chap. 33
🕑 Added 2025-01-06 18:30:01 +0000 UTCCHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Time seemed to screech to a halt as their eyes met.
Well, one pair of eyes and a single navy blue gumdrop, but then, really, who was keeping track? Not him, surely.
It’s hatred palpable. Seething. Bearing down on him like a physical weight. The waves of light pink mana billowing off the mountain of candied fur and muscle voluminous, like spun cotton turned to liquid vapor. Spongy clouds of cotton candy pouring off of it in waves. Flowing down its flanks to flood the glen in creeping pinkish mist.
Swiftly permeating the hidden glade, so completely, that it left a sickly sweet taste on the air. His skin feeling tackier for its abundance. The air somehow sticky to the touch.
Muscles rippled, shifting with a liquid grace, as the elite rose to its full, imposing height. It snorted, pawed at the ground, gaze never wavering in its intensity. Every agitated breath releasing puffs of powdered sugar. White specks which alighted on his face and bald crown like errant snowflakes. A second passed. It’s eyes gleamed from beneath subtle brow ridge.
A red glint that promised nothing pleasant.
Thankfully, Richard was already well aware of just how deeply he’d stepped in it this time, and so was currently taking measures to mitigate the worst of this would-be disaster.
His thoughts strayed to the makeshift bandoleer he’d strapped to his chest, through a crude application of guy lines—poached from the basic camping kit—and a knot tying beginners guide, via his handy soul palace.
To his bandoleer, and the two long daggers securely fixed there—glowing blue mana crystals crudely bound to their hilts. He reached for those mana stones. To the mind link formation he’d carefully inscribed on each. The inferior structure of the F Grade crystal’s good for a single command. Didn’t really matter what kind or which rune he used, as the second he tried to shift the mana inside the crystalline structure, there could only be one outcome.
A crack, through which mana would gush, as if from a femoral artery, to join with the ambient mana surrounding them on all sides.
That, or power the series of runes he’d carefully engraved into the blades of his short weapons.
The daggers strapped to his chest lit up with an azure glow. In the next moment, several things happened in very quick succession. The elite’s muscles tensed. Richard’s legs did much the same. The creeping pink mana roiled, converged, enveloping the boar in a layer of twisting fog before flashing in the rudimentary activation of an ability. Richard, for his part, was already leaping back. The acceleration runes he’d engraved onto his knives taking the impetus of his leap, and accelerating it severalfold.
In the next moment, two dagger shaped fists hammered into his ribcage with bruising force, he was hurled backwards as if from the barrel of a cannon, and finally, in a similar feat of sudden locomotion, the elite lunged after him. Exploding forth faster than the eye could track. The cliff face, with its overhang, cracking and groaning, a large crater left in the stone where it’d once been.
Richard reeled from the sudden blows to his chest.
All the wind having been knocked out of him at once, he wheezed for even the smallest breath. Feet desperately scrabbled for purchase as he was shoved bodily by the bladed instruments of his own design. Launched backwards at speeds just shy of suicidal. Not that he wished to slow his impromptu flight, mind you. The huffing puffing train car of a candied boar elite speeding after him with murder in its eyes made absolutely sure of that. Cross eyed, Richard’s gaze bobbed up and down.
Transfixed by the pointy end of the candy cane tusk that wavered a scant few inches from his nose.
Blasts of hot breath constantly assaulted his face and nostrils, though where he might’ve expected the fetid breath of a wild animal, in truth it was actually… rather nice. Minty, in a refreshing sort of way, with only a hint of something unpleasant. Like a car freshener a couple days past it’s due date. Of course that didn’t mean he was particularly keen on getting a more in-depth look.
And if the scary murder boar could stop gaining on me please, that would be very much appreciated!
No, slowing down was most definitely not in the cards for him. A measure of control, however, would go over very well right about now. The beast’s hooves pounded, dug deep furrows into soft earth, and set the very ground to quake and tremble with its passage. Or well, at least he assumed that last bit was the case. As it was, his feet hadn’t been touching the ground for quite some time now. And that tusk he’d mentioned earlier? By now the point was flirting dangerously close with the delicate outer layer of his left cornea.
Way, way, way, way, WAY too close!
Clearly the elite wasn’t much faster than he was, and that was with its charging ability on full blast. Which meant his death would be agonizingly slow, instead of quick and painless.
Or… maybe not.
Richard spared a glance behind him, only to find the looming fixture of a moss covered cliff face growing larger by the second and closing fast.
Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place.
Thinking fast, Richard spun his spear so that the point was facing downward. Then, bracing himself as best he could, he dug the tip into the rapidly retreating earth down below. For a time, little came of it. The spear scrabbled for purchase, jarring his entire body with the suddenness of each bounce and jolt. The beasts tusk grew ever closer, forcing him to lean his head back, farther and farther or be skewered.
And then, at long last, his spear caught on something solid. Held fast.
In the next moment his arms were nearly ripped from their sockets as he was made to swing around the impromptu axle. The spear acting as a makeshift pole, about which his uncontrollable backwards flight abruptly changed direction. The spear stuck, Richard spun—the sudden friction burning the palms of his hands—and all of the sudden he’d shifted his trajectory by 90 degrees.
Richard remembered at the very last moment to yank his spear free before it was left behind.
The elite shot forward without him, eyes bulging in surprise.
Rocketing on ahead, to his left, so fast, that a flurry of winds was kicked up in the wake of its passage. Clouds of dust and debris threatening to blind him with grit, even as it actively succeeded in choking the air from his lungs. Coughing and spluttering, wiping tears from his eyes, Richard watched as the boar’s ability carried it ever onward. It’s deadly tusks and the unyielding cliff face growing nearer by the second, even as he sped further and further away.
Just as he thought the two would collide—unstoppable force meets immovable object—solving the issue of the stubborn elite for once and for all, the alpha boar did something unthinkable. Something he genuinely had not been expecting.
It turned.
A semicircular wave of grit and upturned soil thrown high into the sky as it arrested its momentum. Skidding. Spinning. Digging its front hooves into the dirt while swinging its hind legs around, until those vicious tusks were facing him once more. Pinkish mana exploded outward, spreading across a wide radius, before it contracted to sheath its enormous frame in mist—glomming onto its candied hide, almost like a second skin.
The previous coating having been exhausted with the cancellation of its last charge.
So, as I suspected, an active boosting ability of some kind. And a rather basic one by the looks of it. Reckless Charge, or maybe Forward Dash? Something common, at any rate. And, given the frankly atrocious levels of economy clearly on display, a fairly low leveled one at that.
Sounding like a gunshot, a crack resounded—the ground beneath the boar’s feet rupturing in the wake of its advance. Within the span of a second, the distant figure grew considerably. Eating up the distance separating them at a voracious pace. A blink of the eye, and the distance between them had been halved. Another, and it’s towering frame was bearing down on him with a vengeance.
Is it getting faster?!
It’s looming bulk casting him in shadow, puffs of powder peppering his skin like burning embers. Head lowered, it’s red and white tusks ready to gore and mangle. Richard’s eyes widened. The points grew closer. His spear caught on something hard and he spun. The boar sped past, the bull to his matador. Richard once more sent hurtling in a completely different direction.
As if imitating him, the elite did much the same. The mana wreathing its form suddenly dissipated, cutting its previous inertia in half. It spun, slid, kicked up a wave of earth. Lone eye burning with hate, it locked onto his trajectory, sheathed itself once more in mana, then charged.
CRACK!
Richard grimaced. Less at his current predicament, than the frankly amateur levels of mana control displayed by his opponent.
I mean, expelling all that mana only to use a bare fraction of it to fuel the actual ability? It isn’t just wasteful, it’s downright criminal! Doesn’t matter how much mana you have if you can’t put it to good use. At what point does negligence turn to outright self sabotage? Knuckle down and get back to the basics, I say. It’s the only way. You’re just shooting yourself in the foot otherwise.
Actually, at the rate things were going, Richard figured he’d completely exhaust the beast’s mana supply in the next few passes. Maybe even less. Then, when the mindless creature was reeling from acute mana exhaustion, it should be simplicity itself to plant something long and pointy through that remaining eye of his, and finally move onto what really mattered.
Of course, that was when his beloved, tried and true companion, the very same spear that’d carried him through many a battle, snagged on a root or something and promptly snapped in half. The stabby end having stabbed its last, apparently. Leaving him, in the end, with a rather unimpressive looking stick. He then flicked his gaze from the stick, to the bobbing boar’s tusk seconds from running him through, and finally to his bandoleer.
To the hilts of his blades as the mana crystals grew dim—the last drops of mana bleeding out into the atmosphere. The runes of his knives slowly following suit. And, as the runes powered down, so too did his acceleration diminish. His stomach lurching as his inertia did. His momentum dropped considerably, and suddenly the boar was a lot closer than it had been before.
Why me…?
Acting fast, Richard reached for one of the unsheathed daggers, grabbed it by the hilt, and wrenched. Shearing through the knotted cables binding it in an instant, thanks in large part to the sharpness rune he’d engraved into the blade. Applying all the strength he could muster, Richard jerked the deadly thing to the side, shifting it as far away from his body as possible.
Suddenly freed from its bindings, the knife leapt from his hand as if possessed of a mind of its own, scoring a long gash down his side as it whipped past—singing through the air to disappear somewhere behind him in the brush.
Richard winced.
Unfortunately, he was given no time to nurse the gash across his ribs. He wasn’t even able to ascertain the severity of the injury before the seedlings of his plan came to fruition. The sudden loss of an equalizing force made the pressure bearing down on his chest distinctly unbalanced. The first thing to come of this was a sudden lurch to the side, as the dagger resting above his heart strained to compensate. Shoved to the right just in the nick of time, he jerked his head back suddenly, avoiding the jagged point of a tusk by mere centimeters. The flank of the boar came next, barreling forward relentlessly—bristly hairs like sharp spines clipping him in passing.
The force of it numbing his right arm to the shoulder, and setting his entire body to spinning uncontrollably. The force of the dagger pressing against him from only one side not helping matters any. If anything, it only served to make things worse.
He spun in place.
Moving faster and faster for every second that passed. Feet nowhere near solid ground. His world transformed into a nauseating kaleidoscope of indistinct smears. His hearing drowned out by the winds of his own revolutions. And yet, he could still sense when the mana, practically bleeding off the elite, grew near.
Of course the wretched beast couldn’t just leave it at that now could he?!
Gritting his teeth, Richard wracked his brains for a solution. In the end, only one readily came to mind.
Ugh…! This is going to suck. See?! This is why I despise improvisation!
His only saving grace the fact he was fairly flush with points at the moment, following that little cleanup spree he’d gone on just recently.
•—|-Potential Point Total-|—•
[4,280 Points]
He could feel the weight of its charge bearing down on him. It’s swiftly approaching mana raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Not giving himself a chance to rethink his options, Richard flung out both arms—ignoring the twinge of agony from his right shoulder—and purchased two Chipped Swords from the point catalogue. Their hilts slapped into his palms with force enough to bruise, though, in that moment, he could only be grateful they’d actually appeared hilt first.
Of course, it was a bit tricky, at first, to insure he got the placement just right, but a bit of visualization did wonders apparently.
This system really is rather intuitive.
Picture them appearing scant inches from his outstretched palms, and voilà! He suspected their was a very narrow range in which something like this would work, but even with that being the case, versatility like this would require further investigation.
Suddenly, one of his swords was nearly ripped from his hands, just as his arm was very nearly torn from its socket.
CLANG!
There was an impact—sharp and immediate—followed by sparks, and the unmistakable lance of pain. Several dozen in fact, as wicked shards of metal—what was left of the chipped blade he’d just purchased—riddled his body like burning shrapnel. Puncturing muscle to perforate the organs beneath. He wanted to howl, but he lacked the breath. Already he could feel that at least one of the shards had burrowed it’s way into his left lung. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe, and he wasn’t even close to being done yet.
Another hundred points left his total. In the next moment, a second blade slapped into his palm. And it was just in time too. The beast had already spun round to make another pass, only to be stymied by that very same spinning dervish that’d warded off its advance moments before. Clearly not one to take a lesson to heart the first go around, the elite was upon him in a second.
CLANG!
This time, Richard let go of the hilt before his shoulder was well and truly dislocated. That still didn’t stop the shrapnel from peppering him all over, however. A shock of white hot pain lancing through his left eye in particular—something warm and sticky dribbling down his cheek to drip from his chin. Richard groaned. Opened the points catalogue. One more hilt to slap into his palm.
CLANG!
Sparks flew.
CLANG!
Weapons shattered.
CLANG!
His entire world inundated by pain.
Body riddled more completely with every successive pass. Worse yet, he couldn’t even see how well the elite was fairing. To his credit, this little stunt of his had succeeded in one thing. Keeping the monster at a safe distance, at least in so far as he hadn’t been run clean through. But then, that begged the question. For how long could he keep this up?
For that matter, was he even harming the creature?
Best worst case scenario, he somehow managed to outlast the creature. Trading his health and well-being for a bottoming out of its mana supply. Not a trade he’d have made under optimal circumstances, but then this wasn’t exactly what he’d call optimal, now was it? No, this was far worse, especially when you considered he was beginning to run out of steam.
His revolutions had begun to slow, his dagger running out of juice at the most inopportune time. Thankfully, it would seem he wasn’t the only one running on empty. Case in point, he hadn’t been graced by a reckless charge in quite some time. With one last flicker, like the fading light of dying embers, the runes powering his dagger finally went out. Without ceremony, Richard promptly fell limply to the ground.
Dizzy, bleeding, and possibly concussed, it was seconds before he’d wrestled his gorge down convincingly enough that moving once more seemed like a possibility. Immediately, he tried to stand. When that ultimately proved impossible, he resolved himself to slowly crawl instead. Even though it still felt like the world was spinning, his vision had more or less cleared.
In that way, the glittering mound of red licorice vines and rainbow colored innards was easy enough to make out.
Lying on its side, not ten paces away, it was immediately apparent that he’d done far more damage to the elite than he’d initially feared. At least one of his uncoordinated attacks had swung low, it would seem. Swiftly disemboweling the creature and leaving a trail of rainbow colored guts to mark its passage. And that wasn’t the extent of the damage either. Apparently, against all odds, he’d given as good as he got. For every wound he’d personally sustained, the boar had an injury to match.
It was almost heartwarming in a way. Indeed, he might’ve smiled, if it didn’t hurt so darn much.
In the end, he couldn’t have said how long it took for him to inch his way over to the dying beast. Time passed as if in a dream. As far as he was aware, he blinked, and was suddenly in spitting distance. He reached out and latched onto a tuft of grass, dragging himself closer to its ravaged head. The elite didn’t react. It’s chest rose and fell with a shallow, hitched repetition, but other than that, there were no signs of life.
Both eyes were gone, and the same went for its tusks. It’s face a heavily scored landscape of bone deep gashes and weeping pockmarks glinting with shrapnel. At least he wasn’t the only one. Bracing himself, Richard flipped over onto his back. Once he came back to his senses fifteen seconds later, he reached for his bandoleer. Wrapping bloody fingers around the hilt, he began to saw the dagger free of its bindings. More time passed. Eventually he was successful.
With another groan, he managed to lift himself to a sitting position. Haggard and bloody, he faced the elite. Even lying down the thing still dwarfed him—every ragged breath filling the air with the scents of peppermint and pine.
Richard braced his good arm with his bad one, taking a few deep breaths to steady his aim. Seconds passed. His trembling stilled. Richard narrowed his eyes, and tossed the dagger, infusing every last drop of mana he currently possessed into the blade.
The dagger blurred. Blinking across the space to bury itself in the boars left eye socket. Whereupon it met minimal resistance, easily hammering up into the brain. The elite shuddered, jerked, then, blessedly, went still.
DING!
•-|—(You have slain an enemy: ALPHA CANDY-HIDE BOAR [Lvl 30 ELITE])—|-•
Experience Gained. Bonus Experience Gained for Slaying a Monster Elite. Participation Points Gained. Bonus Participation Points Gained for Slaying a Monster Elite.
[+600 Participation Points]
Comments
Mariana L.
Ugh, that was a tough one.
Random Guy
Yeah but wouldnt that start the timer of 15 days?
Nathan Sto
I would have expected him to let the imperial kill the beast to knock down her elite requirements.
Bamen Sanders
As for the first part, you’ll see, you’ll see. And as for the second, it needs to be a named elite unfortunately.
Gopard
Thanks for the chapter! But... Why though??? I mean it literally doesn't even give him anything right? This fight costs him more contribution points than it got him, he has already completed any and all "Kill an Elite" quests and archievements... (BTW How is that title not way higher yet??? He killed dozens of thos Elite Meatball monsters in the trial right???)
