Brent Stinebaker
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II-33 Humiliation (II)
🕑 Added 2024-12-08 17:51:02 +0000 UTCBy the Harbinger’s cock, I think we have a new contender for Warmaster rising before us.
Do I actually think that? Motherfucker, watch my logs. When’s the last time something like this happened?
Fuck me, the Circle of Envy is going to be seething. I love to see it.
-Message Sent by Frostfinger, Correspondent for The Left-Hand Post
II-33
Humiliation (II)
Entering a fight in the Bloodgrounds was surprisingly easy. All Wei needed to do was register his name with the Attendant. After that, the Bloodgrounds' internal systems took over, marking both him and Silt of Storms as forthcoming combatants.
This fight was labeled an exhibition, a spectacle meant to showcase Wei's abilities—or, in the more likely eyes of the crowd, his demise. It was also meant to amplify enthusiasm for Silt’s coming battle against the Midnight Sage.
Little did they know what was truly about to unfold.
When Wei materialized on the battlefield, the first thing that struck him was the desolation. The ground beneath his feet was a wasteland of soot and ash, the air heavy with a sharp, metallic tang. As the effects of teleportation faded, Wei felt his Omniscience expand outward, his perception taking in a radius of nearly two kilometers.
The landscape was grim: grave posts jutted from the cracked earth at odd angles, their wood warped and rotted. Half-submerged corpses clawed weakly at the air, lifeless but refusing to fully die. Far above, nooses hung from unseen gallows, suspending thousands of bodies whose entrails dripped down like macabre streamers. Ash rained from their wounds in an endless, choking deluge.
Wei let out a tired sigh. All of it—the grotesque imagery, the exaggerated horror—it felt too... ridiculous. The Claimed Hells seemed to revel in over-the-top displays of torment, and after everything he’d seen, it was just exhausting.
A hundred meters away, Silt of Storms materialized. She was as she had been moments ago, aside being armored by a flowing lattice of fluid metal and encased in a lattice of crackling electricity. She didn't need a weapon. Her entire being was a weapon, lightning out from her scales in arcs that illuminated the ash-choked battlefield.
“I have no idea what you intend to achieve with this, boy,” Silt hissed. Her voice carried a venomous disgust, each word dripping with malice. “But I’m going to enjoy peeling you apart bit by bit. I’ll savor the taste of your marrow.”
Wei didn’t bother responding. She wasn’t interesting enough to warrant his attention. Instead, he let his omniscience sweep through the Bloodgrounds once more, this time analyzing the structure itself.
Through the ash-filled air, he noticed oscillations—translucent outlines of enormous platforms, separated from real space by esoteric workings. These must have been the viewing platforms, reserved for those wealthy or powerful enough to buy premium seats. Surrounding them, immense audience stands filled with lesser spectators pulsed with waves of spatial essence, creating the illusion of proximity even in a structure far too vast to physically contain so many people.
It was clear to Wei now: the Bloodgrounds weren’t just an arena—they were a marvel of spatial manipulation, enlarged and distorted in ways that bent the rules of natural law.
A loud clang echoed through the arena, followed by a booming voice that heralded the fight's beginning.
"Welcome, welcome, sinners, guests, and aspirants all!" the announcer bellowed, his tone gleeful and theatrical. "Today, we bring you a special bout, arranged at the behest of Countess Selv Many-wed and our bold newcomer, Wei An Wei of the Drowned Sky Sect!"
Wei grimaced. He would have to find this announcer later and throttle him. He’d explicitly instructed them to address him as Master Wei Anwei, yet the title was conspicuously absent.
“On one side, we have the Slayer of Varric, the Unbreakable, the Butcher of the Tamarine Nine, the Serpent that Guides the Storm—Silt of Storms!”
Silt raised her arms, her ferromagnetic streams sharpening into spikes. Lightning surged outward in forking bolts, casting her in an eerie, flickering glow.
“And her challenger!” the announcer continued, “Entering the Bloodgrounds for the first time, intervening for honor and to make his prowess known—I give you Wei An Wei of the Drowned Sky Sect!”
The crowd erupted in cheers for Silt, their enthusiasm loud and overwhelming. Her name rose like a prayer — a fundamental truth. Fireworks burst in the air above, sending the hanged corpses swaying. In blasts of light, Wei saw Silt’s former moments of glory captured, witnessed foes she struck down and triumphs she achieved.
When it came to Wei, however, there was only silence, broken by the occasional jeer.
Wei sneered. These people were easily amused if they thought Silt was worth cheering for. He summoned his Pale Fang, the celestial glaive materializing in his hands with a flare of radiant light. Before the fight began, he made a quick adjustment, pouring all his free Class points into Speed.
Speed > 696
Instantly, the world grew slower. Even the falling ash seemed to drift at a languid pace, each flake suspended in midair. Around him, echoes danced in his peripheral vision, the afterimages of possible movements, possible outcomes.
“Combatants, are you ready?” the announcer roared.
Silt of Storms let out a hiss, a ferromagnetic glaive forming from the liquid metal swirling around her. Wei cocked his head and grinned. Oh, she was mocking him. How quaint. Lightning raced down its length, illuminating her with a deadly radiance. “I’ll show you how to use that stick,” she snarled, her voice dripping with contempt. “Consider it a final gift before the end.”
Wei gave a curt nod, keeping his power in check. He didn’t think he’d need much to handle her. With a slight rush of Essence, Divine Winds swirled around him, masking his person. At the same time, he step back and shed an outline of Essence. An outline that was filled by celestial crystals, forming a decoy.
“Do not underestimate her,” his Shell murmured, materializing beside him as a ghostly silhouette.
“She is arrogant,” Wei replied. “She won’t get a second chance.”
“Good,” the Shell said, its voice filled with cold approval. “Break her casually. Show them who you are. After you humiliate her, then we go for our true prize: the Countess herself.”
And for a final time, the announcer’s voice rang out. “Then let the bout begin!”
Silt of Storms moved first, launching herself forward like a magnetically accelerated projectile. Her speed was impressive—too fast for most to track—but for Wei, it was all too predictable. What use was power when left in the hands of a fool?
The Naga came, but Wei simply Essenceshifted.
***
In an instant, Silt’s ferromagnetic spear punched through the young vermin’s forehead. A roaring cheer erupted from the crowd. He might have tried to hide himself using that glowing gale, but it was hopeless—no Knight could face a Count. That was something even the stupidest child knew. Yet, here this Cultivator was, courting his own death.
Immediately, she felt him sink dead against the tip of her blade. Worthless. Not even a second had passed, and victory was already hers. Didn’t even need to form her Magnetic Aegis either, or get the chance to unleash her Artifact-infused Skill: Railblade Slash.
Silt twisted the blade, a smug grin spreading across her face. “How pathetic,” she roared. “I apologize to the Sinners of Cherub’s Corpse.” A chorus of laughter and boos sounded. “I expected a—”
Whatever Silt was going to say next broke out as a scream.
Agony bloomed in her lower body as numbness spread upward. She was flying—sailing. The world was suddenly bright, and the brilliant winds the young master conjured earlier was suddenly ablaze. She tumbled, and somewhere during her third rotation, saw her torso severed cleanly at the waist. Her body flopped at the waist, while her upper torso came crashing down.
She slammed down upon the ashen ground, her lower half landing a few meters away. Withered limbs grasped her body, infusing her being with the cold chill of undeath. The Unfallen course flooded her spirit, sapping her Consitutions. Meanwhile, Radiant flames still flickered along the edges of her dismemberment, burning away what remained of her severed body. Her liquid metal lattice was hewn clean through as well, utterly disintegrated.
Silt of Storms looked up, her vision swimming with disbelief. She looked for her enemy and saw that her glaive was still embedded in Wei’s forehead—or what she thought was Wei’s forehead. The resplendent winds dimmed. And she beheld the truth. The body she had struck was a decoy, a construct of gleaming crystalline stone.
A gust of wind swept over her, and Wei emerged from the bright haze, his Pale Fang resting casually on his shoulder.
“Pathetic indeed,” Wei said, his tone dripping with disdain. “I barely tried to deceive you. But it is clear that even the stupidest child could have taken your place in this battle, if granted your Class.”
Silt tried to speak, to beg, but the words caught in her throat. Fear consumed her.
Wei didn’t hesitate. He raised his glaive high, its blade gleaming with unmaking radiance. “I came here for a fight,” he declared, his voice echoing across the arena. “And instead, I’ve been given another insult.”
“Wait,” Silt wheezed. She reached out with her hands, imploring him. “Please.”
A message left at the same time, begging for her mistress to save her. “Countess! Countess! Help! I need—”
The glaive plunged down.
***
Class Level > Lv. 83
Significance +11,248
The Naga’s hands feebly clamped around the weapon’s shaft, but it was futile. Flames erupted from the blade, consuming her entirely. Though Wei saw a final flash of electricity pass through her, it was all for naught before the flames of deconstruction.
The Silt of Storms dissolved into ash.
Above and around, the audience was silent, stunned.
Wei stood amidst the dying embers, his eyes scanning the stands. Somewhere above, among the many viewing platforms, the Countess was watching. He would ensure she regretted ever underestimating him. And so, he pointed his glaive high, its annihilating power illuminating the arena.
“I came here,” Wei said, his voice booming, “to find a proper battle. And I have been given another insult. Countess Many-wed, your champion has failed. Embarrassed herself. I will have you know that it takes more than some mongrel snake to kill a true son of Evernest, and today I will have everyone in the Claimed Hells know that I spit on you. I spit on your champion. I spit on your name. Come down! My urge for bloodshed is unslaked; the watchers deserve more. Come down and defend what remains of your honor, pedophile! I demand satisfaction!”
The silence that followed Wei's declaration was deafening. From the viewing platforms above to the stands, faces went white. Countless eyes bore down on him, disbelieving, seething, or scrutinizing. The arena, a place known for its roaring, bloodthirsty crowds, felt stifled under the weight of Wei’s words. Somewhere, far above, Countess Many-wed sat behind her veils of power and arrogance, and Wei could feel the sting of her pride.
His challenge would not go unanswered.
From the ashes of Silt of Storms, a faint pulse of Essence lingered. Wei looked down, and saw a bubbling mass sphere of liquid metal calling to him. How fascinating. Shaping a gust of Divine Wind to his will, Wei pulled the strange item from the ground, and it immediately began flowing up his armor, looping around his body in weaving nets.
Stormdancer’s Ferro-Weave (Rare): An artifact that can be shaped by its user’s whims. It can serve as both weapon and armor, and can be transformed with pulses of electricity. It is also a hyper-conductor for Lightning Essences. Also allows the user to execute the [Railblade Slash] infused Skill.
Railblade Slash: Allows the user to magnetically accelerate themselves across the battlefield. The Stormdancer’s Ferro-Weave will turn into a piercing construct during the process.
The young master allowed himself a soft smile at that. A useful artifact. Perhaps he will give this one of his disciples. Or maybe he would get it for himself. An idea occurred to him: He could use this for tomorrow morning’s training. Yes. The Celestial Fang might be a bit too much for some, but he could blunt the edge of this weapon.
With a thought, Wei shaped it around his arms and legs, further coating his limbs with protection.
It was an impressive Artifact, no doubt. And now, it had an impressive master. He would gave it a taste of true bloodshed.
***
Above him, in the stands, Wei’s sect watched with a mixture of amusement and resignation. Agnesia crossed her arms and shook her head. "I knew it," she muttered to no one in particular. "Another bloody weapon for him. Where’s our weapons? Where’s our Mythical Specializations?"
Roggi snorted a laugh. "What did you expect, lass? It’s how he’s been. At least he’ll probably have too many things to use soon. You might get one of his secondhands.”
“A Princess of Dawnrest gets nothing secondhand!” Agnesia growled. Oh, she’d show them. She’d pull someone apart just like Wei and take everything from them. Just they wait.
"And the trap is laid!" Rafael said, chuckling. The interior of the viewing platform was now entirely lined with glowing symbols. Reference Circuits passed through everyone within like a spider web of intricate references, and dormant signs glowed dimly in the air. “Whoever comes for us now is going to be charging ass-first upon a cock-shaped knife.”
Several heads turned to stare at Rafael. Ellena calmly walked up to the lich. And then slapped him. After that, she went back as if she hadn’t done any violence at all. ‘Use a better choice of words next time.”
***
Below, on the ash-strewn battlefield, Wei paced slowly, burning any undead that dared grab at him as he called out to his true foe.
“Countess Many-wed!” he called out, his tone measured but laced with derision. “I gave you my terms, but it seems you require... extra motivation to answer me. Very well.” He swept his glaive in a wide arc, the blade crackling with celestial fire. "Let me make myself clear."
The flames swirling around his weapon intensified, and Wei slammed the glaive into the ground with a fiery crash. The resulting blast swept across the arena, dissolving everything for a good fifty meters around him.
"I came here seeking a fight worthy of my time, my honor, and my sins," Wei said. His voice reverberated across the arena, a thunderous echo that demanded attention. "What you have shown me today is nothing but mediocrity dressed in arrogance."
Wei's glaive rose once more, pointing upward like a spear aimed at heaven itself. "But now, you insult me further by your silence. So I will say it one last time: face me, or accept that you are nothing more than a coward hiding behind the strength of others. Accept that I am better than you.”
The crowd in the stands began to stir. Whispers turned to murmurs. Millions of voices were chattering from all corners. People were talking. His goal of gaining some notoriety was going well, but if the Countess didn’t take the bait—
The arena trembled as an overwhelming wave of essence surged into the battlefield. Wei felt it immediately—a suffocating pressure that bore down on his shoulders, that slashed at his mind with a rising shriek.
A crackle of energy split the air, and a new spatial rift formed in the center of the battlefield. A deafening ringing of aggressive melodies sang forth first, with an array of musical notes rushing toward Wei like comets. Behind them came Countess Many-wed, her eyes white with malice and fury.
Gone was the creature of elegance, veiled in transparent shifts of clothing. In her place stood a creature of pure malice and loathing. Her humanoid upper body was now adorned with interlocking plates of armor, each etched with the screaming faces of her conquests. Her lower half, a monstrous fusion of spider and centipede, bristled with metallic legs that hissed steam as they dug into the ash-covered ground. Her crown, a grotesque construct of intertwined children’s faces, glimmered with unnatural light.
In her hands was not a blade, but a wand of some kind. With every wave, a pitched scream rang across the world.
“You cockroach,” she spat, her voice venomous and guttural. “You festering fool of a boy. I’m going to strip the skin from your bones. I’ll make you beg for death before I allow you to have it.”
Wei smirked, swirling his glaive. "Finally," he said, his tone almost conversational. "Make this worth my time.”
The air between them sparked with tension, the arena crackling with anticipation. But just as they prepared to clash, a third force intervened.
Chains of golden light erupted from the sky, binding both Wei and the Countess in place. A new presence descended, its sheer power dwarfing even that of the Countess. The figure was clad in radiant gold, their blindfolded visage exuding an air of absolute authority. This was a Tribulator, an enforcer of the laws that governed the Claimed Hells.
"Enough," the Tribulator’s voice thundered, silencing the crowd instantly. "Cease your actions. There will be order."
Many-wed didn’t heed the demand, instead, she opened her mouth and a rotting tune came forth. Wei felt his flesh bubble, felt his armor sizzle— The golden chains tightened around the Countess, dragging her to the ground. Her song died as a tightness constricted her. She writhed and snarled, spitting curses, but the Tribulator’s grip was absolute.
"You dare defy the will of the law?" the Tribulator intoned, their voice resonating with divine judgment.
“I… must…”
Wei, however, spoke first. He addressed the Tribulator with a salute. "Pardon, Great Tribulator. Whatever penalties you intend to impose on her, let them come after I’ve had my satisfaction. There are matters of legality me and the Countess must attend. I have bested her champion. But I wish to amend our contract."
The Tribulator turned to him, staring at him somehow through their blindfolds. For a moment, the impossibly powerful creature said nothing. For a moment, Wei thought it was going to reject his offer. Then, it arced its head. “Interdiction: The Harbinger allows this.”
Wei smirked, his gaze shifting to the Countess. "Well, then. It seems we both might get a chance at satisfaction, after all. Well. I suspect I will. You, however…”
The Countess’s growls grew louder, her metallic legs digging furiously into the ground as she fought against her restraints. But Wei’s voice cut through her rage like a blade.
"I, Wei Anwei of the Drowned Sky Sect," he declared, his tone sharp and commanding, "challenge you, Countess Manywed of the Circle of Envy, to a duel. A formal duel, here in the Bloodgrounds. A second chance for you to reclaim what remains of your tattered honor. The Midnight Sage is nothing. I am the only enemy that matters now. Muster your strength. Gather all you have. Make me struggle breaking you. Of this, I beg. Or refuse. Refuse, I will spend every Sin I would have granted you upon victory. Every Sin dedicated to ruining your wretched name."
The Countess’s eyes burned with incandescent hatred. The Tribulators chains loosed. “I am going to take your manhood from you, boy. I am going to flay it off your body and wear it as a mantelpiece for my armor.”
This made Wei frown. “I—why must all of you be so vulgar? A normal threat would have sufficed.”
“We could threaten to force our glaive up—”
Shell. Please. I do not need any more disgusting imagery. I came for slaughter, not smut.
Comments
Brady Fiola
Might be my favorite progression fantasy I’ve read in the past long while. By the time it’s done I’m sure it’ll be my all-time
Terry
Great chapter :)
Mimic
I appreciate Wei's exhausted indifference
Emerson Fortier
So good. Disappointing fight but a nice appetizer.
Brent Stinebaker
More coming soon. The dunking isn't done.
Emerson Fortier
I have been waiting all morning for this. ^_^
