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270 - A Friendly Exchange of Techniques Between Two Young Masters Pt. 2 [Sturmblitz]
🕑 Added 2023-07-17 03:52:24 +0000 UTCThe Fog Ogre looked about ready to fall apart by the time Halxian was done mere seconds later, and then, the explosions came. In rapid sequence, the congealed pseudo-matter of the glorified target dummy was torn to shreds and scattered all about the ring, still burning until Halxian willed the flame to go out.
His back hurt like hell. This was nothing new, he knew it would be like this.
He felt something flying at him, and instinctively caught it, finding it to be a small bottle of that newly-improved vitae elixir they had brought back.
“No wonder Mistress Zelsys called you skilled and insufferable in equal measure, though I suspect that second half is solely to do with her,” the Khestun grinned as Halxian gathered himself. It took some amount of effort to suppress the urge to ask if she had really spoken of him with such high praise.
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The Estoras heir was just as skilled as Victor had been led to expect, and now it was his turn.
“Best to show the basics. Not an iota more. No storage talismans. No servitors. No Sealing Fangs,” said one of his internal monologues.
The other countered: “I’ve already promised to show him the technique to which his flame-binding is similar.”
“Then the basics and that, but no more.”
“I must admit that I will not show you my strongest trick, as it is… Dismantled, let’s put it that way. Remember that great big beast I ride around on? It’s that, it turns into something akin to an Iron Rider armour. So I’ll just show you the things I can do here on the spot without special conditions.”
There were the obvious parts; all the moves he had used in their spar, but full-power. The Devil’s Teeth tore holes thrice their diameter through the Ogre, flesh-brambles crushed it like a rusty old can, and the Volcanic Fist tore its head clean off its shoulders. As for Fight the Night, well…
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White-black flame gathering in the staff’s main ring, forming a swirling ball.
Jade sub-rings spinning, spitting sparks.
“Unleash, fire and flames alight…”
The ball collapsed.
“Full force, strike! FIGHT THE NIGHT!”
An explosion. Not a blast of flame, or a wave, or a flamethrower, but a singular instant of concussive pressure. A white-black cone flashed through Halxian’s vision, smashing into the barrier meant to protect the Phantasmagoria Ring from any collateral damage. The heat washed over him, and he realized the Fog Ogre was just gone, erased, leaving only the somewhat comical image of two smoking feet on the ground.
“It’s a pain to get it that focused without my armor, hence the invocation, but the wider spread is better in most cases. Really proud of the part where the white crown is so solid that it blinds the target like a flash of bright light.”
Halxian stepped back a bit further. The only comment he could muster was: “That’s… Really something.”
Last, came a technique that, much like the Second Constellation, melded multiple things into a hyperlethal combination. Great, big, thorned flesh-brambles to surround and choke the target, their thorns weird and off-putting until Hal realized that they were Devil’s Teeth. The next moment the Ogre was riddled with holes, and Victor put the whole thing to the torch with a great gout of flame from his staff, incinerating the Ogre in bonefire. It crumbled to the ground, a burned-out shell, shattering like a rotten plaster bust.
After all that, he seemed… Disappointed. Apologetic, even.
“Eh… It’s much faster and more impressive with corpses around to fuel it. Yours is better without those factors.”
They quickly agreed that, as things were, neither of them could claim to be undeniably stronger, the two made their way to find Makhus, as he was the only other sect member with any sort of in-depth knowledge of Halxian’s type of tattoos. It fortunately didn’t take long; he was outside, suited up, practicing a weird slashing form thirty paces away from a target block. His sword blazed with white light.
He made a cut, standing stone-still in uncertainty. A moment later, a gash appeared in the block. Cheers abounded from the small crowd of onlookers around him, and it took some effort to get his attention afterwards.
When made aware of the diagnosis, he dismissed his armour right away and brought them down into the infirmary, or rather a former growhouse in the second sub-basement that had been converted into the infirmary after a mass of rampant dark-dwelling plants was cleared out. A smaller laboratory was attached to it, lacking a Philosopher’s Heart apparatus but otherwise just as well equipped as the main one.
“It’s… Here,” Victor pointed to an inconspicuous spot on Halxian’s back as the Estoras lay on his stomach. “Ignite it for a bit, please.”
Halxian did so, and Victor looked closer.
“The flow is circling back on itself and creating a vortex that goes nowhere. This spot here is just eating up power with no benefit instead of amplifying and feeding it back like the other dead ends.”
“Sounds like a sublayer ink blowout. Smaller ones can be hidden by the tattoo’s intact upper layers. It can be fixed. I’ll need to call Ezaryl for it, though,” Makhus said.
And that he did. The Krishorn Heiress cited that she would have to examine Halxian first, and when she did, she decided she would need two days to consult with an Iron Rider tattoo artist to adjust the corrective procedure for the different ink formulation, as well as a partial copy of the source showing how that section of tattoo should properly look.
Within that three-day span, Halxian shared with his father what he had learned of Khestun’s capabilities, including his belief that he likely had capabilities well beyond what he had seen. This was not a surprise in the slightest; it merely left the question of why Newman took him as a disciple unresolved.
During that same dinner, Halxian also received a missive to deliver.
