Book 2: Chapter 21: Asura’s Bloodwrath

  It was the twenty-fourth day that things really had a change.

  On the edge of the day’s sun, with dust curling through the air like spirit smoke, Alex stepped into the open training circle and faced down a Terraxum soldier built like a stone wall. The man bore glyphs across his collarbone, arms and legs and a jagged scar across his left brow. His name was Korran, and his boots looked like they’d kicked down doors in every province of the kingdom.

  It was luck that he managed to get invited into the ring. During camp at the end of the day, the soldier always built up a large ring to train in. Alex and the other Worldstriders were relegated to an area a short ways off.

  He and his fellow earth-born soldiers would train among themselves. Fist to fist, no weapons, no spells, not with the bracers still active.

  Meanwhile, the Terraxum soldiers had their own training. Theirs, too, was without weapons and spells, as their training ring bouts seemed to have rules. Strength against strength, skill against skill, technique against technique, that was all.

  The last bits of sunlight was dimming down when the Terraxum ring quieted and became tense. He couldn’t quite make out what was going on, but Alex assumed there was an argument of some kind happening.

  He began to move closer, hoping to catch a glimpse, or hear a snippet of the activity. No one spared him even a first glance and he slowly moved his was, step and by step toward the now large ring of soldiers gathered around.

  “No one, no one at all? Pansies. I’ll take you off night watch rotation for the rest of the way to the capital.” The voice carried over the crowd. Deep and mocking.

  “Eh, no takers? That’s what I thought.” The man pushed through the crowd, letting Alex see him for the first time. His tattoos stood out immediately, scroll-work covering each limb and part of his upper torso. They were exactly what he needed to study.

  The Terraxum man was nearly through the crowd when Alex finally found the courage to speak up over them all. “I’ll do it.”

  Silence yawned and heads turned toward him. In his trousers, pants and woven sandals, his hands tied, and bracer’s pulsing sporadically with the faintest of light; he looked almost pitiful. A few chuckles began to travel among the soldiers that could see him. Others began to whisper, asking questions.

  “You?”

  “Sure, why not?” he shrugged, the bracer clinking from the movement. “I can’t exactly be taken off of guard duty… but if I win, maybe you can add something to my rations for now on?”

  The others laughed, one soldier slapped him on the back. He just smiled confidently.

  And now, there he was, standing alone in the ring across from the man. His hands were freed of the rope and bracers for the fight. The rules still said no spells, but Martial Styles were allowed, he made sure to ask about that.

  "Just a bout," Korran said. "First to yield or knockout. Nothing fancy."

  "Sure," Alex said, cracking his knuckles. “No bloodshed. Promise.”

  “Bloodshed is fine boy, we just try not to go too far with it,” Seargant Korran, as Alex had learned as his bracer’s were being removed, smirked at him and popped his knuckles. His tattoos rippled along with his muscles, and he watched that intensely. The man starred back at him, probably getting the wrong idea about Alex’s apt attention.

  “You got this Alex!” Garret hollered from the edge of the ring. There rest of his team was there, having learned what was going on and coming to watch.

  He simply shot Garret a thumbs up and grinned. His eyes never left Korran though, the green-ish glyphs on his skin was the only thing he cared about for the moment.

  A lieutenant stepped forward just within eyesight of both men. “You ready?”

  They nodded to the watching officer, circled once, then moved. Alex came in fast, feet light, fists whipping out like a viper. He feinted left, shot in low, and moved through the stances of the Demon Asura to angle under Korran’s guard. His sudden speed let him landed two clean strikes to the ribs before the bigger man twisted, stepped through, and snapped out a leg sweep that nearly took Alex off his feet.

  Their styles clashed hard. Alex being wild but precision, raw speed and rage-filled power; while Korran was steady and honed, every strike or block was a mountain subtly moving its face one way or the next. He shifted weight like a bear that had somehow been taught ballet.

  Alex ducked under a punch and brought his elbow up to crack against Korran’s jaw but the soldier grunted, glyphs flaring, and suddenly his body absorbed the force. It dispersed into his skin like rain drops falling on a lake.

  What the hell. He thought.

  Then he was hit, a short, brutal fist to the sternum. He gasped, skidding back across packed dirt, feet leaving a stream of dust. He didn’t lose his balance from the blow, but it was close. The man’s punch was far heavier than he hf thought it would be. His chest ached already, a bruise nearly forming at a speed to the naked eye. But he didn’t fall. He gave a short cough from the stinging pain, and spat on the ground at his feet.

  “That all you got, pansy?” He said to the Terraxum sergeant with a grin.

  Korran paused a moment at his words, then grinned back.

  They clashed again. Fist on fist, technique against technique. The blue-black aether aura of Alex’s martial style attempted to enter the man’s body, but it failed every time. The caustic energy would enter Korran’s skin, then be drawn toward a glyphs focus on his skin where it would be attacked and overpowered by the man’s own aura.

  Meanwhile, Korran’s fighting style seemed to have effects of its own. His stances were wide and low, each one thundered loudly in the ring. And Alex could tell that the more he fought with the man, the longer he dragged it out, the harder his blows seemed to land. Like he was getting even stronger as time went on.

  They both closed again, he through a kick, while Korran sent a knee at his face. He was forced to pulled back, giving up on his kick in the process. Korran went wide on the missed attack and Alex leapt on him, literally.

  It was a move that he had done many, many times back in his home world. He grabbed Torran’s arm and wrapped his legs around the burly man’s neck settling into a triangle hold within the time span of a short breath. Once he locked his legs, Alex smiled. He knew he had won.

  But more important, he was so close to him now, that he could see the fine details of his tattoos. This close up, Alex could see that the glyphs weren’t just on the top of the soldier’s skin, it was underneath the skin at some depth. The greenish hue that he was seeing, it was the glow of the earth attuned aether showing through.

  If he consciously turned off his aether sight, he could see that the glow dimmed immensely, leaving behind only a very faded looking tinge of color. There was no way he would have been able to see the detail that he did without his aether sight ability, that was for sure.

  Interesting. I wonder if the glyphs are actually etched into their muscles instead of on their skin, since its uniformly deep all over, then it’s probably-

  His thought ended abruptly as he viciously slammed into the dirt.

  Korran was still in the choke lock, but he hadn’t given up. He lifted Alex from the ground and raised him back up to chest level, and slammed him back down into the dirt yet again. This time, his breath was knocked from his lungs, stars bloomed in his vision.

  Holy fuck, he’s strong.

  The third slam almost knocked Alex out completely as the back of his head bounced off the compacted dirt. His grip faltered, only for a moment, but it was enough. Korran pried his arm away and pushed against the legs wrapped around his neck.

  Alex was far too dazed to put up the proper resistance and regain the hold.

  Eventually, he found himself pinned instead. Face and stomach in the dirt, arm locked, breath shallow, glyphs humming around him like disappointed court room judges.

  He tapped out.

  Korran grinned and helped him up. “You’re good. Better than most recruits.”

  He coughed and wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. “Not good enough.”

  The sergeant shrugged. “No one is. Not at the start, but there is some potential there. You got some kind of formal training though, that’s for sure.”

  The crowd clapped, scattered but respectful. He could see and hear his friends off to the side though. They all clapped or cheered loudly. It took a minute for the soldiers to place the restraints back on his arms before he was able to rejoin his friends.

  Kate, watching from the sidelines, muttered, “That was a sloppy turn-step on your second feint.”

  “Thanks for the support,” Alex said, wheezing.

  “Anytime.”

  “You almost had him there man, that move was sick, where’d you learn that, from the elf guy? Garret was already there, hand held up in front of him.

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  “No, Jiujitsu, on earth,” he ignored the attempt at a high-five.

  “Well, it almost worked. Just a little longer and he would passed out for sure.”

  “No, he would have loosened his grip if the sergeant was about to pass out.” Zach stepped forward this time, his gaze sharp as he looked at Alex questioningly.

  “No, why would he do that?”Eric asked.

  “Why indeed,” Zach said.

  Holly grabbed his elbow, pulling him towards the prison wagon. She spoke softly, just loud enough for the other Worldstrider to hear, but no one else. “You were studying their tattoos weren’t you?”

  He looked at her, eye brows raised, how had she noticed? “Yeah, I was. I needed to study them up close. What gave me away?”

  She laughed, “Because you kept looking at his body like it was the heavens’ gift to mortals. And you never looked at anyone else like that before.” She leaned in closer, her mouth just barely pressed against his ear. “At least no man, that is.”

  He grinned at her and chuckled. “You caught me.”

  They all made it to the prison wagon before night settled in completely. Within moments, he was settled in the large cage, his back against the slated wall on on side. Bruises were already forming over backside, pressing against the hard wood of the wagon. But he didn’t care, there was something else that gathered his attention.

  He didn’t get any experience points for the fight, as he hadn’t killed the soldier. But he did receive a System notification nonetheless.

  A mental nudge brought the screen up into his vision.

  The amount of experience for the hidden quest reward was disappointing. At this point in his development, an amount like that would even be enough to increase any of his stats to a new base score. If this was back when he had first arrived in the forest, five-hundred points would have been huge. Now, it was nice but merely a side-snack, like a single mozzarella stick served for the full dinner. It just made you hungrier.

  The progression of his Martial Style was long over due, though. Alex felt like had already landed hundreds of blows in his fights up to this point. It felt like The System simply wasn’t counting some of them toward his progression quest. Why this might be was a mystery, it could simply be that The System was a dick. But everyone he talked to kept insisting that the Heavenly System was fair, despite Alex’s experience otherwise.

  He did get the distinctive feeling there were criteria around what counted though. Similar to how he just knew things about spells he learned, some sort of system fuckery let him know that the progression quest only counted attacks that were deemed ‘successful’.

  So any attack that was blocked in some way, wasn’t counted in the total. Also, it appeared any of his [Burning Strike] attacks in which the demonic aether was blocked, overcome, or simply failed to have an effect, were also not counted in the total.

  Which told him few things, this Heavenly System not only watched his own movements, intention and action when calculating his quests, but also his opponent’s. Also, there would be even more future opponents that would be able to neutralize that particular passive effect. So he would not be able to rely on it in every fight.

  Lastly, even though it didn’t appear to be doing anything when his [Burning Strike] aura infected Korran, it did have some sort of effect, even if small. Otherwise he would not have completed his quest in that fight.

  So even if things look like they aren’t working, there might be a reduced effect. That’s nice to know.

  He looked back at his information for his Martial Style, particularly the new passive he had gained with the Tier II upgrade. Just like the spells, he knew some information about it innately through system fuckery.

  As I take damage in a fight, my physical stat will be boosted. Strength being the main one, but agility and vitality will also get a small boost. The more heavily damaged I become, the higher the boost will be.

  He thought it was a rather standard effect for pugilist-style fighting techniques. His particular style just happened to also work with weapons though. And he also got the distinct feeling that once a fight is over, the boost will rapidly vanish. Meaning if that vitality boost he got from the passive was the only thing keeping him alive at the time...

  That’s a bridge we will have to burn once we get to it. Not a problem to be thinking about now.

  The next thing he focused on was his new advancement quest. One thousand attacks from his enemies, and he had to survive them, that was a bit of a no brain-er. He couldn’t exactly earn the quest reward if he was dead.

  Unless I become undead. Is that possible? If I become undead, do I keep progress on my quests after the transformation? Would that be a way around the Worldstrider Trial Quest?

  His instincts told him no, no to all of those questions, even if the second and third questions would then contradict each other. He ignored that headache for now.

  The next progression quest didn’t seem that bad. He had taken a beating before, many times, even before coming to this world. And he was under no delusion that the Heavenly System would fail to continue throwing fights in his path. He knew just any ‘fight’ or any ‘enemy’ wouldn't count though. It had to be a real fight with death being possible, so sparring wouldn’t be counted. And it had to be an enemy that actually threatened him.

  Again, he didn’t know how that was decided or calculated. Did the forest badgers no longer threaten him because he had become too powerful? He knew they could theoretically still kill him, their claws and teeth sharp enough to still tear into his body, and eventually deal enough damage to kill him, if not leave him to bleed out over time. But he knew those yoked out fuckers wouldn’t count though.

  He swiped away the system screens and settled in further with a groan and a sigh.

  Interesting that I now have two effects that essentially give me boosts when I’m being beaten to a pulp. This new passive, and my Wyrmblood Constitution. Almost as if this shitty System really likes seeing me getting my ass beat…

  A small glance above his head revealed only the slated wooden roof of the wagon, and not any hidden godly eyeballs watching him.

  Well, I guess vitality really will have to be my next focus. My body is basically all I have right now, with my broken core and my aether attuned body ability, this thing needs to be my temple. Which also means, I really need to figure out that soldier’s tattoos, sooner rather than later.

  The next couple hours of his night were filled with thoughts a green-hued glyph lines. Alex still thought about the tattoos he had seen as they all began to drift away into unconsciousness. But he also thought about the feeling of Holly’s hand on his elbow, and the warmth of her breath on his ear…

  For the first time in what felt like three weeks, he let sleep take him

  ***

  His little spar with Korran appeared to set a new precedent.

  The day after, the soldiers were more open to sharing the camp with the rest of them. Before they were confined to a certain area around the prison wagon. But now, they almost nearly had free reign of the place, as long as their bracers were still secure and active.

  That was a very small price to pay for most them. As they all had growing interests that they had seen about the regiment’s camp over the last two weeks but they simply didn’t have access to. That day was the first time they all ended up splitting up in the camp, and they did it willingly.

  Garret and Eric ended up at the forge, drawn like moths to the fire and hammers. The blacksmith for the Terraxum soldiers was a barrel-chested woman named Bromi with arms like tree trunks. She began to teach the two of them how Terraxum military smithing techniques differed from the civilians in Vrung’s Quarry. She explained how the military used runed alloy plates, cold-fusion sigils etched into blades post-quench, and the subtle difference between a war sabre and a noble’s show-sabre.

  “Only idiots make weapons look pretty,” she said, thumping a glowing hammer onto hot metal. “Make it deadly first. If it’s still intact after ten battles, then you decorate it, but not before. Just like a soldier, a weapon needs to earn its markings.”

  Eric took notes as the lesson went on. Garret watched and listened, seemingly taking everything in. The slightly slack jawed expression he held didn’t do him any favors.

  Eventually, he took her up on a hammer toss competition. He lost. Twice.

  ***

  Allie and Cole worked with the medical tent team.

  They were learning about ritual herbs that stimulated aether flow, tinctures that helped one recall lost memories, salves made with ghost-wort and bloodleaf. Allie tried replicating one, using her old Earth-world knowledge and managed to produce some meaningful results, albeit with rather a disappointing drop in effectiveness. Even so, having made anything with such meager ingredients that she had at her disposal could have been considered half a miracle.

  The healer, an old mage named Veldan, stared at her like she was a puzzle missing half its pieces.

  “You’re not a novice,” he said.

  “No,” Allie replied softly. “I’m just new here.”

  Cole smiled as he clapped her on the back. “She’s our healer now you hear, don’t get any ideas.”

  Meanwhile, Henry found his niche in the mess tent. Specifically, the small greenhouse tent beside it.

  The cook was an herb-obsessed mage who managed an enchanted item that turned out to be a portable garden, a palm-sized terrarium that could create temperate climate bubbles for rapid growth. The thing was maybe the size of a baseball, but only on the outside. It was nearly a hundred feet wide and fifty wide on the inside. Unlike Alex’s bracelet, it could also fit living things inside it.

  Henry studied it for hours, asking very few questions, but his eyes were sharp. When he volunteered to help transplant a sprig of firevine, the cook raised an eyebrow and but in the end, he let him.

  Kate? She trained.

  She seemed to take to the idea of mastering the use of every weapon that the Terraxum had in the camp. Sword, dagger, staff, anything with a handle and a point. She fought beside Alex against the soldiers in the sparring circle again and again. She took losses without flinching, gaining the respect of many of the soldiers. She also gave bruises as fast as she earned them, letting her win over the few hold-outs in time.

  By the thirtieth match she had been in, one of the soldiers whistled low and muttered, “This one’s got blood in her bones.”

  Kate just grinned and wiped blood from her face. It wasn’t her blood.

  The Terraxum soldiers all cheered. Many clasping hands, drinking, and shouting to Kate as she left the ring.

  Zach watched the soldiers wearily. His dark eyes scanning back and forth, Kate sat down beside him. He too, was fighting in the rings, but not nearly as often as Kate or Alex. He never stopped watching the soldiers, despite how friendly they became.

  One young looking soldier walked up to Zach sheepishly, the poor kid’s hands shook as he was starred down, “I was told to get a potion of K-9P… do you, know if the med tent has it?”

  Zach looked at the kid for a long second, giving a glare that almost bore straight down his spine and rooted him into the dirt right there and then, “No.”

  The kid cursed under his breath and sulked away.

  ***

  Evening after evening, the lines between prisoner and friendship blurred.

  One soldier loaned Devon a rune compass to study. Another taught Eric and Lance the difference between Terraxum’s two major battle formations. Tom-Tom, through sheer persistence and probably a little bribery, managed to secure a seat at the cook’s table during dinners.

  Familiar relationships slowly formed, the quiet kind. The kind born in shared effort and strained muscle.

  Still, the walls never fell completely. They were still watched. Still cataloged day by day, known prisoners, like an unspoken elephant that trotted beside them on the road, next to the caged wagon.

  During one late meal, a lieutenant grunted as he stood and looked over the campfire at Alex and his group.

  “You all are fast learners,” he said. “Almost makes me nervous.”

  “Why?” Devon asked, mouth full of stew.

  The soldier smirked. “Feels like we’re training our replacements.”

  Garret raised his cup. “That mean we’re doing good?”

  The soldier shrugged. “Or we’re doing something stupid.”

  Alex didn’t laugh with the others. He was thinking too hard about what “replacement” meant.

  And who it was replacing.