40
"I'm not done with you yet."
Drake shoves himself to his feet, specks of tree bark littering his shoulder-length salt and pepper hair. He raises his arms, covered by his inky black, long-sleeved tunic, and extends them slightly with his left hand in front of his right.
One of the sleeves has a fist-sized hole, scorched around the edges. The battle damage matches a gash through the thigh of his similarly colored pants. He'd been dressed for stealth, for all that means now.
Because now, there's no time for that sort of thing. He's grateful, at least, that this outfit is good for combat as well. His boots represent that much outright, crunching the grass as he slides his feet into a more favorable position.
His hands pull back slightly, held in a claw shape with palms facing him and knuckles at his opponent.
"Is that so?"
You caught me off guard before… but I'm ready now. There's no point in running, anyway. Not anymore.
"You're here for revenge, I suppose—" He taunts, shadows swirling around his shoulders, "—but I hope you're not expecting a different outcome. This won't end as easily as our last fight."
"…you're right." The green lightning intensifies, a deep subsonic vibration loud even at this distance. "It won't."
Mary lifts her foot and a blur she's gone where-
There!
Drake drags his right foot back, liquid shadow trailing it and his fist.
Mary appears. His guard rises too slow, her elbow slamming into his wrist.
WHAM!
Shockwave. His shadows disperse, lightning tearing through them.
Then, a fist. Slap it down, duck inside her guard-
"GRCK!!" Spit flies from his mouth.
Ducking under, Mary's shoulder buries itself in his gut, blasting him back. His boots leave skid marks in the grass and dirt. Before he can blink, she leaps, a roundhouse kick-
Arms thrown up, his bones shudder. She spins into a second kick, her heel an arc.
One, two.
Neon green scorches his skin and lights up the forest. He pulls back; she lands, punches.
Three.
Her knuckles skid across his forearm, his ear, and he's in, sending a right straight-
It flies over her head. She hits the ground spinning, hooking his ankle. He stumbles back, barely over it, and she spins on her hands, kicking up-
The wind and lightning from her heel cut a line in his tunic.
Drake darts back, ducking behind a tree, pressing his back flat against the truck and rolling to the other side right as she rises and punches straight. Smash! It buries deep in the bark, and the tree shudders, before snapping from the bottom up.
Drake comes around before it splits, slashing at her with a roundhouse kick, just as she's rising, yanking her hand from the trunk-
Right here-!
WHAM!
Mary forces herself up, meets the blow with her shoulder. She wraps her arm around his leg, then pivots, yanking and flinging him behind her.
Bitch! Drake snarls. Then crashes.
He bounces more than once, ripping up the soil. Flipping to his feet, he lands, followed by a flash of green lightning.
Fuck off!
He raises an X-guard, the neon around her fist ripping apart his shadows, her fist cratering and cracking the flesh of his forearm.
Drake's jaw tightens, rips his arms open. A burst of air, blood spitting from his left forearm.
Gaining space, a single moment. Then-
One punch, glowing with swirling, white-hot sparks.
It's aimed his face, a killing blow.
"Amputate: Python, Lycaon!"
Shadows ooze and interlock, dark scales covering his arms. He pulls them up over his face, then below, the claws of a Lycaon stretching from his torso, slashing out-
Mary drops, her punch smashing into his foot, cracking the ground underneath. The resulting pain flares up his leg, locking his knee.
His balance shifts on shattered and uneven ground, slipping, and he tilts back and flexes his abdominals, twisting-
He lashes out with a backhanded, scale-covered fist.
There!
Her palm slams into chest, and his knuckles into her face.
She's knocked back, bending backwards and nearly falling over, before catching herself.
He's forced back, limping and hopping, quickly forcing himself to heal.
"Amputate: Crow."
At the same time, feathery shadows crawl up his forearms and over his fists, painting them and the skin just under his eyes with the color of a yawning, sinewy abyss.
Mary crashes forward. He deflects her first punch, neon sparks shredding through the dark feathers on his left forearm, and punches with his right. She catches it, wraps her arm around his and yanks him down.
WHAM!
Her hard head slams into his own. He reels, lashing out with his other arm, the shadows gone but his knuckles sharp, snapping into her brow.
Her head snaps back. She doesn't let go, instead grabbing the wrist of that arm and yanking him down.
WHAM!!
All he sees are stars.
WHAM!!!
Something cracks that time. The part of his brain that isn't being battered by the sides of his own skull screams at him, telling him to do something, anything-
Mary yanks him down again, and the shadows along his body explode. Vicious, razor-sharp spikes stabbing out like a porcupine.
They separate. Blood paints their foreheads, trickling down either side of their noses.
He has enough time to realize she isn't stabbed through with several holes, despite his last attack, before she's stopped stumbling and started attacking once more.
His head is pounding. It's hard to think, so he takes a page out of her book, and doesn't.
Ducking back, then attacking, again and again. A flurried exchange, the very dirt and air trembling. Head pounding. Drops of blood falling in slow motion, then bursting apart in mid-air.
Again. Blurs of movements, with little to no regard for self-preservation. Bursts of wind, deflecting, blocking, cracking, crashing-
Nigh Natural disasters, smashing into one another with all the finesse of something that is purely meant to be. There is no other outcome, other than these two here and now, threatening to rend the other into nothing.
Nothing else matters. There is no right or wrong.
She is wild, and he is controlled. They find their match in each other here and now, diametrically opposed despite, also, their similarities. Or, more accurately, the similarities between the "her" of another life and him.
CRASH!
They separate, forced a short distance apart.
Inhale. Exhale.
A warm breeze ruffles the forest canopy. Heavy breathing accompanies the crunching of grass, the crackle of lightning, the slithering of liquid shadow.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
They lock eyes, waiting for the other to make a move.
The wild beast eases herself into a wide, low stance. Left leg facing Drake, right leg back, with both arms raised and half extended, with her left fist slightly in front of her right.
Opposite of her, Drake does the same. He settles into that low stance, with the same left forward and right back. His hands, however, are clawed, palm half facing her.
They wait. One second.
One singular second, half of a breath inhaled. Full breath, then exhaling hot and painful.
. . .
Blood rushing. The faint breeze in the air cool and wet.
Breathe in.
Hot. Their bodies are hot, burning, hearts beating, beating, beating-
Holding that breathe, oxygen flooding the blood-
Drake's fingers twitch.
Mary steps, lashing out high. He deflects, palm strikes back, blocked.
A blurred flurry of deflections and blows.
One, two- three!
He grabs her forearm, shadows latching on, stabbing-
She grabs his tunic with her other hand, yanking-
Her head smashes into his own, again. But she lets go first, her blood smearing, then oozing into one of her eyes.
"Lycaon!"
With a snarl, the shadows under Drake's arms flow in front, a wolf-like creature her height forming and lunging in the same second.
Mary squeezes her eye shut, catches the shade, and crushes its throat. Green electricity rips through the mulch that remains, right as Drake kicks straight through its disintegrating torso, boot slamming into her stomach and launching her back.
Fuck! Drake stumbles, his balance shot by the pressure in his head. Fuck!!!
Mary rolls, ending her tumble in a crouch several meters away. Clutching at her stomach, she retches, though nothing comes out other than spit.
Away from her, Drake sways, catching himself with a quick step back. Wheezing, barely managing to stay on his feet. He hisses under his breath as the world spins.
He has to let his pulped left arm hang limp. With his other hand, he wipes the blood on his forehead away, before it can mess up his vision. Then, palm stained an unnaturally dark red, he prods at the space just behind one of his ears.
Aura flows from the digits and into his head. The sense of vertigo disappears, though slower than he'd like. Clarity and recognition follow.
More than a few bones are cracked, and his left forearm, at the very least, is broken clean through in multiple places. There's a fist-shaped crater in that same forearm, too, and his foot almost as bad.
Green sparks dance over and on various parts of his body. With a grunt, he floods his body with spiritual energy, trying to stave off the worst of it. Some of the sparks disappear. Some don't.
They resist him.
Pain. He's familiar with it, but this is new. This pain lingers in a way it shouldn't. Every time the spiritual half of his existence regenerates the physical half, the process slows.
It shouldn't work that way, but it does. He's being worn down.
With more effort than he's comfortable with, he flexes with magical aura, dissipating the rest of the sparks. His injuries, however... he grunts, forcing his energy into his forearm, foot, and chest.
Painstakingly knitting himself back together. Another low, pained hiss scrapes through his teeth, as he realizes the true extent of the damage.
They can't be healed fully.
The bones knit back together, but they're tender and more fragile than before. It'll slow him down, barely. But in this situation, "barely" is enough to be dangerous. Further, his left forearm is a mess, a literal fist-indent surrounded by bruised and bloody flesh.
In response to this, Drake focused his efforts fully on healing his chest and foot. Mobility is king right now, and unobstructed breathing equally so.
This in progress, he forces himself to look up, just in time to see Mary getting to her feet. It's slow, and her balance wobbles. Half of her face, the left side especially, is painted in her own blood.
She doesn't seem to care, barely bothering to wipe it out of her eyes.
Drake glances around quickly. He notes the position of the trees closest to him, and his aura flexes in response. He can heal enough to move, in time, but no more.
Let's try… this, then.
He holds his right hand at his hip, clawed, darkness dripping between the gaps in his fingers. Peeling away from the shadow at his feet, blobs of black slither through the grass behind him.
Mary's aura flares, and before he can blink, she moves.
Drake drags his hand high, an oozing half-dome of shadow flaring in front of him. Spikes follow, stabbing out from bottom to top.
Mary skids, trying to stop, and Drake clenches his hand into a fist, knuckles squishing into the mud-like darkness.
The spikes on the other side extend. Taking advantage of Mary's momentum, they shoot out, stabbing through her like a hot knife in butter-
Or at least, that's what should have happened.
Mary dodges. She leaps to the side, a ball of green electricity, kicking off a tree to another, then another, bouncing from tree to tree around him fast enough that zipping neon green lines crackle all around him.
Drake spins, turns left, then right. His head whips back and forth until he's dizzy, the half-dome of shadow turning into an oozing crescent arc just beyond his right hand and arm.
Where, where, when.
The sound changes, from a crackling, constant hum to a sharp buzz. Drake reacts, spinning, his shadows covering the space in front of him.
He'd guessed wrong.
He realizes it almost too late, stepping forward, spinning, and raising his bad arm.
The shin of Mary's boot slams into it once, twice.
The force and angle of the first dislocates it outright, the second breaking and shoving it against his shoulder, and then he's flung back, rolling and landing on his back. Two trees sit just before him, on either side.
I don't… understand.
He thinks, his entire left side a white-hot spike trap. He tries to push himself up.
Having touched down and immediately launched herself in his direction once more, Mary appears before his collapsed form like a Revelation, static to the senses and glowing with a power that shuns the natural order.
It curls around her, stretching out into the air in arcs.
And even now, she has yet to draw her sword. Whatever object is secured to her back, it remains swathed in fabric and rope. She's destroying him at close-range, even without them.
I thought I would understand you… but I don't.
Drake flexes his right hand, the shadows of those trees in front, on either side of him convulsing. A trap.
If she's destroying him at close-range, then it's time to be more creative.
They shoot out from the trunks like geysers, sideways pillars that crash and cocoon her in the middle. Her aura is snuffed out, for one exciting and stupidly hopeful second.
You're like me. Aren't you? You should understand why I did it, because that's what you're doing now, right? So, I should be fine with this. I get it.
The shadows ooze and drip mud, negating physical resistance. Quickly, however, that mud-like darkness solidifies, then cracks, then shatters, as neon green electricity floods the imperfect gaps and disintegrates any and all magical cohesion.
You have every right to kill me, and I should have every right to kill you. No surprises, no oddities. Just a mirror. That's how it should be.
Mary hits the ground, and this time, Drake attacks without pause.
But somehow, you're completely different.
From behind the tree to Mary's left, a howling wolf beast emerges. Leaping, it snaps at her, claws lashing out.
Mary catches the hastily formed Lycaon by the throat, slamming it into a similar beast leaping at her other side. Even before this, however, the first is disintegrating from her touch.
Green lightning flares from her palm, ripping through the creatures.
Drake attacks next, on her other side, one of the trees directly behind him. Left arm cradled uselessly at his side, he punches straight with his other. Calculated. Too low to duck under, and if he's right-
Mary grabs his forearm, the shadows on his fist wilting under her glow. She yanks him, and going by the fight so far, her next move will cave in either his skull or chest.
Her other arm pulls back, a self-fulfilling prophecy.
"Go!"
But he'd planned on that.
From the canopy of the tree behind him, another Lycaon falls, snarling. As Mary punches, it covers her arm with its body and latches onto her wrist. Those jaws rev like a chainsaw, razor-sharp shadows spinning and ripping into her.
At the same time, the shadows over Drake's right shoulder and upper arm explode, a Crow this time stabbing out and clawing at her face.
Like before, the sharpest edges are dulled by that bright green aura.
She doesn't flinch, merely dropping her hold and grabbing at the Crow. It shatters into black slime under her fingers, right as Drake slams his knee upward, something cracking.
This time, Mary is the one launched bodily through a gap in the trees.
I… thought so.
Instead of pursing, Drake leans against the nearest tree, catching his breath. Away from him, Mary tumbles backwards, first into a roll, then a crouch. Just like before.
Her aura flares, and over her right arm, his surprise Lycaon disintegrates before it can even whimper.
A flash of mixed irritation and sympathy is squashed in short order.
Lycaon's jaws should have torn clean through her arm. Instead, she's hardly bleeding.
Her right coat sleeve has holes in it, and through that, claw marks can partially be seen. Dark red leeches into the dark green fabric, stopping once it reaches those strange, gunmetal forearm bracers of hers.
Small, light-colored scratches dot the metal surface. What are they made of?
That's all he's done? No, the blood he sees on her face wasn't all there earlier.
That Unique aura weakens magic? Energy? Even physical attacks from my shades lose strength on contact. Normal strength, physical blows and cuts are fine, but… that aura, on top of her wild fighting style… I can barely keep up with her in close quarters. I can't keep up with her alone. Even glancing blows can weaken me, and every actual hit is extremely dense.
Several meters away, Mary stands, slowly. Her left eye is half-shut, forehead painted and dripping blood down from her face. The lightning imbued in her aura has diminished, but even as he watches, the intensity and glow slowly revs back up.
Worse… she's getting stronger every time she takes damage.
He presents this fact clinically, without any of the panic or irritation a lesser being might show. And, he notes just as clinically, her wounds aren't just bleeding into her coat.
Slow as it may be… they're healing.
Regeneration? And with little to no regard for self-preservation… it's like fighting a wild beast. A "Blitz" style, which essentially nullifies inherent protections. What a troublesome combination of techniques. Her abilities seem uniquely suited to fighting stronger foes.
Drake coughs, specks of blood and spittle staining his mouth. He wipes his mouth roughly with his palm, glaring down at the stain.
Monster. Logically, there's no reason to assume she's grown stronger than me between our last meeting and this one. Time constraints, effort, etc. But even then, fighting her like this, on her terms and on her turf… can I really hunt this beast?
Drake breathes in and doesn't cough this time. He exhales slowly, his dark, liquid aura leeching into the surrounding area.
Think bigger. Be more creative. Her power is in her physical capabilities. Not just strength or speed, but reaction time, a sixth sense for danger, the ability to ignore pain… if I can overwhelm her, then I can win.
A growing confidence. His shadow expands along the forest floor, a pitch-black puddle growing into a pond, then a lake.
It's true that her output is higher than last time, and thus, at close range, I'm at a heavy disadvantage. I won't be able to count on regeneration for much longer. So, I should switch to mid- and long-range attacks.
All around him, countless beasts of dripping shadows take shape. His own shadow is a circle under his feet and around him now, shapes and limbs rising from the pool and slithering together into animalistic forms.
Before, I would be hesitant to do so. I felt her ability to weaken my shades from afar last time we fought. However… I was testing for that. And not once did it occur.
Drake floods his shadow and shades with power. Across from him, Mary sparks, her aura burning brighter.
Her new style of attack, that Blitz and aura, seems to extend that Unique power across her entire body. Obvious enough. Then, can I assume that the "sight" component of her doesn't extend beyond her body in this state? Going by results, extending that energy across her body seems more beneficial. That must make the sacrifice of the "sight" component worth it.
The evidence of this is in the smooth flow of magical and spiritual energies from within himself to the growing and sculping shades around him. She's not interrupted him once; has not even made the effort.
How foolish! Even if it hurts or is less beneficial, you should be prepared to use everything to win. Here and now, I'll force you to use it! Here and now, I can freely expend my magicules for use in creation and animation, alongside reinforcement and enhancement of my own physical capabilities. Range and close combat are no longer an issue.
Activation of the Unique Skill: Limited Transfiguration. Then, flooding his shadow with magicules and his Spirit Magic to fuel the initial manifestation.
Whether you continue your Blitz, or you switch to cutting me off from long-range, I have the upper hand now. Because you have to make a choice.
Through his Skill, Drake corrupts spirits, breaks them down, then recreates them as shades. The result of this is a great number of stored "blueprints" for spirit-like entities, using his shadow or the shadows along his body as both storage and a foundation for his shades.
By expanding the breadth of his shadows, and freely expending both types of energy…
Limited Transfiguration…
The downside of this technique is in the high energy requirement, as anti-magic barriers will show. Further, creative applications, such as through the "Amputation" technique, are also dependent on this factor.
Hence the use of a single, pre-manifested shade during his attack against Tempest. After all, manifesting enough shades to effectively endanger a foe on the level of her would have drained too much of his reserves before ever entering the barriers or fight.
But here?
He's not facing a foe on the level of Tanya, who requires meticulous planning and outright cheating in order to kill. Mary's base speed and physical power may be more difficult to deal with due to her Unique ability, but without the limitations of the anti-magic barriers…
If she or anything else can't stop him from using the energy for manifestations or extended techniques, then there's no reason not to go all out, is there?
…Extension!
Drake spreads his arms wide, more shadows dripping from his arms, pitch black and viscous like mucous or slime. His black long sleeves almost seem to suck in light now.
"Lycaon. Grim. Orthrus. Arachne. Harpy. Crow. Stymphalian. Python. Glycon."
Bipedal and quadrupedal wolves, two-headed dogs, giant spiders, humanoid birds, corvids both blackened and armored, serpents… and those of a more unnatural origin.
"Apophis. Nemean. Manticore. Griffin. Chimera."
Monsters, in the horrific sense of the word. Melded parts of animals and beasts clinging to each other with sticky, gelatin-esque shadows.
Keep pushing out the energy I need, as much as it takes! I injured her with only a few, so with everything… I'll batter her from every angle, overload her senses, until all I need is one lucky attack. All I need is one mistake, and…
Drake's battalion of shaded creations snaps and howls at his feet. They loom all around him.
"Go."
He watches closely for Mary's next move, ready to react to anything. He watches as Mary raises her left hand and wipes the blood out of her eye. He watches as she brings that same hand down ever so slightly, to cover her mouth. As she gathers her energy once more and glares at him defiantly, her eyes and aura spark neon green.
The channel between him and his Unique Skill remains open, and as a result, he believes his theory is correct. Whilst expanding the scope of her technique, her Skill, across her entire body, she cannot use it at distance. Either the benefits of using it in close combat trumps using it at distance, or the backlash from centralizing such a power isn't worth it during an extended fight.
However, he's not so foolish as to count it out. It's simply something to be less concerned about. Compared to her Blitz, anything else is little to no trouble at all.
This is the conclusion Drake reaches:
I'll win.
Calmly, he gives the command to attack, clapping his hands together and covering his shoulders in shadows.
Then, "Amputate, Pegasus."
Dripping darkness shoots out from his shoulders, forming massive, pitch-black wings. More shadows ooze across his torso, like a harness.
He wasn't foolish enough to take to the sky when she was chasing him. He would have practically been asking to get shot in the back. But right now, it's time to use the open space.
In the process, he doesn't notice how Mary's neon green light is particularly bright just underneath her fingers and palm, nor how she reaches for the tarp and twine-secured object on her back.
-=-
For all intents and purposes, these two are nearly equals. If we were to compare their level of strength to others, both would fall handedly into the category of almost Demon Lord Seed. A fair fight between these two would, logically, come down to the wire.
But the most likely outcome would always end with Drake standing victorious. He is simply too experienced and too driven. Even though Mary Sue's own drive and passion could outweigh his own, there is no denying his ability and experience as a fighter.
In truth, his need to weaken Tanya beforehand should not be seen as a detractor at all. Instead, it's the sign of a competent fighter acknowledging his weakness. Further, her Unique abilities and dual magicule pools, combined with her own extensive combat experience and logical, ruthless mindset, meant that she was simply that strong as a combatant.
Mary is not on that level. This is a fact.
However!
That assumption of likely victory is based on Mary's previous strength, combined with a safe estimate on Drake's part as to how her power might have grown since their last meeting. Erring on the side of caution, and based on new information, he acknowledges her strength, yet determines that he is still superior.
This is a reasonable assumption to make, and not entirely inaccurate.
But you see, Drake could not have known. For while his own experience and his commitment to strength may theoretically outweigh her own, there is one thing he could never hope to match.
Mary Sue's pure, unbridled desire. A desire to win, to change, to defeat him over anything else… and, naturally, her unfathomable potential.
It's been stated before, but Mary Sue is not normal. Her name might as well indicate it in some ironic twist of fate. It is the aspect of the prodigy, alongside the more recent boons of heightened senses, superhuman wells of physical strength, speed, and magical power.
And, of course, the Unique Skill: Ability Severance. Which, admittedly, is a bit of a misnomer.
Imagine a better version of myself, who freely steps beyond my limits. Don't try to structure it; don't force it. Just feel the energy, know what you want, and make use of it that way.
Let's pull back the veil. Ability Severance isn't strictly a "severing" power.
Rather, the Skill creates an incredibly malleable, Unique form of energy that can be used to "sever" the connection between a person and their abilities.
In order to effectively do this, Ability Severance copies the energy signature of its target – whether it be a Skill, a spell, or beyond – then creates an inverted form of this energy signature within its own Unique energy.
Effectively, if the energy consisting of Drake's Limited Transfiguration is "positive Transfiguration energy", then in response to Mary's desire to "sever" his connection to it, the Unique energy of Ability Severance becomes "negative Transfiguration energy".
This is the reason abilities like Regeneration, Greater Fire Resistance, or the like are difficult to "sever". Because they are so closely attuned to their host, the energy signature of abilities like these is difficult to fully ascertain.
Difficult. Some more than others.
But regardless, this leaves the door open for a very fortunate power of her own.
"Haah…"
Ability Severance…
Mary exhales, literal steam hissing through her teeth.
Her eyes glow neon, her fingerprints and the creases of her hands traced with that familiar bright green. The power thrums violently, an ocean that cannot be contained.
But it is her power. She makes use of it, not the other way around.
…Extension!
The crackle of lightning. A subsonic hum.
Mary reaches over her shoulder, to the covered object held across her back. Her hand slips through an opening in the fabric, grasping the hidden golden metal underneath.
Drake's spear.
In… and out. Focus on that feeling…
In the process of using Ability Severance, Mary has become familiar with a great number of inverted energy signatures for a great number of what Ability Severance designates as "abilities".
She is grateful, then, that the power stored within Drake's spear is, in fact, stored within the spear itself. So very grateful. Moreover, that she has witnessed similar abilities firsthand, thus making what she's about to do next… rather simple, comparatively.
She'd already done it once, just the other day. So, here and now…
…got it. There.
Far in front of her, Drake's shades continue to burst free from his shadow, a literal hoard of shadowed creations carving a path through the grass and trees.
The fastest ones, longer legged creatures of varying parts and origins, curl around the sides of the trees, darting through the undergrowth. Wolves on both four legs and two, smaller wolf-like creatures she doesn't recognize… heading straight for her are larger ones. Serpents larger than her leg, jaguars and mountain lions, and chimeras of all of these and more.
There are even birds from small to dangerously large careening through the canopy of leaves above, picking up speed and making to dive at her. It is a wave of darkness looming ahead, ready to crash down on her.
Right now, he probably thinks I can't stop him. So, he'll keep making shades, using up his reserves bit by bit, wasting as much as possible…
It's almost overwhelming.
There.
Right as they all converge on her position, Mary stomps one foot forward, the ground cracking, as she throws his spear-
-=-
As long as he keeps her from attacking in a Blitz, in a purely 1-on-1 situation like before, he'll win. Let her attack him head on, then force her to focus on several things at once, never allowing her a moment's reprieve. Multiple angles, multiple heights, multiple types of attacks from slashes to bites to divebombs to spikes.
Even if his shades won't last more than a single hit, that's a single hit focused elsewhere. The two of them are automatically on more even footing, and then, his combat experience and skill should outweigh hers.
Overwhelm her. Not keeping her from thinking, but instead keeping her instincts and senses occupied to the highest degree.
Then, kill her.
It's an incredibly effective strategy.
It's incredibly effective, so-
Why am I freezing up?
Something is wrong. Wrong, wrong-
Muscles tense before she even moves. His instincts scream at him.
I'm on the defensive?
Drake yanks himself to the side, wings flaring to speed him up.
The object, invisible to the naked eye, was not indetectable. The vibrations are enough, but even so, his speed almost isn't.
The object practically rips the air in half, trailing green bolts of energy and carving a direct line to his heart-
It's close. Drake avoids it.
He sways on his feet, ever so slightly, the weight of Pegasus' wings and his energy expenditure taking a toll.
Nothing worth worrying about, of course. It's expected. He's manifested a metric fuck ton of shades this time around. Normally, he'd regenerate that energy in the span of a few seconds.
Normally.
Right now, he has neither a few seconds, nor is he regenerating his energy normally.
She used it?!
His eyes widen.
It's so quick, it might as well have been instant. But, as the thrown object did not continue. Instead, after nearly carving a line through his side, it stopped. Not in mid-air, but because, suddenly and without warning, Mary is right there. Not a blur, not a blitz, but appearing.
Her aura is gone, but she's right there. Holding the object in two hands, holding on to-
My fucking spear!?
Drake breaks free from shock, flapping his wings just in time for her body to twist.
A vicious, horizontal slash, her grip near the end of the shaft for maximum range and her stance solid, if unskilled. It carves a line in the air, the wind itself cut in half.
He barely avoids it, blasting up high.
Barely. Not entirely.
Drake ascends, and his blood trails him, dripping from a gash through one of his shins. He chokes back a shout of irritation, escaping through the forest canopy and staring into the hole left behind.
All around Mary, Drake's shades converge once more.
Mary looks up at him. The shadow over her expression slowly unravels. The neon green of her eyes burns it all away, her electric aura reigniting.
He feels undressed under her cold, electric gaze. Seen through entirely.
She looks away. Lowers herself into a stance, holding that golden spear in one hand.
Time seems to slow. Waves of darkness, creatures, creations, ready to crash down on a singular spot of neon green.
Then, a flash of gold, a blurred circle of it surrounding that bright green.
Drake blinks.
Suddenly, the area just around Mary is clear. More shades pour in, but instead of attacking, she looks up at him. Lowers her stance.
Drake blinks-
Mary is in the air, above the canopy of leaves. Her arm is pulled back, like for a javelin.
Instinctively, he flaps his wings, yanking himself to the side. A single shadowy feather, left behind, is ripped apart.
Mary appears there, thrown spear back in hand, already swinging.
Drake spins, bringing up his right arm and wing-
WHAM!
Like a baseball bat, it slams into him, the force of it shredding his feathers. Drake moves with the hit, rolling through the air.
It's fine to take a hit here. The wings are strong, maintaining their spiritual weight despite the blow, and she can't keep up with him in the open skies, falling-
She's not falling?
Green electricity thrums on the open air, a great mass of neon energy like a gauntlet around her left arm and hand. Hovering in place, Mary thrusts that hand forward, aura flooding into her palm and glowing too bright to look at.
This is-!!
Drake tucks his damaged wings in and dives. He tries.
It is a truly massive beam – for it is not a bolt, or a collection of bolts, but the same sparking, world-rending beam from earlier – of electricity and magical energy. His vision is blanketed in shades of green and white; sunspots and heatwaves raze everything around him.
Molten lava scorches part of his back.
Drake falls. One wing is missing, the skin over his left shoulder blade charred and leathery. His other wing trails feathers. Damaged, but still there.
He breaks through the canopy, this time in reverse. Branches and leaves crunch and shatter in his wake, and soon, just before landing in a heap, he's caught in the arms of a shade Harpy.
None of the other shades are nearby. Dead, or too slow, he doesn't have time to guess.
Not waiting, he scrambles out of its arms, landing on his feet and backing away right as something gold rips through the Harpy's torso, stabbing into the ground.
He blinks.
Mary tugs his spear from the ground and steps through the disintegrating corpse.
"Really? The air?" She says with a sardonic huff. The first change in emotion he's seen since the start of the battle.
Drake dismantles his remaining wing, the shadows slithering down his heavily damaged left side and compressing all of it. The shadow harness reconfigures, flowing to the opposite side and forming long, curved blades on the knuckles of his right hand.
How many did she kill? No, are they still coming? Just hold her off. Can I do that?
He's winded, aching, but doesn't dare show it. Mary strolls toward him, unconcerned of the fresh blood trailing from cracks down her cheeks.
She used Sight earlier, and then reformed her aura… then, that beam must have drained it here. For now. Close combat should be fine, but she's willing to use anything, huh? When? How often? I don't feel any drain yet. A bait? I need to- gah!!
He twists his torso just in time.
A stab, two-handed and like that of a bayonet charge, carves a line in his left side. Skin deep at most, but green electricity crackles along his own spear, searing the skin and boiling the surface-level blood.
Drake swipes down her. She ducks to the side, moving back and slashing up.
He darts backwards. She follows, pulling back, hands near the bottom of spear and stabbing.
Drake deflects it into the dirt, punching with his left, caving in her face-
There!
Which isn't there.
She warps to midway along the spear, into a crouch. Rising, she-
-flinches, shadows stabbing through her shoulder, upper arm, elbow.
Ha! I was right!
Attacking as soon as she warped. Limiting her options by grounding the spear, baiting her into warping with his left, then spearing her through with the blades of shadow on his right. Her lightning and aura are still recovering, which means shade attacks won't be dulled from proximity.
I…
He has leverage, advantage… he has everything! Drake flares his aura, powering through his exhaustion to flood his shadow once more. Darkness flows in an instant, shackling her arm and ripping through flesh and bone.
…win!
"Not… yet!"
Huh?
An explosion of green launches him back. He slams back first into a tree, his spine creaking and flaring white-hot. Then, Drake's feet hit the ground, and he stumbles. One hand comes up, catching some of the blood trickling from his nose.
He looks up.
Mary stands up, swaying and hunched over like a zombie. Her left arm is a mess, barely hanging on. Large holes through her upper arm and shoulders pour crimson into her shredded jacket sleeves. What can't be absorbed stains the grass under her feet.
It's horrific. He's ecstatic.
For all of two seconds.
Drake watches, eyes wide as saucers, unable or unwilling to move, as Mary reaches down with her other hand, green energy snapping and snarling along her fingers and palm. She covers the worse wound with her palm, the buzzing of her energy palpable even at this distance.
After a moment, she lets go. And the worst of her wound in gone, with nothing but a circular scar around her elbow.
He looks closer.
The holes in her upper arm and shoulder, they're already smaller. Her wounds still exist, he realizes. The gash across her forehead, damage to her torso and legs, they're not exactly healed. The blood on her face isn't new at all.
Instead, she's managed to heal herself just enough to continue fighting unhindered. It must hurt still. There's no way to avoid that. But even if she can't fully heal, that all it will be. Pain.
And as long as it's just pain. He thinks, feeling a trickle of fear deep in his gut. She won't stop.
He makes the mistake of hesitating. He can't help it.
But Mary is done waiting.
Spear in hand, she attacks.
It's the end, this time.
She's on him. A leaping roundhouse kick, then-
One, two-
It's only one kick this time. A feint. Mary drops, finishing her spin and kicking him in the gut, back into the same tree from moments ago.
This time, his back pops.
Air ejects from Drake's lungs, as Mary's fist buries itself in his diaphragm, slamming him bouncing him against the tree a third time.
His eyes are blown wide open, the shock finally catching up with him. He can feel his shades closing in, just on the edge of his senses, but they're still too far away. Much, much too far.
She was too fast, is all. Both by herself, and with his spear and its ability. Both stolen.
She-
"Gurck-!!!"
Before he can even blink, she pins him like a bug on Styrofoam.
Dark blood seeps into the fabric of his tunic. That golden gleam of his own spear is tainted in a familiar hue. Stabbing through the left side of his chest, he feels the spark of his old contract and energy, now turned against him.
It tries to reconnect with him.
Drake heaves, nearly vomits. Blood stains his lips.
This...
He can hardly even think. Despite being stabbed before, multiple times even, this is… this is a new pain. This pain is different. It cuts him from the inside out, hot, smoking coals smothering the inside of his lung.
This is-
"That's one."
Drake wretches, unable to reply to her. Still, the statement is harrowing.
"How many more, Drake?" Mary asks blankly, reaching up with her other hand and grabbing his face. "There were stab wounds through her left lung, her right lung, and her torso. So many scrapes, cuts, bruises."
Her hand covers his mouth, and she forces his head back. Underneath, his skin sizzles, then scorches.
"Electrical burns."
The electricity around her intensifies. The back of his head scrapes against the rough bark of the tree, arcs of green lightning flaring out and jolting him.
"But the most important one… death."
She pulls his head forward, then slams it back.
The tree shudders, his brain rattling around in his skull.
I'm…
Thoughts are difficult, swirling from the pressure and heat, and a heavy, dense sheet of steel wool weighs down his brain and body.
… going to… die…
It's less a thought he has, and more a feeling in his soul. He's going to die.
Mary's aura grows brighter, more suffocating. He can feel it flooding his body, everything he attempts shutting down. Her hand presses against his face, and he can't breathe.
He's going to die.
Yes, soon, he's going to die. But…
…but I… don't…
What can he do? He can't do anything. Every shade, Altered Spirit, speck of aura and magicules within him, even all backed by one singular desire of survival, they're trapped or diminished or-
I don't want to die!
And then, something breaks. Ripping control away.
The very World around him, as though reality itself were glass, cracks in mid-air. Above and below the two of them, massive spikes of dripping shadow stab into existence from nothing.
Yawning, open wide, it is a great jaw of razor-sharp teeth.
For the first time, the Greater Shade: Jörmungandr, achieves full manifestation.
-=-
Elsewhere in the forest, this does not go unnoticed.
For one observer, the trees pass by in a blur of movement. Footfalls are rapid, yet muffled, as a familiar figure with pink hair darts through and around the scattered trunks.
The echoes of a new power resound even this far, to those with a Magic Sense sensitive enough to catch it. Shuna skids to a halt, her brown leather boots digging into the soil. She suppresses a grimace at the feeling.
Darn it, Mary. What are you doing?
Without a second thought, she takes off again, the tail of her green jacket flaring from the motion. Instead of a B-line, however, now she's heading off at a bit of an angle, as if to intercept something.
But… that's fine. Nothing's changed.
Shuna brings her hands up and together, steepling her fingers. Then, keeping her fingers straight, she half interlocks them. Her aura flares, dark pink flames trailing through the gaps between her palms and fingers.
This time… this time, I'll…
Inside of her, just under her diaphragm, something pulses.
-=-
Right as those teeth crash together, Mary vanishes.
Last time she encountered this beast, it had snatched her away without warning. Not even her senses could keep ahead of its initial strike. It swallowed her entirely, carrying her away while Drake managed to escape.
But this time is different.
Acting on full instinct, stronger and faster than before in every way due to her training with Rimuru, Mary's subconscious registers the threat, and she moves without thinking.
Mary lands several meters away, peering through a gap in the trees at her previous position. Without pause, she draws her katana, the green electricity of her aura immediately crawling across the similarly colored blade.
Almost as though the air itself is a window, a shattered hole floats just in front of the still pinned form of Drake. She can see around the hole, as though it isn't there.
But in fact, it is, and pouring out of it is a long, coiling length of crimson-hued, semi-solid shadows. It's less like a snake or serpent, than it was before.
That's right. She recognizes it, even if its appearance has changed. She'd recognize by feeling alone.
There is something deeply unsettling about this creature. It tickles at something at the very back of one's mind, prickling and caressing the fine-tuned survival instinct that millennia of evolution has cultivated. It is wrong.
Something scrapes the back of her mind. Madness encroaching from somewhere else, just like last time. This time, however, is different.
Along Mary's forearm bracers – or more accurately, Tanya's forearm bracers – previously invisible runic script begins to glow a vibrant, pulsing red. The pressure on her mind and the scraping sensation fades.
The only problem now is the creature itself.
This is Jörmungandr, or something similar to it at least. An unfathomable serpent-like creature, with a head like a dragon and razor-sharp jaws that could swallow the gods themselves. Large spines line its back, themselves lined on either side by smaller, sharper spines and spikes.
Unlike before, sharpened sets of wings also line the back of this creature. Further, the liquid, barely formed appearance from before is gone. Even as Mary watches, the shade solidifies, black ooze hardening into scales and dripping darkness melting into bone-like extrusions.
This isn't a rushed manifestation fueled by the tug-of-war of willpower between Drake and the semi-sentient corrupted Greater Spirit. No, the control in this situation is clear.
The creature, this mockery of the myths of her homeland, continues to slide out of its own little gap in real space. It has no concern for her, nor its creator.
The grass underneath Jörmungandr darkens, the color itself leeching away. It coils endlessly around that tree on which Drake is still pinned, only just now, after several seconds, fully exiting the cracked space in the air. As it does so, the axe-like spines along its tail carving through the dirt, that broken window of reality disappears.
One less thing to worry about, at least.
Existential threats to reality should wait their turn, please and thank you.
Okay…
Mary inhales, holding the breath. Green lightning crackles in the suddenly silent forest. She shifts her grip, sliding into a simple two-handed stance, with the tip of her katana pointing up and out.
Jörmungandr lazily acknowledges Drake first. It snorts at him and smells his blood on the air.
He slumps over further, weight sagging against the spear stuck through his chest. His tainted blood dripping away. He's helpless.
But it doesn't attack him. It looks away, uncaring.
In that instant, Mary understands. Jörmungandr is fully willing to kill Drake. The way it nudges at him carelessly, the look in its eye, the calm display of its strength. That isn't checking health, but rather checking availability.
When the corrupt spirit slowly turns its attention to Mary, she knows it is attacking her not out of a desire to protect, but out of boredom. Drake is left alone, because he cannot fight back, and that is boring.
This creature is one that lives according to its own desires. A beast.
Baring its fangs at the strongest around, with no regard for others.
Without warning, with no indication beyond the narrowing of its glowing, purple-eyed stare, it lashes out with its tail. Those axe-shaped spines carve through the surrounding trees, a razor-sharp arc cleaving through-
A slash mark appears in the air, a flash of green followed by the crackle of lightning.
That massive tail splits vertically, the tip with its axe spines falling behind her. Blood splatters the area around her, and Jörmungandr whips its tail back behind itself, roaring in pain.
Mary lowers her katana back into her previous stance.
Her glare is twice as bright now, neon ice. Jörmungandr meets it with a purple one of its own, flaming fury. It opens that great shadowy maw-
"▂▂▂▂▃▃▃▃▄▄▄▄▅▅▅!"
-an unearthly sound, like the Gjallarhorn heralding Ragnarök.
A burgeoning natural disaster.
Naturally, it's at this time that Drake's remaining shades finally catch up to them.
So noisy. So many…
Mary glances at Drake. Seeing that he's still pinned and bleeding, she looks away, locking gazes with Jörmungandr. Its hackles rise, and it coils, that massive slithering body arcing and preparing to lunge. In the trees around her, darkness rises. Great beasts surround her on all sides.
…even if that happens, she'll…
"…Don't waste my time."
This said, she relaxes her stance, switching to one hand and straightening up. Resting the dull side of her katana casually on her shoulder and holding out her other hand, palm up, energy wreathes and coalesces her form.
Expression blank, she says in a low, furious tone, "I'll kill you."
-=-
The commotion might as well not exist.
He doesn't even notice the space between before and after.
All that matters is survival.
Don't die yet. You can't die just yet.
A single desire.
There's an odd sound which reaches his ears after, that of the magic itself rending the very air asunder. It's like ripping, a zap. Power flowing, when he is nearly gone, out, empty. Reconnection.
Drake warps.
His spear in hand, he falls to his knees. Slumps over, collapsing and clutching at the hole in his chest, staring listlessly at nothing. His heart pounds in ears, his mouth dry and cracked. Burns canvas his body, scorch marks and Lichtenburg scars. His nerves are completely burnt out.
It might as well be a good thing. The pure, unbridled agony is limited in scope.
Thump thump.
His heart is still beating in his chest.
Ironic.
At best, he can keep from choking on his own blood. Something else, himself, is almost… missing. That power of hers, it bleached him dry. Any longer, and…
Something, anything. Please.
Move! You have to move!
There is a void that is as metaphorical and sentimental as it is literal, bleeding and leeching into his surroundings. But he's not dead yet. The vicious ice and lava smothering him from the inside out, excruciating and yet existent.
The fact that he feels anything at all is a sign.
MOVE ALREADY, DAMMIT!!!
Thump thump. Thump thump.
Blood pounding in his ears.
He is going to die. Maybe.
If he can't get away, right now.
I don't want to die.
So, Drake forces himself to move.
He crawls at first. His fingertips scrape themselves raw, but he relishes the pain. It keeps him conscious for as long as it takes before his spirit can catch up to his injuries. Recovery isn't much of a possibility, but it is a dream.
A dream…
He'd lived for a good while. He hadn't lived long enough. He's not ready for this dream to end.
I won't die here! I won't! I refuse!
He reaches out…
…the World…
His tenacity is rewarded. By keeping himself conscious, by refraining from passing out, his body and spirit are able to cooperate. His soul still exists, and as long as it hasn't passed on, one will not die.
He will not die. Not yet. His spirit responds. His body stitches itself from the inside out. Bones held together by internal energy, vital organs resetting from failure to subpar operation.
It's not enough to fight. It's barely enough to stand. But he can stand.
Drake gets to his feet, and nearly falls. He can't feel the fingers on his left arm. Blood stains his hair, face, and beard. Every single breath hurts, as the hole in his lung barely stitches itself closed.
He tosses his spear. It doesn't go very far, but he warps to it anyway. Then, he repeats the process. Toss his spear, warp to it.
Toss his spear. Warp to it.
Toss his spear. Warp to it.
It's quicker than walking. It's one of the few powers he can access.
At some point, a Grim shade slinks from the trees.
I didn't know… I could make cowards…
He thinks, yet he accepts the shade. How could he not?
It disintegrates under his touch, returning to him much needed magicules. He can breathe a little easier now, and move a little faster. Even run, barely.
Run, then throw his spear, then warp to it.
He runs away in the only way he can, because that is all he has ever known. He runs away from his fears, from death. Always making excuses. Always afraid of the truth.
He is terrified. This is the truth. He is not strong enough.
The concept of dying for what he believes in has little meaning now. He won.
He avenged them, even if he never acquired a Demon Lord Seed.
Yet, he abandoned those he avenged. He should have died with them, but he is one who would abandon even his friends and his children if the outcome is survival. Success.
It's not impossible to care about others while being single mindedly focused. However, it is impossible to prioritize them. In the end, one must make a choice.
You have to make a choice.
The truly strong are those with an overwhelming individual presence, that of an assured sense of self and purpose that disregards all others. Those beings who step into an echelon all their own.
Not Demon Lords. Not Chosen Heroes. Not Angels. But instead, to step beyond these labels and become a power unto yourself. To create your own gravity. To be selfish.
To become a force of nature, an expression of pure power… a true natural disaster.
Can he do that?
Naturally, he sought revenge for their sake, but, avenging his son, his close friend, how much do they really mean to him? How long can he adhere to those ideals of connection and kin? Much of his strength came from a desire to reconcile those ideals.
In the end, he succeeded. Was he willing to die for that goal? Yes.
Yet, he ran. He won, but he still ran.
A natural disaster wouldn't have stopped. It would have raged, and raged, destroying with little to no regard for self-preservation. Reminiscent of, yet far beyond, a mere beast.
At the end of the day, Drake is a coward. He wanted to abandon those ideals, but he didn't take it far enough. He avenged them, but he left.
He is one who used to be a human man, who was disgusted with his weakness and desired anything he could to stand beyond his previous self. His weak human self, the same one that would have died worthlessly to his former associates in a previous life, if not for his resurrection somewhere else.
Thus, he desires to grow strong. To reach the pinnacle of what a human, former or otherwise, may achieve. To stand atop everything, so that he may never fear for his life ever again.
What does a tsunami fear? What does a hurricane feel threatened by? Nothing, of course.
No. No, he can't die here. Fine. He'll do it. He'll abandon his friends, his family.
He'll do it. Even if it means forsaking those ideals, he'll do it.
Drake runs away, because if he dies here, than what did it matter? What was the point of it all?
There's nothing left for him here. Should he risk losing to her? No, of course not. He needs to grow stronger. He needs to survive, to rage and rage until he can stand against anyone.
Right now, he cannot do so.
Mary Sue is far too dogged to risk fighting against any longer. Her power is less of a gimmick than he'd given it credit for. Perhaps, one day, they can truly go all out against one another.
But for now, she can kill him, even if he'll kill her in the process. She just doesn't care.
With little to no regard for self-preservation…
That is not someone to fight against. Not right now, not here.
Yet again, he makes the same mistake. He should have kept going.
Drake flees. He leaves Jörmungandr, the shades from before. Anything to keep her at bay. The worst of his injuries slowly ease, from debilitating to wince-inducing. So much power drained, so much locked away, and for how long, he doesn't know.
But he can still move. Drake runs away.
Or at least, he tries.
His Spiritual and magical senses are battered, so it's by sight that he first notices.
He slows to a halt, as a figure emerges from the tree in front of him. The forest almost appears to darken, and he grits his teeth at both the pain and the familiar presence.
"Where do you think you're going?"
She poises the question coldly, with no expectation of an answer.
Shit. He thinks.
If there is anyone who could outpace Mary Sue in a desire to kill him, the pink haired Kijin several meters away would fit the bill. She was there, after all.
And this time, she seems prepared for a funeral. A black kimono, tied off by a pure white obi around her abdomen and accented with the same color elsewhere. Brown leather boots, and a dark green jacket.
No bow or arrows. His only other consolation is that he knows she doesn't share Mary's overwhelming physical capabilities. With his recently returned spear, he might be able to escape.
He can't afford to get bogged down here.
Her expression and posture, however, are those of someone confident. It gives him pause.
"Move." He snarls, left arm hanging at his side, right hand readying his spear. "I'm leaving."
"No."
Fire-like energy curls around her hands, black-painted fingernails glinting.
"I've been forced to remain on the sidelines far too many times." Shuna's expression is stormy, gaze alight and glowing. And, for a split second, crimson tear-shaped markings appear under her eyes, before disappearing. "But I'm done. You… you took her from me. Did you think I'd just let you run away?"
Drake scowls, settling into a low stance, one hand holding his spear half behind him and pointing out to the side. The movement along forces a flinch out of him, but if it's just pain, he won't stop. He can't afford to stop now.
"You don't have a choice, woman. Move, before I send you to meet her."
He shouldn't have said that. At that, she walks toward him with no intention of stopping. A storm. Furious, single-minded, unmoved by anything except her own desire.
That is, to end him.
Once she's just a few meters away, she snarls, "I'll make sure you beg for mercy before I'm done."
Against his own will, a spark of fear appears in the depths of Drake's blackened heart.
Shuna bolts at him, hands low and clawed. Drake twists, stabbing forward. She ducks to the side, and he warps-
Huh?
CRACK!
He has just enough time to see her in the air before his nose crunches under her boot, head forced back.
She guessed the warp correctly?!
Shuna kicks off him, almost floating. Mid-air, she extends the pointer and middle finger of her right hand, the slashes down with it.
"Ignite."
A line of pink flames interposes the air. It slams diagonally into Drake's upper torso and his face, and he flinches back, knocked bodily into another tree.
Bark and trunk half-folded around him, Drake tries to keep her away. A single shade, a Raven, jumps from the shadows under his arm, but it's a paltry attempt. He's not yet recovered from Mary's onslaught.
Shuna lands easily on her feet and backhands the Raven once it gets close. It breaks apart like nothing.
"Hmph." She scrunches up her nose, swiping her hand down. Liquid shadow splatters on the grass.
Just in case, she turns over her hand once, twice, making sure none of it is still stuck to her.
Somewhat distracted, the smell of burnt flesh registers to her senses only once Drake has managed to free himself from the split tree. He takes one unbalanced step, then another, readying himself for- something or other.
She's busy right now. Just as soon as she confirms that, no, she'd gotten rid of all of the shade's… guts? Remnants?
Not important.
She looks up, raises her hand, pointer and middle fingers extended, and casually swipes from left to right.
"Ignite."
In an instant, a gash of pink flame cleaves into his chest, stronger than the first. More of his flesh blackens, the deep wound cauterizing itself even as he's forces back through the tree, this time.
"Not so easy now, is it? Not very fair, huh?" Shuna mutters scathingly. She frowns. "No, this is wrong. He'll die."
He'll die too easily, she means.
Drake drags himself through the now thoroughly decimated tree, using his spear to support himself. Smoke curls off his battered form. Partially healed injuries tug at his consciousness.
Still, he readies himself. To attack her, or to run, neither of them really know. He can't let himself stop here. He has to keep going. He has to-
Shuna doesn't really care. It's not like anything he does from this point on matters. The outcome has already been written.
"In that case, I'll do it."
"What are you…?" Drake brandishes his spear, but Shuna ignores him.
She raises her hands and claps them together. Pressed flat, fingertips to the sky. The praying hand sign of a shrine maiden, outlined by dark teal and smoky black energy.
Around her feet, a circle of the same colors swirls into existence. Her lips move, soundlessly.
"Set."
Drake flinches. The pressure is too great; he can't move from that spot.
The sound echoes across the clearing unnaturally. Resonating somewhere that isn't physical. The energy structure of a magical barrier sets around them.
She pulls her hands apart, then claps again.
"Benevolent Shrine."
The instant between this moment and the next are not visible. Not even in the span of a blink. Though to the naked eye, it appears that way.
It's not that the movement was too fast; rather, it is as though the difference between what "isn't" and what "is" has changed instantaneously, with no time or space in between. A new space replacing what was "before" with "now".
Where before there was grass, now there is tan-colored flooring made up of large rectangular shapes. Instead of trees, now there are walls of light-colored wood, with the walls right in front of him broken up by odd, grid-covered sliding doors.
Sliding shoji doors, though he doesn't know this.
Suddenly, they slide open, showing-
A courtyard…? And a barrier!
Footsteps-
Drake spins on his heel, stabbing on instinct.
Only flinch, then clutch at his throat. His spear and right hand hit the ground before he does, collapsing to his knees.
Three crimson divots are carved out of the front of his throat, blood trailing down his skin. As if they'd appeared there.
"Grck!" Drake falls back, getting away from the monster standing in front of him. He clutches desperately at his throat, coughing and choking helplessly, worthlessly.
Shuna kicks his spear away and steps over his severed hand. The brilliant, almost holy light streaming in through the now open doors swathes her as she walks around him.
Slowly, assessing, she comes around, so she is facing his crouched, desperate form, the nigh holy sunlight hot and scorching against his back.
She watches, a look of righteous, dark satisfaction in her eyes.
Slowly, then, she lowers her hand so he can see, staring at it for the briefest moment. Drake's own blood trickles down, the black, sharpened nails at the end of each finger glistening ever so slightly. But it doesn't fall, instead clinging to her skin.
With a click of her tongue, she swipes her hand down, the blood flinging off and disintegrating right before it hits the tatami flooring.
"Don't die yet." Shuna takes a singular step forward, so that she's truly standing above him. Looking down on him. "I'm not done."
Drake can't answer her. He can't even look at her. The blood pours past his fingers and wrist stump, and instead of falling, it sticks in viscous globs around the wounds.
Refusing to paint this place, one might say. Not allowed to taint it, more accurately.
He can barely even breath. Each heave brings a new wave of pain, greater pressure on his lungs, a wet, metallic burn on and in his throat.
There is nothing that can save him now.
"Before long, your muscles will refuse to act from exhaustion. Air won't come anymore; you'll pass out and die." Shuna says, seemingly unconcerned. Her gaze burns into his collapsed form; he can feel it, just as vividly as he can feel his lungs filling and the cold tinge of something just on the edge of perception. "Perhaps if you accept it, it will come faster? Maybe you can escape?"
This is a fatal blow. He hadn't even seen it.
How? What is this? How… I can't… die here… I can't…
Death comes for him at last.
…
…or at least, it should. But his pain does not end.
What…?
"Oh, but it's not that simple. Didn't you hear me?"
Suddenly, Drake is grasped by his spiky hair and yanked. Shuna leans down, forcibly meeting his gaze. He tries to choke something out, blood splattering on the front of her kimono top, her jacket.
"I'm not done yet. Can you feel it?" Shuna drops him, and as he's falling, lashes out. Her palm smashes against his face, shattering his nose and jaw and sending him flying.
CRASH!
He flies bodily out of the building, crashing down stone stairs and tumbling painfully to a halt in the middle of the courtyard. Some muffled survival instinct forces him to his hands and knees, gasping for air and getting it, but only just.
But regardless, he's still alive. Why? No, not why. How?
"You can feel it, can't you? Death. But even if you should have died already, I won't let you. Outside of complete disintegration, you'll stay alive here, no matter the physical state you're in. Not even cutting off your head or gouging out your heart will save you."
Then, Shuna sighs. She barely even bothered to approach him, standing just outside the building, her shrine. On the shrine's porch, atop the stone steps, he's forced to look up at her from his crumpled state in her courtyard.
"Unfortunately, I don't have the luxury of time. At most, we have… 3, no, 4 minutes? Give or take."
She holds up her right hand. Pointer and middle fingers extended, a ball of pinkish-red flames curls just over her fingertips.
"You should have let Mary kill you. I won't be so nice."
Drake scrabbles, trying to move, to crawl, to do anything. But there's no other version of this story. No, this is the end.
Of him, at least.
She slashes down with her hand.
"Ignite."
Drake's world is engulfed in flame.
-=-
"You have a right to kill me, and I have a right to kill you. So, come. Let us kill one another. I do not care who kills which. One story shall end here, while another…"
The barrier falls, the dome of solid magical energy colored a dark pink-grey shattering and dissipating into fractal particles. The forest rumbles, echoing crashes shaking the leafy canopy and the scorched earth.
"..begins."
Shuna sighs, turning around just in time to see the crushing of several trees under a massive, shadowy length.
It is a serpent of some kind. Great sized, spiked and undoubtedly a horrific sight to any ordinary person. After all, it could easily swallow a grown man in one bite, and still have room left over for his family and friends.
Ah, correction.
It was a great serpent. Now, it's merely a corpse.
"You took too long." Shuna calls, strolling over casually, as if there isn't blood splatter and scorch marks across her face and coat respectively.
"I don't want to hear that from you." Atop the head of that formerly great serpent, Mary yanks her sparking katana free from its skull.
Looking closer, it's clear that the blow was beyond final. The serpent is missing both eyes, and several oozing slash marks adorn its rapidly decomposing face and body.
"Not when you look like the canary that got the cat."
"Cat that got the canary." Shuna corrects. Huh, she is smiling, now that she thinks about it.
To someone else, it might be a little terrifying.
Mary jumps, landing in front of her with hardly a sound. "Sure, that."
Shuna rolls her eyes. "Come here."
She steps forward, before licking her thumb and bringing it up to rub at a spot of dried blood just under one of Mary's eyes.
"Oi-"
"Oh, stop shifting about. Let me help."
"I don't need help, Shuna. It's fine-"
"Hey." Shuna reaches up with her other hand, cupping Mary's face in both. "It's not fine. And that's okay. Okay?"
Mary shudders under her touch, letting her eyes flutter shut. She sways on her feet, no doubt exhausted to her core.
Shuna feels it too, rolling pit in her stomach as the adrenaline fades away. The weight of the past hour or so is really starting to hit now that the action has cooled off.
"…he's really dead, right?"
"He is."
"I should feel happy about it."
"Do you?"
"Do you?" Mary repeats back.
The job's not done. Drake was one piece, and his death is a great relief. But it's only one piece.
"Mary… my stomach is balled up in knots. I think if I let go of you, I'm going to collapse to my knees and puke my guts out. But…" Shuna exhales, dropping her head. "…right now, I'm fucking ecstatic. Killing him, standing over his bleeding, smoldering corpse, it brought me some of the most joy and satisfaction I've ever felt in my entire life."
Killing Drake wouldn't have brought Tanya back, but it does bring them no small measure of relief and righteous, or just a feeling of right, satisfaction. After all, they already know what needs to be done for Tanya's resurrection. It wasn't this.
This was just well-deserved vengeance, plain and simple. Really, the hardest part comes next: the waiting.
"Oh thank fuck." Mary feels like a weight was taken off her shoulders. Though, not all of the weight is gone. Atlas didn't shrug and feel nothing after Heracles borrowed his burden. Recovery isn't that simple. "Not just me then."
She has every reason to feel conflicted, all things considered. She'd thought herself having grown past revenge and hatred, but Tanya's death... the worry of backsliding suddenly became very, very real.
But you know, there's a great difference between the vengeance-seeking Mary Sue of before and the vengeance-seeking Mary Sue of now. Reasoning, justification, personality... the list goes on.
Instead of being conflicted, she finds herself oddly clear-headed. She's still figuring out who exactly she is now, but she knows what she isn't.
"And trying to hide it by pretending to be irritated. I'm almost jealous of you, you know?"
"Really?"
"In a sense." Shuna pulls back slightly, letting out an amused huff that borders on strained. Now that Mary looks close, she's a bit paler than normal. "I mean, you really beat him to hell, didn't you? I barely had to do anything."
Then, Shuna flicks Mary's forehead.
"Ow."
"What happened to staying safe? You're practically drenched." Shuna pulls back and moves to step away. Her tone is casual, and if they both pretend like things are okay, maybe it'll be true. Maybe it'll make waiting easier. Maybe it'll just hurt. "We didn't plan on those. You know, it's going to be hell to repair that jacket- uh?"
Oh, there it is.
Shuna stumbles, and is about to fall before Mary just manages to catch her by the shoulders.
Then, true to her word, she ends up puking.
Mary doesn't puke with her, but the bile in the back of her throat is a close second.
-=-=-=-
And true to Shuna's word, it is over.
The story of Drake of Scylla ends here, at the hands of those who love Tanya the most. There is no other ending to his story. He did not achieve great heights. Indeed, his greatest accomplishment was the cause of his soon-after downfall. Nothing he did ever really mattered, in the end.
Or at least, he likely thought so. But the ramifications of his actions are far from over. He will never see it, but perhaps, in death, he may find some satisfaction at the scale.
Nothing lasts forever, after all. A tempest comes and goes. Even natural disasters, strong as they are, fade away. But what remains after? What returns?
Go ahead and look now. Look and see what remains here and now. Imagine your happy ending; relish it. But do not forget that there is more story to tell.
Of that collapsing star.
-=-=-=-=-=-
Known Skills List
Tanya:
< ERROR: RESTRICTED >
Mary:
Common Skill: Thought Communication
Extra Skill: Magic Sense
Extra Skill: Magic Aura
Extra/Intrinsic Skill: Physical Enhancement
Unique Skill: Ability Severance
Shuna:
Common Skill: Thought Communication
Extra Skill: Danger Sense
Extra Skill: Magic Sense
Extra Skill: Flames of Babylon
Unique Skill: Analyst
Notes:
Clearing this up out the gate: no, it's not Domain Expansion, the concept is more like a Reality Marble/Marble Phantasm from Fate. I've referenced Fate a few times as you may have noticed with Tanya's pocket space. The name is absolutely a Sukuna reference though lol, he's too fucking cool.
If you're curious about the how, I can't tell you yet. But for a hint, I'll refer you to the wiki page of Shuna's "Unique Skill: Analyst".
I loved writing this, very fun overall. Again, next chapter is solely Youjo Senki verse focused. I'm surprised no one pointed out a specific detail from ch.39 that I thought would be upsetting. But you'll definitely notice it next chapter lol.
Next time, "Pascal's Wager"
Thanks for reading!