120. The Touch of Death (III)

Eze's eyes began to glow. Shit.

Zane rushed to match him.

Something was coming—Zane could feel it. The two of them started circling each other like prowling lions. All around them, the crowd stood in hushed, breathless silence.

Zane tapped into Eze's mind and felt another world. A ghostly shifting world... what was the guy up to? Sage Mind couldn't tell Zane what Eze saw. But Zane could feel it—feel it in the way those ghostly futures fell away, and the true path started to emerge... a single future, rushing up fast—

Zane felt his way in. His senses exploded; he got one move deep and there were three Ezes and three Zanes at war. Two moves in and it blew up to ten—then thirty—it was all getting jumbled; he couldn't keep it all straight. He barely managed to puzzle out four moves in—then Eze burst into motion.

The ghosts vanished. And one turned real. By then Zane could only trust his feelings.

And Eze was on him in an instant—a giant blur of Law and essence; a gauntlet the size of a car rained down on him, blasting a Seismic Smash—and Zane blocked.

There were three ways he could have blocked. Two of them had him flattened out within three moves.

And one of them was correct. His Chains flew up, caught the blow, turned it away—BOOM!

Even deflected he felt the force of it, a visceral thing, rattling down his arms, trembling deep down—down to the core of him. It felt like the aftershocks of an earthquake—an earthquake pulsing up his gut, vibrating his organs—a very strange, unpleasant sensation. Steel body should have blocked it off—but thick earth laws warred with his own. His body became a battleground.

It hadn't even landed clean, and he could still feel how badly it stressed his innards. Still—he held together.

Then the second smash landed. BOOM!

Zane caught it on his Chains again; this time he went reeling. It wasn't just Touch of Death—every shot Eze threw was devastating.

But he saw all this coming—and he'd just weathered the worst of it.

Time to make him pay. He spun with the force of the blow and unleashed a Stormfire Smash. Eze threw up his gauntlets, making a shield—and took the meteor head-on. The sheer force of the blast forced him back a step. Even as he stumbled Zane was smashing a meteor over the top. There was just no time to dodge—

In Zane's mind Eze was about to block. The meteor would storm right through, send the guy halfway across the ring—

Eze clenched a fist. Wait—what?

Zane hadn't—

Eze unleashed a crushing Seismic Smash.

Normally Sage Mind might've picked it up. But Sage Mind was preoccupied with a hundred other sets of feelings, future and past; it took a second to catch up to the present.

By then it was too late.

Zane blocked low. But Eze wasn't punching him. His fist sailed up—past Zane. At the meteor.

A meteor on a Chain. A Chain that was very much attached to Zane.

A massive force jerked upward—and then he was flying. Careening sideways—Shit!

And he knew what was coming; what would be waiting for him as he spun around. Luckily, he'd seen Touch of Death before. He knew exactly how fast it was. It might be incredibly strong but it moved like an ordinary punch.

He'd make it in time! He brought up his Chains to block—

CRUNCH.

Pain exploded in his face. And he went flying, spinning head over heels, eyes streaming. He felt like he'd been hit in the face with a baseball bat. Something—maybe many things—broke in his face at once. He landed in a crouch, panting.

His head wouldn't stop vibrating; it was a vibration that went down to his bones; he felt it in his skull, in his brain. His vision was swimming.

That hadn't been Touch of Death. It was too fast. It shot out like a piston—it was another Seismic Smash! And Eze whacked him with it precisely because he knew Zane would be in time to block Touch of Death.

Because he'd seen it.

Eze had looked five moves deep. Exactly one more than Zane when he'd landed his own punch.

Zane blinked the blurriness out of his eyes, wobbled to his feet. And there was Eze. Standing across from him. Smiling. Zane knew exactly what it meant.

Whatever you can do? I can do better.

Zane spat out a mouthful of blood—then put a hand to his broken nose, crunching it, setting it back in place.

And he smiled right back.

There was no doubt what his smile meant either. Oh, I see. That's how it is, huh?

And deep in his heart… his fighting spirit exploded.

They stood across from each other, two burning pillars of feeling. Of that wonderful, furious, fervent, pulse-pounding, life-giving feeling.

And the crowd went ballistic. Zane could tell they were going quite nuts. But he blocked them all out. All his focus went to the man standing across from him. The man staring him dead in the eyes.

Now they'd both drawn blood. And even though that wasn't a Touch of Death, it still knocked off a good tenth of his health. Zane wiped the blood off his mouth.

And they reset.

Prowling again, stalking around the ring, circling each other. Watching. Not each other; not quite—in just moments they'd raced far beyond the present. They were racing each other through time—like they were taking each other through a deep dark forest, and the path out was only wide enough for one.

Instantly, Zane could tell this stuff came more naturally to Eze. Zane only had Sage Mind; it wasn't even meant for this. Zane could only feel his way through. But Eze's mind was made for it—his Skill was made for it. It was like they were both trying to dig deeper, but where Eze had a shovel, Zane had a spoon.

Granted… it was a very big spoon. It would do.

Like with a lot of things in Zane's life, it didn't matter as much if he wasn't as skilled. His sheer size compensated for a lot.

One move in, two… three moves, and he felt like he was standing in a ghostly crowd. Four, and you could hardly pick them apart anymore; it became a vast cloud of churning sensations—it took some serious effort to keep it from splintering, going to meaningless noise. He was getting a little woozy. He just knew on the other side, Eze must be close by. At least four moves in too.

It gave Zane that little extra kick in the ass.

He made it five moves, and he staggered. It wasn't even a brain thing; it was a heart thing, a soul thing; so much sensation was flooding him, he was worried he'd get lost in it all. It felt like hearing a stadium all screaming at him—but he had to pick out that one right voice, that one voice brighter than the rest—

Then he felt a spark of joy across from him, very clear, and he knew Eze had hit on something too. He must be at five, just like Zane was.

So five wasn't good enough, then.

If you asked him a moment ago, he could have sworn five was his limit. And yet…

He remembered Eze's smile. Anything you can do, I can do better.

Zane gritted his teeth. He gave it one last shove. His soul felt like it was straining at the seams; he coughed, doubled over—felt a brilliant pain stabbing at his soul.

He gasped… then grinned.

This time it was Zane who lunged first.

Eze blinked, frowned—his visions fell away. Time was up: the real test came barreling at him.

Zane swung a meteor; Eze leaped away. And Zane followed, carrying the momentum, spinning into another blinding blast. Both meteors rained down at once—and Eze took them head-on. BOOM! BOOM! Another swing scorched the air; Eze ducked under, fists streaming, uncorked a haymaker—deeper and deeper they went. Four moves in and explosions were rocking the battlefield; it was like mountains and meteors collapsing on the ring at once; the whole place trembled, struggling to withstand it.

By the fifth move they were blurs of motion, momentum on momentum on momentum—a meteor rushing in from the side, Zane running down the front, fists streaming; Eze swinging easily out of the meteor's path, blocking a Stormfire punch—

Move six. Eze felt the heat of it before he saw it. He looked up in surprise.

He barely had time to throw up a flimsy shield before a second meteor—falling from above, out of sight—smashed into him. And tore right through it. And detonated.

Eze was quite a big man. Almost exactly as big as Zane actually. And he still went flying, tumbling over himself, streaking smoke and fire—he smashed into the wards and slid to a sorry halt, coughing and hacking. He sat there dumbfounded for a moment. His whole body was steaming, skin singed raw.

Then he snorted.

And that same old smile came on his face. He picked himself back up, brushed himself off. And they were back, stalking the ring. The race began again.

Zane couldn't stop grinning. Neither could Eze.

They didn't even need to say anything. The rest of the world faded away; it was just them, locked in exchange after exchange—locked until one of them fell.

Zane knew it wouldn't be him.

So did Eze.

Zane couldn't read minds, only feelings, but he could pick the thought off Eze's face—Sure. You got me. Now watch this.

But if he thought Zane was just gonna stand there and let him one-up him again—well. He had another thing coming!

***

𝔸𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕝 ℍ𝕒𝕝𝕝 — 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕠𝕝𝕚𝕟 𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖

ℤ𝕙𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕫𝕙𝕠𝕦, ℂ𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕒

The Ancestral Hall of the Shaolin Temple Safe Zone had a historic kind of beauty. Its walls were made of a rich ancient oak painted vibrant red, overflowing with intricate gold carvings. Statues of martial heroes of yore ran the length of the place.

They led up to an altar. And there, sitting atop it, was a bald potbellied man in red monk's robes. Empty bottles—each a B-ranked treasure—lolled around him. He burped; his breath . Then laughed. He was watching a livestream of a fight beamed halfway across the world. And grinning. He was World Rank #5, Jian Shi Ming. The Spitfire Monk.

"I love it!" he boomed. He slapped his belly. "Both of them have such fire!"

"Who do you think will win, Master?" It was his advisor, Shen—a thin pale man.

"Eh?" Ming scrunched his face. He chucked a bottlecap at the man; it ping'd off Shen's shiny head. "It's always 'winning and losing' with you! Freaking nerd. Can't you just enjoy a great fight?!"

"Sorry…" winced Shen, rubbing at the spot.

Ming tongued his cheek, and frowned. "Well. Hmm. I think…hmm. Walker is winning right now. But Eze should take it in the end. Mind like a steel cage, that one." Smiling, he took another swig. "Such spirit!" He let out another booming laugh.

***

ᴀ ꜰᴇᴡ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇꜱ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ…

ᴛᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ᴇᴍᴘɪʀᴇꜱ

ɴᴇᴡ ʏᴏʀᴋ ᴄɪᴛʏ

The Tower of Empires in what used to be New York City was nine mini-kingdoms, stacked atop each other. It was once an A-ranked dungeon with nine floors, each with a powerful Monster kingdom.

Now it was a Safe Zone. Because the two fighters in the throne room at very top floor had conquered them all.

An essence projection floated before them. There was Zane's face, blown up to triple its size. They watched in great detail as he ate another Seismic Smash to the face—and got his nose broken. For the second time that fight.

"Are you kidding me?" screamed Jason Walker as the essence projection. A bloody, furious aura raged out of him, surging out the tower, scaring birds into flight. "What the hell was that?! Get your fucking head in the game!"

Beside him, World Rank #2 D'Angelo Hall gave a snort. "I can't tell if you're rooting for him or against him."

***

ɪɴᴛᴇʀꜱᴛᴇʟʟᴀʀ ʙᴀꜱᴛɪᴏɴ

ꜱᴇᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ

Reina had been in the middle of a council meeting involving delegates from every Luminous Faction Safe Zone when she heard the news.

She cancelled it immediately. Then she went to the projection room and started watching.

She knew Zane went to San Francisco to train, and this sort of exercise was part of that. It was to be expected. It was easy to remember when he landed a shot.

Then she saw him take one to the face and was halfway out of the room before she knew it. She had to take a few deep breaths before she could resist the incredibly strong urge to find the nearest teleportation portal to San Francisco and drag him bodily out of the ring.

She made herself sit back down. His face, broken nose and all, popped back up on screen.

She sat there steaming.