162. Training Camp (II)

"This is Danny Ames, field reporter!" shouted a bland-looking middle-aged man. He wore a long trench coat fluttering so badly it threatened to tear right off his body.

"I'm reporting to you live from the A+-ranked dungeon, Dust Bowl Hellscape!" he said. "The winds here are just ridiculous—just look at that!"

He gestured right above him, where a massive oak tree hurtled end-over-end. Branches and boulders and shrubs streamed after it, swirling in wide loops. Tornadoes ripped up the distance, raging and growling. There must have been a dozen of them—running into each other, splitting apart, making a roiling mess of the landscape.

The reporter was hunched under some kind of air-bubble treasure. But even that couldn't stop all the wind.

"Look there!" he cried, pointing into the dreary distance. "You've caught us at just the right time. The final battle's about to begin! I'm zooming in now…"

The scene shifted.

The recording focused in on one man. A man seething red. A red aura flushed around him, as though he were on fire with it. But it wasn't a fiery red. More like the red of freshly drawn blood.

Zane's eyes narrowed.

Jason Walker looks just like Zane remembered, only moreso. The Change exaggerated places and people alike.

He had windswept black hair. Sharp features, mirthful eyes. He was tall, but not as big as Zane. Muscled, but more compact, wiry—there was something dangerous about him. Like he might explode in violence at any moment.

He looked very much like Zane. He was also darkly handsome. His features were a little more tapered, sharper, maybe. The main difference was in the eyes. Jason's pupils were red. His eyes were a mocking crescent.

He walked as though he weren't in a dungeon at all. Like a king striding into his throne room.

Reina recoiled a little at the sight. She got an uncanny valley feeling from him. She looked to him, then to Zane, frowning.

"I don't like his eyes," said Reina.

Zane just looked at her confused.

"He has cruel eyes," she said softly. She looked up at Zane with her big pretty brown eyes, still pressed very close to him. "You have kind eyes," she told him. Before he could unpack that more, she gave him another kiss.

"Here comes the final Boss!" cried the field reporter.

It stalked straight at Jason. The thing looked as big as a Mack truck. Massive horns reared out of a shaggy wrecking ball of a head. Stormy winds blasted out as it snorted; it let out a growl that trembled on the ground…

"It's the Tremor Buffalo, Level 170!" said the reporter. "But Jason's almost Level 170 too—he's Level 168!"

That surprised Zane. Jason was nearly 40 Levels above Zane.

Eze worked extremely hard—he might've been the most hardworking person Zane ever met, and he was only in the high 150s. Jason must've had some truly crazy treasures. Or maybe he was like Zane, talent-wise. Except his talent was in Leveling.

This was Jason Walker. It only made sense.

Jason was still smiling as he strode toward the Buffalo. Utterly relaxed.

The Buffalo gave a bellow. And charged him. It came with such force it felt like watching a mountain collapse all over him, blazing essence, heaving heaps of Earth Law—

Jason was on it even faster. So fast he left a ghostly red afterimage. His punch blasted out like a piston.

And the Buffalo's face erupted. Its nose caved in. So many tree-trunk bones shattered at once. Lakes of blood burst out of giant eye sockets.

"That—there wasn't even a Skill!" screamed the reporter. "That was raw power!"

The Buffalo fell back, howling. This time Jason ripped a fist into its belly. And his fist lit up a sickly, swirling black-and-red, like some kind of demonic drill…

"The Reaper's Fist, his Signature Skill!" said the reporter. "It takes his enemy's power and uses it against them—the bigger you are, the harder you fall! Look!"

The Buffalo spasmed on the ground, helpless. Spider-legs of red essence sank deep into it, cloaking it utterly, sucking, sucking. Lancing into its body. Ripping its power away. Its aura shrank at a shocking rate—and Jason's aura grew redder, bloodier, brighter at the same time, flickering over him in a monstrous corona…

It tried to struggle to its feet. But Jason gave it another casual punch. There was an explosion of dark red. Then the Boss locked still, twitching like a corpse undergoing rigor mortis.

Jason strode up to it whistling. Speared a fist through its chest. Grabbed something. And tore out a massive, beating heart.

He held it aloft, grinning at it. He gave a wild, free laugh. The thing began to shrivel up, wither, turn black like a raisin—in seconds it was ash on the wind.

The Boss's body was a shriveled husk. And then it was nothing.

"He could've easily killed in one blow—he just toyed with the thing!" gasped the reporter. "Why?"

Then a shadow fell across him, and he turned, flinched. The scene zoomed out again—there was D'Angelo Hall, burly arms crossed. A white glow crackled around him. Streams of lightning played across his skin, his eyes. He shook his head.

"I can answer that," said D'Angelo. "'Cause he's fucked in the head, that's why. He likes to see them writhe. Once his blood gets hot there's no stopping him."

"Ah—thank you, Master Hall!" said the reporter, looking frazzled. D'Angelo walked off.

"Uh," said the reporter. "Well, folks, you heard it there first—eee!"

He'd just caught a terrifying sight.

Jason Walker. Still bloody, was walking over. There was a strange brightness to his eyes.

The poor reporter looked ready to piss himself.

"Relax," said Jason, laughing. He sounded like Zane too, only his voice was a little less deep, a little more drawling. "I'm not going to kill you. Hand over the mic, will you?"

The reporter did, trembling.

Jason grabbed it. And looked straight into the recording crystal.

"Zane!" he said, and grinned a white smile. Baring all his teeth. "Brother! How are you? It's been too long, hasn't it?"

Zane went very still. His jaw clenched tight.

Jason's eyes stayed glimmering, whimsical. "I've been keeping tabs on you. You've changed a lot since we last met. I always knew you had it in you."

Zane stayed silent. His eyes were still narrowed.

"We should catch up," continued Jason. He tapped his lips. "Say… the Asian and European Teams claimed Everest. But there's another S-ranked Dungeon up for grabs for the rest of us, the Mariana Trench. Whichever Faction gets that will be one of the richest in the world… but it only lets one party challenge it at a time. It seems to me the two of us lead the strongest Factions this part of the world. So. You, or me—which one of us'll take it?"

He cocked his head. "What a conundrum! How about this?"

He held up a finger. "A match. In a sparring arena, two weeks from now—in an arena of your choosing. You win, you'll take the S-rank. I win, my Faction takes it. What do you say? A good ol' brotherly scrap, for old time's sake?"

His grin widened, like a jackal's. "Let me know if you accept. Then again... I'll understand if you don't."

He winked. "We both knew who used to win our little scraps."

He tossed the crystal to the reporter, who fumbled to catch it, then nodded to D'Angelo, who rolled his eyes.

"You're such a jackass," snorted D'Angelo. Jason laughed. They walked away.

***

The transmission winked out.

And Zane sat there. Just thinking.

Jason used to torture Zane.

For years, all the way until high school. Zane never understood why. He'd make Zane balance on the edge of a bridge, then try to shove Zane off until he succeeded. Or force Zane to swim, and swim, and swim in the lake beside their house until he went under and almost drowned. Zane remembered being terrified as a kid—even crying. A lot.

Things used to affect him more then.

Now it just made him feel angry.

Not a lot could still make him feel this way.

"Zane?" said Reina, looking up at him all nervous. Wondering.

"If he wants to fight," said Zane slowly. Very controlled. "Let's fight."

Reina hesitated. Then nodded.

Zane's whole body was tensed; she was so close to him she could feel it. He was heaving a little, he was breathing so heavy. Reina stroked him gently, whispered to him like a trainer trying to calm an angry bull.

She was good at it. She held him, and lay with him, until the fury faded to a dull simmering anger.

It was hard being all that angry when she was here. He looked at her, and stroked her hair, and felt kind of okay.

He focused on her instead of on Jason. It helped. He softened.

Then they were ready.

Two weeks, huh.

It was time to get to work.

***

The World Clearance percentage had hit 95%.

Zane and Reina decided the best course of action for the next little bit would be to pump up his Level. She would be his trainer and his coach. She requested all the recordings of Jason's fights she could find; she promised she'd get him prepped and ready.

Zane didn't feesl like he needed much prep at all. He just wanted to go in there and—

He couldn't even explain the feeling that rose in him. What Jason had done was so long ago. And Zane had been a kid back then—nothing like who he was now. He hadn't spoken to Jason in years. His brother shouldn't matter to him at all, Zane felt.

Yet whenever Zane thought of Jason's smiling face a red-hot haze settled over his head. He clenched his fists.

Zane still wanted to shatter him.

***

"Now why'd you have to go do that?" sighed D'Angelo.

They were walking through the broad streets of the Empire City, a reclaimed New York. Jason had his hands behind his head, whistling. D'Angelo was hunched slightly, looking slightly annoyed.

Jason shrugged. "Curiosity. And hope, I guess."

"You've seen all his fights," said D'Angelo. "You think you'll win?"

"Honestly?" said Jason. He paused. The whimsy went out of his eyes. "It depends. Is he the same boy he used to be? What happens when I come to break him? Will he step up, or will he fold like always?"

"Don't you find it strange," said D'Angelo. "How this brother—this 'waste of space,' as you call him—could be the strongest man in the world?"

Jason sighed. "I called my brother a waste," said Jason, side-eying him. "Because he's the most gifted person I've ever seen. His intuition's off the charts, it's always been that way. Have you ever seen someone who could see a move once and do it perfectly in one go? That's him."

"…You said he was nothing remarkable."

"He became that way," growled Jason. "You think he's always been like that? You should've seen him as a kid! God—he was so lively, so curious, you have no idea. He could've been me, but better—"

Jason shook his head. "Something changed. He shied away. It was so damned frustrating—"

"That doesn't answer the question," said D'Angelo. "How'd he get this way now?"

"I don't know," said Jason slowly. He tapped his chin. "He got bent the wrong way back then… I suspect the Change bent him the other way."

Jason licked his lips. "Or maybe not. We'll see, won't we?"