[8] Another One Bites the Dust
Fresh scorch marks scarred the blue stone beneath his feet. Three seconds of flame this time. Progress, but not enough.
"Tch." He nudged a crumbling goblin arm with his boot. "At least clean up after yourselves properly."
The dungeon absorbed its children efficiently, leaving only stone dust and that weird metallic tang in the air. Like lightning had struck nearby.
His body should have complained after hours of continuous movement. Instead, each motion flowed easier than the last, his reflexes sharper with every kill.
"Fuego."
A pathetic spark fizzled and died. His reserves hadn't recovered yet.
"Fucking useless." He spun his staff, testing its balance. "Guess I'll keep relying on just you, eh?"
Claws scraped stone ahead. He settled into a ready stance, lips curving into a predatory smile.
Two kobolds rounded the corner with a goblin in tow. Standard pack tactics - nothing creative. The lead kobold took point while its partner tried to circle wide.
"Cyrus struck first, sweeping the leader's legs. "Let's see what you've got."
The goblin rushed to fill the gap. Predictable. His staff caught it under the chin with a satisfying crack. The flanking kobold lunged for his exposed side.
Cyrus waited until the last possible instant before spinning away. The monster's claws sliced empty air as his staff reversed direction, pulverizing its spine.
The leader recovered, blood matting its fur. It circled cautiously, looking for an opening.
"Come on, bastard." He beckoned with his free hand. "Your friend put up a better fight."
It charged. Their weapons clashed in a brief, brutal exchange. Someone had taught it proper form - interesting. But it overextended on the third strike.
Cyrus slipped inside its guard. His elbow crushed its throat. The staff followed through, caving in its skull.
He collected three more magic stones for his trouble. The pouch was getting satisfyingly heavy.
Scratching sounds approached - a larger group this time. His smile widened as he spun his staff into position.
"About damn time."
Six goblins emerged, led by an alpha that actually looked worth fighting. Muscles rippled beneath its mottled skin as it directed its subordinates into a semicircle.
"Now that's more like it." Cyrus read their positions, noting the tactical awareness. "Someone's been teaching you tricks."
The alpha roared. Its minions charged as one, attempting to overwhelm him with numbers.
"Hah!" His staff blurred, bodies falling in its wake. "You'll need better tricks than that."
Two goblins dropped instantly, their formation shattered. A third lost an arm before his backswing pulped its chest. The survivors retreated to their leader.
Blood dripped from his staff. "Getting warmer."
The alpha's eyes tracked his movements with unnatural intelligence. It barked commands, splitting its remaining forces wide to pin him against the wall.
"Classic." Cyrus let his staff droop slightly. "But executed poorly."
They took the bait. All three attacked simultaneously from different angles. Perfect coordination, terrible judgment.
He exploded into motion, staff singing through the air. The right goblin's jaw shattered. The left one's knee exploded. But the alpha moved faster than expected.
Sharp claws raked his shoulder. Shallow cuts, but they stung. He rolled clear, coming up grinning.
"Not bad." He adjusted his grip. "Been a while since anyone drew blood."
The alpha charged. They clashed at lightning speed, trading blows without clear advantage. It fought smart, never fully committing. Professional sequences, not mindless attacks.
"Who the hell trained you?" Cyrus disengaged, reassessing. "And why?"
His shoulder throbbed - a useful reminder not to underestimate this opponent. The alpha pressed forward with precise strikes, each attack flowing naturally into the next.
Cyrus matched its rhythm, letting his body respond instinctively. Block high, deflect low, counter-strike. They danced across the corridor in a deadly ballet.
The alpha overcommitted to a thrust - a tiny opening. His staff swept its legs, following through to crush its skull.
Silence returned. Six more stones joined his collection.
"Thanks." He bowed to the dissolving corpses. "That was actually entertaining."
The dungeon's atmosphere shifted subtly. The air felt heavier, charged with potential. More would come. Stronger ones. Better trained.
"Perfect." His grin turned feral. "Show me everything."
The emerald beads pulsed against his chest. Quet's words echoed in his mind:
"You're one in a million, mi pequeño sol."
He pressed deeper into the maze, staff ready. Whatever secrets this place held, he'd drag them into the light.
A thought made him chuckle.
"Wonder if Rose has paperwork for 'suspiciously well-trained monsters' yet?"
The walls seemed to thrum in response, as if the dungeon itself appreciated the joke.
Hours blurred past. Each wave of monsters proved slightly stronger than the last. His pouch grew heavy with magic stones as the bodies piled up.
The latest group - five kobolds moving like a special forces unit - had finally forced him to catch his breath against a wall.
"Better." He examined fresh claw marks on his staff. "Almost had me that time."
Raw energy surged through his veins, demanding release. Each victory fed the fire building beneath his skin. These skirmishes weren't enough anymore.
A deeper rumble shook the corridors. Not the usual spawning sound - this spoke of real power.
"Finally." Cyrus pushed off the wall, twirling his staff. "Done with the warmup?"
The dungeon had been holding back, testing his basics. Like a strict teacher evaluating a transfer student.
He followed the rumbling deeper, the blue walls watching with newfound intensity. A roar shook dust from the ceiling. Close now.
He rounded the final corner and stopped.
"Oh." His smile stretched wide enough to hurt. "This is going to be fun."
The creature looming before Cyrus barely qualified as a goblin. Nine feet of rippling muscle rose from the dungeon floor, covered in hide thick enough to make dragon scales look fragile. Scars crisscrossed its green flesh like a roadmap of violence. Each breath released steam into the cool air.
Its claws left grooves in solid stone with casual swipes. Not the desperate scratches of lesser monsters - these cuts ran deep and precise, carved by weapons that could shear through steel.
But the eyes gave it away. No mindless beast studied its prey with such calculated malice. Those burning orbs tracked his every twitch, analyzing stance and weapon with disturbing intelligence.
"Let me guess." Cyrus spun his staff, testing its familiar weight. "The dungeon got tired of sending cannon fodder?"
The monster's roar hit like a physical force. Stone dust rained from the ceiling as the sound echoed through ancient corridors. Without warning, it launched forward.
Fast.
Cyrus threw himself right as claws demolished his previous position. Stone shattered, chunks of wall exploding outward from the impact. A second swipe followed before he finished rolling, forcing him to awkwardly spring backward or lose his head.
"Tch." He landed in a crouch, staff raised. "Someone's eager."
The beast pivoted - nine feet of muscle reversing direction like a striking snake. Its next attack came in low, aiming to disembowel. Cyrus caught it on his staff's haft.
Bad move.
Raw power transferred through the weapon, nearly tearing it from his grip. His arms shook from redirecting the force. The monster pressed its advantage, not giving him space to recover.
Claws flashed from multiple angles. Each strike carried killing intent, aimed at vital points with surgical precision. No wasted movement, no blind rage. This thing fought like a master gladiator who'd survived a thousand battles.
Cyrus's grin stretched wide enough to hurt. "Finally."
He launched his counter-attack, staff becoming a blur. The monster matched his speed, deflecting strikes that would have crippled lesser creatures. They clashed across the chamber in a deadly dance, neither gaining clear advantage.
Stone cracked beneath their feet. The air crackled with released energy. His blood sang with pure joy as they traded killing blows at point-blank range.
A hair too slow on one dodge. Claws raked his side, painting crimson lines across ribs. Shallow cuts, but they drove home a crucial point - his margin for error had vanished. One clean hit from those weapons would paint the walls with his insides.
"That it?" He spat blood, never losing his smile. "Time to get creative."
His magic reserves sat dangerously low after hours of combat. But maybe he had enough left for one trick...
"Fuego!"
Flame erupted from his palm - barely more than a candle's worth, lasting less than a heartbeat. But it served its purpose. The monster flinched back on pure instinct, creating a tiny opening.
Cyrus struck. His staff cracked against the beast's knee with enough force to shatter bone. He pressed forward, landing three rapid blows to its torso. Each impact would have liquefied a normal goblin's organs.
This one barely grunted.
Its backhand caught him mid-combo. The world blurred as he flew backward, slamming into unforgiving stone hard enough to drive the air from his lungs. Stars danced across his vision. Pure reflex saved him from the follow-up strike that pulverized the wall where his head had been.
"Right." Blood dripped from his split lip as his grin turned feral. "No more playing around."
The monster's nostrils twitched. Its throat produced a sound halfway between amusement and hunger.
"Enjoying yourself?" Cyrus adjusted his grip, widening his stance. "Good. Been waiting for a real fight."
The beast answered with a three-hit sequence that would have made martial arts masters weep. Right claw. Left claw. Rising knee. Each attack blended seamlessly into the next, no tells, no hesitation.
His staff caught the first two. The knee slammed into his sternum. Air rushed from his lungs as he stumbled back, boots scraping stone.
It gave him no time to recover. Claws carved deadly arcs through the air, each strike precise enough to bisect a man. The sound of his blocks echoed off dungeon walls - sharp cracks of wood meeting bone.
His arms burned from the impacts. The staff groaned in protest, wood fibers stretching dangerously close to failure. One slip. That's all it would take.
The beast's next attack proved his point. Three new gashes opened across his chest, hot blood painting his skin. Cyrus converted his stumble into a backward roll, putting precious distance between them.
Those intelligent eyes tracked his movement. Dark blood - his blood - dripped from curved claws. Its tongue sampled the air like a serpent tasting prey.
"Tch." He pressed a hand to his chest. Fresh crimson coated his fingers. "About time you stopped holding back."
He exploded forward. The monster met his charge. They crashed together in a symphony of violence - wood splintering, stone cracking, flesh meeting flesh at speeds that turned individual strikes into a lethal blur.
High block. Low counter. Weave right. Strike left. Each learned the other's rhythm, their deadly dance accelerating. The chamber's acoustics amplified their combat - the beast's thunderous bellows mixing with the sharp exhalation of Cyrus's controlled breathing.
He feinted high. The monster's guard rose. Cyrus dropped, sweeping its legs. As it stumbled, his staff whipped upward into its jaw. Bone gave way with a satisfying crack. Dark blood sprayed in an arc.
Its counter-strike caught his shoulder like a battering ram. The world spun. He turned the momentum into a flip, staff already moving to deflect its follow-up. His feet barely touched ground before he was moving again, weaving between its attacks.
"Again!" His voice carried over the beast's roars. "That the best you can do?"
Something changed in those burning eyes. Its next strike broke physics, claws moving faster than human reaction time should allow. Cyrus barely interposed his staff.
The impact launched him airborne. His back hit stone hard enough to spider-web cracks through solid rock. Pain exploded behind his eyes as he slid to the floor.
Each of the monster's footsteps sent tremors through the ground. A countdown in seismic form. It approached with the casual confidence of an apex predator toying with wounded prey.
Cyrus forced himself up, using his staff for support. His muscles screamed. Blood dripped steadily, forming crimson patterns on blue stone.
The beast stopped just out of range. Its head tilted, studying him like a fascinating specimen. Bruises marked its chest where he'd landed clean hits. Its jaw still sat crooked from that last strike. But its eyes held no pain, no fatigue - only that disturbing intelligence.
"Not yet." Cyrus straightened, settling into a fresh stance. "We're not done."
The monster's roar sent stone chips raining from above. Cyrus spun his staff, a sharp grin splitting his face. The beast charged, claws reaching for his throat.
Perfect.
Time crystallized. Each heartbeat stretched into infinity as clarity hit him like a shot of pure adrenaline. The world reduced to angles, vectors, points of impact.
His staff sang through the air, meeting the monster's strike at the exact intersection of force and momentum. Thunder cracked. The impact rippled up his arms, but his stance held firm.
"What's wrong?" Cyrus laughed as the beast staggered. "Let me show you how it's done."
He struck like a viper - each hit found its mark with surgical precision. Knee. Solar plexus. Throat. The monster's counters met empty air as Cyrus flowed between its strikes.
"Too slow!" His staff cracked against its jaw. "Too predictable!" Another hit collapsed its guard. "Too weak!"
For ten perfect heartbeats, he achieved something transcendent. Every move landed exactly as intended, every dodge carried him just beyond the monster's reach. His body moved on pure instinct, guided by muscle memory from countless battles across lifetimes.
Then his legs started to shake. His breath came harder. The monster's next swipe carved air inches from his face, close enough to feel the wind of its passage.
"Tch." Blood dripped from fresh cuts as he barely avoided a follow-up strike. "Getting serious now?"
The beast's eyes gleamed with predatory intelligence. It pressed forward, each attack flowing seamlessly into the next. No wasted movement. No openings. Just relentless, crushing pressure driving him back step by step.
His shoulders hit stone. The monster loomed over him, blocking any escape. Its massive frame cast him in shadow as it drew back for the kill.
Cyrus's grip tightened on his staff. "About time."
Power surged through him - not the familiar warmth of his magic, but something darker. Primal. The air grew thick with potential, tasting of ozone and old blood. Static electricity danced along his arms.
His staff moved of its own accord, trailing tendrils of pure darkness shot through with crimson lightning. The void between spaces opened its eyes and looked at him.
The monster's claws descended. Cyrus struck.
Reality screamed.
Space warped around the point of impact. A sound like a thousand birds tearing reality apart filled the chamber. Stone cracked in perfect circles beneath them as forces never meant for this world ripped through conventional physics.
The monster's arm vanished. Not severed, not destroyed - simply ceased to exist, as if that section of space had been edited out of reality itself.
"Surprise!" Cyrus didn't wait for it to process what happened. His staff, still wreathed in impossible darkness, whipped up in a perfect arc. It caught the beast under its jaw with the full weight of his remaining strength behind it.
The impact launched its massive frame airborne. It spun once before crashing through the far wall, vanishing under an avalanche of stone.
Silence fell. Blood dripped steadily from his wounds, marking time like a broken metronome.
He kept his guard up, watching the rubble for any movement. When a full minute passed without the beast emerging, his legs finally betrayed him. The staff became a crutch as he fought to stay upright.
"What the..." He coughed, spitting blood. "That's a new one."
His gaze swept the chamber, taking in the devastation. Shattered stone. Cracked walls. The monster's corpse already dissolving to ash beneath the rubble. He limped forward, retrieving its magic stone - larger than normal, covered in strange markings.
Everything hurt. The cuts across his chest and side still bled, though his enhanced healing had started to kick in. His staff, faithful companion through this battle, showed fatal stress fractures along its length.
"Thank you." He patted the weapon one last time. "You went out like a champion."
Whatever that final technique had been... the memory already felt distant, dreamlike. Only the lingering scent of ozone and the destruction around him proved it actually happened.
His legs gave out. He collapsed onto a chunk of rubble, letting the ruined staff clatter beside him.
"Some first day, eh?" The dungeon offered no response, but the air felt different. Charged. Like he'd passed a test he hadn't known he was taking.
He needed to report this. Modified monsters weren't supposed to appear up here, and Quet would worry if he stayed out too late. But first...
"Just need a minute." His breathing slowly steadied as he took inventory. The bleeding had mostly stopped, though his shirt was beyond salvation. Quet would definitely have words about that.
Finally, painfully, he pushed himself upright.
"Thanks for the fight," he murmured. Then he turned and began the long climb back to the surface.