Chương 83: No Right to Win

Lloyd was only a couple of meters from the Creature, ready to strike at any second, his hand already thrusting forward, aimed straight at the dark mass beneath the red cloak, muscles coiled for the decisive lunge. But he never made it to his target.

The black arm stretched out to an unnatural length of several meters, extending with a wet, slick sound, like rubber stretched far beyond its limits, and slammed into Lloyd's stomach — he went flying dozens of meters back, slamming spine-first into a tree with a dull, cracking sound that sent bark and small branches scattering, the trunk itself swaying dangerously from the impact.

He collapsed to the ground, his whole body wracked with violent tremors, his lungs greedily gasping for air that refused to fill them completely, as though his chest had seized into a tight, unyielding knot. Tears welled up in his eyes from the pain, his face flushed red, and a metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, trickling in a thin stream from his bitten lip, his vision rippling with static for a couple of seconds.

Then, barely able to move his tongue, he spoke in a hoarse, cracked voice, shouting as loudly as his strength would allow, each word sending a sharp jolt of pain through his ribs, as though something inside had fractured. — Don't just stand there, Lorian!

The Elf stood drenched in sweat, his eyebrows raised high, his gaze glassy, as though he were trapped in some kind of stupor, a trance he couldn't pull himself out of on his own, staring at Brand twisted in that inhuman grip with an expression bordering on panic — for the first time this whole ordeal, his usual composure had cracked. But Lloyd's scream yanked him out of it like a slap to the face.

He lunged at the Creature again at full speed, his feet barely grazing the ground, his sword slicing through the air with a sharp, thin whistle, leaving blurred emerald arcs in its wake. But the Creature, in turn, kept sprouting more and more pairs of arms, slipping out from beneath the cloak with a nauseating ease, as though pulled from a bottomless sack, blocking every single strike no matter how fast or fierce Lorian moved, no matter how precise and calculated each thrust was.

However flawless the dance of his sword — honed, it seemed, to perfection over years of practice — it all proved futile, every blow meeting yet another obstacle, as though striking an invisible, impassable wall, the clang of metal against something hard and inhuman ringing out across the whole clearing.

But then the Creature's face suddenly twisted, as though in irritation, all three eyes narrowing at once, lending its whole appearance something absurdly petulant, childish, almost comical against the backdrop of the unfolding nightmare. — This is getting boring.

It began making a sound like it was coughing something up, a wet, unpleasant gurgle, and then shoved its hand straight into its own mouth, groping around for something, rummaging through its own throat with the air of someone digging for loose change in a jacket pocket.

Lorian didn't wait around, continuing to strike again and again, his blade leaving blurred green streaks in the air, weaving into a complex, rapid pattern, but it was all in vain — even like this, the Creature deflected every blow with ease, waving a hand lazily, as though fighting off a clueless child rather than one of the strongest Players in the entire region, whose speed far outstripped that of any ordinary mortal. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Then Lorian abruptly sheathed his sword, the metal sliding into its leather scabbard with a soft hiss, and, planting his feet firmly into the ground until the grass beneath his soles flattened and darkened, dropped into the stance Lloyd recognized instantly — the same one he'd seen on the very first day of the Exam, when Lorian had driven his blade straight into the invisible floor of the white void before facing the Examiner.

Lorian's hair whipped upward, and a wild, roaring gust of wind rose around him, flattening the surrounding grass and bushes, sending a whirlwind of torn leaves spinning into the air in a frantic, furious dance.

He began slowly drawing the blade back out, inch by inch, and the entire metal length blazed with blinding green light, as though the sword had been forged from pure, concentrated energy, emitting a low, vibrating hum that made Lloyd's ears ring even from this distance, the ground itself trembling faintly underfoot. Lloyd swallowed hard, feeling goosebumps rise across his skin from the sheer power flooding the air, heavy, dense, almost tangible.

"Could this be it?" Lorian screamed — hoarse, furious, utterly unlike his usual composed tone — and shot toward the Creature at reckless speed, as though he'd completely forgotten Brand was still held captive there, as though all his caution had simply evaporated, replaced by pure, unrestrained resolve blazing in his eyes like blinding green fire.

But it was already too late — the Creature finally pulled something out of its own mouth, drawing out a thin, coiled object glistening with wet slime, and the moment Lorian closed to within a meter of it, it unfurled something resembling a fan, etched with strange, pulsing patterns reminiscent of veins beneath skin, and made one simple, almost careless flick of its wrist, as though swatting away an annoying fly.

Everyone present's eyebrows shot up in confusion, but in that same instant an unbelievably powerful gust of wind slammed into Lorian, materializing as though from nowhere, tearing several trees up by their roots behind him — the trunks cracked, splitting in half with a deafening crack, clumps of earth and roots flying into the air in a shower of splinters and dirt — and the Elf himself was hurled far off past the horizon, hundreds of meters away, his silhouette vanishing instantly among the distant treetops, followed by the muffled, distant crash of his landing.

Every member of the group froze in wild, paralyzing terror, as though refusing to believe their own eyes, the breath catching in all their throats at once, the silence that fell over the clearing so thick it felt almost physical. Even on Casper's face, usually utterly expressionless, something like genuine astonishment flickered — a faint but unmistakable glimmer of emotion, instantly hidden again behind his usual mask of indifference.

The Creature, in response, merely let out a quiet giggle, the sound rolling across the clearing in a thin, rattling wave, echoing off the mangled chunks of ice, and swallowed the fan back down, tucking it away into the depths of its mouth with one quick, practiced motion, smacking its lips afterward with obvious satisfaction. — Fun little toy, isn't it? Shame it's only good for one use.

Lloyd lay on the ground, unable to believe what he'd just witnessed, feeling every cell in his body throb with a dull, aching pain, the image of Lorian vanishing instantly among the trees still burned into his mind, and utterly unable to grasp what awaited them all next — the only thought managing to cut through the haze of fear and pain was that against an opponent like this, they might never have stood a chance to begin with.