Raging fire burned in the eyes of Kargon and Elmud as they clashed. Their simultaneous landings created a small crater that pushed away nearby demons. Neither allowed themself to step out of the sizable arena as their limbs collided. Fists refined through grueling training retaliated against fierce swipes from devastating claws. Specks of blood riddled the ground but both fighters knew they had barely started. Had Elmud not pushed themself away from Kargon, the fight would have continued in relative silence save for their grunts of effort.
“You’re much stronger than last time. But you’re foolishly overconfident,” Elmud groaned. “I did not prefer your silent hesitation but it carried an air of caution that you would be wise to heed.”
“I’m not sure why you think I’m overconfident,” Kargon replied. “I just invited you to battle with a smile.”
He made a point to keep the cocky grin on his face any time they weren’t in direct contact with one another. It was obviously bothering Elmud and there was no reason to let the prick have ease of mind.
“With a cocky grin and that little wave?” Elmud asked. “I don’t buy it.”
“Let me clarify: I don’t think I’m overconfident. I’m just sure I can beat you.”
Elmud ran forward and as he got close took a heavy step with his left foot. A wide arc projected the course of his clawed swipe. Rather than dodging, Kargon met it head on. The open handed strike was blocked by an equally powerful fist in its center. The tightly clenched hand was as strained as the Dragonborn’s rigid extremities. Upon impact a wave of fire burst out from both warriors. Both pushed forward in an attempt to win the power struggle. Elmud was more focused on pushing through. Kargon couldn’t help but think that Master Avant would be disappointed in his thought process. Such an obvious attack could’ve been ducked past and retaliated against.
“Focus, boy!” a stern voice cawed from above.
Kargon didn’t need to turn in order to recognize his master’s voice. It was surprisingly level for someone fighting off half a dozen monsters by himself. Astral clones shined dazzling silver as they struck their targets with confident strikes. Other monks from the Sanctuary of Spiritual Combustion battled nearby. Some had succumbed to their wounds while others only grew stronger. None dared approach the battle between the prized disciple and his nemesis.
“Looks like you still need backup,” Elmud grumbled. They extended their free hand to the side and aimed at the nearest adversary. Fire raged inches from his palm before launching outward.
“No!” Kargon grunted.
He pulled away from the clash, forcing Elmud forward. A left handed chop pushed the Dragonborn’s arm down and shifted the fireball’s trajectory. With the strike’s momentum, Kargon flipped and stuck his leg towards the flames. It was too late as the orb was quickly leaving his reach. He landed with his back to Elmud. The new stance accommodated a precise punch that expanded with a fist of fire. It snuffed out the projectile instantly. Keeping his arm extended, the monk spun back and shrank the astral extension so the fist would collide with Elmud. They grunted lightly as the refined flames cracked some scales on their torso.
The Dragonborn smirked as he patted away shattered pieces. “With backup and that technique it’s no wonder you believe you can beat me. But delusion can only get you so far before it fails you.”
Elmud stepped away from Kargon without bothering to get in a defensive stance. Instead they patted distinct points on their arm and snickered. Finally they traced a claw across the center of their face from above their left eye to below the right. It was immediately obvious to Kargon what his opponent was referencing. Myriad scars permanently marked his body from their last encounter.
But each warrior saw something different when looking at the monk.To Elmud it was a sign that the adventurer was weak and easily defeated. Power was so prominent in the Dragonborn’s attacks that not even a powerful paladin could heal the wounds. Though there was some fact in their ideas, it did not phase Kargon. The scars represented his path to growth. They showed him previous shortcomings and created a path to overcome them. Without them he would not have become an equal of the heroes who stood by him.
“Aren’t you the delusional one to be impressed just because you left some scars?” Kargon asked as he pulled down his goggles. With force he trailed a finger across his most prominent scar and said, “Had you not been so cocky I’d be dead by now. Instead you scampered off and left me to heal. You had more than a year to find me and end my life. Most of it I was incapacitated. Yet you just let me be.”
Elmud scoffed and a tuft of smoke escaped their snout. “It is my master’s way to prepare a strong sacrifice on the path to domination. Make no mistake, I will kill you. You speak of the year I allowed you to live. To train. Did you think I wasted it simply following orders?”
Kargon had every intention to answer the rhetorical question but had no chance.
“I researched your fighting style, Kargon,” the Dragonborn hissed. “It confused me that you only used the most basic of techniques in Dawncaster. My conclusions were that you either failed to learn more or that you ran from your training.”
“Both are cowardly options,” Kargon replied with a hateful gaze.
“They suit you. Much like your combat style suited me better. I felt something… peculiar in that stance of yours I mimicked. Like I could rip out your heart without effort. Bestial beings equipped with natural tools meant for battle are the ones who should rely on barehanded combat. Not foolish humanoids with a death wish. Don’t you agree?”
It took effort for Kargon not to laugh at the declaration. Primarily due to the stance Elmud referred to. Master Avant jokingly called it the heart stopper due to it preparing an intense impact for an opponent’s chest. Obviously, a beast’s claws could tear out a heart but it wasn’t any different than the times that Kargon plunged his fist into monsters. Rather than acknowledging Elmud’s dismissive declaration, the monk pushed forward.
“I take it you’ve been practicing?” he asked.
“More than you ever have,” the Dragonborn spat.
“Is it because you couldn’t handle being burned?”
Elmud squinted and said, “You just overcame my resistance to fire. I can do the same to you.”
With a sharp inhale they set their claws and feet ablaze. Flames trailed off shoulder blades where wings were hidden. Cracks along Elmud’s body eked out embers as a roaring blaze shined under the scales. In response, Kargon slowly pulled his goggles over his eyes and pulled the straps to secure it. He similarly pulled the straps of his belt before shifting his right leg back and lowering his stance. Not a single flame appeared on his form and Kargon made sure Elmud knew ignition wasn’t necessary.
“You talk like you’ve won the fight,” the half-elf said and raised an exaggerated eyebrow. “Who’s the overconfident one?”
His opponent responded with a grunt. “The one who can back it up!”
Elmud’s attack was less projected and more precise. Their declaration about training was clearly true. With the flames erupting from his limbs it was difficult to see the strikes. That was the case for anyone who glimpsed into the arena. Kargon, however, wore Pyromanic. The magically modified eyes that watched his opponent had no difficulty in discerning the trajectory of his attacks. Focused movements kept him within reach but out of harm. He didn’t bother to dodge the flames and simply absorbed them. As Elmud reached the end of his swing, they were met with a fist to their stomach. The attack was rough but a trained warrior didn’t slow from such an impact. Kargon foolishly expected more of a reaction and took the brunt of the next attack on his chest.
Neither separated. The dirt shifted as both fighters buckled down. Punches scraped against claws like flint on steel. Sparks ignited between the brawlers and encompassed them in flame. Without intending to, Kargon ignited his entire being. The well thought out plan of toying with Elmud was out the window. But he was never one for a strategic approach. The Dragonborn raged and released the flames trying to break free of his scales.
A crimson pyre burned in the middle of the battlefield with two dark spirits colliding within. No one could identify which was friend or foe as tails lashed out from both. Powerful attacks launched flaming blood across the ground. Flaming stone littered the arena like charcoal and further clouded any view of the battle. Vethyeans and demons alike began using the inferno as a tool. Bodies were thrown into it and spontaneously combusted. The massive fire was not the creation of a single fighter. As their fight progressed it grew increasingly improbable to regulate the flames.
The only solace Kargon had was that the flames that killed his allies were not his alone. But he could not turn away from the battle. Intaking Elmud’s fire wasn’t an option during the onslaught. Any loss in intensity would result in more damage than either could afford. A single strike at the right location would put someone on the backfoot. Based on how ferociously Elmud attacked, it was clear they’d come to the same conclusion. Each attack cemented their resolve not to block. It wasn’t a point of pride but self-preservation. Taking a head-on attack to a stationary limb introduced the possibility of breaking it. Whatever healer might help either of them was too far to assist. And pulling back to heal only opened each of them up for more attacks.
But that was a cowardly tactic that was unbecoming of the demon king’s subordinate. A weak strategy that the Hero’s right hand refused to humor. The Dragonborn’s claw strikes grew in fervor, lashing out in hopes of a lucky grip. Ripping parts off a body would be easy with a solid grasp. The monk slipped through each attempt with only minor cuts. Using his opponent’s momentum as a weapon was simple. Tight punches reached towards the target but they dodged in kind. Scales tore and bruises sprinkled their body but it wasn’t enough to slow Elmud down.
Master Avant allowed his clones to fight as he watched his disciple in shock. All their training and tactics were dismissed for a fiery brawl. The control of flames was a point of pride for the elder but the accompanying attacks didn’t sit right. Kargon was more than a punch drunk amateur. Years of training, no matter how impractical, had honed a powerful body. With a well-placed strike he should be able to force a change of pace. Instead he’d allowed Elmud to control the battle. Master Avant shook his head and turned back to the war around him. As he watched for a place to dive, he hesitated.
Realization dawned as he looked back at the burning silhouettes. Kargon wasn’t simply retaliating in a manner that suited Elmud. The fierce student was holding his ground. Planning wasn’t his strong suit. But impulsiveness had given way to improved instincts. Ones that searched tirelessly for a moment to shift the battle in the monk’s favor.
With a smirk, Master Avant turned away from the brawl. It was his duty to guide his student on the correct path. Scrutinizing his choices was unbecoming. Especially when the Owlkinn was hovering over a battlefield when he could be fighting. He dove back into battle while wishing the firebrand luck. Little did he know his blessing would come to fruition so shortly.
“You. Will. Burn!” Elmud said while stringing three swings together.
The effort of conversation gave Kargon room to breathe. Light shuffling of his feet got him out of arm’s reach. As he slowed his escape, Elmud pressed forward. It was a second of difference but enough to matter. Kargon leapt upward, spun, and reverse roundhoused the Dragonborn’s head. Scales shattered on the point of impact. The pressure cut apart the muscle underneath. Blood erupted from the wound as the monk landed.
“Make threats you can follow through on,” he said calmly. “You know, like: you will bleed.”
“You will!” Elmud roared and rushed forward.
A left swipe was easily backstepped. Instead of pulling the arm back, it was pushed forward to blind Kargon. The sensation of a blade cutting deep into his arm overtook him. The fighters separated long enough to assess their individual wounds. Blood dripped from the monk’s left arm. Stinging pain unfamiliar to him burned within. With focus he put up his guard once more and rushed forward.
Deep indents in the dirt accommodated the footing of their creators. Rapid volleys flew between the warriors as their anger burned fiercer. Once again, they locked themselves in combat until an opening for change presented itself.
Raging fire burned in the eyes of Kargon and Elmud as they clashed. Their simultaneous landings created a small crater that pushed away nearby demons. Neither allowed themself to step out of the sizable arena as their limbs collided. Fists refined through grueling training retaliated against fierce swipes from devastating claws. Specks of blood riddled the ground but both fighters knew they had barely started. Had Elmud not pushed themself away from Kargon, the fight would have continued in relative silence save for their grunts of effort.
“You’re much stronger than last time. But you’re foolishly overconfident,” Elmud groaned. “I did not prefer your silent hesitation but it carried an air of caution that you would be wise to heed.”
“I’m not sure why you think I’m overconfident,” Kargon replied. “I just invited you to battle with a smile.”
He made a point to keep the cocky grin on his face any time they weren’t in direct contact with one another. It was obviously bothering Elmud and there was no reason to let the prick have ease of mind.
“With a cocky grin and that little wave?” Elmud asked. “I don’t buy it.”
“Let me clarify: I don’t think I’m overconfident. I’m just sure I can beat you.”
Elmud ran forward and as he got close took a heavy step with his left foot. A wide arc projected the course of his clawed swipe. Rather than dodging, Kargon met it head on. The open handed strike was blocked by an equally powerful fist in its center. The tightly clenched hand was as strained as the Dragonborn’s rigid extremities. Upon impact a wave of fire burst out from both warriors. Both pushed forward in an attempt to win the power struggle. Elmud was more focused on pushing through. Kargon couldn’t help but think that Master Avant would be disappointed in his thought process. Such an obvious attack could’ve been ducked past and retaliated against.
“Focus, boy!” a stern voice cawed from above.
Kargon didn’t need to turn in order to recognize his master’s voice. It was surprisingly level for someone fighting off half a dozen monsters by himself. Astral clones shined dazzling silver as they struck their targets with confident strikes. Other monks from the Sanctuary of Spiritual Combustion battled nearby. Some had succumbed to their wounds while others only grew stronger. None dared approach the battle between the prized disciple and his nemesis.
“Looks like you still need backup,” Elmud grumbled. They extended their free hand to the side and aimed at the nearest adversary. Fire raged inches from his palm before launching outward.
“No!” Kargon grunted.
He pulled away from the clash, forcing Elmud forward. A left handed chop pushed the Dragonborn’s arm down and shifted the fireball’s trajectory. With the strike’s momentum, Kargon flipped and stuck his leg towards the flames. It was too late as the orb was quickly leaving his reach. He landed with his back to Elmud. The new stance accommodated a precise punch that expanded with a fist of fire. It snuffed out the projectile instantly. Keeping his arm extended, the monk spun back and shrank the astral extension so the fist would collide with Elmud. They grunted lightly as the refined flames cracked some scales on their torso.
The Dragonborn smirked as he patted away shattered pieces. “With backup and that technique it’s no wonder you believe you can beat me. But delusion can only get you so far before it fails you.”
Elmud stepped away from Kargon without bothering to get in a defensive stance. Instead they patted distinct points on their arm and snickered. Finally they traced a claw across the center of their face from above their left eye to below the right. It was immediately obvious to Kargon what his opponent was referencing. Myriad scars permanently marked his body from their last encounter.
But each warrior saw something different when looking at the monk.To Elmud it was a sign that the adventurer was weak and easily defeated. Power was so prominent in the Dragonborn’s attacks that not even a powerful paladin could heal the wounds. Though there was some fact in their ideas, it did not phase Kargon. The scars represented his path to growth. They showed him previous shortcomings and created a path to overcome them. Without them he would not have become an equal of the heroes who stood by him.
“Aren’t you the delusional one to be impressed just because you left some scars?” Kargon asked as he pulled down his goggles. With force he trailed a finger across his most prominent scar and said, “Had you not been so cocky I’d be dead by now. Instead you scampered off and left me to heal. You had more than a year to find me and end my life. Most of it I was incapacitated. Yet you just let me be.”
Elmud scoffed and a tuft of smoke escaped their snout. “It is my master’s way to prepare a strong sacrifice on the path to domination. Make no mistake, I will kill you. You speak of the year I allowed you to live. To train. Did you think I wasted it simply following orders?”
Kargon had every intention to answer the rhetorical question but had no chance.
“I researched your fighting style, Kargon,” the Dragonborn hissed. “It confused me that you only used the most basic of techniques in Dawncaster. My conclusions were that you either failed to learn more or that you ran from your training.”
“Both are cowardly options,” Kargon replied with a hateful gaze.
“They suit you. Much like your combat style suited me better. I felt something… peculiar in that stance of yours I mimicked. Like I could rip out your heart without effort. Bestial beings equipped with natural tools meant for battle are the ones who should rely on barehanded combat. Not foolish humanoids with a death wish. Don’t you agree?”
It took effort for Kargon not to laugh at the declaration. Primarily due to the stance Elmud referred to. Master Avant jokingly called it the heart stopper due to it preparing an intense impact for an opponent’s chest. Obviously, a beast’s claws could tear out a heart but it wasn’t any different than the times that Kargon plunged his fist into monsters. Rather than acknowledging Elmud’s dismissive declaration, the monk pushed forward.
“I take it you’ve been practicing?” he asked.
“More than you ever have,” the Dragonborn spat.
“Is it because you couldn’t handle being burned?”
Elmud squinted and said, “You just overcame my resistance to fire. I can do the same to you.”
With a sharp inhale they set their claws and feet ablaze. Flames trailed off shoulder blades where wings were hidden. Cracks along Elmud’s body eked out embers as a roaring blaze shined under the scales. In response, Kargon slowly pulled his goggles over his eyes and pulled the straps to secure it. He similarly pulled the straps of his belt before shifting his right leg back and lowering his stance. Not a single flame appeared on his form and Kargon made sure Elmud knew ignition wasn’t necessary.
“You talk like you’ve won the fight,” the half-elf said and raised an exaggerated eyebrow. “Who’s the overconfident one?”
His opponent responded with a grunt. “The one who can back it up!”
Elmud’s attack was less projected and more precise. Their declaration about training was clearly true. With the flames erupting from his limbs it was difficult to see the strikes. That was the case for anyone who glimpsed into the arena. Kargon, however, wore Pyromanic. The magically modified eyes that watched his opponent had no difficulty in discerning the trajectory of his attacks. Focused movements kept him within reach but out of harm. He didn’t bother to dodge the flames and simply absorbed them. As Elmud reached the end of his swing, they were met with a fist to their stomach. The attack was rough but a trained warrior didn’t slow from such an impact. Kargon foolishly expected more of a reaction and took the brunt of the next attack on his chest.
Neither separated. The dirt shifted as both fighters buckled down. Punches scraped against claws like flint on steel. Sparks ignited between the brawlers and encompassed them in flame. Without intending to, Kargon ignited his entire being. The well thought out plan of toying with Elmud was out the window. But he was never one for a strategic approach. The Dragonborn raged and released the flames trying to break free of his scales.
A crimson pyre burned in the middle of the battlefield with two dark spirits colliding within. No one could identify which was friend or foe as tails lashed out from both. Powerful attacks launched flaming blood across the ground. Flaming stone littered the arena like charcoal and further clouded any view of the battle. Vethyeans and demons alike began using the inferno as a tool. Bodies were thrown into it and spontaneously combusted. The massive fire was not the creation of a single fighter. As their fight progressed it grew increasingly improbable to regulate the flames.
The only solace Kargon had was that the flames that killed his allies were not his alone. But he could not turn away from the battle. Intaking Elmud’s fire wasn’t an option during the onslaught. Any loss in intensity would result in more damage than either could afford. A single strike at the right location would put someone on the backfoot. Based on how ferociously Elmud attacked, it was clear they’d come to the same conclusion. Each attack cemented their resolve not to block. It wasn’t a point of pride but self-preservation. Taking a head-on attack to a stationary limb introduced the possibility of breaking it. Whatever healer might help either of them was too far to assist. And pulling back to heal only opened each of them up for more attacks.
But that was a cowardly tactic that was unbecoming of the demon king’s subordinate. A weak strategy that the Hero’s right hand refused to humor. The Dragonborn’s claw strikes grew in fervor, lashing out in hopes of a lucky grip. Ripping parts off a body would be easy with a solid grasp. The monk slipped through each attempt with only minor cuts. Using his opponent’s momentum as a weapon was simple. Tight punches reached towards the target but they dodged in kind. Scales tore and bruises sprinkled their body but it wasn’t enough to slow Elmud down.
Master Avant allowed his clones to fight as he watched his disciple in shock. All their training and tactics were dismissed for a fiery brawl. The control of flames was a point of pride for the elder but the accompanying attacks didn’t sit right. Kargon was more than a punch drunk amateur. Years of training, no matter how impractical, had honed a powerful body. With a well-placed strike he should be able to force a change of pace. Instead he’d allowed Elmud to control the battle. Master Avant shook his head and turned back to the war around him. As he watched for a place to dive, he hesitated.
Realization dawned as he looked back at the burning silhouettes. Kargon wasn’t simply retaliating in a manner that suited Elmud. The fierce student was holding his ground. Planning wasn’t his strong suit. But impulsiveness had given way to improved instincts. Ones that searched tirelessly for a moment to shift the battle in the monk’s favor.
With a smirk, Master Avant turned away from the brawl. It was his duty to guide his student on the correct path. Scrutinizing his choices was unbecoming. Especially when the Owlkinn was hovering over a battlefield when he could be fighting. He dove back into battle while wishing the firebrand luck. Little did he know his blessing would come to fruition so shortly.
“You. Will. Burn!” Elmud said while stringing three swings together.
The effort of conversation gave Kargon room to breathe. Light shuffling of his feet got him out of arm’s reach. As he slowed his escape, Elmud pressed forward. It was a second of difference but enough to matter. Kargon leapt upward, spun, and reverse roundhoused the Dragonborn’s head. Scales shattered on the point of impact. The pressure cut apart the muscle underneath. Blood erupted from the wound as the monk landed.
“Make threats you can follow through on,” he said calmly. “You know, like: you will bleed.”
“You will!” Elmud roared and rushed forward.
A left swipe was easily backstepped. Instead of pulling the arm back, it was pushed forward to blind Kargon. The sensation of a blade cutting deep into his arm overtook him. The fighters separated long enough to assess their individual wounds. Blood dripped from the monk’s left arm. Stinging pain unfamiliar to him burned within. With focus he put up his guard once more and rushed forward.
Deep indents in the dirt accommodated the footing of their creators. Rapid volleys flew between the warriors as their anger burned fiercer. Once again, they locked themselves in combat until an opening for change presented itself.
