Universe's End

Chapter 278: Architect of the Precursors Vs Spear of the Precursors Pt. 1

In the history of the forgotten universe, large-scale events that were ‘televised’ for all to see were commonplace, with even the literal final battle of reality being showcased live using highly advanced alien technology.

In the reborn universe of magic and fantasy? Not quite so much. Almost anything of note had gone down hidden from the eyes of the public, at best, local events.

That, for the first time, had changed. Not just were people streaming into Ehkorrus, eyes wide at the fact that such a place existed. For those who didn’t make the journey, the skies themselves became reflections of the soon-to-be battleground. This arena was filling with more and more people, for some reason never running out of seats and always appearing maximally filled.

This was normally the point where Allison should have felt her blood pumping, her heart beginning the slow-building precursor drumbeat to the real rhythm.

And yet… It wasn’t there.

Why?

Allison found herself asking that question, trying to beat her chest, to get some reaction.

But she just couldn’t. She was so, so tired. Everything that had happened recently felt as if it were finally truly registering. Sister alive, best friend dead, everything related to the Architect.

It was one big old god damn cluster fuck.

She still felt hatred toward the Architect, that much she could feel in her bones, but it was a tired, exhausted hatred, one that hadn’t been properly fanned and now instead simmered like a glowering ember. Avenge Garfunk, but Garfunk had been the one in the wrong, but Garfunk wasn’t wrong because the Sensen were evil and deserved it, and, and, and….

Thoom.

A noise somewhere between a bell, a gong, and a deep bellow percussion blared out, and everyone on Aelia’s surface heard the noise.

“It’s the opportunity you always wanted, don’t waste it,” the voice of Aelia whispered in her ear, as suddenly she felt magic take hold and was whisked away, peering down a long hallway, like the walk-out tunnel a boxer would traverse toward the ring.

“Right,” Allison muttered to herself. “Don’t waste it.”

“Stand in observance, for the best amongst you approaches.” Aelia’s voice rang out, as every single being on the planet heard it like the voice of a god speaking to a puny mortal.

Don’t waste it.

Beginning her walk out, there was silence at first, tens of thousands of eyes all observing her in her bone-white armor and spear. It was the biggest crowd she’d ever fought in front of, and again she felt how wrong it was that her heart wasn’t beating like a drum in excitement. For as much as she’d learned to temper her outward reaction, that love of a good fight still burned within her.

Didn’t it?

As Rory made his walk out, he could feel the eyes of tens of thousands upon him, expectations and thoughts weighing upon him.

But it doesn’t matter.

The silence of the crowd began to shift, first to a murmur, then a trepidatious excitement, until it wasn’t long before a wall of sound was crashing down upon Rory.

While they were ‘in’ the regular arena used for fights in Ehkorrus, it had been changed for the grand finale, now acting more like the boundary-line into a space that existed more along the lines of a non-physical delve, a portal into another ‘world.’

Sights, sounds, colors, everything seemed more vibrant, the same strange aurora raging overhead as an entire football field worth of people drank in the sight.

Approaching the Spear, Rory stopped roughly twenty feet away, as a titanic woman appeared, Aelia in her full theatrical appearance that she’d appeared as before.

“The Best of many, there may only be a best of Two.”

Aelia looked between the two of them before nodding.

“Begin.”

It was strangely anticlimactic when Aelia ushered in the fight, but there was no need to play up a crowd, brag, or explain accomplishments. Everyone knew that the Architect and the Spear were Founders, the two who had, in the end, risen to the top.

There was no question of the scale.

Power exploding outward from the two opponents, what surprised those watching who didn’t know much of the Architect was that it was he who shot forward first, chain whipping around him like a tornado of death.

The Spear shifted to defense, dodging and weaving between the whirling chain as if she could see the movement; even with a ‘delay’ that viewers were granted, the chain was still barely a blur.

Dodging a final time, the Spear caught the chain and yanked it downward before stabbing her spear through one of the chain links, cutting off its movement before lashing out with her fist. To even amateur-level observers, it seemed like a strange punch, delivered from too far away to have any hope of touching the Architect. Yet, space seemed to crinkle like a folded page as black and white light flared from her body, her fist bending through space and striking the Architect straight in the chest, barely a love tap against his red scale armor.

And yet, that single strike sent the crowd into a frenzy.

The Architect showed why he wasn’t called the ‘Chain’ for a reason, abandoning the chain entirely as he stepped back, flickering away, now armed with a bow as arrows began to fire toward the Spear. Slapping them aside, the Spear was a moment from launching herself after the Architect until those very same arrows that had been slapped away exploded with ghostly vines that latched onto her body. Several more arrows launched her way, exploding into red mist as the ghostly vines turned into vicious, thorn-barbed, flesh vines.

Stepping forward with her left foot, she turned with grace and finesse that any dance expert would have immediately recognized as firsthand experience. Mid-turn, her hand swung out, flat like a blade as she sliced through the vines using her flattened palm like a machete.

Using the momentary distraction, the Architect flickered, appearing behind the woman as he launched a forward kick, connecting with her back and launching her away as she came up out of a roll, already moving out of the way as simple stone spears began to launch themselves at her.

More and more stone spikes began to stab upward as the Architect had swapped from bow to staff, each upward swing of the staff directing a thicket of stone spikes toward the Spear.

Slamming her foot downward, the force of the impact alongside a ‘shockwave’ of her aura pulverized the terrain beneath her into fine dust, shattering the stone skewers before they could ever emerge.

For the crowd, it was hard to tell the attitude of the battle from the combatants, both wearing full-faced helmets: the Spear’s helmet marked only by two blackened eyeholes, whereas the Architect’s was hidden behind thin slits covered by red-looking crystal.

So, while the crowd had no perspective as to the internal thoughts of the two, Rory personally found himself mulling over one thought.

Too easy.

Within the first few clashes, he could tell.

Something was off. Back on Earth, there had been the old kung-fu types who swore that in the heat of combat, one could understand another person better than at any other point.

Or at least, that’s what the movies and shows he’d watched had said.

While the validity of such a claim was… spotty at best back on Earth, in this universe, there was absolutely truth to it, able to parse feelings from the shape and intensity of another person’s aura; hell, it was how he’d known the depth of the Woodsman’s hatred toward Roxy.

Stolen from NovelBin, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

All of that came together to say that Rory simply wasn’t feeling it from the Spear. She was flimsy, insubstantial, like cardboard left to soak up rainwater.

In a vacuum, that was perfect for Rory. If she couldn’t get her head into the game, it would be his win. There was merit to remaining calm and collected, of course, but that wasn’t the same thing as being entirely unable to muster any emotional response at all.

He would win, the best of the Founders, Ehkorrus would be made proud, and blah blah blah.

God damn it.

Because Rory knew that wasn’t what was actually the best course of action. Zoey knew her sister well, even after more than a century. She’d called the emotional state she was in.

And, worst of all, she’d told Rory in no uncertain terms that the best course of action was to make her fight for real.

God damn it, and screw you, Zoey.

Because as much as Rory wanted that sweet, sweet, easy victory, he knew he wasn’t going to take it. The logic was sound first off. They needed to work together in the future, so it was better to handle any baggage now.

But more importantly, his best friend had asked him to look out for her baby sister.

And for all the things Rory was, someone who turned down a heartfelt request from his best friend wasn’t one of them.

Tapping his helmet, it vanished into his inventory as Rory put his hands on his hips, staring down the Spear, who paused at the reaction.

“The legendary Spear, and this is all you’ve got?”

It was an obvious place to start if he wanted to bait her into some emotional reaction, a rather lame first attempt, but hey, he had to start somewhere.

“What are you getting at?” The Spear asked, her voice slightly distorted as she spoke through her helmet.

“Oh, nothing,” Rory said, doing a rather piss poor job of acting the villain.

While Rory couldn’t see it behind her helmet, he could almost feel the frown from here.

Oh, fuck it, I’ve never been good at playing coy.

“Your sister asked me to do something about you,” Rory said, this time keeping the aura out of his voice so only she would be able to hear him.

“Of course she did,” the Spear nearly growled from behind her helmet. “I don’t need pity.”

“Nah, I don’t think you do,” Rory agreed. “Because you’re a god damn hypocrite and a princess.”

“Excuse me?” the Spear asked, and this time Rory could hear the incredulity in her voice.

“You heard me. You’re supposed to be this big shot, and you can’t even get your god damn head into it?” Rory snapped. “Fuck you. Yeah, I killed your best friend. And he was going to kill my daughter. Fucking get angry or something. That’s God damn life in this world. I’ve had to God damn put my neck out there for fucking decades without any fancy combat skills or anything. Life is a struggle, and sometimes it's fight-or-die. Or have you been so used to winning you never realized that?”

Rory wouldn’t lie, some of the outbursts came from some old-rooted frustration he’d felt in those early years, forced to scrounge and scrap and figure out ways to win without being some kung-fu combat god.

A therapist would probably have something to say about that, but I’m not a therapist.

“So, you’re trying to piss me off on purpose because my sister… what, asked you to?” the Spear asked, still sounding incredulous.

Rather than respond, Rory appeared directly in front of her, kicking her straight in the chest and launching her backward.

“No,” Rory snapped, spitting as he did. “Because you’re acting like a spoiled princess. If you're angry? Fight me. If you hate me? Fight me. But don’t take a loss because you couldn’t get over yourself and then spend years stewing in it. Put it on the line, here and now. I’m sure even your friend understood that much.”

“Do not talk about him,” the Spear said, anger beginning to bleed through for the first time.

Oh, good, there it is. Honestly? Cliché, but if it works, it works.

While playing coy wasn’t his best talent, acting was something Rory had some experience with at this point. If he needed to play to the classic cliché of invoking the dead friend to piss the woman off, then so be it.

I really hate you, Zoey.

“I get you’re putting on a show,” the Spear said, her voice deadly low. “But fine. You want it? I’ll give you the entire god damn show.”

Oh joy, I did it.

Allison did not like being talked down to. Her entire damned life back on Earth, her father had done that to her; she was only ever an extension of him. And now here the Architect was, doing a poor-ass job of trying to piss her off, because he was only seeing her as an extension of her sister.

And yeah, did listening to him blab on with bad cliches annoy her? Of course, and then bringing up her friend whom he had killed didn’t hurt at all.

Or, well, it hurt a lot.

She knew her heart hadn’t been in it, her mind a mess.

But.

But taking the rather banal monologue and holding it tightly, she could feel it.

A flutter kicking up, like a slowly roused animal.

Bum. Bum.

A fire didn’t always need to start with some crescendo lightning strike. Sometimes it was just a carelessly flicked-away cigarette butt in a patch of dry grass.

Bum. Bum.

Fine, you want this? Zoe wants this?

Bum. Bum.

Holding the image of his face in her mind, the shitty attempt at looking smug, the simple audacity of it to treat her like a chore to be handled rather than someone actively hurting.

Bum. Bum.

Yeah. Yeah, I can work with that.

A sound suddenly rang out within the arena, like a drum had been slammed, those who did not know the Spear looking around confused, while those who’d heard tales of her suddenly widened their eyes.

Bum. Bum.

Placing her palm against her chest, Allison closed her eyes for a moment, taking advantage of the Architect’s willingness to egg her on as she felt it wake up.

All she’d needed was that spark.

He wasn’t wrong, though.

She hated to admit it, but he wasn’t wrong about how Garfunk would have felt, how he would have told her to get over herself. She wasn’t alone. She had people counting on her, looking up to her, relying on her. She could untangle her feelings about the Architect in the future, but moping about when she needed to act now? Well, as Garfunk had told her in the past:

We heal with our fists.

It was some stupid phrase the Osferian had thought up when handling ‘disputing’ cadets, but the meaning had been clear. Vent, then think with a clearer head.

The arena rang out with the sound once more, as Allison removed her hand from her chest, a rhythm pounding out, the starting prelude.

Sorry, Gar. Shouldn’t have even walked in here with so much mud in my head.

She wasn’t miraculously better, but at the very least, she wasn’t going to be trapped in the mire of her mind, not with the drumbeat of her heart having finally stirred back to life.

Rushing forward, space seemed to shift and distort around the Spear, colored lines of black and white claiming a small ‘zone’ around her as part of herself, folding and behaving according to her whims like the cartoon pages of a newspaper. She was already incredibly fast, one of the faster Founders. Still, when fully taking advantage of how she could twist space around her as it became ‘part’ of her, she was second only to the Vanguard when her attributes were fully inverted.

Attempting to flicker away, the Architect was surprised for the second time to find it difficult to do so; the Monk had caused a similar issue. Slow on his feet, a machine gun flurry of blows struck into him, and unlike before, where the force of her strikes seemed hollow, there was now an echoing drumbeat within each fist, as a chain of lesser punches landed in succession for every single hit.

Flicker movement finally going off, the Architect put distance between the two of them as he held his hands out, chain lightning bouncing between his hands before he lashed outward like a cracked whip.

The lightning struck true and….

And did barely anything.

Given that even Zoey didn’t like eating lightning blasts for free, that surprised Rory.

His helmet had reappeared on his head, so no one could see his frown as several mental threads circulated that problem around, trying to make sense of it.

Non-conductive?

That didn’t make sense, but it was also the only thing that did make sense, if even Zoey preferred not to take lightning attacks for free.

Testing the theory, he let the lightning take on a red hue as he infused it with his blood affinity, striking once more. This time, the Spear did move, dodging out of the way the moment his hands flicked forward. Although she wasn’t as fast as a lightning strike, she could still react to his movements.

A trait of her body, she takes less damage from lightning, but not from energy itself.

Filing that information away for one of his mental threads to piece together with anything else he could find, Rory began bombarding the woman with generic pneuma blasts, rocking his palms back and forth like the repeating barrel of an automatic weapon. As far as effectiveness went, such a basic form of ‘projection’ magic, although it barely qualified as projection magic, had never been effective, but he wanted to see how she would react.

Launching herself to the side, the woman snatched her spear from where it had been stabbed into the ground, pinning his chain, sweeping out as the sheer force of the movement blew away the pneuma blasts.

Empyrion Fulmination is out of the picture if she is truly lightning-resistant. Dragon’s Fall is too slow. Nathair then.

Drawing his hand back, a bow appeared as an iconic, massively oversized arrow began to manifest itself.

“Let’s see how you enjoy this one,” Rory said, having returned to infusing his voice with aura. He’d begun to find that as he grew in strength, it was actually easier to speak with his voice aura-infused while in the heat of battle than without.

Taking a stance with one leg forward and the spear tucked and pulled back beneath her right armpit like she was preparing for the world’s biggest thrust, the Spear gestured with her free left hand before turning her palm outward toward him.

If you say so.

Releasing the arrow, it flashed forward, faster than bullets back on Earth, reaching the Spear all but instantly.

While the Spear wasn’t as fast as lightning, the same couldn’t be said for something comparatively slower, like speeding bullets. Thrusting forward the moment the arrow had been released, the tip of her spear struck just beneath the tip of the oversized dual-pronged arrow. A shockwave of power blew out a massive cloud of dust and debris, and while Rory was perfectly capable of seeing through the obstruction, the crowd wasn’t so lucky, precious seconds passing before they could see the aftermath.

A magical force seemed to reach upward, forcibly slamming the loose debris back to the arena floor, something contemptuously easy for Aelia to manage. Cleared of any concealing dust clouds, the crowd roared as the Spear stood there, unmoved, the only visible shift being how much more black-and-white color strips seemed to mark the air around her, as well as the crater surrounding her.

Inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment, Rory’s lips turned downward as he mentally resigned himself to acceptance.

I asked for this.

Because the real fight started now.