This must have been a hilarious comparison to the last time he had suffered a grievous injury on his back and she had tried to inspect it. The first time he had resisted, downright fought her off, until their aggravations with one another had led to a sweaty, angry sexual encounter in the desert. Only after that had he cooled off enough to let her clean up the injury at all. But now, many months after that, he simply turned when she encouraged him to, letting her examine the cut on his back. He glanced back at Seschua, still lying on the ground from the beat down Mythal had rendered upon her. She would be feeling lightheaded probably for a few days after the continuous and linking strikes he had used. He glanced at arms, seeing the cuts that had bloodied and were seeping the plasma onto his forearm. The healers would be able to tend to his wounds rather easily but the impact of them would remain. Her sword had been able to cut through his gauntlet, slice right into his magic and open up his flesh. Yet her magic had to do with portals – so she had made herself physically strong enough to break magic spells? That was impressive; Midian training at its best.
They settled back in and waited to be called again, after having their injuries tended by the healers. Once the lottery had chosen them, they found themselves back in the ring against a different team. This pair was a far cry from the one they had before; first off, there was easily no relation between them beyond partners. One of them was an older man, who looked to have some Midian blood in him save for the blond and white hair that donned his head and face. His mustache and beard hung low off his face, each one as grand as the other. He wore a single green robe that seemed to give absolutely no room for movement, as it was tight against his form. He was in peak physical condition by the looks of it, a compliment to any that worshipped body building. He also had a pair of sandals on, which seemed ill fitting for a battle situation. The other man looked like either a convict or a bar brawl champion. His third, maroon hair was pulled and slick back, save for his bangs that sprouted off his brow like resistant weeds. His face was contorted in a wicked, confident sneer as he glared daggers at the two of them. His arms, bulky and brawny, were covered in scars from fights long past. He was dressed like a pirate; with a sleeveless brown shirt, loose sea-green pants and heavy boots that covered up to his knees.
“O…kay,” Mythal said, his eyes darting between the two of them. As the announcer took to introducing the round and the competitors, the God Slayer took a moment to flick Curse out and unfold it to full form. He spun it around so that the blade was backwards once more, far more comfortable with the weapon facing away from him. In this position, he could still use his hand to punch and mix between strikes and slashes with the blade. He stood poised; his body already limber enough from his earlier stretching. The crowd practically exploded as their opponents were introduced, going by the names of Ryzmir Albizin and Dovel ‘the Monster’ Karden. One had a nickname and not the other? That wasn’t concerning.
Yet again Serilda and Mythal were robbed of time to make a well thought out plan. A monstrous roar cut through the crowd and their thoughts, emerging from Dovel’s mouth. His body began to tremble and jerk, his limbs shaping into different positions and sights right before them. An extra arm, more carnivorous looking mouths than should be on one thing, his merging with his torso and creating a larger mouth with chains linked into it, claws, spines, disgusting growths… suddenly the Monster seemed like a very light appropriation of what this man was. He didn’t wait a second after his transformation was complete before he charged at Serilda, clearly choosing his opponent for the match. That left the old man for Mythal.
His head cocked to the man, who was still standing where he had started, his arms resting at his sides. The God Slayer decided to try and end his opponent in one blow, so that he could go and help Serilda out with her ghastly foe. All of his magic surged through him at once, heightening both his strength and his speed. He moved so fast across the battlefield, he may as well have teleported from one spot to the next. His right arm, cocked back and ready, came sailing forward into the man’s face, his knuckles burying into forehead of Ryzmir. The impact was loud and thudding, a miniature shockwave exploding out from the impact spot and shaking the ground beneath them.
And yet, the old man was unmoved. He stood there, his face covered by the fist for a long moment while Mythal attempted to figure out what the hell had just happened. But then there was a pulse and Mythal’s hand snapped backwards, his fingers shaking as pain overwhelmed his arm. He yelped in agony and fell back a step, his other hand coming around to grab at his trembling wrist. “Reinforcement Magic,” the man finally spoke up, his voice cool and relaxed. “I can bolster my defenses and return the damage meant for me back in kind.” Ryzmir opened his eyes, settling them on Mythal’s crimson ones. “I watched your previous bout. You practice a kind of reinforcement as well, do you not? One that heightens your physical strength enough? Is it Shadow Reinforcement?”
“Somethin’ like that,” the God Slayer said quietly as the pain in his arm began to fade, giving the limb a firm shake to get rid of the tingling sensation. As he flexed his fingers, the older man suddenly shuffled forward and lunged at him with a spear hand strike. Mythal had just enough time to bring his arm up and knock it away but then his arm stung once more with a refreshed pain. Ryzmir continued his assault, raining punches and hand strikes at the God Slayer from all angles. He was blocked each and every time but each time Mythal made a defensive movement, he was treated to a fresh new pain that seemed to sink right to his bones. Only after he leapt back and gave himself some space did the fight halt.
“I can also reinforce my own strikes to absorb your defensive ones and throw them back. It doesn’t cause nearly as much damage but blocking both my strength and your own will wear you out eventually,” the man calmly explained, bringing his arms up in a fighting pose. “Tell me; where did you learn your fighting style? It is surprisingly fluid.”
“Tell ya what; you manage to beat me and I’ll tell ya everythin’ you wanna know,” Mythal snapped back as he shook his arms out. His right arm came up, cloaking itself in the shadow gauntlet he had used prior.
“Unfortunate, for you won’t be able to answer once I have finished,” Ryzmir stated, turning his hand over on itself and then waving at him, summoning him to continue their battle.
The back and forth battle raged on, with Mythal attempting to land a strike on a soft or weak spot on the man’s body. Each and every time he was rebuked, his own strength bouncing back to hit him with the same force. It only got worse when Ryzmir began to counter rather than simply take the attacks; letting the God Slayer’s punches and kicks hit home but then immediately moving to land his own strike, mixing it with the rebounding attack. Mythal held his ground as best he could but the injuries on his body were beginning to pile up. Cuts and scrapes adorned his face, neck and arms, bruises and lumps rising out of his flesh all over. After a failed attempt at a sidekick, he was sent spiraling back and landed on his front, his face plastered against the ground.
“You are a valiant fighter,” Ryzmir stated as he walked towards him slowly. “Were I not your opponent, you might have stood a chance,” he took a moment to look over, just in time to catch Serilda being pinned to the ground and Dovel’s fist beginning the first of many punches upon her form. “Your ally is all but defeated. Dovel will make quick work of her. I do not wish to dally with you either; no need to drag out a beating.”
“Anyone ever say…” Mythal said, his words muffled against the ground. Slowly he pushed himself up, wavering and nearly falling over as he got to his knees and then his feet. Weakly he stood there, his right arm wrapping itself in his dark magic once more, the limb held out in front of him in defiance. One of his eyes was swollen shut but the other glared with the same fire he always had, his fighting spirit all but quelled. “…you talk too damn much?”
Ryzmir smiled. “Easy to become a chatty fellow when none can hurt me. My apologies, I’ll end this quickly.” As he brought his arm up, ready to begin his final assault, he watched as the God Slayer’s armored hand turned over. Before he could question it, the gauntlet melted into Mythal’s palm, condensing itself into a ball resting against the interior of his hand. He heard the brief sound of a snap as it was released from Mythal’s fingers. Then his world was darkness as a plume of absolute shadow erupted from the hand, smashing into Ryzmir’s face. He was lifted from the ground and sent sailing through the air, landing with a hand thump as his back impacted the floor. The force of the spell forced him to roll over onto his front and crash into the ground there.
He got to his feet quickly but… “My eyes!” He exclaimed, his hands reaching up to his face. His vision was as black as the magic that had impacted him, dropping him into an endless darkness.
“I get it now,” he heard Mythal say from in front of him. He put up his defenses immediately. But the impact came from behind, a knife-edge to the back of his neck. He gasped and stumbled forward, clutching the spot on his neck where Mythal had hit. Actually hit. “Your magic only reinforces where you can see,” the God Slayer said from the side. Ryzmir spun around, a back fist aimed for the spot he thought he’d heard the voice. But he only hit the air, no solid impact on a body.
Mythal’s arm was cocked back, his flesh bleached a snow white and the charcoal veins popping up from his hand. But sparks of black lightning flashed zapped through the air around the arm, the magical pressure that was radiating off too much for even the air to suffer. He thrust it forward, smashing the palm strike onto the man’s chest above his heart. The thin gap in Ryzmir’s defenses was there, the God Slayer’s strike finding home and releasing a devastating impact onto the major pressure point. All the others in the man’s body erupted in protest and his body seized up, a temporary paralysis from his body suffering damage.
But Mythal wasn’t finished. His arms slid forward one after the other, delivering haymakers from each side once to knock the man’s bewildered head around. Then his right arm snaked up in an uppercut that jolted his head up, further dazing him within the darkness. The God Slayer’s leg snapped out in a front kick, that bent the man over, nearly knocking him to his knees. But Mythal slid the man’s head between his legs, wrapped his arms around his torso and lifted him up, planting him on his shoulders. Then with a yell, the God Slayer swung him down in a power bomb, slamming the Ryzmir’s back into the ground and devastating the floor, shattering it into a large and jagged crater. There Ryzmir came to rest, his body bent over itself at an odd angle but the man somehow still alive. His eyes were as equally glazed over as Seschua’s were, indicating just how knocked out he was.
Mythal fell to his knees right after, panting heavily as he stared at the form of the Reinforcement wizard. His ears were ringing, not allowing him the opportunity to hear the audience cheering or the announcer losing his mind in excitement. Whatever strength Mythal had left was relegated to keeping him from falling over and face planting, his entire body limp save for his torso. He really, really hoped that Serilda had managed to overcome that monster man because at this rate, if he was the victor, he could come over and push Mythal over with a breath.
Sphere Island | Fairy Tail |
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