Rune Seeker - Book 3: Chapter 82: Duel

Hiral couldn’t help but pause and stare at the woman sprawled across the ground in front of him, blood pooling around her from the dozens of wounds. He wasn’t in a dungeon. This wasn’t an instance out of time. Velina had been a real person, not some kind of monster created by the PIMP.

No, she was a monster of a different kind, Hiral reminded himself, recalling what she’d been part of on the surface. Of the insurgency she’d taken part in on Fallen Reach.

Still, even with the arguments he gave himself in his head, his hand still shook at his side. Her death hadn’t been a clean or pleasant one. She’d literally died in agony. And he’d been the cause of it. Was he a murderer for what he’d done?

Did I have any other choice? Could I have subdued her some way instead? No. I don’t think I could’ve. She would’ve killed me without a second thought. And maybe my family as well. I had to do this.

Despite telling himself that, it wasn’t quite so easy to accept.

A scuff on the arena floor behind Hiral reminded him he wasn’t finished there, and he turned as he mentally vowed to revisit his questions. Later.

Vule stood, his Grinders nowhere to be seen, but didn’t immediately charge at Hiral. Off to the side, Left and Right stood in their Second-Skins of Ur’Thul on the edges of the spectators’ sections. Minor injuries, from the looks of things, but nothing serious. Behind them, the hostages had gathered to look down on the arena floor.

No sign of the guards. Good job, guys.

Hiral quickly picked out Nat, along with Milly and his mother. There was worry on his sisters’ faces and surprise on his mother’s. Since they were all still there, Hiral’s guess about the Oath Stones must’ve turned out to be correct.

Vule’s eyes went to the doubles, but then his expression dismissed them as unimportant. The Shaper didn’t care if they’d taken care of the guards or not. Or even if they’d join the fight.

Where is his confidence coming from?

“What happened to you, Everfail?” Vule asked, his voice at a normal level. “If that’s really who you are. Are you like that Nomad, with some secret power you won’t explain?”

“I’m not like Fitch,” Hiral said. “Can you take me to him?”

“Why would I ever do that?” Vule threw his head back and laughed. “You’re still going to die in this arena.”

Hiral thumbed over his shoulder at Velina’s body, the notification for killing her flashing in the corner of his vision. He ignored the minimized window for the time being. “You sure about that?”

“I’m surprised you managed to kill her. Very surprised, if I’m being honest.” Vule crossed his muscular arms in front of himself. “But there’s a reason I was one of the Shapers who judged the yearly tests, and she wasn’t. I’m stronger. Much stronger.”

“And yet you’re the one standing halfway across the arena instead of attacking me.”

Hiral said the words, but he wasn’t ready to rush across and attack either. A few more seconds for his High-Speed Regeneration+ and Swarm Healing to finish healing him up wasn’t a bad thing. Yes, he’d lose most of his buffs, but something about the way Vule was standing told him the Shaper wouldn’t go down the same way Velina had.

“Hrm?” Vule said. “Oh, I’m just letting my Purge tattoo take care of these bleeding effects you put on me. Annoying, and cowardly.”

“Purge? When did you…?”

Vule smirked. “I guess you wouldn’t know, since I got the tattoo after you left. Purely coincidental, really, but who could’ve known it would be this useful? Ah, there we go. All clean again. Now, then, how should I rip your head off your shoulders?”

Hiral narrowed his eyes at the man and took a look at his own Party Interface. Vule wasn’t lying. He had notifications saying his debuffs had been removed. That’s… inconvenient. Purge was a very problematic tattoo, as it would not only remove debuffs, but also create a resistance to further debuffs based on the number it removed. With how many instances of Bleeding Wounds and Distracting Shot it’d taken care of, not to mention the Bloodletting Field’s debuffs, Vule might as well be immune for the next hour.

He couldn’t beat Vule with a hundred small attacks, and all it would take for Vule to win would be one hit…

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One hit? And the Oath Stones? Could… that work?

“How about…” Hiral started as Vule took a step in his direction. Then he held his hands out to both sides of him. “How about we settle this like everything else gets resolved here?”

Vule paused, his eyes going to the weapons floating around Hiral, then to the doubles standing watch. “What are you suggesting?”

“We could keep fighting like we have been,” Hiral said at the same time he double-checked the wording on some of his abilities. This… could work. Or go very poorly. “I’m pretty sure I know how it’s going to turn out, but I’m on a time limit. We can speed this up. Just you and me.”

“I’m listening,” Vule said, smiling like the whole thing was entertaining him.

“This is the Amphitheatre of the Sun. We do this like any other duel held here.” He could feel Right and Left’s eyes boggling at him even from the distance. “One blow each. First one to fall and stay down, loses.”

“To the death?” Vule asked, an eyebrow quirking.

“If that’s what it takes to stay down, yes,” Hiral said.

Vule uncrossed his arms and scratched at his chin. “Let me guess. You want to go first? Got some trick up your black sleeve?” As the man asked the question, his eyes narrowed, and he seemed to notice the previous damage to Hiral’s Coat of Ur’Thul had vanished.

“No,” Hiral said. “I’ll even let you go first.”

“You’ll dodge. Or run. That’s all you’re good at.”

“I won’t,” Hiral answered immediately. “We’ll swear an oath.”

“This is some kind of…”

“Shaper Vule,” Hiral interrupted, “I challenge you to a formal duel in the Amphitheatre of the Sun. One guaranteed by the Oath Stones. Do you accept? Or are you afraid?”

As Hiral said the words, stones on each side of the arena floor flared to life. The Oath Stones.

“Afraid?” Vule bellowed. “Of you? Of the Everfail? Don’t be ridiculous!”

“You haven’t accepted yet,” Hiral pointed out, eying the magic stones as strands of Connection reached out to connect to his PIM. So that’s how it’s done. He could probably interfere or even break the connection through his own rune, but that’d alert Vule the agreement was broken. No, he had to let the stones take hold.

“To the death!” Vule shouted. “I go first. No limits.”

“Agreed,” Hiral said, the bindings of the agreement lacing through his PIM.

“Agreed,” Vule repeated, and the promise solidified between them.

To Hiral’s eyes, new strands of Connection glowed fiercely, and he could almost read the terms of their duel within those lines. Almost.

“Pretty sure this is going to count as reckless,” Right whispered into the party chat.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, Everfail, but I am going to make you regret agreeing to this,” Vule said.

“And yet you’re still the one stalling,” Hiral said, striding forward to stand in the exact center of the arena.

In the spectator’s booth, Nat opened her mouth as if to speak, but she closed it quickly at a gesture from Right.

In front of Hiral, Vule growled and put his left hand to a tattoo on his right bicep. A few long seconds passed before the Shaper pulled his hand away, and thick bands of yellow energy formed around his right arm. Four of the glowing bands materialized, then contracted until they wrapped tightly against his skin, shimmering like polished metal.

The Citrine Bands. The simple tattoo would greatly magnify Vule’s strength for a single strike.

A predictable choice for a duel like this.

“I told you you’d regret this,” Vule said, as he knew Hiral would recognize the tattoo.

“Hrm? Sorry, I was thinking about what I had to do when I left here,” Hiral lied, but the words had the desired effect.

Vule’s face contracted in anger, and he stomped ahead, each step thudding hard enough to make the entire amphitheatre shake.

Or maybe that was Hiral’s imagination. In his chest, his heart thundered like a runaway horse, and it was everything he could do to keep his hands from shaking. The promise with the Oath Stones would prevent him from running or dodging, but they didn’t do a damn thing for his nerves.

Vule stalked right up until he was a bare two feet away from Hiral, the bands of energy around his arm glowing like liquid sunshine.

How much are those bands magnifying his strength by? Four times? Five? He’s got to have, what, 1500 Str for one hit? That… That’s a lot.

Despite the math running through his head, Hiral forced himself to look almost lazily from Vule’s arm up to meet the man’s eyes. “Remember,” he said, holding up a single finger, “one shot. Then it’s my turn. And you better not run.”

Vule’s eyebrow twitched at Hiral’s words, and his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth cracked.

Corded muscle rippled under Vule’s skin, and the glow of his Meridian Lines intensified as the man slid his right foot back on the stone floor. Up came his hand between them, and he closed his fingers into a massive fist, then slowly cocked his arm.

Hiral casually spread his feet to a comfortable width, then put his hands behind his back. Wrapping the fingers of his right hand around his left wrist, he met Vule’s eyes like the man wasn’t just about to hit him with a punch that could level a mountain.

I wonder how much this is going to h—

Hiral didn’t get a chance to finish his thought as Vule’s fist whipped around like a wrecking ball and connected with the side of his head.

And then there was no more opportunity for thought. Hiral’s head was reduced to a fine red mist by the catastrophic blow, and his headless body dropped to the arena floor.