Another man to the right of me stumbled back from the twitching form he’d just dispatched. But he looked down at his body and gaped at the blood pumping out of a massive cut in his thigh. He fell to the ground, pressing his hands to the wound, and yelled out, “I yield.”
A pair of medics ran out and carried the man away.
Four left, then. The mace-toting woman looked up at me and nodded.
I walked toward her, mostly numb now from fatigue and pain. She looked like she could use a bath and a back, but she didn’t hesitate to match my stance and face me.
Almost feeling obliged to get things moving, I attacked first. Not wanting to waste time or energy, I used Sunder right away, and she responded by using Dodge. I thought of triggering Whirlwind after, but I didn’t want to open myself up for a counterattack.
Instead I rushed forward, feigning a charge. I felt rather than saw her use a Shield Bash, but I was already spinning out of the way. It missed me by mere inches. Then her weapon flashed out, clanging my axe out of my hand. Considering the strength of my grip, I suspected that she’d just used a Disarm skill.
Well, thank the gods for dual-wielding. I gripped my remaining axe, the Foreman’s Toothpick, in both hands and struck out again in a series of attacks. I was hoping she would try for a counterattack, and after a few more passes, my hopes were rewarded.
She opened her shield for an instant and aimed a punishing blow at my head. I parried the attack then sent my axe out toward her face. The blade was on course to end the woman when she did exactly what I was hoping. She used Dodge.
In the split second I had before she could respond, I used Sunder again and cut through the middle of her shield. She screamed and the shield fell to the ground, her stump of an arm spraying blood through the air.
I aimed my next attack low, cutting under her upheld mace and slicing through her knee. I cut off her final screams with a slash across the throat.
Looking around, I saw my other axe and ran to pick it up. When I had it back in hand, I heard the gurgle of another death behind me. I turned and faced my final competitor.
When I looked up, the haggard face of the orc met my gaze. We both laughed like chittering psychos, and I ran out to meet him.
The bout began normal enough, trading blows and trying to cut each other’s head off. But soon enough, I learned why the warrior wore a mismatched gauntlet on one hand, all shiny black but for a swirl of vibrant purple on the backhand. I was sidestepping another thrust from his halberd when he let the tip of the spear-like weapon fall. He darted forward and used an ability that I never could have anticipated.
As he reached for me with his black-gauntleted hand, a spark of violet light filled his palm and exploded outward. A wet mass of tentacles smelling like a rotten crotch shot out and found purchase in every crevice of my chest plate and vambraces. The orc no doubt expected me to pull away, or hack down at the tentacles. But instead I vomited. I’d had a lot to drink before the match and eaten my share of travel rations. The font of puke shot out and splashed over the orc’s greaves.
Then I lost it.
I grabbed the tentacles with one hand, letting the Foreman’s Toothpick tumble to the ground, and yanked him toward me. The man had a dagger in his hand that he plunged into my shoulder. The tip managed to worm its way in and wound me, but my headbutt and subsequent axe blow to the orc’s neck were more damaging.
He fell to the ground, a smile on his face of all things, and died at my feet.
The crowd applauded. I raised my fist in the air but couldn’t concentrate on anything other than the layer of goop coating me. When I tried to wipe sweat from my brow, more of the slime ran across my face and I threw up again.
Overall, it was a unique experience, hearing the leonine roar of an ecstatic crowd suddenly turn to laughter. At least I had been entertaining.
9: “Destruction cowers to mark what deeds are done.”
— George Gordon, the 6th Baron
MADI
“The look on your face, though,” the huge orc, whose name turned out to be Oliver Krakenfist, said before tipping back his mug of ale again and hailing the server for more. “Was almost worth it in the end. You looked like someone had poured ants down your chainmail trousers.”
With a grin on my face, accepting the good-natured teasing, I jabbed back, “Yeah, yeah. I think what matters is that I won.”
He laughed again, hard enough to rattle the cups on the wall. “Did you, though? Did you?”
I laughed with him, remembering the somewhat ridiculous end to the Battle Royale.
noticing more of the viscous slime that had all but drenched my beautiful armor. “It was a lot like being attacked by a squid after it was dunked in a bucket of snot.”
Oliver nodded, appreciating the yuck factor, at least. “I got one right in the face, too. The ogre shaman I took it from didn’t feel like letting it go. I even swallowed some.”
I slammed my own mug down on the counter and pulled out a few coins. “Serves you right. We’re cool now, but you even use that thing near me again and I’ll cut your cabrón butt down! Rodrick, can you make sure this beast remains well in his cups, and please send one of your lovely helpers to my room? I need my armor cleaned again.”
I slapped Oliver on his back and turned to leave the common
