Savage Awakening 357. The Desolate Wilds (IV)

CRACK!

The sound of a continent’s worth of hard-packed ice striking his body—and shattering in an instant. Then—a WHOOSH—as it all evaporated at once, blasting him full of mist.

And at the end of it— SCHLUNK.

Spears of pain sank into the front of him, boring deep through flesh and muscle.

Zane groaned.

Its claws had sunk a few inches into his belly. Its fangs had just missed his throat. The beast had barely an instant to react when he’d thrown himself at it. But it was a big cat, and its reflexes showed through.

It’d managed to turn all its claws, and its fangs, to point at Zane. All that force—that momentum—was stopped on Zane’s body.

He’d just skewered himself on its greatest weapons.

The Sabertooth howled too, though. It’d had to pay a price to get him like this. It reared back to show blunted ends for fangs, and though it struggled to pull them out, its massive paws were stuck deep in Zane’s chest—gushing blood. Blood that splattered over Zane’s own.

It’d managed to break his skin, and shred a good chunk of his muscle.

But his body was a Heaven-grade treasure in its own right. He’d known he could take the blow.

But the Sabertooth couldn’t.

Every bone that’d pierced him had shattered in the effort.

It was what drew the groan out of him—the feeling of bones exploding in his chest, splintering deep—piercing through quite a few vital organs. It felt like a grenade going off inside his body, stabbing shrapnel.

Warning! 

Health under 75%

In the end he’d gotten what he wanted. For a split-second he and the beast were locked there, face-to-face, both badly wounded.

He bared his teeth.

It seemed to realize the danger it was in an instant—and it reacted with mind-bending speed. Wrenching away, whirling off, planting its hindquarters on Zane’s chest in one motion.

That hundred-thousand-year-old Sacred Bone went white-hot.

It kicked off with the force of a rocket launch.

He felt something crack in his chest.

It spoke to its power that even now, locked this close, that Bone was almost enough to get the beast free.

But not quite.

It whipped out—froze mid-air, claws flailing, momentum stopped cold, like some cord had been yanked. Its eyes bulged; it shrieked in pain.

One bloody fist held it by the tail. All that force—all that momentum—had run into a wall of pure strength.

Then Zane roared, yanked hard, and the beast came screaming back in.

He grinned.

Got you.

Chains clamped its hindquarters first, clamped its front leg, started looping around its torso, its neck, binding it tight. And though it thrashed and kicked like it’d gone mad, his grip held strong.

That wasn’t the surprising bit to him. Only a few Minor Gods in the Steelheart Conclave—real strength specialists—could hope to challenge him when it came to brute strength; he was quite confident in that. And the Sabertooth was built for speed.

What was surprising to him was how much of a fight it could put up. It felt like he was trying to hold back an avalanche with his bare hands every time it kicked. It was surprisingly strenuous—it was that bone again.

It was the kind of challenge that got his heart pumping.

He gritted his teeth; his Asura runes seared down his flesh; his muscles bunched as he wrenched back hard.

The Sabertooth shuddered—eyes bulging even redder, cracking, as it felt his force take hold of it, clamping down. And he felt a deep satisfaction at its shock, its feeling of sudden helplessness.

Then he flexed his Chains. And the whole thing burst aflame.

Skill evolved! 

Prometheus Noose [Mythic+ (H)] -> Prometheus Noose [Common (P)]

His Heavenly Solar Flare roared down every inch of chain, glorious and scalding bright, and though the Sabertooth tried a few last desperate spasms, tried going for Zane’s throat again, it was far too late.

A circle of molten gold closed in around it, churning, thickening fast—and even its shrieks were drowned out by the rumbling.

The Sabertooth was in the worst place you could possibly be when fighting him. He had it in full lockdown.

It was like setting molten steel on an anvil for him, put right where he wanted it. The only thing left to do was to smash.

He stacked on his powers, one by one.

First came the Radiation. Withering what was left of the fur, getting into the muscles, making spiderweb cracks through the bones—and the crushing went very quickly after that.

Then the Solar Flare closed over the top of the beast, cutting off its snarling face.

There was a sphere of gold—a new sun in the midst of the ice-fields, condensing fast, compressing.

It took just four breaths for the Sabertooth to succumb to the pressure. By the time it was dissolving to essence, it’d barely gotten Zane under 60% Health.

Level up!

Essence Level 479 -> 480

He could feel himself closing in on peak Ascendant—it would only be a matter of time now.

“That’s some bind,” said the Barbarian Sage. “Even early True Gods would have to be careful if they were caught in there, I’ll bet. Damned good work!”

He squinted at the flames. “That there…”

As the flares died down he ambled in, and picked something out of the flame. The Sacred Bone. He tossed it to Zane.

Comet Sabertooth Sacred Bone [Heaven (C+)]

“Lucky us, eh? Sometimes these things survive. The rarer, older ones especially,” he explained. “Might come in handy later. If nothing else, you can have it melted down for elixirs.”

Zane pocketed it.

They picked a slab of ice to set up camp that night—a chunk about half the size of Earth’s north pole, drawn in the vague shape of a bed. This one had quite a comfy share of snow on it—made for a good bed. Zane plopped himself down and made himself comfortable. The Sage offered him a drink of curdled goat milk. It tasted rather sour but it was packed with essence.

The Sage threw back a cup, then wiped some milk out of his beard. “Not long now, I’d say!”

He gazed out at the murky blue distance. His eyes grew a little misty.

“I remember many a night like this, back then. Nothing but clothes on my back and a weapon in my fist. Wrestling Stygian Mambas by day, drinking Everfrost Glacier water by night…”

He slapped his shin. “You’ve not even seen the Everfrost yet! Just you wait. It’s something special, I tell you—nothing like it. It’s what keeps the Wilds roaring.”

He sighed. “I grew more in a century in the Desolate Wilds than a millennium outside. That’s the way of it! To temper good steel, you’ve got to put it under pressure. That’s what we’re off to do. But you wouldn’t have it any other way, would you, lad?”

Zane shook his head.

Whenever the Barbarian Sage told stories of the battles he had out there, his heart always beat a little faster.

The Barbarian Sage ruffled his head, and chuckled.

Another half-day bounding through the asteroid field and they caught their first glimpse of the wilderness. Just a far-off blur of pale colors for now, golds and blacks and browns and bright blues seen through a haze of drifting ice, but slowly coming into focus.

“That, lad,” said the Sage, pointing triumphantly. “Is the birthplace of all beasts! Can you feel it?”

Zane nodded.

He was starting to pick up on distant aura signatures—huge gluts of them. Most strong Minor Gods—a few were even stronger. More Sacred Bones than he could count.

Just as they were nearing the edge of the field, though, he felt a sweep pass through the field, brushing over all. Like something was scrying them.

“Eh?” said the Sage.

Then they felt the auras flaring up around them. Teleporting in—ringing them in a wide circle, but closing fast. Six were near-peak Minor Gods.

The one at the front, though, felt far denser. A power signature that stood out starkly from the landscape around it; in the Astral Plane it felt like a shining splotch in the midst of pale cutouts.

True God.

“Alright, alright,” drawled a voice. “That’s far enough.”

“What’s this all about?” snorted the Sage.

The folk closing in were nagas, it looked like—half-man, half-snake. Their muscular human upper-halves wielded spears, each tipped with a Spirit Bone Fang.

They were clad in shiny silver and gold gear—breastplates, helms, plate mail—that Zane could tell was quite high-quality at just a glance. Solid Heaven-grade treasures. But none of them seemed to belong to the same set. One naga had a helm with the Steelheart crest, a Deep Earth Hall breastplate, and Azure Flame mail. They wore quite a bit of gold pieces in their hair, gold on their fingers.

Zane got the sense very little of it was their own.

They leveled spears at him and the Sage.

The one who’d given the order slithered to the fore, arms crossed. The True God. He had knotted hair braided with quite a few pieces of jade and a long sallow face.

He gave Zane a lazy once-over.

“Keep a close eye on this one. His aura says Ascendant but that life force’s far too high—that’s a tell right there. I’d take him to be at least high-Minor God. And the old human, too—”

He nodded at the Barbarian Sage. “He’s wearing an aura suppressor—could be anywhere from Ascendant to True God. Good try, by the way, trying to sneak by like that.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” The Barbarian Sage sounded vaguely amused.

“What’s it look like, fool?” The fellow grinned. “We’re collecting on our dues! Anyone who wants to cross the Outskirts has to pay tribute—by decree of Thorus Brightfang, Chief of the True Naga, Beast King of the Outskirts…”

He slithered in closer, grinning with teeth that seemed a little too long. They gleamed in the faintly blue light streaming through the ice.

“But you knew that, didn’t you? That’s why you’ve got a suppressor on. That’s why the big one’s got a fake aura! Thought a nobody and a mere Ascendant would sneak right under our noses, didn’t you? Clever, clever—but not clever enough. For that bit of trickery, you’ll have to pay, I’m afraid…”

The naga snickered at each other.

Then the fellow jabbed the spear right in the Barbarian Sage’s face—his Spirit Weapon. A two-meter length of peak Heaven-grade steel, and at its tip was a hundred-thousand-year-old Spirit Bone. It looked pretty impressive.

“I, Sessyphon Brightfang,” said the fellow, yellow eyes gleaming. He milked every word, like he quite enjoyed hearing them come out of his mouth. “Heir to the Noble Brightfang Tribe, order you to relinquish your Interspatial Rings. Or face the full wrath of the True Naga!”

“Hmm,” said the Barbarian Sage.

He thought about it for a moment, scratching his beard.

“No,” said the Barbarian Sage.

Then he reached out, took the fellow’s spear, and snapped it like a toothpick.