Contender

—Varghan the Unseen Draw to Jessica Hawgrave385

Contender

Shiv knew that suffering from kidney stones was a special kind of hell. Powerful Slayers in the Guild had to bow out for entire days from it if they'd spent too much of their mith on gambling to pay a Biomancer to remove them. Beyond their absence also came the screams, prayers for death, and howling shrieks that shook the otherwise serene nights in Blackedge. Even when Shiv was digging through trash in an alley, he still felt a measure of near sympathy for the poor bastards.

Just what kind of agony could make a warrior scream like that?

On this day, he had gained an answer, and it was an answer he never wanted to experience again.

“Endure!” Valor bellowed. “Endure, Shiv!”

But Shiv was in no condition to respond. It took all his fortitude not to throw up on himself, for so great was his suffering that every body he controlled was also curled in like a dying bug. His Pillar of Orichalcum was still active, growing ever brighter and ever tougher, but doing nothing to spare him from the pain. For his face was a chasm of gore; his lower jaw had been cleaved free from his body by a latching hook. The one responsible had since traveled down his throat into his stomach, carving a bloody warpath until she finally gashed through his digestive system and into his kidneys.

From there, he experienced true hell.

“The monkey pulls the peaches upstream!” Jessica shouted from inside his body. Her words were muffled and then drowned out as Shiv began spasming like a fish on land. There was little else he could do to express his pain, for she had just wrenched the entirety of his reproductive system up and into his bladder. “The dragon treads the river!”

An explosion of shrapnel tore through his insides, and Shiv blacked out and died for the fourth time—or at least his physical body stuck inside Jessica's dimensional coliseum did. As the sweet nothing took him, Shiv's other bodies were freed from the shackles of pain, and once more he could command himself, at least for a while. It wouldn't take long for Jessica and Valor to demand another resurrected body for his next Toughness training session.

“Holy… shit…” Shiv shuddered, taking a moment to recompose himself. “Why did I ever go looking for help from this bitch? That was a mistake… I'm a felling idiot. They’re just torturing me to death over and over.”

Pillar of Orichalcum 470 > 472

A grievous groan escaped from him as he stared at the notification in disbelief: All that suffering for two meager levels. He missed being easier to kill. At least at some point, he would just drop dead from a nicked artery. Now Jessica could keep going and going, working him like a butcher carving meat from a carcass, and his body would just keep taking it.

“And it hasn't even been an hour yet. Not even an hour.” A humorless, near-mad laugh slipped out of Shiv. He had little issue with pain. In fact, he was more closely acquainted with suffering than practically anyone else he knew, but there was something very unique about having a shrunken Legend terrorize your insides. “Alright, Shiv, get your shit together. You wanted this. Maybe not her doing a kidney stone routine inside me, but enough Toughness that we can shrug off whatever Roland throws our way.”

He gave himself a moment to recover—but even that respite was denied him as someone tapped him on the shoulder. As he looked behind, he realized he was focusing on the wrong body. His Severed Shadow was still with Marikos and the others. As the Descenders and Brokers commingled, Shiv saw only Tall Ben looking in his direction. The Hydra slithered one of his many armored heads closer to Shiv, regarding him with a wary stare.

At the same time, Shiv figured out which of his bodies actually got a tap on the shoulder. Back in the capital, Marcus had collapsed against the library table and started shaking like a leaf. Somewhere in the throes of his torment, he knocked over the small mountain of textbooks he had accumulated and caused them to crash against the ground. All around him were students here to study.

“Hey, are you okay?” a tall elven girl in a mage's robe asked, looking down at him.

Shiv thought.

“Yeah, just fine. Had a little bit of a kidney episode, but it’s passed now.”

Tall Ben's snake-like eyes narrowed.

The elf just winced. “Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that. Do you need to see a Biomancer? I can bring you to the local hospital.”

Both of Shiv's bodies shook their heads.

“That's because it isn't this body having a kidney problem. One of my resurrections is… training.”

Tall Ben asked.

“No need,” Marcus slurred, giving the fellow student a smile. Shiv caught a slight swelling of warmth in her core. “I’m better now. Very kind of you to notice, Adept…”

She grinned. “Not Adept. Just Initiate. Are you sure you don’t need to see a Biomancer? It really isn’t far, and I’m training to be a Jump Mage. It can be good practice for me.”

Marcus just shook his head, but kept his demeanor pleasant. “Ask me again in a couple of hours, and I might take you up on that. Right now, I got some more cramming. Always more cramming.”

And as he bent down to start picking his books back up, he saw the elf brush a lock of raven hair away from the front of her face as her eyes lingered for a while longer.

Shiv muttered internally, once again flabbergasted at Marcus Unblood’s natural charm.

Tall Ben said.

“Yeah, sorry, I'm trying to wrangle multiple bodies at once again, and my Multitasking is pretty tired out. You know how it is. Wait, do you? I assumed so, since you have twelve heads.”

Tall Ben nodded once.

“Feel different?” Shiv asked.

And just like that, some useful advice fell straight into Shiv's lap. “You know something, Legend Ben? That’s good advice. Thanks.”

Tall Ben managed a very snake-like smile, and one of his other heads came by to nudge the visor of his helmet in a gesture mimicking someone tipping their hat.

Shiv grinned. “Every host wishes to see their guest fed.”

The Hydra and the Deathless both hummed a laugh—and continued to take each other’s measure.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Tall Ben spoke slowly and tried to sound simple, but he might be the sharpest among the Descenders' contingent, and he clearly suspected something of Shiv, for the Hydra's core resonated with suspicion more than any other emotion. The Descenders were still watching him, and Tall Ben, for one, wasn’t anywhere near as charmed by Shiv as Marikos was.

Which, paradoxically, made Shiv appreciate the Hydra.

the commented.

As Tall Ben returned to commingling with the other dragons, Shiv departed from his cooking zone near the Abyssal gateway and set about recruiting everyone he could to prepare him for the coming duel.

He barely made it a few meters before one of Uva's strands latched onto him.

“Oh, hey, I was just about to come looking for you. Guess you saw the poster?”

She hummed a near laugh.

Shiv used his formidable mental discipline to not imagine crashing cocks together with Roland Arrow. “Yeah, well, Roland’s his dad, and this will be good for the both of us. Takes our minds off things and gets some of the pent-up misery out.”

“Also that. Come on, don’t tell me you don’t wonder that about people.”

Uva admitted without hesitation.

“Well, we’re talking about sparring, Uva, not killing each other.” Her mind gave off a pitched note of doubt. “I’m serious. I don’t plan on killing Roland. I’ll only break his jaw, tear off his limbs, shove a frying pan up his ass, and then emotionally destroy him at most.”

“I know. Which is why I need—”

“That’s a pretty big benefit,” Shiv noted. “No one else can do what you can. I guess that makes you a Unique-Tier Skill in my heart.”

Uva cringed and laughed at the same time, her mind sounding like a squealing automaton tire rapidly losing air.

“Ouch. Closer?” Shiv shook his head in pretend despair. “It’s like no one believes in me.”

She granted him a snort.

“Nah.” Shiv shrugged. A tiny part of him was sour she couldn’t lie about that, but it was such a small aspect of his ego that it barely inflicted a pinch on his flesh, even amplified by the Harbinger. “I know. Everyone keeps reminding me, and I’ve seen what Roland can do. Which is why I’m actually looking forward to this. I do love me some horrible odds.”

“Of course, that’s the way things should be! Imagine stomping on Adepts over and over. It sucks. There’s no rush or meaning in that.” At the mention of meaning, the flames inside Shiv crackled with delight. “You can’t grow without strain, and if there’s no one that can challenge you, then you’re probably in the wrong place. What kind of asshole would I be if I just kept bullying the weak?”

The two of them paused before offering the same answer in sync.

Another beat followed as a shared realization circled between them.

Uva began, her voice and mind awkward,

“Uh, yeah,” Shiv coughed in agreement. “Not a great habit, judging everyone the same. Ends up getting you surprised when you find yourself facing someone outside the norm. So. Tulveg, huh?”

She sighed.

“Broken Moon… His hatred toward the vampires was so strong that it broke your racism? Fuck, just what tier is his racism?”

“Shiv,” Uva growled.

“But if he were to have a Tier—”

“Heroic,” she answered, humoring him.

“That’s it?”

“He wishes to see his entire kind aligned to his own bloodline ideals—he claims that he does not deserve to be held in any regard until he does.”

Shiv barely had the words. “Man, his racism Delve is going to be wild.”

Uva let out a beat of slightly awkward laughter. “Truly. If only your jesting skill were more evolved, maybe you could mock Roland into submission from a distance.”

Comedy 28 > 31

“Well, might not be as impossible as you think,” Shiv replied, narrowing his eyes at the skill notification. “With a bit more time and—holy shit.”

Uva’s strand tightened with alarm.

“No. Not a threat.” Shiv swallowed as he saw a looming silhouette hovering before the mana core as Roland had done an hour prior.

The Culturist’s owl-like regalia was in full bloom, and a moonlit plumage that gleamed with the texture of chainmail pierced Shiv’s eyes. “He’s felling up. He finished his Delve.”

Uva replied, doubly surprised that she had failed to notice him—her and everyone else.

“Only a week,” Shiv agreed. His own Delve had been faster, but from what everyone said, being trapped in the depths of a burgeoning Legendary Skill for weeks to months was the norm in the best of cases. The unprepared never emerged from that evolutionary coma at all. But here the Culturist was, with arms folded and his eyes gleaming—azure blue?

“Something smells positively delightful,” the Culturist declared, his voice echoing from afar. The orc drew in a long breath. “Potsticker. It has been some time since I enjoyed such an eastern delicacy.”

Despite everything, Shiv couldn’t help but laugh. “You godsdamned monster. You just don’t stay down, do you?”

“Orc,” the Culturist answered. “Trying again is what we do. Something you know better than us by this point, I suspect.”

Shiv rose higher, his body bobbing in place as all his Shapeless Tides speared up as one. “Adam—”

“I know. I am aware. I heard the Challenger. I know what he did. Even in my Delve, I felt it.” The Culturist’s mouth was drawn back with a snarl of fury, his chiseled face displaying the purest malice Shiv had ever seen in another Pathbearer. Then, the orc wrestled his emotions into submission. His rage broke like the ending of rain, and his emotional core was stabilized in an instant as an eerie and perfect calmness took hold, causing his mind and heart to enter a state of perfect equilibrium. “You took his arm?”

Shiv saw that the Culturist was looking at the Red Rider’s Hand looming nearby. “Yeah. Well, some version of me did. Challenger reached a little too far into my Chronomancy and got cut for it.”

The Culturist exposed his pointed teeth again. “Good. Now. I would like to see my savior, if it is possible. But before that—” His stomach made a violent, gurgling noise that told Shiv what the next topic was.

“There are more potstickers in the surface district,” Shiv said. “We can go get you one.”

“Yes. But… what is that smell?” The Culturist sniffed. “There is a distinct flavor I can’t recognize.”

“Oh, I got a new Skill Evolution.” Shiv summoned his Pyromancy, and his nihilistic flames sparked into being atop his palm.

the Nihilist said, the gray embers lurching hard toward the Culturist like he was a singularity.

“Another speaking skill,” the Culturist noted. “Fitting for someone who likes to use their tongue so violently. And why do you want to burn me, little flame?”

“It’s only little now,” Shiv said. “The moment it sinks into someone’s philosophy, it spreads fast.”

“Ah. An intellectually-derived mana skill. Quite the potent combination. But why does it glitter?”

“Because it has a Cooking Skill in it too. Meaning I can turn anything I fry into food. So. If you want to enjoy some cooked wall, I’m your guy.”

The Culturist grinned. “Did you fuse Comedy as well?”

“I’m not joking.”

The orc’s grin faded somewhat. “Well. My Philosophy is Legendary…”

Shiv whistled. “Really? Well, that explains why the Nihilist is straining to unlatch itself from me and hug you to death.” Shiv drew the flame back as it was starting to bend like a deformed hook. “So. Potsticker.”

“Potsticker first indeed. All other woes and trials can follow thereafter—”

“Endure!” Valor and Jessica cried as one.

Shiv’s insides plunged into a bottomless pit. “Oh, shit, oh fuc—”

The Giantsbane magnified her size out of nowhere, going from something smaller than a grain of dust to a giant twice Shiv’s size as she slammed Rusty’s pommel between his legs. The good thing was that the Severed Shadow lacked actual genitalia or any other fleshy elements and thus didn't suffer exact organ damage. The sad thing was how he kept it solid instead of clinging to the safety of being a full Revenant. The worst thing was how the pain felt no different from getting his balls collapsed into his guts.

Shiv released a feral hiss of anguish as he was launched up—straight into Valor’s descending palm. “Defend!” Valor shouted, spiking Shiv groin-first on Jessica’s sword-end once more.

“Defend!” Jessica echoed, hopping on the flat of her blade like it was a seesaw, launching Shiv back up—into Valor’s mana-charged stomp.

“Endure!”

Shiv activated his pillar, but he was getting bounced between two ass-kickings with no relief in sight.

Uva said flatly, slithering out of his mind and leaving him to this damnable fate.

Shiv tried calling out to her, but Jessica proceeded to hit him on the underside of his armpit, causing him to black out from the same sensation that had resulted in involuntary agony shits earlier. Again, it was good that the Severed Shadow lacked an asshole, but not great how the pain was simulated the same way.

“Legend Valor,” the Culturist called out, his head rising and falling as he watched Shiv “train” his Toughness. “Has your pupil displeased you?”

“Not anymore,” Valor replied casually. He barely cast a glance at the orc as he sent Shiv back toward Jessica with a burst of Dynamancy. As Shiv grew tougher, the ancient Legend’s blows began to bounce off, leaving Jessica the main inflicter of true damage. Then he finally looked toward the Culturist properly. “Ah, you emerge from your Delve.”

“I do. And I see. So. Training, you call this?” The Culturist tilted his head.

Valor gestured at Shiv—and created a pitch-black hand of mana to hold him in place as Jessica began unleashing a chain of rapid punches that had Shiv jerking like a limp doll with every blow. “The Deathless intends to duel Roland Arrow. The Dread Horizon has a challenger.”

“Does he now?” The Culturist nodded at Shiv, who was gagging on choked gasps. “Brave of you, Deathless. Commendable. But too soon. I see now why your training must be accelerated to such a brutal extent.”

And with that said, the orc rolled his shoulders and slowly rose up.

Shiv’s asshole screamed a warning pulse of pain. “Wait! Wait! Wait! Culturist! Adam took your itch! You don’t need to do this!”

“Oh, it is not out of cruelty, but service.” The Culturist hummed, tracing katas in the air as his hand formed flickering shadows behind him, and the visage of an over-muscled, midnight-maned horse standing on two legs manifested as an aura. “After all, you deserve to be paid for the potsticker you are offering and its most unique taste, and what more do I have to give aside from levels? Now. Resurrect a spare body. I do not wish to kill you for good. Legend Hawgrave, may I request that you expose his midsection to me—I am going to make his skull and intestines change places, and require an essential meridian to see the process completed.”

“Jessica!” Shiv gagged. “Culturist! You fucks!”

“Oh, this I gotta see!” Jessica laughed as she began collaborating with the gray-skinned fuck without question.

Skill Gained: Hypocrisy (Initiate) 1

Shiv asked.

Skill Gained: Racism (Initiate) 1

Shiv’s deafening howls of pain were louder than a thousand mana bombs going off as one. Part of that was due to Roland’s currently Heroic-Tier Awareness, but another part was how the boy was suffering what Roland could only describe as a Legendary gang initiation right above Starhawk’s Perch.

A horrific snapping noise Roland understood to be the pancreas and the gallbladder getting smeared together made him almost spit out his tea. Beside him, Rose winced and face-palmed, while their daughter-in-law gripped a pillow with white-knuckled horror.

“W-why are they doing that to him?” Isabella whimpered. “Should—should we help him?”

“No.” Roland sighed. “I’m not the kind to disrupt another Pathbearer’s training. He should face me at his best.”

The Young Lady of House Stormhalt looked at Roland aghast. “Training?”

“Toughness,” Roland replied. He squinted at the Culturist in particular—who was also sneaking glimpses back at Roland. “He’s trying to make himself more durable. A reasonable thing to improve, since he will be taking the majority of the hits in our bout.”

“A lack of mobility and spatial magic superiority will do that to you,” Rose commented. Roland smiled at his wife; even if she'd had lost most of her skills and levels, all that experience she possessed was still there. “Poor fucker might be able to move fast, but he’s only got time magic and physical acceleration on the table.”

And Roland had many, many more options.

But there was something to be said about Shiv's staggering Toughness. Jessica Hawgrave was known as a butcher of Frost Giants, and her might and Sword Proficiency were a nightmare—so much so that Roland’s main thought when it came to fighting her up close was to align his neck with her sword to speed up the inevitable beheading. Even with all his Unique Skills, that woman was as close to death with a blade as any could be.

Said woman was also hammering away at Shiv like he was a raw piece of iron—and hitting him with actual strikes as well. She could still hit him harder, but not without destroying more of the Gate.

“Hm,” Roland said. “Rose. I’m going down into the vault for a moment.”

His beloved shot a brief look at him, and her mouth opened. “You’re getting the Regret, aren’t you?”

“I’m half-considering risking a day-Delve with how much of a beating he’s shrugging off,” Roland replied, half-jokingly. And it was only half because he could hear the Deathless laughing in between the cries of pain and playful mercy.

“That worried, huh?” Rose said. “You know, you never took Harlon this seriously when you sparred.”

That comment brought a swell of pain, lament, and pure, ineffable rage to Roland. “He’s not him. Not even close. Harlon… I…” Roland shook his head. “Harlon would look at that boy now, and something in him would break. Because a part of him always pretended to be harder than he was, even when things hurt him bad.”

“And Shiv just is,” Rose finished.

“And Shiv just is,” Roland agreed.

Because beyond the training, the instinct, the experience, and the skills, some people were just made for violence and struggle.

The Starhawk saw it in Roland.

And now Roland saw it in Shiv—more than anyone else he knew, even Adam.

Roland closed his eyes.