Omen wailed from above, its cry a shockwave of force racing outward. Clusters of soil floated into the air on their own; half ignited into blazing embers before crumbling to ash, while the other half turned gray and disintegrated into dust.
Dix bolted sideways before anyone else, darting straight toward two nearby Evilus grunts. Those grunts stumbled back instinctively.
"What are you all waiting for!? Escape with me, all of you!" he roared, surging even faster while keeping Bell locked in his peripheral vision.
Olivas stood frozen for a moment, his gaze boring into Dix's retreating back with furrowed brows. But as he watched Dix drag one grunt along in a display of genuine camaraderie, his expression smoothed.
He cast a single glance at Bell, still standing atop Mahoraga's wheel, and ground his teeth. After a second, his shoulders slumped.
Breaking his stance, he surged toward a cluster of dozens of Violas. "Cover me. Now."
Hearing his call, the Violas launched forward, their sticky, root-like appendages slapping the ground as they dragged themselves toward him.
Bell watched all of that happen, and hurled his flaming sword in Dix's direction. Dix pivoted on the spot without looking, swinging his spear in a wide arc. His weapon's shaft clashed against the flame sword's blade, sparks erupting from their point of contact.
The impact drove Dix's boots deep into earth, gouging furrows in soil. Loose mud climbed over his feet, burying him ankle-deep and locking him in place.
Veins bulged across Dix's neck as he used his entrenched legs as a lever, leaning his entire body forward to halt the sword's momentum.
His spear groaned, metal shaft denting from the force. A deep stench of steel burning hit Dix's nose, followed by a deep clang, finally shoving that sword away.
He had no time to catch his breath. Dix snapped his gaze downward to his knees, planted in the dirt like roots, then up at Omen's wings, which had already reached Daedalus.
For a moment, he just stared.
"Dix! Don't worry, we'll get you out of here!" The two Evilus grunts from earlier grabbed his arms, trying to haul him free. Their voices snapped him out of his trance, and he gently slipped from their grip.
"There's no need to keep trying, boys," he said, hanging his head. His hair fell over his shattered goggles, obscuring the eerie shine of his eyes beneath.
"Dix, we still have time. Hold on."
Hearing the grunt's plea, Dix raised his hands, resting one on each of their shoulders.
"I'll remember you both..." he whispered, too quiet for them to hear.
"Huh? Dix, what are you—"
Crack.
Dix wrenched their shoulders inward, smashing their heads together.
Blood burst forth as their skulls caved in, both bodies going limp. Without hesitation, Dix fell onto his back, dragging those two corpses down with him. They sprawled across his chest, forming a makeshift shield.
Bell turned his focus away from him and glanced toward Olivas. The creature had already buried himself beneath a writhing heap of Violas.
Finally, Bell looked up at Omen. The Divine General followed his gaze, its wide grin receding slightly.
"Friend... let's meet again later."
Bell's words were drowned out by a detonation that shook this sector of Orario, its tremors reaching all the way to Babel. Flames bloomed outward from impact, filling half the crater they stood in before expanding across streets, houses, and entire districts in a tide of heat.
A civilian watched the flames surge toward his window and stumbled backward, his spine colliding with a wall. He threw his arms over his head, eyes snapping shut, breath hitching.
He felt the heat wash over him, searing his throat, muscles locking in anticipation of the pain. But none came. He opened a single eye cautiously, watching flames dance around his home without setting it alight.
Some distance away, a wave of fire washed over a cluster of Violas. They barely had time to throw their heads back before dissolving into gray ash in those flames' wake.
On the other side of Daedalus, a flash of darkness fell and lifted in the blink of an eye, as if a brief night had passed before sunlight returned.
Except every Evilus grunt and Viola had vanished alongside that darkness, leaving no signs of struggle behind.
Daedalus was engulfed in an intersecting dome for three long seconds before everything settled.
At the center of the crater, Bell walked toward a cluster of half-melted Violas. Their bodies had melded together into a single heap of squirming roots and limbs.
Behind him, Mahoraga moved toward Dix's location.
A hand tore free from within that cluster of Violas, dripping with a sticky, green fluid. Its fingers closed around a Viola's hair-like appendage and wrenched, dragging the rest of his body out of that melted heap.
Olivas.
He stood there, breathing hard, viscous fluid sliding off his frame in thick sheets. His eyes found Bell across the crater, narrowing with the first flash of genuine seriousness.
Bell stopped walking.
For one breath, neither moved.
Then the atmosphere between them split.
BOOM!
Olivas met him halfway. The crater's edge caved inward where their forearms collided, a spiderweb of cracks racing around them. Bell's forearm shifted to absorb the impact, steam screaming off his skin as his heels carved twin trenches, shoving him backward.
Bell let his upper body fall back, spine bending past its limit with continuous cracking bursts. More bursts erupted as his spine mended just as fast, and he whipped it forward.
Olivas was already moving.
BOOM!
The world blurred into a stuttering film. A collapsed watchtower flickered on his left—a shattered fountain on his right—a stall—a wall—a door—an inn. Daedalus' geometry became a gray smear of disjointed snapshots.
Ground beneath Bell's feet flattened into a treadmill of rubble and stone, each foothold lasting a heartbeat before he was past it, gravel spraying from his sides.
Bell threw a punch. Olivas swayed, just his head, and the fist carved through empty air. Wind pressure alone flipped a fallen wall behind Olivas end over end, shattering it into fine debris.
The counter came instantly, a knee aimed at Bell's ribs. Adjusting his elbow to block, Bell braced. The air between them couldn't take it. It compressed, then broke in a visible ring exploding outward, flinging a row of abandoned market stalls four streets over.
They broke apart and slammed back together before drawing a single breath.
Bell's flaming sword reformed in his grip. He thrust—and Olivas simply wasn't where his blade expected him to be, the creature's three fingers already slapping it aside. His redirected blaze carved a molten trench through a street, bisecting a row of houses; their structures melted, roofs sagging and walls drooping like warm wax.
Olivas grabbed Bell's sword arm at the wrist. Bell grabbed his. They locked.
Both moved simultaneously.
Above them, the sky lagged. Clouds that had drifted lazily a moment ago were now tearing past, shredded by the gusts their exchange generated. A single bird, still fleeing the shockwaves streaked past a distant spire—then it was directly overhead, then gone behind them, its scream arriving a full second late, distorted and stretched.
Olivas headbutted him.
Bell's vision went white. His grip loosened for a fraction of a second, and Olivas wrenched free, spinning a full rotation to drive a knee into Bell's temple.
The hit connected. Bell's feet launched off ground. Wind roared past his ears, or maybe it tore, ripping his sleeve open and stealing any breath he tried to take. The earlier crater flashed past, lines of white and red clashing in bursts.
A street. A rooftop. Another rooftop. The skyline of Daedalus spun—no, he was spinning, tumbling, the sun a ribbon of light across his periphery.
Get your feet under you. Haven't you adapted to falling by now?
He caught himself.
Both heels clamped into a wall four stories high. His horizontal momentum threw burning sparks from his boots, leaving two jagged scars across the masonry.
Bell spun a full circle, converting backward momentum into forward torque while still sliding horizontally along a vertical wall.
His fist shot forward.
Olivas's palm was already there, having crossed the distance in a single blink.
Knuckles met palm.
Both blasted away in opposite directions. Tiles tore free from the street, twisting in a whirlwind of air chasing one silhouette. Layers of paint and concrete peeled off from nearby buildings, rushing toward the other silhouette alongside a curtain of dust.
Bell crashed into a third floor wall of another building.
Olivas slammed back-first into marble in a narrow, dark street.
Silence fell for a moment.
Then, both walked out from opposite ends.
Bell jerked his elbow joint, aligning it back into place.
Olivas pressed a hand to his broken rib and punched it back into place.
Reaching up, Bell tightened Hestia's ribbon around his man-bun.
His fingers froze.
The seam there was slightly torn.
It must have happened during their exchange.
"..."
For five whole seconds, Bell didn't move.
He just stared at Olivas.
Then, he opened his mouth.
"Olivas... clench your teeth."
Olivas had barely tilted his hea—
BOOOOM!
His cheek deformed, teeth breaking free, jaw caving in—
And he was blasted through building after building.
Only halting at the other end of Daedalus.
...
..
.
***
[300 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter]
[8 chapters ahead on P@tr3on = [email protected]/Not_Aaryan]
...
[Authors Thoughts]
Now... some people will ask, why didn't Bell fold Olivas instantly? I need to clarify that in any life and death fight, the first exchange is always probing, and the one who wins is the person who has more trump cards stored in their pockets.
Oh and do tell? How was this fight? Generally, writing a fight scene is like directing something in a thin space, explaining physicality mixed with surrounding effects. But this time, I've expanded on the surroundings and used them as weapons, which is how real fights are actually written.
Have a goodnight everyone! I'm going sleep. See you all tomorrow.