Headed by a Snake

Chapter 413 Hatred

?Athanasius Mors was getting tired of being smacked around by a giant skeleton-bear.

He was running low on mana. It was hard to think. It was hard to breathe.

Broken ribs, maybe.

It was the hardest he'd ever been pushed since being reborn.

The whole ordeal annoyed the shite out of him.

His two opponents were a blind man hiding in a cage and a coward who was only good at flying around the arena. They weren't even Gold-Rank.

He and Zenon weren't outclassed or outskilled... They just had that stupid shadow barrier...

Maybe he should have paid attention when Tycon deconstructed that seal in the mountains... Or not. That was that guy's specialty-- and it wasn't even especially good.

Tanamar would stick to his own skills.

Like timing.

He took a quick step to the left, barely avoiding a swipe from Gruffydd's claw. The attack smashed into the sands, but allowed Tanamar to smash the blade of his holy lance against the bear's ribcage.

It was a solid hit. He'd had a few solid hits. His arrow attacks were useless on the shadow barrier and, while his holy lance was stronger in his hands than thrown, it was more damaging to break bones than not work at all against Gruffydd's ?Mana Ward?.

The skeletal creature brought down the force and fury of its snapping maws. Tanamar absolutely did not want to get caught in that thing's teeth.

He brought his lance up, jamming it into the creature's jaws. The bear crunched down... leaving him with two broken halves of his lance and almost biting his hands off at his wrists.

Then the creature retracted his bear arms.

Flame take him, he was an idiot.

When he let his guard down in that brief moment, he found himself caught in a literal bear hug. His body was being crushed... and he was being bled by the sharp points of bones he'd broken himself.

"Hurr... hur hurr.... Hahhh...." The shadows within the skeletal ribcage began to subside... revealing the cackling Gruffydd.

The leather bindings on his eyes and mouth seemed to have fallen off... There was nothing in his eye sockets, like both eyeballs were gouged out, and black smoke wisped out like there was nothing in his brain. As Gruffydd laughed, Tanamar saw that his tongue was missing, as well.

He strained himself, pushing, pulling-- struggling to get free. Rotating his body, he was able to breathe a bit... though he was bleeding out from the fresh stab wounds on his chest.

He was already starting to feel a cold numbness... at this rate, he was going to lose consciousness.

But he was confident he'd be able to go out in a blaze of glory.

Tanamar whistled, "You are one ugly motherf*cker."

Gruffydd stopped laughing, his expression turning into a sneer... If the man could talk, he'd probably say something like 'yOu'Ve LoSt!! wHaT couLd YoU poSsSssibLy dOoOoo??'

Trash.

He didn't even realize his shield had gone down.

Tanamar clenched his right fist, "?Scatter Lance.?"

The two halves of his broken weapon shattered into a dozen fragments of silvery mana. Frozen in time for a brief instant, Gruffydd's raised both of his shaved eyebrows as if he saw exactly what was coming. All at once, the mana rushed through the skeletal cage, bursting in bright lights as it struck the unguarded man.

"AHHHHH!!!" Tanamar screamed, pushing his legs off of the bear. Finally freeing himself... he landed with his back against the hard sand.

Gods damn it... He tried to struggle to his feet, but it was no use. The best he could do was lift himself up to see his staggered opponent.

He thought he could finally make something happen... but he had taken too much damage to be any use.

...

Centurion Zenon Skyreaper felt the hot breath of Maboc as the Riftwalker whispered in his ear, "Do not be a *fool*, Tyrion...

"I can feel what you are trying to do... You're desperate... clinging to vestiges of hope..." Maboc's voice lowered to a predatory growl... "If you ignite the last of your mana, you will die. Close your eyes. Sleep. You have lost."

Lies. Deceit. Zenon would trust nothing that spilled from the mouth of a god-forsaken heretic.

The only way he could prove his righteousness... was to win.

He threw his head backward, the satisfaction of breaking of Maboc's nose almost making the pain worthwhile. Zenon smashed his elbow into the man's chest, allowing him to finally break free of his hold. Still weak, Zenon fell to his knees, crawling away like a wounded wolf as he gasped desperately for air.

"You... augh..." Maboc wiped his bloody nose with his wrist, "This changes NOTHING!!"

Turning back, Zenon struggled to his feet. His mana was so low, he was barely able to steady himself. He couldn't think straight... he couldn't see beyond the blur of dark mana flowing through Maboc's body.

But he could still stand. He could still fight.

Something burned in his heart... it hurt. It made him yearn for something... something he so desperately wanted.

Proof... proof that his faith was not wasted.

"FALL!!" Maboc yelled, "?Null Sphere!!?"

Another orb of dark energy sped towards Zenon.

Zenon held out his palm.

"Faith... is my shield."

The headache went away.

Centurion Zenon Skyreaper crushed the ball of dark magic in his hand, tossing the mana dust away like filth.

He reached out his right hand, feeling blood and mana burning in his veins... it was like his very life force blazed like a dying star.

This... this was the power he needed. Power derived from his unforgiving god... he willed it into forming violent, cutting winds, encasing his white-knuckled fist.

Zenon ground his teeth together, "Fury... is... my SWORD!!"

And then the heretic knew fear.

Maboc tossed another one of his pathetic spheres... and another...

They struck Zenon's body... staggered him...

He would not fall-- his BODY may break, but his WILL would not be denied!!

The lands could be torn asunder by fire and steel! The bodies of the screaming dead could pile into the thousands!! But sworn by the ETERNAL FLAME, a true son of Tyrion will NEVER BREAK!!!

He pointed his left palm at Maboc's neck... "HERESY... must be met... with HATRED!!!"

Fueled by hate, molded by man, magic swirled around the witch, spinning him in the air and tossing him forward... into Zenon's grasp. He lifted Maboc high above the sands, his hand a vice-grip crushing the Riftwalker's soft, mortal throat.

"AND MY HATRED!!! KNOWS!! NO!!! BOUNDS!!!!"