B3 Chapter 375: Fog, pt. 6

The heat within him grew, a burgeoning pressure that would ignite.

Not quite yet though.

Kaius ran, toxic fog billowing in his wake. He had a grin plastered on his face as he turned from side to side, listening for approaching dangers. Time had long since lost meaning for him, but with his constant efforts to pierce the gloom, Truesight had grown — pushing back the darkness by over a stride.

The simple dirt trail he had been following was long gone — as was most of the grass. Now he waded through an endless ocean of black, leaping over chasms from island to island of floating ground.

Pumping his feet, another edge tore out of the haze — so close he barely had a moment to react. Kaius drove his heel down strong, legs burning as he launched himself up and out. Laughter spilled from his throat as his shaggy hair billowed in the wind, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness for the heartbeat it lasted.

Danger screamed in his mind — above.

Spell-powered force detonated behind him, shoving him forwards. Expedient Shunt blasted back the fog, creating a bubble of empty air. A head-sized boulder tore through it a moment later, rocketing down into the chasm below him.

The flying knives weren’t alone anymore — bastard of a trial had decided to throw bloody meteors in the mix too. Even he wasn’t insane enough to try and parry one of those.

Grass punched out of the haze, visible only a handful of strides before impact. Kaius hit the ground hard, burning off his momentum by crouching low. He dashed forwards, blade blurring as he tore through flying knife after flying knife, the squeals of tortured metal filling the air.

It was tough, but not anywhere near as difficult or impossible as the Trial of Obstinance. Physically, the feats were fine enough. What really mattered was his resources. His health was slowly draining away as it fought back against the toxic miasma that overpowered Rapid Adaptation and sealed cut after cut of blows he could not quite reach. Slowly and steadily, his spells were draining away.

At this point, even the physical exertion was a problem — he’d taken to only using Mercurial Reversal in the worst of circumstances when he simply wasn’t fast enough to otherwise knock aside a projectile that would otherwise injure something critical.

Yet Animus pulsed in tune with his Bloodsong, growing ever less clouded with every beat of his heart.

Rotten bloody roots, he was having the time of his life. The feeling of being forced to pull out all the stops, of throwing everything he had against a challenge to see if he was enough. He loved it. Always had, always would.

It wasn’t the danger, though the danger brought a visceral immediacy that forced him to hone himself to the highest degree; to immerse himself fully, free of distraction. He wasn’t even bloody sure if it was about winning. If it was, surely he would have wanted to slow down at times? To rest and enjoy the fruits of his labour?

That had never happened — even though he enjoyed his piece, there was always part of him that felt restless; that needed the struggle. Victory was sweet, and a catharsis that he enjoyed, but it wasn’t why he loved the fight.

It wasn’t about the power either. Strength was a valuable thing, and brought him what others could only dream of. But even if the power he held was what many considered the prize — what drove them beyond all else in their attempts to seize it — for him it was only a means to an end. A key that granted him access to more — more danger, more struggle, and more heat.

It was the challenge that he craved. The weight and pressure that forced him to be his best, and brought out the hungry joy in his heart. It was the rush of blood in his veins, and the burning gasp in his lungs. The fuel to his furnace, it drove him to push harder, climb higher — past even his own limits, no matter the cost.

He’d known that — felt it with every revelation that had come from Mentis and Corporus.

The question was why.

At first, when he’d toiled under his father, he’d thought it was to make him proud.

In the depths, alone, he’d thought it was for the primal needs of survival; later, when Porkchop had joined him, by a need to improve and escape.

When Mentis had revealed itself, that had changed — he’d thought it a lofty goal. One of learning; impassioned dedication to improve so that he wouldn’t put his team at risk.

Corporus had revealed new facets, of course. That there was something deep to it: that he needed to rail against something. He’d searched for answers — wanted their to be some lofty ideal that he held himself to.

Some higher standard: something reasonable.

Now, the answer stared him in the face. There was nothing reasonable about it — no grand and lofty ambitions that pushed him endlessly into the fire.

Why did he risk it all, day after day?

Because it was fun. Feeling his sweat drip as his blade weighed more than a dozen oxen in his hand; the multitude of different dangers that loomed, all vying for his attention as he had to split himself equally; the wind in his hair as he flew through the power of spell, and the warmth on his skin as he drenched himself in an iron tang.

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The ground beneath his feet quaked, and Kaius howled with glee. That was new!

Seeing a glint out of the corner of his eye, he dropped low — stabilising his centre of mass as he cut up into a rising slash. A Father’s Gift shrieked as it tore into another flying blade.

A pin prick of dread jabbed into the back of his knee. Awkward in its positioning, he knew he wouldn’t be able to parry. Energy surged through him as Uncanny Dodge boosted his speed. His knee dropped inwards — an awkward position for a real fight, practically inviting an enemy to dislocate the joint with a stomp.

In his current situation, it saved his leg. A handspan of honed and enchanted steel punched straight through the outer edge of his joint, spraying blood in the air. Bone, muscle, and sinew were torn apart with equal ease. Kaius grunted, but even the blinding surge of pain couldn’t blunt the smile on his face.

He forced himself to move — driving his weight onto his injured leg as he lunged forwards. Flesh boiled under the power of his health, but it wasn’t an instantaneous recovery. Only through Corporus and Lesser Regeneration could he push through the wounds.