Chapter 90: Hidden Loot

Letting out a roar, Porkchop barrelled towards the champion. Its entire existence offended him. The unnatural melding of discordant body parts, the violent smell, the way its eyes slid over its flesh to track him, the chittering smirks. Everything.

He spotted the mouth that had vomited on him. Despite having slid across the mutagenic body of the Champion, it was given away by the yellow trickle of bile that dribbled from its thin lips. Blades of mana flashed into existence and he drove his claws deep into the flesh surrounding the mouth.

He fell into a flurry of blows, the thick digging claws of his people well suited to tearing out chunks of flesh with every blow. In moments he had dismantled the mouth, carving an elbow deep pit in the flesh of the abomination.

It’s core pulsed green again, a mouth leaving a wake in the meat behind it as it rushed across the surface of the monster to aim at his chest. This time he was ready, diving to the side as another compressed stream of partially digested offal and stinking bile sailed past him to splash against the ground of the pit.

Porkchop rushed back in, suppressing his growing nausea. Swipe after swipe he tore into the Champion, ripping out chunks of its flesh with his claws and mana blades. It tried to resist. Mouths stretching out to snap at him, tendrils of flesh elongating to connect the maws to the greater whole.

He dismantled it bit by bit, cleaving through exposed flesh to sever the grotesque voids. The mound of meat quickly became pockmarked with the evidence of his assault, red fluid congealing into a sealing gel as the wounds regenerated missing flesh.

The bottom of the stone hole where he fought the Champion had turned into a charnel pit, stone bricks covered in weeping fluid, scattered chunks of flesh, stray eyes, and spilled bile. Porkchop tuned it all out. Fully focused on dealing with his foe.

He felt confident, secure in the knowledge that there was little the Champion could do to harm him. The stinging acidic burn of the bile hurt, but it was no real threat. Sure, it might have been a nightmare for any combatant that fought by whittling their opponents down with a thousand nicks. That had never been his style, there was something so visceral about tearing your enemies apart with your own claws. Hearing the gnashing teeth of their despair as you tore them to shreds.

Another mouth slid across the sagging body of the Cystic Failure, spraying another gout of bile towards him. It seemed to have learned, the mouth gouging its chunky payload as it moved, hurling bile in a wide arc. Disgusting creature. He wouldn’t be able to dodge.

He didn’t try to.

Snapping his muzzle shut so he could live his life without the knowledge of what abomination vomit tasted like, Porkchop launched himself forward through the caustic fluid. He grit his teeth as the bile misted his face and back, sizzling as it ate its way through his fur and skin. As soon as he was through, a howl of fury erupted from his throat.

The offending mouth didn’t last long under the ministrations of his claws.

Despite removing enough meat to entirely rebuild the Champion, it was still almost entirely whole. A fight of attrition, its regeneration was more than enough to keep up with the pace of his attacks. Worse even than the twisted teratomas, Porkchop could physically feel its flesh fighting him as he burrowed into the beast. Surging and roiling as it regrew at a visible rate.

Three grasping mouths converged on him, forcing him back from the rent he had gouged into the abominations side.

Mana pulsed, different this time. It was using its other skill.

Eyes slid over the corpulent mass, converging to lock their gaze on him. They started to weep, tears of yellow bile floating in front of the Champion to amass into a globe of acid. Porkchop fell deep into the flow of battle, throwing himself to the side in the hope the eyes wouldn’t be able to track him. He snarled as the eyes ripped across the flesh, the spell anchored in front of them.

He would need to dodge. Trusting that this skill would only be as caustic as the vomit would be the height of stupidity.

Mana built in the core of the Champion slowly as the orb grew in size, first as big as an apple, then growing larger than his head.

Porkchop raced back. If he couldn’t evade the skill, he would have to give himself enough room and space to dodge. He’d need it with his bulk.

Before he could get more than thirty strides away, the Cystic Failure released the growing deluge of its mana. The caustic orb raced forwards, launching from its starting point directly towards him at a breakneck pace.

He moved.

Throwing himself to the side, Porkchop kept his eyes locked on the skill. He just made it, the globe of acid missing him by less than a claw length. Even then, the fumes it let off ravaged his barding, metal plates sizzling as they rusted in seconds.

Seeing the damage that mere proximity had done to his armour, Porkchop blanched. Not so harmless after all.

No matter, a little danger was expected in a fight. He raced back in, tearing into the Champion with renewed vigour. While his natural mana sight was far less acute than his brother’s True Sight, he could still see the mana in the beast had gutted out. The monster was clearly focused on regeneration and staying power. No matter the natural talents of recovery of its decidedly unnatural body, he knew that the level of healing the monster displayed would be impossible without most of its build devoted to it’s health stats. It had to be out of mana.

Secure in his faith that he didn’t have to worry about any more skills, Porkchop continued his work of ripping out chunks of the creature’s flesh. It tried to fight back, but with its ungainly form there was little it could do to stop him.

Death was an inevitability. It was all about persistence now.

After what felt like an hour of hard work, Porkchop finally got the notification he had been waiting for. Tearing out four eyes with a single swipe, the monster shuddered. The sticky caps of vital fluid that surrounded its wounds released all at once, blood and alchemy pouring from the accumulated wounds. The Cystic Failure sagged, impossible biology trying to sustain its life without the bolstering power of its Health. It couldn’t.

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It died.

**Ding! You have slain a Champion: Cystic Failure – level 28 Caustic Biohorror!**

As he watched the ball of meat deflate, Porkchop roared his victory to the ceiling, the sound echoing off the hard stone and amplifying his fervour.

…

Kaius gnawed on his cheek as he watched his friend battle the Champion. Every near miss he had to hold himself back from launching himself off the stairs and diving into the fray. He knew Porkchop had it, that it was a good match up. Hells, the thing could barely touch him. Despite that, it felt wrong to simply sit back and watch his friend fight alone.