Roaring Lightning and the Porter's Betrayal
html, body { margin:0; padding:0; } Porter: Johann42
The hot lightning dissolved in his blood screamed wildly.
Like a beast's roar, like a tyrant's bellow, like a raging storm.
Scorching heat pierced his heart, heating his cold reason in a furnace until it glowed red-hot. It was the moment when the exquisite balance between reason and emotion tipped toward raw feeling.
The stigma on his right hand began to pulse with a faint glow. It wasn't entirely familiar, yet not wholly alien either. When he'd unlocked the gem-like power hidden within the stigma before, Vints had felt this exact throbbing.
Fury born of camaraderie granted him new strength. From ancient myths, the mighty power of the giant god who once held up the heavens seeped into every fiber of Vints's muscles.
The nature of thunder was strength and swiftness.
In his previous awakening, Vints had drawn out its swiftness. Now, he grasped a new facet of thunder's might—heavy as a mountain, firm as rock, powerful as a giant.
His entire body tingled like it had been electrocuted. But it wasn't pain. It felt as if his body had become one with the lightning itself.
"I won't forgive you!"
The glinting eyes of Vints locked onto his foe, the hero shrouded in black flames. The hero realized in that brief instant that Vints had grown another layer stronger.
The crackling electricity around him intensified. The invisible pressure bearing down on his lungs was far greater than before.
It was obvious the man had awakened by sublimating his comrade's pain into hatred for his enemy.
But he couldn't back down either. There was no room to retreat. The foothold granted to him was a tiny sliver, not even enough for a single step. To expand it and seize a new life, he had to kill everyone here.
'Those two who ran... I carved deep. Even if they escape, they'll bleed out and die.'
Only one opponent remained before him. But this one didn't look easy.
In that split-second of hesitation, his foe vanished from sight. It was a fleeting moment, barely enough time for a breath, but more than sufficient for Vints to slip from the hero's gaze.
Crackle!
A vivid trail of lightning lingered where Vints had stood. Thick lines like veins branched out in all directions, unleashing thunderous power. His very movement had become an attack technique.
"I won't lose in speed!"
The hero swung his sword forward in a wide arc. Precision didn't matter. His foe was ahead somewhere, and sweeping everything in front would suffice.
"Hell Flame Slash!"
Flames worthy of their hellish name surged like waves, carrying brutal heat that engulfed Vints. Even unfocused, their destructive force was terrifying.
The warehouse, built of weathered wooden planks, began to char and spew acrid toxic fumes. The superheated air expanded, shattering the poorly maintained walls with explosive force. Any ordinary person would have their organs cooked with a single breath.
'Lightning Shield!'
Even the power from his awakening struggled against the hero's waves of infernal fire. Vints steadied his breathing and channeled his strength defensively. Lightning etched spiderwebs in the air, forming a physical barrier. It wasn't enough to fully block the hellish winds, but it mitigated their fury.
Sizzle!
His flesh began to burn. The hand gripping his sword screamed in agony. The warehouse blazed, toxic smoke from the wood choking his lungs. Even Vints, no stranger to harsh battles, found this environment alien.
"Getting cocky!?"
The black-flamed sword slashed from upper left to lower right, carving a diagonal line across Vints's body. Despite unleashing a major technique, the hero's speed remained blistering.
Vints raised his sword to block. But the flame blade exceeded expectations. Normally, the hero's sword maintained flickering flames in blade form.
As Vints moved to parry, the flames twisted freely, elongating into a long, supple curve. If Johann had been there, he'd have thought of the serpentine blades from wuxia tales.
The hero's sword gaped wide like a maw and swallowed Vints whole. But in speed, Vints held the edge.
What the flames cleaved was Vints's afterimage. His evasion was so swift it tricked the hero into thinking he'd landed the cut.
"Fast as a rat!"
Time wasn't on his side. With his ace attack failing, impatience gnawed at the hero. If his left hand remained, he might have bitten his nails.
The warehouse fire raged too fiercely. Someone was bound to notice soon. At latest, outsiders would arrive within ten minutes.
And unlike the flames devouring the building, the choking fumes weren't his ally. They were neutral—a threat to Vints and him alike.
'How long can I maintain this power...? Even stretching it, five minutes is the limit.'
Just using it like this had likely shaved twenty years off his lifespan.
'It's do or die anyway. If I let him escape here, I'm finished.'
The situation was dire, but his resolve burned undimmed. Strange, with death clutching at his sleeve, his will to live blazed brighter than ever.
They said flames shone brightest before extinguishing. He was that flame. And he burned.
"Come on!"
"Hah...! Hah...!"
Leaving the blazing warehouse behind, the priest and mage barely escaped. Strangely, pain was minimal. Only a hazy consciousness remained.
"Priest..."
"Mage! Stay with me! I have your severed arm!"
Luck was on their side. The attack had cleanly amputated the limb and cauterized the wound perfectly. The initial shock nearly killed her, but surviving it was a boon—the stump had clotted, stemming the blood.
The priest gripped the mage's shoulder firmly. The mage's body, dry as tinder, seemed ready to collapse. As the physically stronger one, she had to hold them steady.
They could heal at the church soon enough.
Hurrying along, a figure entered their view. Someone they knew.
Today, the heavens favored them. She'd pray properly to the goddess later.
"Porter!"
"You two—what happened!?"
"Damn it! That's what we want to ask! That wanted criminal's no joke!"
"Are you alright?"
"Do I look alright!? Ngh! Feels like ice picks stabbing my side."
No exaggeration—she was holding back screams.
Seeing a familiar face loosened her tension, unleashing pent-up cries like a burst dam.
"Urgh! Porter, no time for chit-chat! Call the guards... no, the adventurer's guild... hell, everyone you can! See that burning warehouse!? Hero's fighting the criminal inside!"
"What about you two!?"
"Me and mage'll head to church first! Wounds are a bit deep, but..."
"Ah! Can't do that."
Slash!
Johann sliced the priest's flank. She hadn't even seen what grazed her side.
No pain. But her soul felt yanked from her body. Like a toppling haystack, the priest's body slowly tilted.
Her hefty frame hit the ground with a thud!. The mage she'd supported collapsed too.
Chaos flooded the priest's mind.
Why?
Why?
Why?
That was her only thought. But she'd never solve it. Accurate intuition. The next instant, Johann's sword plunged into her wound again.
"Stab here, and it'll look like the hero's wound killed her, right? That hero bastard, can't even handle trash properly. Useless."
The last voice the priest heard. She died unknowing why the porter betrayed her.
Johann dispatched the comatose mage next. No resistance.
"Okay. Two down, last one's..."
Time to deal with the hero. A hound that served its purpose had no value alive.
The warehouse encircling the two was gone. Roaring thunder had shattered walls; flowing hellfire had melted the roof.
Each clash of black flame sword and blue lightning blade boomed like bombs, hurling debris. Neither fighter was unscathed.
"Hah...! Hah...! Hah...!"
The allotted five minutes neared its end. He'd wondered if burning logs knew their lifespan—now he did. Kindling blazing its final sparks knew its doom. That was him.
"These flames... such a hindrance."
Vints fared no better against the hero. His body was charred like soot-covered embers, hair scorched brittle as dead twigs. He too teetered on collapse, each step a struggle.
Whoever fell first lost. Victory belonged to the enduring.
Clunk!
Vints's sword hit the ground. Gripping it was beyond him now. Desperation fueled endurance—and between them, the hero's burned hotter.
The instant his sword dropped, Vints sensed defeat and closed his eyes. Without willpower anchoring him, his legs buckled.
He knelt, collapsing. Eyes shut, he regretted this foreign land had no salve for his wounds.
"Hahaha! Haha! I win! I won!"
The hero howled in mad laughter.
Driven to hell's brink, he'd seized another chance. The cost was steep—at least twenty years of life, permanent damage from forcing the stigma. Yet he was victor. Fate's goddess hadn't abandoned him.
Laughing wildly, he stepped forward. To finish cleanly, he raised his sword over fallen Vints. And as he swung down—
Slash!
"!?"
His right arm severed. Unlike his left to a man-eating plant's teeth—this was clean. No pain. Not that it brought joy.
The blade didn't stop. Like a striking viper, it curved for his throat. Its wielder was familiar.
"Por..."
Slash!
The hero's head tumbled. Johann sighed softly, turning to Vints. Masking his expression as usual, he spoke in a low, grave tone.
"Vints! You okay!?"