Aeres Academy - Chapter 13 preview

The passage truly was as short as it had seemed, leaving me with little time to ready myself. Not that I would ever have been ready for what I saw when I made it to the end. The shock of spotting the knockers within triggered an automatic reflex and I released my hold on my vault, flooding my body with the healing aspect and fixing even the minor aches and pain I had held off dealing with. 

Control reasserted itself and I clamped down on the vault and stared at the waiting trio. 

Only three knockers and I was sweating bullets. 

For a moment, I almost turned and ran before I resolved myself to stay. Just because the knockers were larger – just about five eight – and stronger – built like little gymnasts – and armed – a nasty looking, curved and chipped sabre, a spiked club and most problematic, a short horned bow – did not mean I should run.

Even if it made sense.

For a long moment, I hovered at the edge of the cavern, this one two thirds the size of previous. Bigger than a boxing ring easily, but it still felt a lot smaller with so many within. I hesitated, good sense warring with my desire to keep pushing.

However, this was not some video game, these knocker variants did not have aggro distance. They spotted me, and once it was clear I was not running, the one with the bow raised and loosed the arrow it had on the string.

I threw myself to the ground in a forward roll, the hiss and then subsequent crack and splinter as the arrow impacted the wall all too close. I knew I only imagined the feel of the arrow crossing above my back, but it mattered little as I rose to my feet after the roll.

Tumbling training – very important in martial arts if you get thrown a lot.

On my feet, pushing forward, ducking sideways so that the archer had to shift position to get a clear shot. I noticed, idly, that the knocker had two more arrows in hand, the second already being set to the string, the third hanging loosely from their fingers.

Nasty looking monsters these fellas, their clothing a mix of fur and leather. The melee pair before me closed the distance even as I sought to do the same, the archer’s frustration growing as I angled my body so that his friends got in the way of his shot. He scuttled sideways too, making our motion a sort of opposite spirals. I had to say, the entire situation was a living game of dodgeball or chopping.

In this case, the ball was a deadly arrow that could end my life immediately rather than one that would stain a school uniform or leave a bruise behind.

Adrenaline – controlled till now – was flooding through me, speeding my movements but also making them jerky. My vision kept threatening to narrow, my breathing to speed up as my body went from controlled aggression to outright panic. Only years of training learning to handle this kind of dump, to control my breathing and my mind kept me in control.

Why was I panicking? Simple. These were variants – three of them. They weren’t bosses, but were close enough that it made no difference. Add in the weapons and bow, and I knew I was at a severe disadvantage. Even if I’d fought more knockers even moments ago, there was a marked difference between fighting a bunch of grade fives and three full grown adults.

Plans, angles, ideas all collated as the first knocker reached me, the sabre swung in a sideways angled chop. No peasant’s blow here, but not much better. Still, it had one advantage – it was fast. I spun to the side, felt the blade cut across my upper arm and shoulder, snag and catch at the leather before it tore through the unenchanted material into the flesh beneath open. 

A spinning backfist to the back of his head was my counter, not enough to kill but enough to distract and disrupt. Rather than wait, I was already letting my legs bend, dropping low after the impact and turning head and body to the side. Not a moment too soon, the archer finding a small opening and releasing his arrow. 

It crossed the distant with a buzz, one that smarted as it tore through space and cut me open. I felt the slap of waggling arrow body, my eyes smarted, but I kept moving. Knees on the ground, sliding on rough ground, almost crawling as I swung leg up and around so that I kept kneeling as I tried to keep low and in-between the monsters.

One more arrow.

I was pass the sabre wielder, the creature staggering back upright but behind me. That left Clubber Lang here, and he swung straight down, even as I started to rise. I had no way to dodge, so I crossed my arms and blocked with both hands. The club – edged with little teeth – punched through the simple hardened bracers I wore, sharp teeth and twisted metal entering the flesh beneath. Left arm on top of right, it took the worse of the damage.

When the monster yanked his club back, he took parts of me, blood, veins, bits of muscle and some of the leather. I screamed, even as I took the momentum and surge of adrenaline to rise the rest of the way. Right arm slipped under, palm against the bottom portion of the club, right past where Clubber Lang’s own grip was. I kept pushing, right over his head as I rose to my full height. Opponent off-balance, his body stretched like a ballroom dance partner by my hands, I slammed my forehead into his nose.

Control over my vault loosen, healing redirected into my body in a rush. I’m not Deadpool though, the pain and the healing factor nowhere near as fast. Instead, it stopped the bleeding, helped replace the blood I loss and begins the process of papering over the wounds. More importantly, it gave me a flood of energy, reducing the fatigue and helped to wash away some of the side-effects of the adrenaline dump. 

Rational thought leaked in, enough that I dropped low again and turned the body with me. The last arrow lodged in the knocker’s body, before I tossed him aside.

Another thing Hollywood gets wrong – arrows don’t necessarily kill immediately. Mostly, it leaves their victims thrashing in agony, as they tried to get the wood stake out of their body. Especially when the arrow comes from such a crudely built weapon. 

I manage to make two steps before Sabre cuts into my back. Notched and burred weapon still managed to cut through my leather armour, but the thick shirt beneath helped with the attack. It still opened muscles and skin beneath, the ragged weapon even more painful because of the way it was shaped. 

Had to ignore Sabre though, as I charged the archer who was reaching for his quiver, had his hand on fletchings already. 

A half-dozen feet. Nowhere enough time for them to nock and fire. As I neared, the bow came up. Something flickered around the creature, magic making use and I struck the bow aside, I felt the half-drawn weapon’s projectile strike me in the gut. I hated skills.

Pain, radiated out from my stomach. I had no time to check how badly injured I was, as I reached the creature finally. 

Thumb and forefinger splayed open to make contact with their neck – right at their trachea and Adam’s apple. Spread apart, I shoved and took the creature off-balance. Took its brain offline as I forced it to keep its balance. Kept shoving, at a near dead run until the cavern wall loomed.

Back of head met unyielding stone, and the arrow they had grasped at some point stopped moving as they stopped twisting it. Dazed, concussed, I cared little. My grip shifted, bottom of my palm met overdeveloped jaw, knocker fur coarse and smelly. Back of head met wall again, this time with greater force.

I only needed one. I let it go, dropped along with the corpse, brought my arms back together, stomach hurting with each breath, each motion. Sabre’s horizontal cut hissed over my head, clipped a few strands of hair as I squatted.

Since I was down, I chose to keep staying there. Passing lunge, arms wrapped under their legs in a double leg takedown. Body met ground, no attempt at cushinoning the blow. He was rattled, but it was not enough, so I took mount. Grabbed the sword, idly noted I’d broken – or pulled out – the arrow in my body as I wrapped their sword arm up with one hand. Used the other to pound their face into the ground with my fist. 

I felt bones break – mine and his – as Sabre rocked. Something in my gloves tore as it caught a tooth but I ignored it to finish the fight. Blood splashing with each blow, the only noise in the room the drumming of the monster’s feet and my own harsh breathing. 

When I was certain they were not going to stand, I stopped. Without thinking, I stripped the sword from the unconscious creature’s hand, winced at the pain in my stomach. Luckily, the half-drawn attack had only penetrated the first few layers of my defense, lodged in my stomach but my abs of steel had protected me. Mostly by being there.

Trust me, 99.9% of the time, arrow beats muscle. 

I let the vault roar open, guided the energy to stop the bleeding in my back, in my side, in my stomach. I patched it all together as I scanned the surroundings, noted that Clubber Lang was still alive, if very unhappy and made sure to finish him off with the knife.

Yes, there was a sabre – chipped and beaten as it might be. I was more likely to cut myself than the knocker by using it, so I used what I knew. By that point, the majority of the bleeding had stopped and I was no longer in danger of expiring that second.

Then, and only then, did I relax.

Three large knockers – either the chief’s guards or the chief and his guards. Definitely this floor’s boss, or the prelude to the boss. There was one more route out of here, a larger opening to the left but I was done. Even if I could heal myself back to fighting fit, I no longer had the time to waste.