Stormblade 4 C57: Stormstrike (1)

57 - Stormstrike (1)

Quellat had waited.

The Still-Lung Blade was confident in his abilities. He was one of the Placid King’s most trusted assassins, after all—trusted in part due to the nature of his ascension to S-Rank. The Placid King would brook no challengers, unlike that fool, the God of Thunder, or the insipid, idiotic Crone. Quellat had been brought to S-Rank by the power of Paragon cores. Granted, they had all been ones he’d hunted, but all the same, his time of skill growth had ended at the peak of S-Rank.

Quellat didn’t mind. His ascension even that far was remarkable, and to demand more had always seemed a mistake to him.

The Placid King needed this A-Ranker dead. He’d attempted to kill the lightning-blade, but had failed. The fact that his quarry had eluded him gave him some pause. However, that portal would only exit in one place. If Quellat simply waited, one of two things would happen.

Either the lightning-blade would return, or the portal would shut down. Both results were acceptable.

So, Quellat had waited, and sure enough, the lightning-blade had returned. He’d stalked his prey from above as the A-Ranker ran through the deep water. He’d planned his move well, and his sword should have taken his quarry through the spine, letting him see the light leave its eyes.

Instead, a new sword flashed into the lightning-blade’s hand, and it spoke. “I thought I heard you back there, Quellat,” it said.

Kade Noelstra: S-Rank

Quellat stepped back. He needed a moment to reevaluate. If his quarry was indeed S-Rank now, he had to adjust his tactics. A duel would be—

But before he could gain distance, the lightning-blade closed the distance and lunged, and for the first time, Quellat realized that his understanding of power was incomplete—and that, perhaps, his path to S-Rank had done more to hold him back than he’d realized.

◄▼►

Thunderlord’s stance was power incarnate.

Quellat had been stronger than me. It took two lunges to realize that that had changed. The first knocked his sword off-center, and the second, a quarter second later, punched into his shoulder. His Health healed the wound—he was still an S-Rank monster, after all—but he hadn’t even had time to react.

More importantly, I had two Lightning Charges, and my opponent was trapped by the hallway and stairs. There was only one place for him to retreat to.

Down the stairs.

I let him take one step back, then immediately closed the gap and used Stormfall. The speed of my attacks tripled, and Storm’s Blade shimmered as lightning and thunder caused a hollow space in front of it. That collapsed behind it, and the sword slid into Quellat’s arm twice. The collapsing air exploded outward, tearing chunks of tentacle-ridden flesh away. Gouts of salty gore blew from the wounds as his Health and the lightning rapier’s heat worked together to heal the wounds.

That was fine. Quellat wasn’t the real threat here. He was just a roadblock—and more importantly, an opportunity. I had six new moves and a handful of S-Rank spells, and I was ready to start testing them out.

He recovered, and I shifted stances.

Torrentborne. The defensive stance felt like Mistwalk Forms had, but as my free hand drifted behind my back, the Still-Lung Blade’s every move seemed telegraphed. I had three Lightning Charges. One disappeared as an attack so slow it was almost comical shot toward my eye. Lightning Dance. My body transformed into ball lightning, zipping behind Quellat. Storm’s Blade slammed into his head, the flat of the blade connecting even as he whirled and slashed with his own sword.

He was far too slow; I’d already started moving.

Lightning Dance activated again, and I landed behind him. “You’re slow. Your master must be disappointed in you,” I said as he turned again. By the time he’d gotten centered, I’d already used Lightning Dance a third and final time, rematerializing just out of range as the skill cut off.

“Hurry up. I have places to be, and you’re slowing me down.”

He said something. I didn’t make out the words, but the way his eyes narrowed made his intent clear; Quellat was done holding back.

But I wasn’t. Not yet.

As he rushed me, blade punching toward my chest, I sidestepped and parried at the same time. Two Rainfall Charges. Time to test my next move. He attacked again, sword cutting through my neck. I made no move to dodge. Mist Trance activated. My breath caught in my throat as my body, armor, and blade all became immaterial. Not incorporeal like when I’d used the A-Rank version, but immaterial. I could still move. I couldn’t attack, but I could move.

So I did. I sidestepped around Quellat, and when I resolidified, Storm’s Blade’s pommel solidified an inch from the Still-Lung Blade’s head. The crack was audible—and so was the second crack as his jaw snapped shut from the blow.

It wasn’t enough to kill him. But it was enough to confirm a theory: he’d had no idea where I was.

Immaterial included a very temporary invisibility.

Quellat was stunned, but he definitely wasn’t dead. I gave him a moment to recover as I switched stances, this time to Cyclone Forms.

It was time to test out my new spells—and set myself up for some other tricks.

◄▼►

Quellat needed space.

Nothing the lightning-blade had done so far was new. Every skill it had used was something Quellat had either seen in his first skirmish or had heard about from the Placid King’s spies. He’d gone into the fight absolutely certain that what his quarry could do wasn’t enough. But while every skill it had used had been predictable, the speed and power had been more than Quellat was ready to handle.

His half-dozen wounds—stab, airburst, and blunt force—all attested to that fact. In exchange for his Health points, Quellat had achieved…very little.

Fortunately, the lightning-blade seemed content to give him the space he so desperately needed. As he backed down the tunnel and toward a flooded lake of once-molten—and now drowned—brass, he watched carefully and evaluated his opponent.

S-Rank was new. But it wasn’t unbeatable. The question was twofold. First, had his quarry improved enough to gain more than the minimum number of S-Rank skills? If not, had he taken the time for new spells?

Quellat was willing to bet his life that the answer to the first was no. The lightning-blade’s armor had changed. He had new offensive and defensive upgrades. That encompassed three skills, leaving him unlikely to have a fourth. That left the spells, and Quellat was convinced that it wouldn’t matter whether it had new ones. All he needed was an opportunity to break contact and re-engage on his own terms, and he could turn the fight around.

And his quarry was giving it to him.

◄▼►

Quellat slipped away as I pursued. He plunged into the massive pool that had formed in one of the Craftsman’s molten brass reservoirs, and the moment he hit the water, he vanished. I couldn’t see him. Couldn’t sense him. He was gone.

A few hours ago, it would have been the end. I would have had to back off and keep moving to catch up with the S-Rankers. But things had changed. I’d grabbed a handful of spells in the Black Tower.

Two of them were combo pieces, and the third was the finisher. I’d learned from Angelo Lawrence. I’d learned well.

I had two Lightning Charges left, and both went into Rolling Thunder as I stepped onto the catwalk, feet kept dry by an inch of brass grates and nothing else. Then I cast Ariette’s Thunderhead. Twice. The first doubled as Rolling Thunder activated, and three massive storm clouds filled every inch of space between the steaming lake of salt water and the ceiling. Humidity pressed in around me, and I found myself inside the static-charged clouds.

Ariette’s Thunderhead was a simple spell. All it did was increase the amount of potential energy in the air—specifically, the kind of energy a lightning-based spell would use. It wasn’t even a lightning spell, technically.

Three copies of it were enough that every hair on my body stood on end, and tiny flashes of lightning arced through the clouds and touched the lake.

I wasn’t finished yet, though. The second part of the combo was Brendan’s Storm Sigil. As I cast it, Rolling Thunder activated a second time, and all four stormclouds poured their energy into the blue-white circle in front of my outstretched hand. The clouds emptied almost instantly, leaving the room’s air temporarily clear—and leaving an electric taste on my tongue.

Then, with one activation of Rolling Thunder remaining, I cast the finisher.

Three things happened.

First, a fifth copy of Ariette’s Thunderhead re-filled the room and immediately got siphoned into Brendan’s Storm Sigil.

Second, the sigil started to overload from the sheer power contained within.

And third, my spell finished.

It was called Hand of the Thunder God—one last legacy from Eugene. What it did was simple: it consumed potential energy and then directed it outward. The entire combo was about creating as much of that potential energy as possible. In a way, it was also a tribute to Angelo Lawrence, the Light of Dawn, because his combo did something very similar. But unlike his rolling reactor, mine was limited by the amount of that energy I could create in a short time.

Unfortunately for everything around me, Rolling Thunder was massively efficient at creating that energy.

The beam of blue-white lightning that erupted from Brendan’s Storm Sigil was a good twenty feet across, and it wasn’t just a flash of energy, either. Its tip slammed into the saltwater lake, and A gout of steam erupted from the contact point as fifty-thousand-degree energy superheated the water instantly. Then it started to bore through the collapsing saltwater. Thunderous booms shook the room’s walls, and I panned the Hand of the Thunder God across the water, back and forth, until the steam got too thick to see through.

Then, and only then, did the spell finally run out of energy. An orange glow emanated from the depths below the boiling water; I hadn’t just evaporated over half of the lake. I’d also remelted the Craftsman’s pool of brass.

“If you’re done hiding,” I said into the hissing, steam-filled air, “we can finish up here.”

◄▼►

The Placid King had made an error.

Quellat’s mind was torn. His massive tentacle floated near him, gushing salty gore into the water. He’d tried to use his Health, but it hadn’t been enough; a half-healed stump hung where his off-hand should have been. He was outgunned.

That shouldn’t be possible. The Placid King’s plans had all gone to perfection, as far as Quellat knew—and Quellat knew everything. Or at least, he’d thought he did. But now? Now, he was confronting a reality he wasn’t prepared for.

Perhaps the Placid King hadn’t thought out this ambush at all. Perhaps he hadn’t been ready for the God of Thunder’s disciple.

Perhaps Quellat was an acceptable loss for his master.

No. No, that couldn’t be. Quellat, the Still-Lung Blade, was too valuable to throw away. This was a test—a test to see what he would do when he found himself utterly outmatched. Would he continue to fight in the hopes of weakening his foe so another disciple could finish the job? Would he die for the Placid King?

Quellat thought about it as the still-boiling water blistered his skin and scales.

But there was only one conclusion to be had.

He had to run. He couldn’t stand up to the lightning-blade—not if it could summon such concentrated fury. His attempt to buy time had only set him further behind, and now, he had only one option.

He had to run. To flee. To leave.

◄▼►

I spotted Quellat before he’d even fully emerged from the water, on the far side of the boiling lake.

He was running.

It was possible that he was done. Maybe he’d broken, lost the will to fight. His red-tinted, scalded skin, shattered armor, and missing tentacle all lent support to that theory. But I couldn’t allow the S-Ranked Paragon to disengage and continue hunting. If he couldn’t claim me, he might settle for my allies, and the last thing they needed was interference in their fight against the Craftsman.

Torrentborne. Stormrunner. The upgraded, S-Ranked ability threw me through the air as I ran, then kept going as my legs stopped pumping. The gap between us closed, and I landed between the Still-Lung Blade and his escape route. The Storm’s Blade shot out, and he skidded to a halt, eye an inch from my weapon’s tip. He started to recoil.

Laminar Blade. One of the Rainfall Charges I’d built up covered the lightning blade in layers of sharp, flowing water. As I stabbed into Quellat’s chest, his armor parted like butter. The blade pulled out cleanly, and I stabbed again. Then again. The Still-Lung Blade staggered back, staring at the flowing, salty liquid pouring from his chest in disbelief. His lips moved, but before he could react—or withdraw—I used Stormfall.

I was too fast. My blade attacked too quickly. Even Quellat’s S-Rank toughness and armor weren’t enough. He was outmatched. After less than fifteen seconds of contact, he fell, bleeding watery blood that dripped off the catwalk and into the half-evaporated lake below.

The battle was over, but there were more coming.

Still, I spent the time to take his core. If I was lucky, it’d be the A or S-Ranked shadow core I needed for Ellen. That’d be perfect. I’d be able to keep my promise to—

It was deep blue, almost black—the color of the ocean depth. But as I picked it up, I felt none of the power of darkness in it. It was a pure water core, so calm it was almost still, and so cold it almost burned. Not the shadow core I needed. But the fight hadn’t been a waste by any means. I dropped the S-Rank core into a pocket and turned on my heel, abandoning Quellat’s corpse. The rest of the team was out there somewhere, looking for the Craftsman.

And I hadn’t used my full strength to beat Quellat. I had more to give—and I was going to give it.