CHAPTER 10: BLOOD ARMOR
Tor blocked with his sword—a loud 'peng' rang out as the blade snapped. Ignoring it, Tor punched with his right arm, so fast most high-level elders couldn't follow. His fist caved in Mak's chest plate, but the armor redirected the force back at him. The ground shattered as Tor teleported away, while Mak landed safely at the crater's edge, uninjured, armor merged with his body.
Tor appeared calmly on the opposite side, rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie to reveal silver bracelets. His headphones shifted tracks—the tune Ready to Die thumped, showing he had only been fighting for three minutes.
"You can never hurt me," Mak sneered. "You will soon slow down. You have no hope against the hybrid of mantle and technology. Give up and accept your fate. I will make your death slow and painful, to satisfy those you've killed today."
"Mak, do you have no shame using tainted technology? How many sacrifices?!" the Great Elder thundered, disgust swirling in his eyes. Spatial lights spun within them, but he made no move to intervene. He knew Mak would not live past the next minute.
"So what, you self-righteous bastard Ter? Sit quietly. I'll deal with you once I'm done with this little rat," Mak spat, his mind clearly consumed by the phantoms in the Blood Armor.
"You talk too much," Tor sighed, increasing the volume on his headphones. He tossed away the broken sword's hilt. In the next instant, he vanished, reappearing behind Mak. His fists glowed with spatial energy, twisting the surroundings, ripples distorting the air.
Mak felt a foreboding chill. He tried to teleport—but Tor's sarcastic voice whispered from behind.
"Too slow."
A trained eye would have seen the slight shudder before Mak screamed. The left side of his lower back was pierced by a drill of spatial energy, tearing through flesh and armor, leaving a gaping hole. He swung his left hand, gathering spatial energy, but Tor caught the fist. His own energy penetrated Mak's armor, severing his shoulder cleanly.
"Arghhh!" Mak howled, teleporting out of Tor's grip. His one good hand pressed desperately against the bleeding wound, trying to seal it with energy.
"You little fuck! You deceived us. I will take you down with me, even if it's the last thing I do!" Mak screamed, his eyes glowing unnatural crimson.
Tor's smile widened.
"Who has the time to deceive you when you're too busy deceiving yourself? How could you expect to beat the Great Elder with such meager power? Come—let me see how you wish to commit double suicide with an unwilling participant."
Mak charged, crimson light blazing, the mountain trembling under his fury. The bloodbeast roared, swelling larger, devouring blood by the gallon.
"But senior elder... if we leave, the formation weakens. The beast may break free. At that time, elder may not—"
"Shut up!" The elder's voice cut like a whip. "Who do you think I am? A little rat dares to advise me? Do as I said, before I report your insubordination to the clan."
His arrogance was palpable, his aura oppressive. The forest trembled with the beast's growls, blood and mana thickening the air.
Mak's armor glowed faint red, the light pulsing brighter with each step. His guards staggered, their bodies betraying them—blood and mana streamed from their pores, eyes, and noses, siphoned into the armor. The essence flew like crimson mist, merging with Mak until he resembled nothing human, but a blood-bathed beast.
Tor's eyes narrowed as he sensed movement.
"Two auras are moving toward the village... Jin must be growing tired. I should finish this quickly," he thought, vanishing mid-stride.
The temperature plummeted. Breath misted in the air.
Mak lunged, armor knuckles sprouting blood-red spikes aimed for Tor's gut. But before they connected, he saw the boy's outstretched hand. The unstable energy Tor had gathered erupted, engulfing Mak's torso in a blinding surge that shot skyward.
When the dust settled, only Mak's lower body remained. Tor looked disappointed. The Great Elder, though placated, still frowned.
"Uncle Ter, can I get going now?" Tor asked, turning to find Ter standing beside him.
"You are getting too flashy," the Great Elder said, discontent clear in his tone.
"It's hard to find a good opponent, Uncle Ter. You told me to treat it like a savory meal," Tor replied earnestly, quoting him.
"Yes, but the most important thing I taught you was to keep damage minimal," Ter countered, referring to the last attack that had torn a hole in the fortress dome—unprecedented destruction.
"Ha, he did like eighty percent of the damage," Tor said, pointing at what was left of Mak.
"I meant yours and his," Ter responded, unimpressed with Tor's nonchalance.
"Fine, I apologize, Uncle Ter. Plus, what's the problem? Macha's squad can handle it in no time. Hohoho." Tor laughed carelessly, inspecting Mak's blade. It was enchanted, sealed with a crest so only Mak's marked successors could wield it.
"Well, I hope where you're going you find your own Macha," the Great Elder said, exasperated.
"Eww, no. I don't roll that way," Tor grimaced, tossing the blade aside. Ter didn't bother retorting—he wasn't even sure they were talking about the same thing anymore.
At that moment, palace guards led by Macha appeared, helmets in hand, bowing respectfully.
"We greet the Great Elder," they chorused.
"Oh, you guys are late," Ter said, smiling faintly—a rare sight.
"Congratulations on squashing the coup, Great Ter," the captain said with a broad grin. Though the central fortress was far away, Macha had seen everything.
"Thank you, Macha," Ter replied shamelessly, knowing full well Macha had witnessed the truth.
Turning to Tor, Ter added, "So, as a gift for your journey, here is a map of something nice. I hope you enjoy."
Tor frowned.
"Not only did you not reward me for settling your problems, you also send me on an errand? I can see you have no conscience, Uncle Ter."
"What else can I give you that you haven't already taken away?" Ter retorted, staring at the ungrateful boy.
By now, those who had fled were returning, staring in awe at Tor. They had missed the end, but the aftermath was enough.
"Did you see that?" one whispered, tapping his own arm as if to wake from a dream.
"Yes, but not to the end," another replied, eyes fixed on Tor.
"My goodness, I didn't know people below fifty could reach grandmaster level," a man said, trembling.
"No, I think he's in a higher realm. Lark was high-tier grandmaster, and Tor crushed him," the informed citizen declared, his voice filled with admiration.
"Did you see how many elders and successors ganged up on him and still couldn't scratch him?" another added, disbelief thick in his tone.
"The boy is destined for great things," one whispered.
"He may be a little behind my May in power, but he is ten years younger," Elder Cana praised, though her loyalty to May remained.
"Amazing. Elder Ter, you've been holding secrets from me," Elder Cliff said loudly. "Tell me, did you step in at the end to finish Mak off? He deserved this for all the atrocities he committed—using evil weapons, even trying to assassinate one of the younger generation."
The Great Elder's lips curved slightly, but he said nothing. His gaze swept the ruins, the crater where Mak had stood, the shattered stone and bloodstained earth.
Tor stretched, cracking his neck. His headphones still played softly, the beat fading as the track ended.
"Boring," he muttered, loud enough for only Ter to hear.
Ter's smile widened just a fraction.
"Then go find something that isn't."