NABC Chapter 88 Nonfigurative Bloody Battle
Chapter 88 Nonfigurative Bloody Battle
"Good luck, old man!" Ivaim shouted, waving with exaggerated enthusiasm.
His voice carried easily over the murmuring crowd.
Eris didn't respond.
Instead, his hand moved deliberately to the hilt of a blade strapped to his side.
A faint gleam of crimson coated the edge, not steel, but solidified blood.
His brows furrowed slightly, and a cold, menacing glint flickered in his dark eyes.
'I take it back.' Ivaim thought with a wry chuckle. 'I ain't giving you any good luck, pal.'
The announcer's voice boomed through the arena, amplified by enchanted crystal amplifiers.
"Let the battle—BEGIN!"
A deafening roar erupted from the audience, cheers and chants blending in on the noise.
The gong reverberated through the arena.
Eris moved first, swift and precise, his blade slicing through the air with deadly intent.
Blood trickled from a shallow wound on his forearm, solidifying into another crimson dagger that gleamed ominously under the arena lights.
With a flick of his wrist, the blood dagger whistled through the air toward Ivaim.
"Fast," Ivaim muttered, his instincts kicking in.
He activated [Lucky Leap], his body twisting mid-air as he narrowly dodged the deadly projectile.
The moment his feet touched the ground, the arena seemed to ripple and distort subtly.
Invisible threads of fate trembled around him, shifting the environment in strange ways.
'Right,' Ivaim thought, smirking, 'I keep forgetting—[Lucky Leap] messes with the so-called strings of fate every time I land.'
Eris wasted no time as well.
A barrage of blood-forged daggers formed in the air, hovering menacingly before launching toward Ivaim in rapid succession.
The crowd gasped at the sheer precision of the attack.
Ivaim moved between the flying blades, his distorted luck from [Coin of Fortune] caused the daggers to miss by hairbreadths.
One dagger passed harmlessly off a sudden gust of wind, another embedded itself in the ground inches from his foot.
"Abnormal luck," Eris muttered under his breath, slicing his palm open once again.
From the fresh wound, writhing tendrils of blood erupted, thick and pulsing with crimson energy.
They anchored to the ground, propelling Eris forward like a predator closing in on its prey.
'He's trying to get close,' Ivaim realized, sweat beading on his brow. 'If he gets his hands on me, I'm done.'
He flicked his wrist, sending his shimmering [Coin of Fortune] spinning high into the air.
The coin gleamed ominously as it twirled, charged with stored misfortune.
Eris lunged, blades gleaming, ready to finish the battle. Ivaim hurled the coin directly toward him.
For a moment, Eris hesitated, his instincts warning him to dodge.
But then, a faint voice slithered into his ears.
It was Ivaim's voice, carried by his new skill, [Whisper].
"Don't avoid it"
Eris' brow furrowed. His body betrayed him; instead of dodging, he swatted the coin aside with his blade.
The instant his skin made contact, reality warped.
A ripple of what felt like misfortune spread all around him.
The blood tendrils supporting Eris trembled violently as if they had forgotten how to move.
His footing slipped on a sudden crack that formed beneath his feet.
Ivaim grinned wickedly.
"Whoops! Looks like Lady Luck just filed a complaint against you," he quipped, pulling a small throwing knife from his pocket and launching it with precision.
The blade sliced through the air and found its mark, grazing Eris' shoulder.
Crimson droplets sprayed into the air.
Eris grunted but recovered swiftly, his regenerative abilities sealing the wound almost instantly.
His eyes gleamed with renewed focus and cold fury.
"I heard you lost last year's Regionals..." the voice taunted.
"If you can't even win that, what makes you think you'll win this?"
Eris's eyes narrowed.
'A pesky ability that influences the mind, huh...' he thought as regret and sadness stirred in his chest.
He shook his head sharply, attempting to clear his mind as he blindly unleashed a volley of blood spikes into the obscured arena.
The spikes shattered stone and swept dust into chaotic spirals, yet the vague whispers persisted.
"Is that why you push yourself so hard? So no one remembers how badly you failed?"
Eris's jaw clenched. Despite his stoic exterior, doubt gnawed at the edges of his composure.
"Still trying to impress them? They already stopped caring, didn't they?"
Ivaim's voice pressed relentlessly.
Eris's breath quickened as his tendrils lashed out more erratically, betraying cracks in his precision.
The blood spikes missed their mark, crashing uselessly into shattered debris.
The whispers, insidious and persistent, burrowed into his resolve like barbed thorns.
"You're not fighting to win," the voice accused softly.
"You're fighting to avoid the disappointment in people's eyes."
Eris gritted his teeth, fury flashing in his crimson eyes as he surged forward blindly, determination threatening to override logic.
Eris kept moving, relentless and fierce, slashing through the thick dust with arcs of his crimson blade.
Each swipe sent a flurry of blood-forged daggers spiraling toward Ivaim, gleaming ominously under the distorted light.
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But none of them struck true.
Ivaim grinned slyly, sidestepping as another dagger whistled past his ear.
His distorted luck guided him like an unseen guardian, each lethal projectile either veering off course or embedding harmlessly into the fractured ground.
'Gotcha.' Ivaim thought, flipping the [Coin of Fortune] again.
The shimmering disk spun like an odd item, casting strange shadows across the battlefield.
He readied himself for what came next, his confidence unshaken despite Eris' relentless onslaught.
A whisper, soft but insistent, curled into Eris' ear.
"No one actually thinks you'll win this year's Regionals."
Eris stiffened, his grip tightening on his blade.
He slashed through the dust-filled air, eyes darting frantically as if to find the source of the voice.
"They've already given up on you." The whisper taunted.
"You feel it, don't you?"
A vein throbbed in Eris' temple. His protective tendrils writhed erratically, their precise formation faltering.
"Pathetic." The voice sneered softly.
"They'll laugh when you fall—just like last time."
Rage burned in Eris' crimson eyes.
He roared, launching himself toward a shadowy figure he was sure was Ivaim.
But it was a trick.
The real Ivaim stood directly behind him, iron baton gripped tightly in his hand.
Without hesitation, he brought the weapon down hard on the back of Eris' head.
'I don't necessarily have to kill him.'
Ivaim thought with fierce determination.
'I just have to knock him out.'
Thud!
Eris crumpled to the ground, as his kneels fell and his eyes rolled up in unconsciousness,
Ivaim knelt beside him, grinning as he wiped sweat from his brow.
"Told you you'd need good luck." He said with a chuckle.