17. Nether’s torch (2)

Pain.

My world was pain…

You know, I’ve gotten quite used to pain over the years. Surviving in monster infested woods for sixty years does that to a person.

Moreover, I’ve been trained to endure pain for years as a child, back when I still lived with the threadripper tribe.

Naturally, a ‘child’ in threadrippers’ terms is much more vague than that of an average human. You only start being treated as an adult once you’re fifty, at least. Sometimes even later. But we also develop much slower, both mentally and physically, so that part wasn’t so strange.

It may seem inhumane, to put a young lass through torture just to make them fight better - and it was, truth be told. But one must know how to endure pretty terrible suffering to have a chance of survival in a world so hostile to threadrippers.

All of the strongest arts available to me require the deconstruction of my own body, shifting its shape and fusing it with others’.

Even when my arms were broken or torn off, I only flinched.

‘Well, excluding that time Lyrael was patching me up. That was rough… And maybe I played up my reactions just a tad.’

All that is to say: I was experiencing new, unprecedented levels of pain.

My vocal cords were long burnt out, scorched by the blazing waves of heat Mal was throwing at me. I couldn’t even scream to let my anguish out.

Of course, I’ve also long exhausted the spare flesh from the six warriors I killed earlier. I initially used their bodies and gear as a makeshift meat shield and armor, but their flesh barely lasted more than a few moments under the ruthless barrage of fire.

Now, it was just me, a second tier, and Malrik, an exalted.

In any ordinary situation, I would’ve been long dead, but I had a few advantages which somewhat evened out the playing field.

First of all, the guy is kind. He’s not once used a wide range attack, as it would at the very least give the prisoners who are also stuck in this jail a few burns, or perhaps even completely deprave them of oxygen if too much fire was unleashed too quickly.

He could’ve, of course, not given a shit - that’s what I would’ve done for sure. But he’s refusing to harm the bystanders.

But that was a big advantage only on paper. His control of the flames was astonishing. When he willed it, even the ground directly below me wouldn’t get a single singe. So at most, his self imposed restriction forced him to focus on control more than one usually would.

The big equalizer here is my stealthy team of supports.

I did say I had a trump card prepared, didn’t I?

The eleven Black Lake healers stayed as far away as they could while still being in range to heal me with nearly maximum efficiency.

The reason it was possible for them to stay hidden despite channeling healing techniques directly into me without being detected was thanks to the unique property of their dark arts. While it took the form of an unnaturally dark shadow, in actuality all eleven of them were casting a healing spell on me through the ground, which also worked at a long distance.

It was the Black Lake’s trademark move. They could keep each other nearly immortal in a large enough squad, as long as the enemy doesn’t use a wide range attack that harmed their entire entourage at the same time.

And right now, all eleven were secretly assisting me with their miraculous healing.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The power had to be tuned down somewhat, so as to not reveal the black water looking substance, which only showed itself when they used a higher tier of healing.

But, that didn’t matter at all when all of them concentrated solely on healing one person from a safe distance.

As of right now, I was effectively immortal, as long as the damage I sustained didn’t overwhelm the restoration speed.

There was, however, one huge downside to such a method.

I feel all the pain that comes from being burnt to death’s door repeatedly.

My thoughts at this point were blurry and barely coherent. I moved on pure instinct, thinking of nothing but the overwhelming, torturous feeling of being burned and restored over, and over, and over.

Ahh… I want to die right now.

***

Malrik felt a primal, animalistic fear chill him down to the bone.

This is insane - ‘he’ is insane.

Mal has never witnessed such a horrific persistence from any of his victims… No, not just from his victims; he has never seen anyone so determined in his entire life, even when he watched his father’s opponents take blast after blast of explosive energy and kept moving despite the intolerable agony.

His current enemy, Ori, completely shattered his image of what a persistent foe looked like.

He set the threadripper’s flesh on fire with concentrated beams of pure heat essence again and again. And it was apparent that his opponent was not impervious to the attacks. Flesh burned, and burned, and then burned once more.

But he regenerated his entire body every time. The moment it looked like Ori was faltering, toppling and leaning on his grotesquely long arm, his shadow seemed to grow darker in stark contrast to the brilliantly scorching flames enveloping him, and he would stand up once more.

At this point it was clear:

He isn’t human. He is something much more dangerous and vile.

At first, Malrik went slightly easy on his firepower, still guilt ridden from the times he’d turned people who were never meant to leave the mortal realm so early to ash.

But, as the minutes went on, his opinion of Ori changed.

It became apparent that his friendly demeanor - along with the entertaining character - were a farce.

He still harbored some hope, even if he’d never admit it out loud, that there was still a human part to his opponent.

‘I’ve talked with him, and he has real companions. Surely, there’s something deep within his soul resembling the rest of us, despite his infamous nature.’

But that was an incorrect assumption. There was nothing even remotely resembling a man left of the burning demon in facing him.

Even his shape barely looked like a bipedal creature by now. If anything, it seemed more like a spawn of hell.

And so, Malrik let go of his hesitation and went all out.

He launched fireballs, threw palm strikes imbued with heat, shot out pillar of fire from the ground, and sent waves of fire at his adversary.

But he didn’t even try to dodge them.

Well, that’s not entirely accurate. At first, he put effort into reducing the damage to his body, but after turning into a torch of Nether’s flame several times in a row, he seemed to have lost all sense of self preservation.

Malrik’s assault only grew more desperate as the fight went on, a fear creeping in over time.

His essence reserves weren’t infinite, and on top of that he was forced to use a decent amount to avoid harming other prisoners.

And then, there was the girl who worked together with the threadripper - Lyrael.

Her stone enclosure before the real battle broke out made him burn through some of his essence as well.

By now he was sure that she was just as much of a crazy one as Ori. There was absolutely no way she would stick with him otherwise, knowing his true nature.

She has long disengaged from combat, fetching her sister along the way.

However, she didn’t occupy even a portion of Malrik’s mind right now.

His entire focus was on the mad beats lunging at him.

His form has unfurled from the usual one, and became something more akin to a mass of meat and steel strings.

There was still something vaguely humanoid about it, but it was by all means just the appearance.

Just die already, goddamnit!

Mal jumped back from a mad lunge, shooting out another pillar of flame using a trap he’d set up beneath his feet.

Some unrecognizable part of the burning demon wrapped itself around Malrik’s leg, and he forcefully tore it off - but not before getting scraped by the metallic spikes embedded in Ori’s flesh.

A wave of exhaustion hit him like a hammer, for the third time now.

Any time Mal took even the slightest of bodily wounds, he felt a portion of his essence seep out, along with some vitality.

At the same time, the monster sped up with new vigor, as if revitalized by Mal’s energy.

You are the most vile imitation of a person I’ve ever faced. Burn to ashes for me.

It would have been a bloody fight, if not for the fact that any semblance of a liquid instantly burnt away under the intense heat.

Still, he was holding his ground. It had become apparent, over the last dozen minutes, that it was not true immortality he was against, but a ridiculous regenerative capability.

Ori has slowed down significantly, but Mal was no better.

Both were taking hit after hit, and both had been significantly weakened over the course of the battle.

This was a fight of persistence.

And if there was just one thing I was confident in, it would be my endurance. The victory will be mine!

With those thoughts, he shot out yet another blazing beam.