The black fire magic "Lord of the Void" descended true, even as Gryre-Lāc tried to dodge.
The orc-octopus's skin was burned to a crisp.
Īsern-clomm realized this wouldn't be so simple when the corpse floating in the waters moved.
Opened by hands, at the gut level, and from within Gryre-Lāc emerged himself, using a spell called "Dimensional Substitution."
Gryre-Lāc, standing atop his own corpse, even had his tentacles grown back.
Īsern-clomm did not know such an enchantment, but he knew a simple thing, there was no spell without cost.
The enemy might repeat this other times, or not.
Thus, he descended and landed a punch so strong on the orc-octopus's smug face that he flew over the waters unconscious, coming to only to see the new, indefensible punch glued to his roaring face.
RADÍFERA
On the very night they met, the goblin sorceress explained to the trio:
— It's an ancient custom. A law from God the Father himself, Astarne. Every smallfolk must come once in their life to Radífera, and hear the blessings of the Pontiff. It's Innocent IX the current Pope, and he is there, in the holy city, preparing the feast.
— What a beautiful culture. — Cwenburg's eyes shone, appreciating the knowledge.
Æthelflæd smoked and shared the herbs with the goblin sorceress, who continued with a hoarse voice:
— As the days pass, you will bear witness. Some come every four years having participated before. It's an immense honor. It is our communion with the cosmos. — Impressed, the three noticed the number increasing, one hundred thousand, two hundred thousand, and when the gates of Radífera opened, the number of smallfolk in the camps was over eight hundred thousand.
The streets were taken over by them, and some bison were still being led by priests.
The central square had a temple, and from the balcony, before an obelisk, emerged a goblin, it was Pope Innocent IX, who spoke to the crowd circling the obelisk:
— Brother goblins, pigfolk, kobolds, and many more smallfolk. Today we are equal! — They roared and jumped, and horrified, the three understood something, that which was up to their knees was shit, bison shit they wanted to believe. The city was covered in shit on every street and avenue, and even the houses, open and doorless, had shit on every floor, room, and garden. Pope Innocent IX grabbed some shit from the ground and ate it, with Leofwynn watching aghast, and then he vomited and spat on the people from the high balcony where he stood, and then it began. — Blessed be the Holy Shit War!
The war, with everyone grabbing shit from the ground and throwing it at each other, hit everyone, and some threw it upwards, it was like a rain of shit.
Some kobolds had their faces covered by veils, but the veils were all full of shit.
And others were naked, jumping and sliding in the shit.
They hit each other, and used objects.
Cwenburg grabbed a bucket, filled it with shit, and threw it in the face of a gentleman, one of those tourists, sitting in one of the plastic chairs watching the streets.
The city was full of tourists, and a cheerful tentacled one stood out, who launched shit using his twenty-six tentacles, it was like a propeller through the streets.
And the dragon Ðāwiht, newly converted, who with his wings moved a tidal bore of shit that buried people in shit.
Above them, flying, bleeding as they clashed, the fight between Īsern-clomm and Gryre-Lāc persisted.
THE TRANSFORMATION
As the days passed, Gryre-Lāc could no longer match Īsern-clomm's speed, he was beaten in the air and on the ground.
They were both Level 20.
And Gryre-Lāc's preparation proved spectacular, until he no longer emerged from his own body, which happened after forty corpses abandoned around the city.
Could that spell no longer be cast? Īsern-clomm had doubts.
The immortal also no longer invoked spells. He held back, and at the same time, he no longer had an aura reserve for the black flames.
It was an exchange of punches and kicks, with falls and bodies dragging across the bison-covered lawns.
In one of the pauses, they were drawn by the unprecedented commotion in the city, with the trio being the subject of the dialogue:
— As expected of the Demon King, he chose immoral people, without any common sense. The scum…
— He knew what he was doing. — Even Gryre-Lāc agreed, and jumped, using "Levitation" to reach the hill where ruins disappeared into salt in the calm waters of the salt pan. — Not many have observed my true self. My mother… — Gryre-Lāc confessed with regret, his eyes fixed on the enemy landing before him. — She not only gave herself to an orc, and to an octopus, I am also…
The orc-octopus's skin peeled off, rising against gravity, he, closing his hands, began a prolonged scream, which manifested the pure purple light of his aura.
In turn, the immortal's black aura also began to emanate. He knew he couldn't fall behind, and he shouted, with the two making the lawn tremble with their roars.
The orc-octopus's skin became like stone, with him, regretfully, spitting as he spoke:
— There was also a gargoyle in that orgy where I was conceived.
— Wait. — The immortal wanted to know. — And your mother was of what lineage?
— She was a… — And the aura explosion after the orc-octopus-gargoyle's leap was so intense that Īsern-clomm was hit in the chest without being able to defend himself. — A legendary whore!
Thus, in the air again, leaving trails of light and purple and black lightning from the battling bodies, the two no longer paused their movements.
Until the blows began to land.
A punch that dragged the opponent for kilometers, and a kick in response, repositioning them near Radífera.
The symphony of destruction was the union of their fists.
The devastating shouts were like thunder.
The sequence of kicks and wounds, no longer healed, for both their auras were extinguished, was the dance of lacerations, a torrent of brutality that seemed infinite, until, sweaty and without strength, they touched the ground, abandoning flight.
And they left trails on the ground for hundreds of meters, running, kicking rocks at each other, breaking stones with bodies thrown against the hills, and in terror whipping each other with voracity in every head stomp, in every broken rib, in all the blood bathing their bodies completely.