A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

For the first time since Dominus' death, he realized well and truly just how much he'd missed the man. More reliable than anyone could hope to be. The most solid of bedrocks. How could he not be? He was the strongest man in the entire Stormfront… and now he was mere ashes.

There was no one Oliver could confide in about what afflicted him, no one that he could talk to of Ingolsol's curse, or his true past.

Damn it all, the people who surrounded him now didn't even know who he was! They thought him to be a noble! What would they say, when they discovered just how low he'd crawled up from? From the very depths of peasantry, stained by the scent of the manure and all the foul things that clung down there. He was a creature of the pits.

The next strike of the crab sliced down his back, tearing the coat off him. The claws were like razors towards their points. Like scissors, is what the book compared them to, so that the creature could easily cut up its meat and push it into that tiny mouth that it had.

With his coat cut down the back, he pushed the remnants of the sleeves off his. Barebacked in the freezing cold, a dog once more, in the rags that he'd always walked into. There he was, there was Beam, not Oliver. Beam hadn't felt that void in his chest… Though he'd felt something close.

Oliver finally remembered what it had been like, in those first days of Ingolsol's curse. The pain that had seared his body. A near unconscious state. There were similarities towards his current condition. But that memory offered no ideas for a cure. All he knew was that he'd merely gritted his teeth and survived it.

He'd learned to live with the pain.

The strike from the crab forced a distance between the two of them, as Oliver was sent hurtling away. He scrambled back to his feet, meeting the Boulder Crab head-on, attempting to match his speed with his. Oliver had always been proud of his speed, it was what had helped him more than any other thing.

He attempted to time it right, his sword aimed toward's the Boulder crab's eye, as per the book's recommendation. Its eye was one of the few soft parts on its body. The author of the book had been mad enough to recommend a hook. Apparently a solid stab in the eye, and a good pull, and one could dislodge the creature's brain, killing it. Oliver saw no chance of that.

As his sword neared, the creature merely blinked its eyes closed. Of course. His sword clung off it as though he'd hit a particularly leathery rock. The claws came for him, and Oliver was forced into a particularly risky bit of action merely to keep himself in the game – he dove straight through the creature's legs, barely missing behind crushed. It was only the beast's confusion that saved him.

A half a second of time to recover, as it looked around the clearing for him. Discover exclusive tales on empire

He'd learned quickly. The creature was both faster and stronger than he was. A monster in more than one sense. To defeat it, he'd have to be more than a mere monster, more than merely strong. Technique, cunning, timing. Those were things that he could seek the advantage in.

But those things were as deeply wound with his idea of Claudia and Ingolsol as his fingers were interwoven with the muscles of his hand. Every time he attempted to be cunning, it was Ingolsol cackling along with him, and urging him on. Every time he attempted to be strong, and cast forth a better version of himself, Claudia would gently encourage him.

As he reached for those parts of himself that he had come to rely on, he found only darkness. None of the energy that he used to find when he reached that deep. None of the enthusiasm or creativity, just empty, bloodless darkness.

"Ah, shit," Oliver said, though his expression didn't quite match his words. The strength that he'd reached for hadn't brought anything forth, and now he stood, as the crab whirled its way around, and came charging from him again. It was relentless. All that energy that it saved by hibernating, it let it loose in battle.

He couldn't help but think that it was a waste of time, the creature hiding and disguising itself. It may as well have run down any bit of prey that it wanted. Who could run from such a creature? Not Oliver, but that didn't stop him from trying.

He dodged back towards the edge of the mountain-side plateau, back towards a section of trees. If he had one advantage above this beast, it was that his strength was more compact. He didn't have the sort of limitations imposed on a being that size.

Of course, the two thick trees that Oliver webbed his way through, they were easily cast aside, though not without the slightest bit of resistance. Oliver used that window, and went for its eyes again.

CLANGG!

But once more his blunted sword was rejected. He cursed, and with a foot on the creature's hard body, he pushed himself off from it.

"There it is, Ingolsol! A cunning without your hand in!" Oliver said to himself, as he jumped back into the trees. He didn't know if the others could hear him, and he frankly didn't care. He'd caught sight of them ascending a slope towards a viewing point that kept them well away from his plateau, but still allowed them to look down on his fight. He hadn't checked to see whether they'd made it yet.

Oliver stepped, eyeing the trunks of the discarded trees. There was a pattern here, something that he could use. Find it. Find the rhythm of the battle. Find the opportunity to make his Poison Sword Style fully manifest. Form one of the Poison Sword – Trickery.

That was what had initiated all this. To bait a creature in order to set it off balance. That was what he needed.