NOVEL NEXT Chapter 119: Blowing Off Steam
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Harry: How often can you practice violence without internalizing anything?
Gordon: We've been sparring twice a day for months, so: based on that last spar? Months.
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Tuesday 20:43 MST, 26th, Ghostlands Server – The Kingdoms (Maze Instance)
"Sooooo," Karen drawled, eyeing him. "What's the phrase? You look like ten miles of bad road."
Gordon blinked. "I don't know if that is the phrase," he said, "but I hope it's not true."
She didn't comment further. Just tilted her head and asked, "What's on your mind?"
"Well—first, my portable."
She handed it over wordlessly.
"A lot of cool pictures on there," she said.
His face reddened. "Harry and I were going through the stream looking for moments that were . . . screen grabby."
She nodded.
"In context, for the stream.."
"Gordon, it's okay to think I'm pretty."
"Hghlight moments."
She gave a small shrug.
"You do look more dramatic. And pretty, sure."
"I don't mind," she said. "It's part of the stream. And I like how I look."
Gordon looked down at the screen, then back at her.
"Are you okay?" she asked seriously.
"No. Yes. Maybe." He let out a slow breath. "I don't know if I just broke up with Marie."
"That's rough," Karen said quietly. Then, with a slight shift in tone: "Do you need to kill things about it?"
"Yes," he said. "Yes I do."
"How about we—" she paused. "How about I give you some processing space, and you wail on that minotaur for a while. Until you feel better."
He nodded. "Best idea I've heard all day."
She clapped him on the back with an open palm. Then didn't move her hand. Just kept it there, steady.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Really."
He looked at her.
"I believe you," he said.
She left him to suit up in silence. It was a very different vibe than usual.
He appreciated the thoughtfulness. Talking was almost too much.
He thought briefly about what he wanted to bring to the practice. His two-handers would do just fine. Guns hadn't done much last time, but then again, there wasn't much reason not to bring them. He probably looked a little strange—massive zweihander strapped to his back, dual pistols holstered like some turn-of-the-century action hero.
He didn't feel very heroic.
Every time it would've been nice to feel heroic, he didn't. And this—this felt like that time. The time he should.
Stupid. He'd been so stupid.
Why had he gone on and on about the ways something could break—when he'd been trying to be hopeful? When she had just needed him to say: yes. I'm with you.
They logged in.
The inevitable Ghostlands splash screen faded. The developer comment faded. And then—just like that—they were standing outside the same labyrinth as before.
No artifacts now. No special buffs. But maybe. . . maybe they wouldn't need them this time.
"If I fall," he said, "you let me fall this time."
Karen corrected him. "Claire isn't here. And we don't need to worry about it."
Then, muttered, under her breath: "For Claire. She is why we can't have nice things."
Her hair was braided. Everything bound tightly to her frame. No elaborate scarves. No sashes. Just pirate-ninja Karen, with her two sabers and her jaw set.
Gordon arrived from the black flight beside her—his guns heavy at his hips, his greatsword across his back. Neither of them spoke.
They'd already done the talking.
LIVE: Big_Iron and Cuts_by_Karen | Vengeance Arc
It had been a cute idea when they named the stream. That was before the conversation with Marie. Now it just felt like a sour reminder.
But they'd announced it ahead of time. They'd have plenty of viewers.
"Thank you all for joining us today," Gordon said, voice even. "For the purposes of this stream, I'll be disabling commentary visualization from the chat to the viewers. Commentary will be invisible to the viewers—but not to me. If I ignore you, it's because I'm trying to focus."
Karen stepped in, a little more diplomatic. "Let's get to it."
The two of them walked off with easy grace—both of them, apparently, feeling as Gordon did: that there was nothing more to be said.
Chat, of course, had other ideas.
MinervaHairballs: so we're not doing the whole game huh
Randoon_the_Wizard: I think because Harry and Claire got out alive, this is just do-over-for-our-fallen-heroes
MinervaHairballs: reasonable
They hit the ground running—true to her word. She was giving him space.
They didn't take the steps down into the maze.
Gordon went up instead—hand over hand, carefully testing each foothold until he stood atop the entrance gate.
urbanhousemoose: this is going to be a little different
A homunculus buzzed into the air.
Gordon's draw was so fast, the stream didn't catch it.
Randoon_the_Wizard: is it just me or is he getting more dangerous over time?
No one else responded. Gordon's mouth twitched in what could have been a half grin.
His measured gunfire took out the pests before they could react. Karen joined him at the top of the wall. And then—they moved.
A full sprint across the roofline. A leap. A controlled landing one row deeper in. Another run, another jump, another silent shared momentum—
They swung down together, landing in the sand pit at the center of the arena.
theREALmrsqueak: ???
urbanhousemoose: I don't think they're in the mood.
The Minotaur was nowhere to be seen.
He ambushed us last time Karen noted.
"I was there, and you'd already wandered off, if memory serves," Gordon commented.
"It might not even be visible all the time, I could have sworn I heard it coming at me but nothing."
"Maze is filled with doors. That could be it too."
They waited.
The arena was circular, with double doors on one side and ehat looked a lot like a stage on the other side complete with lecturn and bedroll, and several shelves and armor racks.
"I think it sleeps here. He."
Gordon wasn't in the mood, but she sounded intrigued. He walked over.
"Calfskin rug as a bed roll?"
"Well he's a big dude. Seems a bit like cannibalism though."
"Oedipus Rex—"
"—Like Harry's username. King Oedipus—"
"—B is for Barbarian, Homer, Siege Warfare and the Preparation of Human Meat—"
—thematically varied if nothing else."
"Miss Manners: The Definitive Edition?"
"I have to read that one," Karen claimed.
The chuckle was deeper than basso. "I find two barbarians pawing through my things in search of manners. What a joke."
He was standing in the arena's center. They hadn't heard him coming.
"Your education begins now."
Wow, that was a big hammer.
"Please," said the Minotaur, voice low and pained. "Shelve the book first."
Karen raised an eyebrow, glancing at the pristine cover. Then at Gordon.
"It's hard to read through blood."
Karen gave a light mock courtesy and shelved the book on manners. "You're not just a beast, " she cued the boss, apparently curious to know its responses.
"'Manners maketh man'," the giant armored figure quoted.
"For dinner, it seems," noted Gordon, circling to find an angle where his fire wouldn't risk Karen.
"'You are what you eat'."
"Last time we met," Gordon said, stepping into the ring of light, "you told me that you were a Stone, and I would either break on you—or step upon you to rise. But I never told you my name."
This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
The Minotaur shifted his weight slightly, massive hands resting on the haft of his hammer.
"Then tell me," the beast rumbled. "Tell me what your mother called you."
Gordon's voice stayed even. "My first name means many things: spacious. Beloved. Fortress."
A beat.
"My surname is Stone."
The Minotaur exhaled—almost amused. "Pebble, perhaps. I recall you climbed a wall and hid beyond my reach."
Gordon reached back and drew the greatsword with a soft metallic whisper.
"Not this time."
–––❖–––
The minotaur charged him. Something so big shouldn't be able to move that fast—it went from a standstill to a full sprint in a second, crossing thirty feet and sweeping the hammer down where Gordon had stood.
Had.
He'd skipped to the offside and stabbed, a use of his overlong sword that put Karen more in mind of a spear. The tip drew a violet spark off the creature's armor, but skipped off.
The minotaur was using some of the default big creature animations—paired with some very good decisionmaking—but up close the arcs of the hammer were just not designed very well for smaller attackers. It turned its back to its own hammer, levering down with its shoulder as the fulcrum on the massive haft until the hammer arced in the other direction—towards Gordon again. The problem with the move was that it was telegraphed.
Where the haft points, the hammer lands. Gordon stepped back as it arced, ran up the haft, juked sideways by kicking off the minotaur's inner forearm, and landed a two-handed slash directly in the minotaurs eyeline.
Sparks—and blood, this time. The creature bellowed.
Gordon landed cleanly and went into one of the ridiculous spins greatsword wielders tend to default to. It's not their fault—the weapon is too long to cleanly stop, and then turn and strike. It's faster to just keep going in the original direction. For someone trained in fencing, however, it does look wildly impractical.
Karen had tested the real world swords herself, with Gordon, many years ago. It had taken hours for him to convince her he wasn't just trying to look fancy.
His sword bit deeply into the fleshy outer calf. That wouldn't do jack shit to a minotaur, and everybody present knew it.
She drew her swords. Just in case.
This time the minotaur levered the hammer around its own rib cage, a spinning arc which fell like a meteor only to rise like an uppercut. A clever attack, but it just wasn't fast enough—he stepped around its side as it spun, keeping its own body between the hammer and itself even as he tried a thrust through the visor again.
Low blow, Gordon.
The blow was deflected by oxen horns as it threw its head, bovine teeth gnashing in rage at the affront. It tried another round-the-body blow, and he sidestepped—and it kicked him square in the chest.
His duster fluttered with the speed of his body's arc. He slammed into the gates, rebounded, landed on his feet—a bit leaning against the gate, but upright.
"Ouch. Touche," Gordon said. She heard him coughing in the VR rig—that hurt. His sword was on the sand, by the minotaur—who made no move to return it.
"How about we try another venue," Gordon said brightly, and opened the Maze door.
"You would fight a minotaur in a maze?" it asked incredulously.
"Just for a lap or two," he assured it, and slipped out.
It looked at Karen. Karen looked at the minotaur.
"Make free use of my library. I will return."
–––❖–––
Gordon was running at full speed, but the Minotaur was faster. He contemplated the physics of being chased by an angry, heavily armored cow-person. He recalled Newton's first law of motion: an object at rest stays at rest, and an object in motion stays in motion. He also knew that mechanical drag has a greater effect on lighter objects, so while the Minotaur might have had a slow start, it could now build up incredible speed.
Crash, crash, crash! The metallic thundering of the creature echoed down the hall as it closed in.
A message from Karen popped up in the team chat: "Gordon, what are you doing?"
"I just remembered something I never showed you," he typed back. "Trust me."
"You know I do," she replied. "But if you die doing something stupid, we're all going to make fun of you."
Gordon smirked, an odd reaction while sprinting for his life, both in the game and in the real world. He was pushing his personal treadmill to its absolute maximum, the rotors wheezing under the strain.
The Minotaur was gaining on him, now only twenty-five feet away. Gordon rounded a corner only to find a dead end. He knew the Minotaur was moving too fast to stop in such a short distance. A booming command echoed in what sounded like Greek. Gordon was fairly certain he'd heard the word before and that it was likely the wrong command. It would be just like the game developers to program the creatures with words for "falafel" instead of something useful like "power." Or perhaps he wasn't giving them enough credit. After all, he was playing their game.
Suddenly, a large, tall door at the end of the hall opened. His trick might work after all. At the last possible second, he veered from the center of the hallway and hugged the wall. He launched into a wall run for a single step, then transitioned into a wall flip on the second. He grabbed and vaulted over the door's lintel, giving him the upward momentum his mechanical legs couldn't provide on their own.
As he flipped through the air, he heard a cascade of notification chimes, like coins dropped down a staircase—the team chat was exploding. Apparently, no one had ever tried to run up the doorframe before. While a manual wall run wouldn't typically trigger a special animation, he had found a workaround. By initiating the move while already in mid-air at the perfect height, he tricked the game into thinking the animation sequence had already begun.
It was a move he would never dare attempt in real life. As his back foot pushed off, Gordon triggered two more animations he had meticulously designed to be modular and flow seamlessly into one another. The game's engine used animation blending; if two animations shared an identical segment, the system would interpolate between them for a smooth transition. This meant a skilled player could find and exploit these "bridges" between different moves. Of course, the execution had to be perfect, and that's where Karen came in. She was good for many things, and he felt a warmth toward her for showing up as planned. He wasn't sure he would have shown the same grace if their roles had been reversed.
The first animation he triggered was a spin kick. His foot connected with the wall, pushing him into a partial twirl. This was an animation he had learned from a mentor. The second was a move he and Karen had created together early in the month: the wall-run-kick-flip.
His back was to the Minotaur. His front, meanwhile, was stalled out—beginning to rotate downward, slowly, with the arc of his flip.
It was fast. It was right on his heels.
His two booted feet cut sideways across its neck.
He didn't weigh anywhere near as much as the Minotaur did—but he had one big advantage. The Minotaur, running at full tilt, had a very high center of gravity. Gordon had hit it about as high up as physically possible. Second-class lever. First class leverage.
And while he wasn't exactly light—he clocked in between 220 and 230 pounds, depending on the day—he was moving. In-game, his weight stayed honest thanks to the treadmill sensors, though he wasn't sure how accurate they really were.
But here was the physics: the Minotaur might have been going 20 miles an hour. Gordon? Near a standstill. That made a +20 mph closing speed.
So what happens when something the size of a cow gets hit with a 220-pound human at full extension—ten feet from its pivot point?
You jackknife. Mid-air. Your feet fly out in front, and you land on your ass.
The Minotaur hit the doorframe like a missile.
It was the coolest thing Gordon had ever done.
And it was on video. Just that, on its own, was almost a dream come true.
The second coolest thing he'd ever done? That was the wall run up the side of the library. Protruding bricks had helped. He'd been tipsy. Alone. On his way back from meeting Harry. And no one had recorded it.
He regretted that even more than having to call the cops to get back down.
"Hot damn," said Karen.
–––❖–––
He was armed by the time the Minotaur re-entered the arena.
"Commendable skill," it rumbled. Cow eyes examined Karen, who, two sabers in one hand draped over her shoulder, was giggling to herself while reading Miss Manners. "Something funny?"
Karen laughed helplessly.
"Sometimes something just hits right," Gordon said casually. "Shall we?"
> x_TremeSnooze: Cold, just cold.
"Okay stop, please," Gordon said holding up a hand. The minotaur looked quizzical but obliged.
"Isabelle. Go. Away." he said sternly.
> urbanhousemoose as chat mod is there something I should know?
"Snooze is my evil ex," Gordon said simply. "I don't care if she watches but I don't want to talk to her right now."
> Randoon_the_Wizard: That just recontextualized a lot of stuff.
> Randoon_the_Wizard: So MarsGirl . . . how's that going?
"Randoon . . . this is not the right time, man." said Karen from the stage. She stepped lightly down, sheathing her swords to respect the implicit truce. "Thanks for the patience," she told the Minotaur.
"Affairs of the heart," he rumbled. "Have always intrigued me."
> x_TremeSnooze: He's just a dead shell pretending to be a real person, clockwork and crocodile tears.
> urbanhousemoose: Okay, I see what's going on here. Blocked.
"It's temporary," Karen explained to the minotaur. "But necessary."
"What an unpleasant lady. Dame Manners would have had words," vouchsafed the armored giant.
"My father is wealthy," Gordon said shortly. "I was a ladder she was willing to climb. She thought that would hurt me more than it did. Never accepted that I'd be able to move on. It's fine, I'm fine. Shall we?"
The minotaur hefted his hammer. "Surely."
[21:14] Marie: I'm watching your stream.
[21:14] Marie: I'm sorry you're hurting. Please try to trust me.
[21:15] Gordon: This. . .really wasn't a good time.
[21:15] Gordon: Can we talk later?
[21:15] Marie: I need some time. Please.
"So," said the Minotaur. "You've moved on from irons to steel."
"I never said I was done with them," Gordon said shortly. His mood was plummeting. He felt the familiar numbness taking hold.
"A proper weapon defines a warrior," the creature said, hefting his own weapon. "Is memorable."
"I wouldn't want to limit myself," Gordon shot back, tired of the exchange.
"Such sudden anger," rumbled the minotaur. "Come. Sate your bloodlust, or die trying."
It widened its stance.
"Let us see if you are made of stone."
> MinervaHairballs: Enough talk guys
> Randoon_the_Wizard: I dunno I was thinking of starting a book club with this guy
> theREALmrsqueak: Nobody here is healthy
–––❖–––
Karen hopped up onto the edge of the stage, sabers sheathed. She popped one knee up and folded her arms across it, resting her chin casually. Watching.
The minotaur lunged without any ceremony—haft low, then rising. A brutal upward sweep, much like earlier, but with a sidestep which made the weapon's arc harder to predict.
But range is range. Gordon stepped back, outwardly calm.
Then another strike—purely horizontal this time. Gordon dipped beneath it, halfswording a piercing underarm thrust. The laminar armor was simply too well designed. A network of fine plates like scales ran beneath the armpit.
"Daedalus's last work," gloated the creature.
The beast pressed harder, rotating the haft, choking in its grip for their now up-close fight, one handed swinging left, and right.
Gordon pressed him, getting a hand on the haft of the hammer at the end of one swing, forcing it to the floor, and stepped on it.
And, with his other foot, stomped with all his strength.
There was an audible crack.
Gordon skipped back. The Minotaur examined its hammer critically. Then, sorrowfully.
"I just had to say I loved her," he murmured in floor shaking tones. "And you mar her for it."
> Randoon_the_Wizard: I'm rooting for the Minotaur now.
> MinervaHairballs: this is the cleanest f***ing duel i've ever seen
Karen still hadn't moved. She was watching.
Gordon stepped forward. Low guard. Zweihander up. Ready.
But the minotaur didn't retreat.
It punched him.
A fast, brutal cross. Gordon's head snapped sideways. He hit the ground bleeding, slack. Limp.
> MinervaHairballs: spoke too soon
Karen moved.
Her hands to her sabers, each too long for a conventional one-handed draw. She cheated through technique. Thumbs under the guard, beside the blade, forefinger on the other side, pinch, pull, and cross with its twin. Thumbs maintain grip, hands readjust to the opposing side's handle and the draw is complete.
If her draw wasn't as fast as Gordon's, it was at least as cinematic.
She kept low, circling the beastial giant, forcing him to choose between following up with Gordon or protecting his back.
He chose wrong.
He chose to follow up with Gordon.
He turned his back on a dedicated, high-level, tank breaker.
She broke into a sprint, ninja-clad feet muted on the sandy floor.
Sabers are not traditional for fighting well-armored opponents—but the pommel spikes were the same profile ice picks, or warpicks. Which are.
She jumped, a double-pommel hammer at the base of the gorget, the armored ridge protecting the back of the neck.
She punched right through.
The minotaur roared and swung around.
And backhanded her.
The hit flung her across the arena. The sabers were ripped from her hands as she tumbled. Dust spiraled.
She rolled. Rose. She'd have to collect her sabers.
–––❖–––
Gordon heard it—her landing. Blinked. Blood pattered down his face. Odd how it felt so real. He felt his face—his real real face. And his fake face. He stood.
The Minotaur turned red, furious eyes towards him.
The hammer spun in a reckless arc, all art and science gone in the animal fury possessing the guardian. It was also faster. Huh. That wasn't one of the animations.
"AI IS BULLSHIT!" he shouted as he was flung across the room.
The hammer head was hanging by a scrap of leather. Gordon watched in disbelief as it tore the hammer head free and clutched it close to its chest, haft out in its left hand as though it still held a hammer.
Trap.
Karen's footsteps pattered up behind it.
"Bravery," it said, "is not the same as wisdom."
It spun.
She leapt.
It threw.
The hammer head struck her in mid air, folding her and slamming her ragdolled body into a pillar where she crumpled, unmoving. Without team HUD on Gordon didn't know if she was dead or stunned.
That was ALSO not in the AI playbook..
> MinervaHairballs: NO
> theREALmrsqueak: did he just THROW the HAMMER HEAD
Gordon didn't speak.
His sword was already rising.
–––❖–––
Karen's body lay still.
The woman herself watched through watery eyes as Gordon's face went perfectly still.
"Oh Gordon," she said softly, all by herself in the muted VR helmet. "I was trying to help you."
His slouch was gone. Posture ramrod straight.
For a moment, he looked like Hiram. Same brow. Same sharpness. Same green, narrowed eyes. His slouch, where he tried not to tower over others? Gone.
The minotaur was moving more slowly now.
It dropped the haft, curling massive fists the size of watermelons.
Gordon stepped forward, each step cautious, his balance leveled and center of mass low. He was doing it by the numbers.
Feint left. Slip right.
The beast went for it. The resulting arcing blade bit him—but barely.
Half-step. Drop low.
Zweihander up from below. Chop—inside the ankle, where the bones are fragile for hooved animals.
The leg collapsed.
Roll left. Blade dragging.
The beast turned—reaching—
Too late.
Gordon rose from the roll already spinning. Right hand high. Hips canted.
Flat arc.
Not a chop—a shearing cut.
The head fell, steaming.
Then the body.
> MinervaHairballs: i need a drink
> urbanhousemoose: was that a zwerchhau?
> Randoon_the_Wizard: No, nerd, that was a goodnighthau
Karen let her breath return slowly.
Across the sand, Gordon was still as a stone.