Enmity of Atlas

“Always a thorn in my side, you more than anyone else. Why won’t you just die!” The man spat out at Trenton, the pools of blood making it difficult to stand.

By all accounts, it didn’t make sense. Moments ago, Trenton was laid out, barely even conscious. But something called to him, a burning desire he couldn’t ignore, a fire which blazed with a brilliant light. Even though he should’ve been dead, even though he was losing several pints of blood every second, he stood defiant, a lone man–unyielding.

Trenton’s lungs were littered with holes, making it extraordinarily difficult to breathe, let alone talk, but he did manage two simple words, words which encapsulated his will in its entirety, “Not. Yet.”

The man gave up on rising to his feet. He might not have even had the strength left. Instead, his body slowly rose into the air, bubbling pools of shadow pushing him upright. His eyes bore into Trenton, the both of them ravaged and desperate, wild animals glaring at each other with untold furry. They started towards each other, neither of them bearing any weapon with which to slay the other cleanly. Trenton had no more energy left to cast, and he figured the man was in the same position, which meant it was a show of pure brute strength. They were running on fumes, practically teetering on the edge of death.

They clashed in the center of the clearing, tearing at each other with fragments of lingering strength, throwing each other to the sides and slamming fist into flesh. It was a ruthless, no holds bar match, winner take all, each person pushing past dozens of layers of pain. Trenton was relieved to a degree, but his body still drummed with the song of the thousand injuries he’d suffered up to this point.

Somehow, The man was still terrifyingly fast, his strength now matching Trenton’s. Even as Trenton would try to block, the man would simply redirect, slipping past Trenton’s meek attempts to defend himself. Just like before, he was being pushed back, his useless left arm providing no help in the martial combat. Luckily, the man was also missing an arm, so they were at least on even ground in that regard.

Trenton stumbled backwards, the man using the opportunity to dive at Trenton’s shoulders, taking the both of them into a tumble. It seemed the man was really fond of tackling people. Trenton planted both of his feet into the stomach of the man, kicking him off and rolling over his shoulder to get back to his feet in one swift motion.

The man pulled a similar maneuver, Trenton picking up a stray hunk of stone and hurling it at the man to knock him off balance again. The stone landed solidly against the man’s leg, snapping the bone cleanly in two, causing him to fall again to the ground. Trenton darted forward, using this golden opportunity to finish this, once and for all. While he stumbled madly forward, the man simply lay there twitching, his face not visible. Had Trenton been in a proper state of mind, he might have realized how peculiar that was, but in this moment, he didn’t.

Just as Trenton was about to reach the man, his foot snagged on something, a root of darkness that had been sticking out of the ground. Trenton fell face first to the ground, his whole body stunned. The man looked up. A wild grin was seeping onto his face–the look of a madman. He raised his hand and the darkness started to grow, snaking up Trenton’s leg, burrowing slowly into his flesh. Trenton screamed, his voice ringing out into the hollow air. He needed help. He couldn’t do it anymore. The pain was seeping back into his body in waves, shining, flashing, searing waves. All the energy that had kept him standing to this point was gone, his looming calling in the back of his mind in a faint whisper.

Fight

Trenton twisted around as best he could, gripping onto his right leg. He couldn’t hesitate, no matter the cost. Gripping with impossible might, Trenton ripped the leg off of his body, tearing his muscles, snapping his tendons, ripping his bones apart. His vision flashed with every color of the spectrum, the world around him spinning and cloudy, the pain dulling his mind to that of a savage. He needed to keep pushing. He was almost there.

The man, seeing Trenton still fighting, panicked, his eyes darting around. It seemed he, too, couldn't give up yet. The man coalesced darkness into his shattered leg, piercing into his own flesh. Gritting his teeth, the man snapped his leg back into place, an involuntary cry bubbling from his lips. He threw himself up, standing on the darkness wreathed leg, watching Trenton struggle on the ground. He just had to go a little further. The man stepped forward, planting his foot against Trenton’s skull, a loud crack ringing out on impact, Trenton’s body flying backwards low across the ground. Trenton rolled and skidded along the stone, coming to a stop some 50 feet away, just beyond the edge of the skull, his eyes staring up into the sky. Trenton tried to move, but his body wouldn’t listen. Even pushing through the pain, something was stopping him from even attempting to move his muscles. Off in the distance, the man started limping towards him.

“It should have been so easy. It should have been so easy. We dealt with Urime. We got only our men on guard shift. We drugged the water supply. But you came waltzing in the very day we planned to attack, throwing everything out the window,” he was now 40 feet from Trenton. “Do you have any idea how difficult it was to keep everything running, to keep Urime from shuffling the guard watches simply because you decided to show up? No. You have no idea. I had to kill and replace dozens of men today to fix your ill doings,” 30 feet. “And in the end, it didn’t even matter! We didn’t even find what we came here for. The only–THE ONLY–saving grace was the sacrifices we’d make. But now, all of my men are gone, I’ve been mangled, and here you are, still alive,” 20 feet. “I’d be furious if I had the energy left. But no. You aren't worth the anger. You, the rest of Petrichor, and even my own men will make great sacrifices. I still have hundreds of bodies left to feed, a bountiful feast. So say goodnight, boy. Your friends are all long gone. It’s over,” 10 feet.

“That so? I think you’re forgetting about someone,” Trenton said, his eyes still locked on the sky.

Trenton’s eyes weren't working well, but he could still see enough to know what was happening. A blinding white glint, the brightest star in the sky, descended towards them at impossible speeds. The man, suddenly realizing what Trenton meant, stopped, throwing his head to the sky.

“Too late.”

Trenton could only see him for a fleeting moment, Garrote’s body flying towards them, his right arm glowing with an incredible luminesce, his face twisted in a wild rage. The second he was close enough, some 10 feet off the ground, Garrote threw his arm out, releasing the entirety of the magic in one great burst.

“CRUSH!” Garrote’s voice cried out, his words guiding the spell.

In an instant, the man was turned into a fine red paste, his entire body being crushed into the ground, the air humming with the strength of the spell. But it didn’t end there. The ground in a perfect pillar underneath Garrote condensed, the impossible weight of the gravity so great that it couldn’t even crumble. The ground sunk down several dozen feet, the adjacent stone shifting outwards to accommodate room.

However, unfortunately the moment that Garrote cast the spell, he also enacted an opposite force on himself, bringing his quickened freefall to a sudden, visceral stop, all of the backlash focusing on his arm. The bones in Garrotes right arm shot out the back of his shoulder in hundreds of little pieces, the loose flesh and muscle ripping and tearing into stunted strands, the mutilated mess barely even resembling an arm anymore. Garrote spun wildly, landing on the ground near Trenton hard.

He laid there, rolling across the ground and screaming for dear life, clutching his right arm. It seemed that ripping one’s arm into thousands of shredded ribbons hurt–a lot. Off in the distance, the bone fragments clattered across the ground, their little round bodies distinct. They would have to remember to collect those later. If Garrote’s arm could be reconstructed, they’d need them.

“Are you insane!? That could have killed you!” Kiva yelled, her and Leo limping their way over. The both of them also looked worse for wear, but not quite as much as Garrote and Trenton.

“I’m fine,” Trenton heaved, trying his best to project his voice. “Focus,” Trenton weakly pointed over at Garrote. Kiva kneeled down next to Garrote, inspecting the arm.

“Holy shit,” she muttered, her eyes wide. “Leo, hold him still. I need to operate on this right away.”

1 Trenton wasn’t able to see what happened next, but while his consciousness slowly faded, he did vividly recall hearing Garrote’s screams crescendoing to a maddening pitch, his agony clear to all around. The battle was over.