“I’m guessing you know my power by now,” Gallag Heron said, his voice mocking Griever with its tone of superiority. The large man had forgotten any anger he had held earlier and didn’t seem bothered by the wound on his side. It wasn’t looking good, despite Griever’s advantage of being an unknown.
“Levitation,” Griever responded, watching the objects around Gallag sharply. He could use any of them, probably. The range needed testing though. Griever eyed the first spear he had thrown, now a few yards away and sticking in the ground where Gallag had left it. It could work. “Though it wasn’t that hard to see.”
“Pity, I thought I hid it well.” Gallag raised his hands, letting both of his swords go. Griever was still a little surprised when both blades rose in the air instead of hitting the dirt. And, to his dismay, Griever saw Gallag’s other sword and the shield on his back rise as well. Then, weapons started to rise from the death around him. Spears, a few axes, multiple swords, and even a handful of knives. It made the air around him littered with the bloody weapons.
“Not well enough, obviously.” Griever watched the range of the floating weapons as they left the ground, but some outliers made him weary of making an estimate.
‘He could be limiting the range on purpose,’ Bash offered. ‘He doesn’t seem to be all that stupid, if you ignore the infidelity and losing himself to anger.’
Griever grunted in agreement. “Watch him and the spears.”
Pulling a spear from the ground with the hand he had used to ‘stop’ his arm’s bleeding, Griever stabbed the weapon into the ground and stood up strait. “You’ll see,” he told the Gear. “Also, watch for his Gear.”
‘I don’t see,’ Bash complained, ‘And looking for gear is impossible. They can take on any form their master chooses.’
“No reason to hide that then, huh?” Griever willed Bash into the form of his large gauntlet. The shield connected to his shoulder and the top of the gauntlet seemed to just appear in an instant. Like one minute it wasn’t there, the next it was. It should have bothered Griever, he thought, but ignored it. He was used to this now, even with only a few hours to get used to fucking MAGIC. Maybe the loss of everyone he knew dulled it?
Gallag seemed to sneer through his large beard. “Neat gauntlet,” he said to Griever in a mocking tone, “But what power does your Gear have? It’s only fair to tell me, since you know mine.”
Griever gritted his teeth. He hated cocky enemies. He hated them more when they had a reason to bo cocky. It made for an annoying combo. But he had faced worse, or so he wanted to believe, and stood his ground.
“Sorry, but all mine does is change shape,” Griever said as sarcastically as he could. “I haven’t found any power like yours.”
The giant glared at Griever. “If you won’t tell me,” he growled, “Then I’ll have to find out the hard way!”
Suddenly, weapons of all kinds started flying toward Griever. They seemed to be as fast as arrows, throwing Griever for a spin as he barely dodged the first one. After that, however, Griever realized he could see the projectiles. In fact, they were hardly faster than a sword swing from a skilled trainee. Powerful, but not invisible like an Easterner’s strike.
Confidence started to grow in Griever as he continued to dodge and made his way forward. It was time to test another theory he had. It would be dangerous but…
‘Your spear!’ Bash yelled.
Griever grinned. ‘He grab it?’
‘Yes, even though it was five and a half yards – from what I understand of human measurement – away!’
‘Alright,’ Griever thought, dodging a spear and catching the edge of a dagger across the side of his leg. Pain sprouted from the injury, but it was way more dull than it should have been. ‘Watch the other spear.’
For a moment, all Griever could do was dodge. From what Gallag’s face told him, the giant was not happy to be missing, even with Griever receiving cuts all across his body. It told Griever that this was a man who was not used to losing or even winning by just a little. No, Gallag Heron was a man who liked to crush his opponents to prove his superiority.
And Griever would use that to his advantage now that he was sure of something else.
‘And what is that?’ Bash asked, sounding honestly curious.
‘He can’t use his levitation really well,’ Griever told the Gear, dodging another spear and knocking a sword out of the air with the Gear gauntlet. ‘He can only throw and stop things. He was only able to wrap that cloth around his waist by focusing, too.’
‘I see,’ Bash said, ‘It would also explain why he doesn’t just surround you with those weapons and crush you from all directions.’
‘Then shall we?’
‘Indeed,’ Bash said cheerfully, ‘Also, he can’t grab the other spear, making his range somewhere between five and twelve yards.’
Griever nodded to himself and started charging. Of course, it couldn’t really be called a charge. Every step, every movement, and even every breath had been calculated and adjusted to be just how Griever wanted. He took the hits he could afford, knocked others away, and even ignored some that he knew would miss.
By the time he had gotten within striking distance, Gallag had given up throwing weapons in torrents and grabbed two swords from the air again, leaving other swords in the air and copying his arms movement. A dangerous, yet predictable set up. Even with the extra blades, they seemed to move along the same path as Gallag’s primary weapons.
Gallag struck faster than Griever could have thought the man possible of, landing his sword in the uncovered arm. Pain flooded into Griever from that point but he ignored it, mainly from adrenaline. He even ignored the extra swords that stabbed into his shoulder, lower arm, gut, and hip. None were vital, so they didn’t matter. All that mattered was the victory.
“Want to know why they call me the Bloodfist?” Griever asked Gallag, causing the man to freeze. Griever took that hesitation and struck with his armored fist, driving it home to Gallag’s gut – and through it.