Chapter 445 - Far Future Ch. 155 – A Few Fight Scenes (1/2)

Jensa's opponent was a battle chimera, a drow who'd basically bio-modded himself right out of sanity and was basically nothing left but a killing machine. Bone grafts, explosive muscle growth, launchable bone spikes, some tentacles for gripping and rending fun, implanted diamond-hard claws, implanted psychoceramic scales for playing with colors and camouflage, even a whipping tail for that brutally dangerous edge.

She struck just once, weaving her way through his attack pattern in one burst of speed, and driving her sword Hawk right through the nexus of his decentralized brain and blowing banefire through his system.

His tail, two tentacles, and two lashing hands hit the walls rat-tat-tat, spraying some effulgent ichor from his body that couldn't be called blood anymore, and his burning eyes and snapping, overlong jaws dripping poison gaped down at her in complete disbelief at the sword that had followed a whirling spiral path around him, and was now thrusting up under his composite-reinforced ribs, through his throat, and all the way up into what was left of his brain.

His organic components gave way rather violently, and Jensa was sent flying, taking the impact of rupturing biochemicals igniting smoothly, landing firmly, plowing a trough in the floor, and not even leaving the starting ring.

Our new bookies turned around and saw our toothy smiles. Funds were passed over as our eyes didn't leave theirs.

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A young warlock, out to gain some fame and ascend to higher surface. They didn't spend as much time in the arenas, as they were more Klaw-focused and looking for real combat instead of murder games, which tended to be the focus of attention-hungry Amoureans. Still, he was a trained killer in black carapace armor, dual-wielding long and short blades, looking sneeringly confident of his chances of success against a breshkt like Keva.

Completely dismissive of him, Keva approached, mirroring his motions effortlessly, closing straight to weapon range as their blades crossed.

Three seconds later he was dead, as his finesseable, fractal-edged sword was beat aside effortlessly, his wired reflexes sent him to dodging as he tried to get his knife into position to parry the blow that was coming, and the point of a sword far too heavy to be moved so deftly cut down and across as she followed his footwork easily.

He watched his knife hand go flying into the air as it crossed paths with the edge of Flair, and the skirl of his own blade followed his jerking retreat to somehow crash through the crystalline lens of his own helm and into his eye.

His scream of pain was muffled as he moved to counter, slashing blindingly fast twice, missing once, batted aside the second time, and then he looked up as she caught his descending severed hand without looking, and drove the hooked poniard his hand was holding, and the neurotoxin on it, into his other eye.

He was mostly dead as he faltered there on his feet and the neurotoxin began to ravage his system, bursting blood cells and turning years of conditioning and killing of hapless slaves and rivals into sloughing meat inside his armor.

Keva turned and walked away without looking back, glancing slightly up at the group of Warlocks in their carapace armor who'd come to watch one of their own get blooded and no doubt celebrate afterwards.

Natural Fencer. Her ability to feint and read an opponent in a fighting situation was unrivaled, and among the sword-crazed Ranthas, her Talent was hissingly acknowledged as being about as good a complement for Natural Swordswoman as could be expected to exist.

She had his fighting style broken down within seconds of him drawing his weapons, his overconfidence in his skill and armor, his inferior strength, his lacking skill and reliance on his boosted reflexes and agility, and that damn inferior pure finesse fighting style.

She had been a street thug in her last life, a knife expert and close-quarters throatslitter who preferred to kill his opponents up close and personal. He had worked as an enforcer and bodyguard to several zwilnik bosses, his superior instincts getting him out of several combat situations that had claimed those around him, knowing when to fight and when to cut and run.

All of that survival instinct and combat sense had been useless when the cultists came down, burned his mind to a crisp, and turned his body into a screaming pslave.

She acknowledged that her soul had belonged to a psychopath who enjoyed plying his knives in all sorts of situations outside combat, but even now, his rage at what had been done to him by the Warp came through the cycle of reincarnation fine and dandy.

These demented, deluded elvar fucks who thought they were getting away with something hit all those anger buttons. Keva was a far, far better combatant then Kevan had ever even dreamed was possible, and while he was a merciless, emotionless killer who could kill at the drop of a hat, administering some repayment on his behalf for contributing such a perfect Talent was a fine way of saying goodbye to him and becoming something greater than his survivor's-mentality ever dreamed.

Those Warlocks would be more light exercise when they came for revenge, and move the lot of us up to a higher venue. Post-Ten Levels and capability in combat waited for nobody, after all, and these Warp-crazed bastards deserved to be shown what a true fencer could do to them...

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The pink-haired bitch realized I was playing with her about twenty seconds into our fight, when I stopped casually parrying all her attacks, pretending I needed to dodge her knives, and began to slap her, her overdone cleavage, lack of armor, and pink hair all over the place.

She couldn't outrun me, although she really tried, dancing all over the place and trying stupid spin moves until she ran into my fist, then my elbow in light succession, pounding her back off her feet with a broken nose and cheekbone, and sans a few teeth, too. She got back up, spitting blood in wild-eyed sadomasochistic delight that she thought would get a rise out of me, and I just looked at her in casual disdain.

To be honest, the girls had obeyed the paradigm of Ten First and gained far fewer Secondary Levels than I had, which meant they were only behind me because breaking Ten was a such a PITA. However, there were bunches of post-Ten drow who might be tempted to come down and crack open the Second Ceiling for us. They actually had more Melee Levels, while I had been relying on my Rantha Levels for raw combat capability, my Melee still at Ten as I rounded up all my Secondary Classes and those precious Skill Ranks needed for all these damn tech and knowledge Skills I needed to keep maxed out.

Still, them Rantha Levels and their continuing Stat buffs and +1 BAB per Level were nothing but sweet, even if they were expensive as hell.