Perhaps he could help these three in a way that nobody had ever bothered to help him.
They found an empty expanse of the flattened expanse of white sand. Scorio set his pack down to the side and turned to face the three of them. “Any of you have any unusually lethal powers I should know about up front? Something that will just kill me right away?”
The three exchanged glances, then as one shook their heads.
“Then let’s start. Whenever you’re ready, come at me.” Scorio smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine.”
“You asked for it,” said Kelona, and when her Heart ignited, she turned into pure gold, her eyes, her teeth, her hair, all of it. Supple, lithe, fluid, though her robes remained unchanged.
They must have agreed beforehand, because the other two simply stepped back and crossed their arms.
“Interesting,” said Scorio, igniting his own Heart. Its blaze felt like a bonfire compared to the dull glow that he dimly sensed from her own. “That mana based? Can you change into different substances.”
“Just gold,” said Kelona. “But it’s served me well so far.” She crouched then exploded upward. Leaped so high that Scorio had to crane his head back as a backlash of dust blasted out from where she’d stood. Kelona rose high enough to become a speck, then began to drop. She’d angled her descent to land on him, he saw, so he waited till the last moment then leaped back a few paces.
She slammed her fist into the sand when she landed, falling into a deep crouch, the power of her punch causing the sand to tremble, circles flowing out around her for a second before stilling. Kelona looked up, flashed a golden grin, and then leaped at him. A spray of sand burst out behind her, and again Scorio simply sidestepped so that she flew past him.
She landed a dozen yards beyond, pivoted, sprinted back, and this time she came right at him, golden fists flying. Just before she hit him her form blazed as if it had caught the sun directly; the sight was magnificent, awe-inspiring, and Scorio felt a supernatural influence wash over him, a feeling at once intimidating and shocking, as if he’d dared raise his voice against an Imperator.
At least, it was the beginnings of such a feeling. It fell away from him quickly, unable to latch on to his mind, and Scorio found himself able to block and parry her attacks without having to shift to his scaled form.
She was an adept fighter. Clearly she’d put her time in training at the Academy. Her attacks were tight, fast, and controlled. She kept her balance over her feet, bobbing and weaving, throwing jabs and hooks as she drove him back, her metal fists hitting his forearms with punishing force.
Scorio let her push him back a few yards, then found an opening and slammed a heavy cross into her cheek.
If his fist hadn’t been Gold-tempered he’d probably have broken his wrist, but her head snapped to the side, his knuckles imprinted on her jaw. Scorio shook his hand out, danced back, but that was a feint. As she lunged after him, he ducked back in low and rose to bury an uppercut in her stomach.
This time, his knuckles flared in pain as they split, and she drove her elbow down into his back. The blow was strong, but not enough to drive him to his knees. He wrapped his arms around her waist and dumped her onto the ground then stepped back.
Kelona scowled and kipped up to her feet, pushing off the ground just above her shoulders. The marks on her jaw were gone, but before she could come after him Scorio raised his palm.
“Good. Nagarjuna?”
Kelona’s shoulders sagged. “I was just warming up.”
“I know. You’ll get another chance.”
The gold faded from her skin, and fighting the urge to pout, Kelona stepped back.
Nagarjuna stepped up, hesitant, biting his lower lip.
“Whenever you’re ready,” said Scorio.
Nagarjuna glanced at the other two. Kelona gave him a thumbs up. The scrawny man took a deep breath, ignited his Heart, and fell apart.
He simply collapsed into a mass of ropes, each as thick as Scorio’s thumb, endless coils from which arose a dozen ends that were tipped with foot-long gray spikes. These swayed up into the air like cobras and oriented on Scorio.
“Oh, wow,” said Scorio, taken aback. “Now that’s new.”
There was no clear center to the man, just a tangled core where all the ropes or tentacles intermeshed together.
Before Scorio could speculate further Nagarjuna came for him. The spike-tipped tentacles burst like flung spears at his chest, his face, fast and furious like swarming eels. Scorio summoned his Shroud, a massive hemisphere of force against which Nagarjuna plastered himself then spread out over so that he encased it with his hundreds of ropes. But he rapidly slipped around the Shroud, spreading out thin so that even as Scorio swung his Shroud back and forth he flowed around the edges and flung his spikes at Scorio once more.
Scorio leaped to the side, smacking one out of the air, ducked a second, but they were coming too fast and hard; one slammed into his gut, the second into his shoulder. Their needle-sharp tips sank in about a half-inch, stopped not by muscle or bone but Scorio’s own Gold-tempering; still, the second the first one pierced his skin that tentacle thickened as the rest of Nagarjuna began to retract and flow into that tentacle.
The effect was blindingly fast. One second the spike was striking Scorio, the next the bulk of Nagarjuna’s tentacles were flowing up through it as if that arm had become a straw, a conduit into Scorio.
But his Gold-tempering blocked whatever would have happened next; Nagarjuna’s tentacle swelled but failed to inject himself; Scorio tore the spike free, smacked away the others, but was quickly overwhelmed as more and more tentacles emerged from the bolus that had formed and wrapped around him, entangling his arms and legs.
“Damn,” laughed Scorio, fighting to not become completely wrapped up. “The man’s making me work here.”
The tentacles tightened like manacles, seeking to constrict Scorio, but enough was enough. OFF! Scorio commanded, and the tentacles immediately slackened as Nagarjuna fell away.
Scorio hopped back and again raised his palms. “Fascinating, but that’s enough for now. Wesyd?”
Nagarjuna’s ropey form merged back into a humanoid shape and became his scrawny self. He was fighting for his breath, his face sheened with sweat, and staggered back gratefully to stand beside Kelona.
Wesyd moved forward. “I’ll do my best. My powers, are, ah…”
“Just hit me as hard as you can,” said Scorio, beckoning him on with one hand.
To Scorio’s surprise, Wesyd took a deep breath and began to sing. His voice was a rich baritone, vibrant and powerful, and though wordless his song rose in strength and volume. For a second, Scorio thought it would be a sonic attack, some kind of slam akin to Galvon’s wall of force, but instead Wesyd began waving his arms around with careful purpose as if shaping the air, and the song faded away.
Perplexed, Scorio saw thick shimmering ropes form in the air around the Tomb Spark; they were hard to discern, their presence subtle. Wesyd shifted his weight back and forth, his muscles and sinews in tight relief as if the invisible ropes were massively weighty, then spun in a completely circle and brought two ropes swinging across Scorio.
The second they hit the sound of Wesyd’s singing exploded in volume, causing Scorio’s whole body to vibrate, his chest cavity resonating, his thoughts swamped by the complexity and power of the song. Wesyd’s will clamped down upon him, urging him to stop and listen even as the force of the blows sent him staggering to the side.
Scorio shrugged off the impulse easily, but Wesyd was still swinging around, bringing other ropes into existence, his mouth working soundlessly as he sang them into existence. Scorio raised his arms protectively around his head, the first two ropes having passed clear through him and leaving him in silence once more, and moved in, intent on probing the man’s defenses.