19 Vol 1. pt. 19 Patch 4.0: Rocks are a Mans Best Friend (2/2)

One must wait for the perfect moment to strike to maximize their chances of success. The target isn't going to escape.

Now!

The spear thrusts directly into its mark, impaling its victim on it.

Fenrir drops his spear and grabs onto the one now sticking out through the front of his abdomen. This spear actually has a proper metal head unlike his own, but the pole itself is still wooden.

”Got you, you bastard! Too bad you're too far from home to call for help,” a voice taunts Fenrir from behind, but it isn't one that he recognizes. It's feminine, but also deep in a sort of raspy, tomboyish way.

This isn't good. The darkness that was overtaking his eyesight after being stabbed earlier was finally gone. Now it's back in even more force than before. He feels like even a slightly rough poke is going to knock him out.

”I think,” Fenrir pauses to let out a pained grunt, ”you've got the wrong guy!” he shouts at her, drawing his sword and bringing it down against the wooden shaft of her spear! The spearhead gets severed off and falls to the ground.

”You bastard! I spent all my money on this!” she shouts, pulling the headless spear out of him.

Fenrir lurches forward without the spear holding him up in place.

”Shit, I really don't want to die here,” he thinks to himself. Most of his body feels numb. He may not get paralyzed by pain as somebody with maximum pain allowed would, but the numbing effect that takes its place is just as dangerous. ”Why can't I just fish in peace?” he asks, turning around and falling to one knee.

”Haah? Fish? Shouldn't you be busy trying to trick more girls into being some dumb toy for you like the rest of your guild does?” she asks, using her spear-now-staff to swipe his only standing leg out from underneath him. He's forced to his knees.

”I told you that you've got the wrong guy,” Fenrir struggles to say, barely able to see through the black now. It doesn't stop him from trying to thrust his sword forward.

She smacks it out of his hands.

”Yeah, right, you just so happen to be wearing armor with that guild's logo on it just because you feel like it. Am I supposed to believe that?” she replies, smacking the tip of her staff against his right shoulder.

He looks down at where she just smacked. It's hard to see, but she's right. There is a damned stinking garlic sitting on his shoulder which looks the same as it did on the ship's flag.

There probably isn't any chance of talking his way out of this. ”I promise you that you've got the wrong—”

She thrusts her staff into his gut, knocking him onto his back.

He can't move. He tries to form fists, but he can't. He tries to wiggle his toes, but can't. He can't even lift his head to properly look at her.

”Saya, what's happening?” He can still think at least.

”Sorry, Onii-chan, but when you're defeated you won't be able to move. You're at the mercy of whoever defeats you. As long as the last attack isn't a fatal blow, you'll just be incapacitated and unable to move so that your enemy can do whatever they want with you. You don't have traumatic content enabled though, so nothing too bad can happen to you,” Saya explains.

What she added on about nothing too bad happening doesn't make him feel any better about this.

The woman stands behind him now, holding her staff up above his head and preparing to smash it right down into his face. ”Any last words, bastard?” she asks. A sadistic grin is on her face. She looks as satisfied as the character of a movie whom is about to avenge the death of their father by a man with six fingers on his right hand.

”I can see up your skirt,” Fenrir says, making it very clear that he's looking up underneath it. ”Black? How risqué.” Might as well piss her off even more if she's just going to kill him anyway.

And oh does it work.

With burning red cheeks and a glare that could kill, she thrusts her staff down toward his face!

Fenrir instinctively closes his eyes.

”The hell is this thing, you bastard?!” she shouts. He hears more fighting. ”Damn ankle biter! Where were you hiding?!” she shouts some more. It sounds like she's smacking her staff against rock. Whatever it is she's attacking, it has to be hard enough for her staff to break against it since a splinter of the wooden shaft lands on his chest.

Fenrir uses all of his strength just to turn his head so that he can see what's happening.

A small, canid creature that looks to be made of stone is sinking its fangs into her ankles. It isn't large enough to reach any higher.

”Ow! That fucking hurts!” she shouts, kicking it with the foot it isn't biting onto. It turns out that kicking something seemingly made out of stone isn't a good idea. ”How the fuck am I supposed to beat you!” she shouts at it, swinging around the foot that it's latched onto.

She inevitably throws it off of her foot. It lands right next to Fenrir's head, giving him a better view of it. It's the size of a small dog and looks like a dog that was carved out of stone, yet it's surprisingly nimble. Its ”tail” even has a slight wag to it.

Furthermore, it's the exact same brown color that Rock is. It has the occasional spots of grey and white, too.

The stone pup snarls at the woman as it takes on an aggressive stance.

It can't be… right?

”Rock?” Fenrir asks.

The pup – Rock, turn its head back to look at Fenrir. A pair of silvery eyes sits within its eye sockets that look to be the only non-stone part of it. Even its short fangs are made of jagged rock, and its tongue is the same way.

Rock looks back at the woman and barks.

”Don't you fucking dare hurt Rock,” Fenrir says, glaring at the woman.

The look in his eyes is enough to send shivers down her spine. Even though she knows he can't fight back anymore, his voice and eyes still scare her.