Chapter 180 (2/2)

Helen felt a presence to her left, and turned to find a pale Teliph. Teliph just nodded to the side, and Helen looked to see the two female twins, on the ground exhausted, with the male spear attendant standing above them. Looking more like a disheveled pincushion than a person, but monologuing enthusiastically about his strength to the depleted women.

Rolling her eyes, Helen turned back to the Ghosthound and Jacktat. A win was a win, she supposed. It was still fucking cringy that he had the nerve to be so pompous about what was effectively an endurance contest. Even if he was shitty with a spear, his dedication to punishment was real.

Although the Ghosthound had inflicted a serious injury on Jacktat, the Artisan’s eyes were not those of a defeated man. Instead, they were now deathly serious. It seemed he was finally starting to realize how this would end if he allowed things to continue as they were right now.

“This… is the greatest outrage of my life.” Jacktat said quietly, and something about the way that he said it made it seem exactly the opposite of that. His voice was no longer wild and vicious, it was cold and calculating. The Ghosthound said nothing, simply adjusting his stance and waiting.

“Did you think...this would be enough? This level of skill, this level of playing?” Again, Jacktat spoke with an exaggerated casual tone. But still, the Ghosthound remained still, waiting. One thing Helen knew for sure, from overhearing Teliph talk about the Ghosthound during his time in the prison was that there was one thing that the Ghosthound exceeded all others; that was in recuperation time. He was inexhaustible. And although Jacktat’s attitude had become more serious…

There was something odd about him. About the increasingly dark bags under his eyes, and the way his face was growing pale. About the way all the small scratches on him had become red and inflamed, and some were producing thick yellow pus.

The Ghosthound just watched, his eyes cool. The energy continued to crackle around Jacktat, soft lightning jumping from arm to arm, skipping over the large chunk missing from his one hand. He kept adjusting his grip, but he simply wasn’t able manage it with that much of his tendons and muscle mass missing.

It would heal eventually, but he did not have that sorta time.

Growling, Jacktat produced a potion. Quick as a whip, a root ripped upward from the boat, expertly smashing the glass to pieces, dumping its contents on the ground, even as Jacktat saw and tried to move.

Slowly, a dozen or so more roots twisted up out of the deck, to look towards Jacktat in askance. The Ghosthound’s eyes were a vicious emerald. His face was still, but there was something about it. It was the look of recognition a wolf gives to a lost sheep.

“You fucking…. None of you fucking take me seriously…!” Jacktat raised his spear, glaring manically down at the deck.

“Shal cannot be disturbed below.” Divveltian said suddenly. The Ghosthound’s eyes narrowed. Again, the roots whipped forward, wrapping around Jacktat’s arms, but after a second of struggle, he ripped through with brute force and brought the spear, filled with a crackling energy downward.

The Ghosthound materialized before the blow and swung his hug obsidian spear to meet the attack. The explosion was accompanied by the crackle of electricity, and although most of the energy was dispersed, the Ghosthound’s body began to twitch and seize.

Gleefully, Jacktat jumped forward, swinging his spear again. To Helen’s surprise, she didn’t make it in time, but the male spear attendant did. That pincushion was there, his spear raised defensively.

He was summarily smashed into the ground, the planks beneath him splintering slightly. Not to be outdone a second time, before Jacktat could take advantage of the blow, Helen was there, trembling even as she attacked. The weakness was real and pressing, but if she could just…

And yes, as she hoped, Jacktat dodged to the side clumsily, grimacing. It seemed he was more wounded than she realized. Which was good, because even with her newfound confidence in her skill set… To fight an Artisan… while barely able to stand…

“Heh…. hehehe, to think that-”

The root spears ripped up from the planks and through Jacktat’s legs and torso, silencing him. He spat out a gulp of blood and swayed. He swung his spear, but it just sunk halfway into a root, not managing to sever it.

“Why…. I feel… so weak…” Jacktat mumbled, looking at the ground. He dropped his spear.

“It’s because you already decay. Just give in and rot. I do not like to take your life, but…” The Ghosthound stood, his face strangely pained. Then he shook his head, and his resolution returned. “It is necessary.”

Jacktat opened his mouth, then closed it. Several more roots ripped upwards, riddling him with holes. With a sigh, the rest of his life passed from him, leaving a body slowly draining of blood, standing on the deck like a grotesque scarecrow.