Chapter 1463 (1/2)

“The First Book of Revelations: Advance!”

Hank rolled backward and popped up on his feet to avoid another blast of ice, but inwardly he was sighing. Already the composition of images in the surrounding area was shifting; a heavyweight had finally bared her fangs. I’d hoped Alana woulda waited just a mite longer…. Ah, well. This way is more fun.

His gaze slid sideways to the radiant form of Alana Donal crossing the arena. Two wings as long as he was tall beat elegantly as she gliding toward him, shedding ivory feathers that tumbled artistically through the air around her. In her wake, Alana also released a wave of orange-gold fire that rapidly spread her image’s influence. And both his and Wivanya’s image were rapidly giving ground to Alana. In terms of image potency, Hank hadn’t yet been forced to face something as overwhelming as her pseudo-holiness in the whole of the tournament.

A good day for a duel, Hank thought with a smile, sparing one more glance up toward the chaotic sky above the arena. Then he drew his revolver, popped the cylinder out and carefully inserted an extremely special bullet that he had made for just this occasion.

With a whispered prayer, he spun the cylinder and then snapped it back into place with a flick of his wrist. He sidestepped another gout of frost as the Frost Dragon began to heave her body across the ground toward him and then aimed his revolver through the inclement elements toward the glorious charge of Alana Donal. Stopping her here was important.

Once Alana Donal caught the scent of your weakness, she would pursue relentlessly.

Bang!

The bullet blasted a hole directly through the ice and wind Wivanya produced and arrived in front of Alana Donal. The woman didn’t even blink. Hank was somewhat aggrieved to see that Alana had already planted her front foot and settled into a steady stance with her spear raised as he had aimed at her; she had predicted his move perfectly. But even so, that bullet wasn’t something that could be easily-

“Sunstrike!” Alana called. It was difficult to tell whether the glorious light of the sun arrived or the spear blurred into motion first, but Alana seemed to be suddenly standing at the center of a world of pure light. Like a black hole pressing on the fabric of space, everything in the surrounding was being inexorably pulled into her gravitational influence. Her intent hung in the air with her words, pure and clear.

Spear met bullet in a brilliant kaleidoscope of light. Alana’s image might be quite flashy, but part of that sense of ‘flash’ was just the natural side effect of the obvious strength of her image. It commanded attention like a lighthouse pulled in ships on stormy nights. In that meeting of spear and bullet, Hank felt Alana’s image continue to increase in intensity. At Alana’s core was a religious veneration that informed every decision she had made since encountering Randidly Ghosthound. There was no hesitation in her strike.

And in exchange for that revenant loyalty, Alana had followed a Path directly toward great power. Looking at the light that Alana could produce with her bread and butter attack Skill, even Hank felt a certain amount of awe for her determination and commitment. He wondered how often she had practiced exactly this Skill in the past, preparing for the day she might use that attack to cut a bullet out of the air.

...in summary, Hank’s bullet and the image contained therein were summarily annihilated. It was the same sort of execution that informed an uneasy populace that it would be no trouble for their despot leader to render them helpless again, if need be. This was just business.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Hank muttered. He considered trying another shot, because he had prepared three bullets of increasing power to play into the natural narrative of his image, but Wivanya was surging toward him. He leapt backward, creating some distance from those frosted claws and glanced over toward Ancho. “Ah… buddy, I need to borrow your image for a bit.”

Ancho huffed in dissatisfaction. Hank winced as he rolled underneath a blast of frost that passed so close to his face he had to suppress the urge to sneeze. Then he looked imploringly at his horse. “Look, I know ya are hungry, but right now we are fightin’. I promise, after ta’ fight, I’ll getcha plenty of grub.”

To that, Ancho snickered.

Hank’s face turned red. Alana sped past the wrathful Wivanya and approached him with her spear raised. “What do ya mean, the fastest way ta end the match is for me to lose?!?”

But then Alana was before him and Hank couldn’t spare any more attention for his unpredictable partner. He cleanly drew his repeater but had to pause in the draw motion because Alana’s spear swept sideways through the space where his repeater would have been to perfectly unleash a barrage of bullets toward her position. The only reason that the gun wasn’t knocked out of his hand was that he had paused. Hank’s eyes narrowed. She’s faster than I’ve ever seen her…

To avoid the ‘cleansing’ aspect of the holy light that Alana released, which might just cleanse the flesh right from his bones if he was exposed for too long, Hank leaned backward and launched himself into a back handspring. As he flipped backward, he caught himself on the ground with his left hand and raised his right to fire while performing a handstand, but Alana was still moving too quickly for him to get a good shot. Hank could only tuck his knees down, hit the ground, and then roll explosively to the side.

“Going to dodge all day, Hank?” Alana said quietly. “Solar Flare.”

Her already overwhelming speed increased even further. The flames that danced across her limbs surged. Hank grimaced and accepted a shallow gash across his shoulder in order to avoid an even more brutal thrust toward his thigh. Alana whipped the butt of her spear around and Hank narrowed avoided a shattered jaw.

He finally brought his repeater up and unleashed several quick shots, but her body blurred at the edges and the two lifelike wings that extended from her helmet stretched downward to swat the bullets away. Not to be dissuaded, Hank fired six more shots. While her flames devoured most of the projectiles, he did force her to flick her head from side to side in order to avoid the final two bullets.

It was, to put it simply, an unfair comparison of their base specs. And while she effortlessly squashed his counter-attacks, she continued to advance toward him.

Of course, Hank could feel his image slowly gaining traction in the surrounding space. The pressure from Alana’s image greatly increased the speed of its spread. Gradually, the chill of Wivanya was being pushed back by the whistling, austere beauty of the Wild West. He was settling into the track of the plucky underdog. Yet as Hank sidestepped an ice blast and blocked a kick that was crackling with holy energy, he didn’t feel optimistic about his chances.

Alana whipped her spear around and thrust toward his stomach. Hank fired several bullets at her waist to slow her down, but she ignored the attacks. The bullet struck her but only produced the smallest spurts of blood from the wounds. His image didn’t even manage to inconvenience her; Alana’s ability to ignore outside influences was positively unfair.

Her decisive lack of response to his attacks meant that Hank had to bring the butt of his pistol down to knock aside her spear thrust. The skin of his hand sizzled and burned from the strange radiation of Alana’s image as the golden flames licked greedily upward, but Hank was able to spin away without taking serious damage.

Except then he found himself looking at the narrowed, sapphire eyes of a three-meter tall dragon. It was a frozen moment that Hank knew would end as soon as he blinked or reacted to Wivanya’s ambush. Yet he wanted to remain in that strained piece of stretched time for as long as possible. Because as the odds were stacked against him…

As quick as lightning splitting an old oak, Hank drew his revolver, popped open the cylinder, slid in a specialty bullet, then popped the cylinder back into place. As a dragon claw with all the fury of winter was howling toward him, Hank pointed his gun toward the ground and fired. The special bullet blasted him quickly upward about ten meters before he began to slow.

He switched to his repeater and then cursed as he twisted midair and had to deflect another of Alana’s thrusts with the barrel of his gun. Hank lashed out with his leg but Alana somehow managed to duck under the attack while midair and continue her preternatural rush toward him. He aimed with the repeater but she was already too close.

Hoping to seize the initiative, Hank twisted and brought his knee upward in a brutal attack toward Alana’s forehead. But she casually slapped his attack aside with her off-hand, dispersing his force. Then her spear snaked forward and ripped a hole along Hank’s armpit. Golden flames raced along her spear to spread to Hank’s body as they locked eyes. “The Second Revelation: Struggle.”

What followed was a chaotic mess of split-second decisions as Alana’s methodical thrusts inflicted increasing amounts of damage while Hank struggled to keep up. Hank’s left shoulder was almost completely shredded and at least two of his ribs were shattered. He felt something trickling down between his shoulder blades and couldn’t tell if it was blood or sweat.

In the meantime, his image was rapidly gaining traction in the surrounding space; the clouds had truly parted and allowed the sun to shine down on the match. But the small accumulation of advantages simply wasn’t enough to keep up with Alana’s efficient spear strikes.

Even worse, Hank could feel some vital energy in his chest being rapidly depleted as he stayed within the halo of light that Alana produced. He had broken away before the flames spread directly to his body, but they continued to damage him. The holiness about her person was a spiritual poison that seeped into his mind. Against the purity and grace that she displayed, it was difficult to muster up the will to resist.

Yet somehow, Hank’s smile just kept widening. Ya, jus like this. If Alana weren’t like this…

Eventually, Hank managed to get himself smashed down into the marble of the arena rather than skewered. He left a bloody stain on the ground. As he staggered to his feet, he cast a meaningful glance over at Ancho. Due to the small distraction, he was completely blindsided by a blast of frost that knocked him off of his feet.

Ancho snickered, clearly broadcasting his thoughts. See? Almost over.

“If we win, you can have the trophy,” Hank muttered as he smacked his palm against his arms to restore feeling in the limbs. God, but his left shoulder ached every time he moved. But he couldn’t afford to remain still. So he slid a new magazine into his repeater to pepper Wivanya with bullets. The dragon surged forward with hatred in its eyes, thankfully screening Alana’s vision of Hank as she drifted casually downward. In that opportunity, he Dodge Roll’d several times in quick succession to keep Alana from locking onto him in the short term.

Ancho soft brown eyes displayed complete apathy for a human’s obsession with status. The trophy was worthless to him. Inwardly, Hank was becoming very annoyed. “You can sell it, I reckon. The trophy. For as many apples and sugar cubes as ya want!”