Knights Apocalyptica

Erec hit the ground in a roll, then tried to return to his feet. Only the force of the blow kept him going, stopping him from catching himself. His back smashed into a pile of wood—and even that cost too much time. The ground shook beneath, and it only meant one thing. That giant man was right there, ready to throw another blow.

All of this happened in a split second. Not enough time to process the pain.

[Duck.]

As he heard the giant's labored grunt, Erec dived for the ground, feeling the air displace above his head.

[Roll to the right]

Erec did just as VAL commanded, but he could not see the guy attacking him. The ground beneath his feet gave way as the giant man stomped the place Erec had been. Dirt cracked and shifted as Erec forced whatever Strength he could into his legs, jumping with all his might.

He felt a fire stir within his gut as he kicked out, flying further.

The sting of his chest, of bruised bone where the cheap shot hit him, served as great fuel.

[By Dan—what kind of performance-enhancing drugs is this man on? Erec, jump again.]

Erec’s feet touched the ground, and he launched off once more, finally getting a sight of his purser—the giant behemoth of a Knight who Erec didn’t even know the name of.

Those tiny beady eyes betrayed nothing, and it did not make much sense as the Knight once again kicked off after Erec. Each of those massive steps was like a strumming chord in a melody of battle, each powerful movement a note of absolute strength that launched him forward, kicking up dust as he effortlessly closed whatever distance Erec could put between them. There was only one way in which this song would end: death.

[He can’t be trying to kill you, right Buckeroo?]

“It doesn’t matter,” Erec growled, sensing the challenge.

This man, this beast, this monster… It took the fight to a place where Erec was all too familiar. However, the massive eyes betrayed nothing, the way he’d approached this fight, the attempt to overwhelm and force Erec into submission through raw brutality. That spoke all that Erec needed to hear. This was a challenge. Not a civilized duel, not a matter of noble Knights.

No, this man wanted a raw brawl where they would bash another guy’s face until his enemy cried on the ground. The type of fight that Erec was certain this Knight had never lost.

Might makes right?

Did it make it right to introduce yourself to your new charge with curled fists?

I suppose it does if he wins since I can’t do anything about it.

So too, then, might must make right. If said initiate managed to turn the tables and destroy the overgrown man’s oversized ego, then pity on him.

“We will win, VAL,” Erec said, feeling the sparks catch, they flickered silver.

[Uh.]

For a brief second, a moment of alarm rang through Erec, telling him to pull the breaks on this before it went too far. He pulled out far too much firepower for what the situation warranted.

“If you hold back, then your training is over, and I’ll send you home with broken bones,” the loud voice boomed, “So perish the thought and show me what type of steel I’m working with.”

[I would generally advise caution, but… Well, he did ask for it, didn’t he?]

Let go. Erec hit the ground again and let the fire burn him out from the inside. In a flash of heat and power, he felt his muscles tense. The world seemed to slow as the wall of moving bulk and flesh rushed him again. One giant fist extended to land yet another crushing blow. This man was so confident that it would land and any defense beneath his overwhelming power would be crushed.

So Erec didn’t defend.

No, he took the blow—letting the fist slam right into his chest; both hands snapped out to grasp the curled fist of the monster after it hit; instantly, all of the oxygen left his lungs, he gasped for air, and the pain radiated outward from what he suspected might be a devastating hit to his insides.

None of that mattered. Nor did the buzzing voice of VAL as it listed the damages accrued.

Pain was power, and as his fingers dug into the flesh of the monster he was facing, the most important part of the trade was there—he hadn’t flung Erec off into the air once more with the hit. Erec skidded as the blow kept coming, using every bit of his power to stay upright and hold the fist. The only reason it worked is the blow’s pain fed him, fueling his fire.

His insides burned brighter; his skin felt hot; it might boil away any second.

As the momentum of the strike faded, Erec flexed his legs. Shifting the grip of his hands to hold onto the bottom of the guy’s fist, and then with a sudden jerk that strained every muscle he had, Erec flung upward, using his own considerable Strength to force the arm up towards the sky; the giant let out a laugh of surprise as the maneuver succeeded, flinging the fist. And more importantly, it left an opening for Erec to close the distance and get at his target's body.

Not thinking of the crippling pain of broken ribs, Erec darted in, screaming as he sent a whistling fist into his enemy.

It felt... like punching steel. No. More than that, the resistance there and the explosion of pain and broken fingers reminded him of that wall in the Vortex Industries underground, the one that VAL said was made of one of the hardest materials known to man. Erec let out another cry of pain, once more converting the heat of that injury into more fuel.

There was a lag in the fight. The hit wasn’t for nothing. With a grimace, the giant took a step back; it was in his face that he felt the blow. But he was no green initiate, and then, in a fluid motion that betrayed countless hours of practice, the big guy snapped out a kick, hitting Erec in the skull and sending him twisting into a pile of lumber; the piece of wood went flying, dimly, Erec was aware of angry calls and alarm from the workers.

All he saw were stars.

“Apologies. I’ll replace the wood,” The giant said, moving in on Erec’s collapsed position to pacify the poor people around them.

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The casual disregard, the fact that he knew none of these people would challenge their fight, pissed Erec off. Erec tried to stand up again, finding that his legs were jelly—his brain rattled and mush from the direct hit to his head.

[Concussion?]

The words didn’t even register.

With a wave of his hand, the poor citizens who were hard at work trying to construct this damned tournament ring fled, calling out to the rest of the hapless workers in this place to make space for the two idiots brawling in the middle of a work site. When you’re powerful, you can do whatever you want. Erec, too, had learned that lesson with the merchants below. Yet, when he used his power, he did not try to make it a habit to interfere with others going about their lives.

This was pointless—an abuse of that power.

Prick. Erec thought, once more trying to stand.

It would be seconds until this guy reached him and then beat him to a bloody pulp; his punch, while enough to give a pause, hadn’t drawn blood or left a lasting impact—and he knew why.

Burn.

The silver fire was there, within his fingers' grasp. And this time, Erec didn’t shy away. He let the fire into him, let it turn into an inferno. Reason left his mind, replaced with the knightly desire to test his strength against this beast of a man. How would the likes of this guy fair against those he’d prevailed against so far? Let him see the true worth of a Knight of the Round Table.

A silver coat of fire flared around Erec, causing the giant to step back; the fire condensed into a layer of Armor. Erec’s eyes burned as he stared at his foe, feeling the bones of his fingers snap back into place as his mantle fell around him. A second presence lingered in his mind, an identity that was his, just as he was his own person. He was Erec, son of Lac. And before him was a strange blue knight. Whom among them had more might?

“Ye shall fall,” Erec promised, the words strange to his tongue.

[Again, speaking weirdly. Or maybe that hit to your head really had lasting damages—no, you did this during the fight against Dan. Ugh. This anomalous energy and its odd attachments. How can you do concrete variables when it makes so little sense?]

“Ah, so there it is,” The big man said, standing back and slipping into a defensive posture. His beady eyes regarded Erec, yet they held no fear. As was acceptable, if he intended to see the true worth of a Knight of the Round, he had no idea what it meant to fight one—Erec was more than happy to provide him a lesson. “Right, then. Quit putzing about and staring at me with that silver armor you’ve manifested. Let’s see what you can do.”

Erec flashed him a grin and then kicked off, fire exploding outward from his feet in a silver burst as he rocketed at the man—Erec hit, fist extended, pushing past that metal-like skin of his foe and hitting beneath, the momentum of the movement carrying them both forward for several feet as the big guy skidded over the ground. Yet, it didn’t knock his foe down; all it earned was a grunt of pain and acknowledgment.

When they came to a stop, the man launched his counter, swiping at Erec and knocking him in the side—where he hit, the living silver fire armor crumpled, breaking the bone beneath—as it reformed, as more of that heat entered Erec’s veins, the bones healed, the pain didn’t ease. Still, it became a conduit; the connection between him and his other self grew more steady. Their actions were in sync; Erec launched another blow to respond, smashing past the big guy's guards and sending him tumbling over the ground.

With another flash of silver fire, Erec was there, ready to pounce on his enemy on the ground; only it was a trick. The big guy was prepared, kicking Erec’s legs out from under him, once more snapping bone with a nasty crack. A meaty hand grabbed Erec by the hair, tearing through the silver helmet that formed and then shoving Erec’s face a foot deep into the dirt.

How dare he?

Erec’s legs healed, and he pulled himself free from the earth—only to catch another kick to his skull, flinging him head over body across the wasteland; only about half of a second passed before he felt a meaty palm grab his leg, then spin him around and toss him through the air.

[Ah, we’re flying, and he does seem to be trying his best to kill you.] VAL warned, and so they were; the wind whistled through Erec’s disoriented skull as they sailed the sky, hundreds of feet up and traveling rapidly away from the work site—out towards the empty wasteland inside the steel curtain.

“Quiet, squire,” Erec commanded.

[Excuse you, Buckeroo?!]

Erec sent out a pulse of silver fire through his feet, twisting in the air as he scanned around, his body already mending from the devastating blows—his foe, where?

There. The big man was rushing towards him on the ground still, no doubt calculating where the arc of his throw would land his target; with the pace of his jog, the way he threw himself across the ground, it was clear the big guy would easily reach Erec when he crashed.

“Try again, monster; I shall not play by thy rules,” Erec declared, pulling further on the silver fire…

In his mind’s eye, he could see his chair, his seat at the table. He could envision Camelot and its endless energy of strength and honor. Just a fraction of it, a taste of what was his—that is what he needed to win.

The fire around him, the armor unraveled as he concentrated; that was fine. His connection only allowed so much through, and this amount of Might, condensed and used to its full potential, should surely be enough to conquer the foe in front of him. The silver fire broke, spiraling towards his feet. Still flying through the middle of the air, Erec kicked off once more, burning downward towards the Knight who dared to challenge him; there was a boom as he accelerated, a rocket headed straight towards the massive mound of flesh down below.

The silver fire flared around Erec as he sped towards the ground; seconds stretched as more poured outward, coating him a second later. He was a silver comet, a star that came down from the earth to crash into the titan below.

Those beady eyes regarded him, an eyebrow raised, the big guy braced

No matter your defense, thou shalt burn beneath my glory.

CRASH.

Erec slammed into the Knight, driving him to the ground as he cratered the landscape around them. Dust plummeted as his fist connected, breaking the raised arm of his foe, who tried to brace against it. There was a snap as bone broke.

Blinded by the dust, Erec flew back with another pulse of silver; the silver fire crashed into the spot where his enemy had been, putting distance between him and the impact site.

Erec hit the ground and stumbled.

Bruised, his muscles torn, his eyes locked on where his enemy had been.

Inside, his instincts screeched at him. The foe was yet to be finished.

More? Truly?

Instinctively, he reached outward again, stretching a hand towards the silver fire, trying to call more of it upon himself; yet the connection there was withered, scorched, and unusable by the quantity of power transferred through. His awareness, that picture of Camelot, of his Strength, the surety of his might and who he was, faded.

The silver fire turned once more to that burning mortal hell, and even that was spent; the last flutters left as his body grappled with what had happened.

No. More.

Erec spat out blood—at some point, he’d bit his tongue, and his body hurt like hell.

The dust cleared.

As it did, it gave a lovely view of the massive Knight staring at him, broken arm hanging by his side.

Then, that broken arm snapped once more, with a flex of his muscles pushing the bone back into place. Veins ran from the guy's forehead, and he gave a grunt. He rolled his shoulders, the muscles beneath like a flesh mountain, his skin going red as he took a deep inhale… All of his muscles tensed, and he took a step towards Erec.

More. Erec panicked, reaching for the silver flames again, trying to dig it out in time to save him; all he needed was to launch himself away and gain more time.

What manner of monster is this man?

[Move!] VAL called, and Erec stumbled, trying to backpedal as the silver fire refused to come and the regular fires sputtered.

“Good. You are steel worth working with, and I’ll have to beat you into a weapon deserving of that steel.” The Knight's voice boomed, crashing through the air and hurting Erec’s ears. He lifted his fist and snapped it into the ground in the blink of an eye, hitting the rock and dirt beneath the feet. If Erec had left them in a crater—this was something else entirely. A hole goddess knew how deep; his eyes went wide as the land beneath him collapsed, as he fell, dirt and stone burying him and the Knight.

The last thing Erec saw was dust. The last thing he felt was a rock smashing into his head.

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