《Paragons》Chapter 157 - Battle Royale: Grand Finale
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Mike hardened his brain and stopped fighting the enemy coronas. He didn't have the mental energy to split his attention like that anymore. There were only four opponents left. That sounded great when compared to the initial number of one hundred. It didn't seem half bad even when you considered the difference between seven full paragons and four. In that moment, though, the contrast between one of him and four of them proved most relevant. He was wiped out, barely able to hold on, and so dizzy from the thrashing he didn't think he could walk in a straight line if his life depended on it.
The last time they had done this, they had paused after a while, no doubt thinking he might be dead. They wouldn't stop prematurely a second time unless they were idiots.
What could he do in this situation? His ability to perform brain hardening was waning. He could either default to the less complicated method and hope he didn't die when he went into seizures or drop the hardening on his brain and hope no one scrambled his gray matter. Neither option screamed winner to him. Blasting off in a random direction wouldn't be smart either, considering the punishment for leaving the bounds of 'cage' was one of his soldiers died.
So . . . what was his move? The exhaustion told him to give up. Fuck that. He would rather die fighting. All fear fell away, pushed out by lethargy and stubbornness. There wasn't always a smart move to make. Sometimes you just had to embrace the suck and work through the grind.
Mike determined to seize the next opportunity to fight back, no matter how small. Three collissions later, he found himself momentarily inside the core of a smashed minivan. What were the chances his opponents, with less than a month of training, were constantly hardening their bodies while they curb-stomped a downed opponent? Mike pressed out with his corona in all directions, exploding the minivan wreckage in all directions. He collapsed back to the ground as the coronas on him went slack.
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"No rest for you," Mike grumbled to himself. Then, taking advantage of the lull, he lashed out with his corona. He found an opponent pawing at his eyes, no doubt blinded by the glass shards raining down about them. Mike crushed another brain stem.
Three left.
Try to stand. Nope. Too dizzy. Might need to throw up. Definitely need to throw up. Fine, but keep fighting while you empty your belly.
Mike dropped his brain hardening and dedicated himself to corona wrestling for all he was worth, eyes closed to fight the motion sickness. The confrontation became similar to the corona slap game he had trained first with Cassandane and then with his troops. Only in this case, the slaps came with consequences. Mike felt his shoulder dislocate when he failed to counter an incoming strike and his last-minute bone and muscle hardening failed to encompass the tendons, allowing a painful soft tissue injury. His flesh shredded in several other spots, splashing his surroundings with blood.
He gave back as good as he got, though, shattering the leg of one and breaking the ribs of another. They kept fighting in spite of their injuries. Everyone was committed to seeing their battle to the end.
As they continued to exchange strikes, a feral hunger awoke within Mike. He confronted the one with the broken ribs first, waiting for the man to attack, wagering that he would slack on his defense while focused on attacking. Wagering . . . and succeeding. Mike felt the cartilage of his nose crunch as he wrenched broken-rib's head around by more than a hundred and eighty degrees.
Only two remained. Mike managed to hold himself erect on his knees and opened his eyes. He smiled up at his horrified opponents.
"How?" The man, middle-aged with soft hands and a soft paunch, shrieked the question.
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Though there was only the one word, Mike understood the full context just fine. How did he keep going? How did he turn it around no matter what they did? How was it possible? How was it fair?
All sorts of responses occurred to Mike, but he chose the one he thought most disheartening. "Because I'm the good guy and you're the terrorist scumbags."
The man stared at him for two seconds before fleeing. Mike watched his progress halt. The man struggled visibly as he levitated towards Nallit. The demon spun his finger in the air when he noticed Mike and his final opponent were watching him. "Time to get the show on the road," Mike said. Without waiting for a reply, he tossed debris towards the last man from multiple directions while corona wrestling. The man took several hits, becoming a bloody mess.
Mike moved to stand over the man as he internally decapitated him. He took heaving breaths as he stared at Nallit, the row of news vans, and the gathered crowd behind them. He had won.
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8 661Familiar In Chains
Familiar: A magical beast of one type or another which forms a magical bond with a mage who possesses a similar magical trait. Thus entering into a master-servant contract. Due to their abilities as a familiar, they possess all of the intelligence and knowledge of a human alongside the instincts and nature of a beast. Sourced From: My First Familiar Assigned text for third-year mages For young mages, obtaining their first familiar is a momentous occasion. Their magic forms a symbiotic relationship with their bonded mage, amplifying their's strengths and covering for their weaknesses. Often the strength of one's familiar is a key factor in how far a mage will go in their career. They are considered a necessity in the Empire of Afaron and the surrounding nations. Once familiars were caught in the wild and brought back for training and bonding. Eventually, however, the wild magic beasts were hunted to the point that they could no longer be found. Those that had been bred domestically would often produce magicless offspring. Nowadays the mages of Afaron know nothing of how familiars are bred, raised, and tamed. Once every three years, the Order of Beast Tamers come down from their mountain strongholds with caravans loaded with familiars purchased by noble families and magic academies. The Beast Tamer's generosity hides a dark truth. If you can't find a magic beast, make one. (Warning: Mild Nudity)
8 206The Immortal Scientist
Taking over the world was easy enough. Create a few super soldiers and a sentient A.I. and you'll defeat any nation on Earth. The real issues come after that. What do you do with the full efforts of a united mankind? Spread out as far as you can and make pretty things. The natives of the sol system spread out and occupied the every planet and moon. The polulation was skyrocketing under the support of new food and medicine systems. Back on Earth, the mastermind behind all this created something that was so powerful, the heavens themselves would send down a tribulation. After surviving the ordeal, he would ascend to a higher plane. Thrust onto the stage of martial world cultivators, he finds the world poor, dirty and dangerous. Magic is nice, but science had been coming along nicely. They had almost breeched the Void Wall at the edge of the solar system. The only option available to him now was to educate these warring savages and lay the groundwork for a proper industrial society.
8 217And Thus, We Hoped
The sun was dying, and Earth slowly became a frozen wasteland. Amidst the violence and the wars and the battles, a single ship was sent into the stars. A vessel that contained the future of ?humanity?, built with the meager, remaining resources of a certain group. A vessel built from the will of the people who wished for the human race to continue on. What was the chance that it would complete its journey? What was the chance that it would find a planet suited for life? No one knew. And no one could guess. And once the ship left, there was no more they could do. And thus,?we?Hoped.
8 129Property Of Vittore Martinelli ✓
When she was 14, Dalia was sold to Matteo Martinelli, the former leader of the largest Italian mafia. Flash forward with his son, Vittore Martinelli as the new leader, Dalia is given to him as a birthday present after years in spent in the "safe house". Dalia struggles to fulfill a promise she made and get her old self back as Vittore tries not to fall for the black beauty. Will they go through all the lies, jealousy, betrayal, envy, lust and murder together all in the name of love?Because at the end of it all, she is still Property Of Vittore Martinelli.* * * "Lift your hand," I said looking at how he held onto his bicep with a tight grip. "Let me take a look at the bullet wound.""No tesoro. I can do this myself," Vittore grumbled and I gave him incredulous look. "Don't start that bullshit with me Vittore. Remove your arm and let me help you or..." I trailed off, not able to say more. I was still in shock but I could do this. "Just... just let me help.""No."I glared at Vittore. "Why are you being so damn egotistic?! Let me help you! Do you know what it was like to find you like... and to..." I couldn't even get all the words out. "Let me help you. Please."Begging wasn't something I'd ever do but I just needed him to let me help him. "No-""Why?!" I suddenly exploded. "Why won't you just let me help you?!""Because I don't know how to handle it ok?!" Vittore suddenly exploded, his dark eyes glaring at me. "I don't know how to handle these... feelings. Fuck tesoro you drive me crazy! Don't you see that? You make me question everything I've ever known and... I can't..." I watched Vittore as his expression turned determined. "Fuck it."He leaned forward and pressed his lips on mine.* * *WARNING! Mentions of death, torture, gore, abuse and other things related to the mafia.
8 224Stress Reliever
This here will be my outlet for stress. You are welcome to look at the rantings and ravings, if you want to. Whenever I am stressed, or just plain bored, I shall come here and write nonsense. Expect updates, if at all, to be sporadic.
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