The Zombie Knight

Hector couldn't stop panting. Or sweating. Or questioning how he was still able to move, considering how absolutely awful he felt, right now.

But the fight seemed to be over. Finally.

Fucking finally.

Even now, staring at the gray, smoldering husk of Banda's twisted, dinosaur-like form as he lay there on the ground, Hector was hesitant to believe that this dude was actually, truly dead.

It had happened rather suddenly, after all.

It was nice to be on the ground again, at least. For a brief period of time, Hector had started to feel like he was getting the hang of aerial combat, but he sure hadn't been feeling very good about himself toward the end there.

What an insane mess that had turned into. He was already reliving it and still not really understanding what the fuck went on back there.

Banda Toro just went nuts.

Quite literally, apparently.

At least one of Hector's thought processes was in a total daze.

The enemy reaper had given up. Just like that. He'd melted out of Banda's body and started shouting at Hector, begging for his life. For mercy.

After all that craziness. Some of the most demented shit Hector had ever witnessed--which was saying a lot, at this point.

And this was how it was ending.

Hector had to think about this one. He didn't want to throw out a dumb answer and then have to go back on his word later after realizing just how dumb it had been.

But at the very least, he could tell that the reaper wasn't lying.

He could sense it. Banda's aura. Or the lack thereof, rather.

Banda Toro was no more. The giant corpse in front of him was empty.

And yet, that wasn't enough. Hector wanted to be more than sure. This aura thing was still new to him. He didn't want to have too much confidence in it. So he'd already called Garovel over.

But it was probably going to take the reaper a while to get here.

He needed distance. Darksteel was following--and not letting up with that attack, either. Banda could feel pieces of his solid self being chipped away, as well as his gaseous self being dispersed under the flurry of iron bullets.

Agh. Distance wasn't going to work, either. Darksteel could keep up with him too easily.

His options were becoming very limited now. He was being pushed harder than he had in a very long time. If he'd had the presence of mind for it, he might've even been pleased. This was the very reason why he'd been so curious to test Darksteel in the first place. He'd wanted to see just how threatening this mystery man really was.

In this moment, however, Banda Toro was not pleased at all. Perhaps that was because of Grigozo's emotions spoiling things. The reaper wanted to flee. To panic, even. Banda could sense it.

The full Chaos form was the answer here. Banda hadn't used it much yet. In this fight, he'd only faintly touched it just before devouring Darksteel. The immediate agony thereafter had pulled him back out of it.

Should he really use it again, though? There wasn't time to debate.

He went for it.

No, he didn't. It was too dangerous now. They could lose control. It wasn't worth--

Yes, he did. Banda forced Grigozo down and assumed full control. He had to. The reaper didn't understand.

And immediately, his body came alight with new fury. Burning. Angry. Screaming.

The damned souls were there again, more violent than ever. And Banda's mind--it slowed, as did the whole world around him. He could hardly think. Hardly form complete ideas.

But he could see.

He could smell.

He could sense it all.

And he was hungry.

Beautifully hungry.

This state of being was its own brand of wonderful. Distinct and glorious. Pure.

Everything was simple.

Hunt. Eat.

This meal was fighting back, though. A series of blades flew at him. Banda avoided most, ignored the rest. The only thing that mattered was reaching his prey. Hunting. Eating.

His huge maw bit down. Found its prey. Crunch.

Rrgh. Not the right crunch. Crunch was supposed to be more satisfying. Supposed to feel bones snapping. Supposed to taste blood gushing out.

Something burned. In his mouth.

He ignored it. Clawed at the meal, instead. It needed to stop wriggling. It needed to give him the satisfying crunch. He thrashed his head, too. That was the best trick. Whip his neck around. Disorient. Break bones.

Finally, he could swing things back in his favor. With the lasers alone, the amount of pressure he could place upon Darksteel would be more than enough to--

Hold on.

Darksteel dodged two, but the last one hit cleanly. And yet it didn't cut a hole through him like a bullet through gelatin. It bounced off him. Splashed off, really, reducing the heat laser to more of a molten ooze that geysered away from him.

Banda needed a second to process what had just happened; and so, too, apparently, did Darksteel. For a moment, they both hovered there in midair, confused and trying to reassess.

Darksteel was the first to start moving again, so even though Banda would've liked more time to think through the logical ramifications of what this meant for the rest of this fight, he didn't get it. He had to react.

Because Darksteel was torpedoing straight toward him again. Unafraid.

There would be no chase this time, it seemed.

Acid and claws were his instinctual answer. If the lasers weren't going to work, then he needed to eat away at that armor until it was weakened enough to break through, which his claws would be able to do.

In theory. He didn't have the luxury of thinking about it more than that.

Darksteel cannonballed straight into him, but Banda was ready with a gaseous evasion. Darksteel passed through harmlessly enough and took a gob of searing acid to the back.

It didn't slow him down. He did a pinpoint turn and rocketed back, this time too close and too fast to react to.

Banda got his bell rung. An armored knee collided with his temple. It was certainly enough to leave him disoriented. He tried in vain to swing with a flurry of transfigured arms and claws. They all whiffed as he lost track of Darksteel for a second or two.

That was too long.

By the time he sensed his opponent again, his wings were being shredded to pieces by that damn cluster-fire technique of Darksteel's. If Banda had noticed a moment later, it would've been his head that got shredded, not his wings.

He surged downward, embracing the sudden freefall and resorting to more of his gaseous form in order to press for even more speed. He didn't technically need his wings in order to fly, after all. Pan-rozum could accomplish it, too, albeit with more difficulty.

Controlling more than one whiff of smoke at a time was a difficult trick, but Banda had plenty of experience doing it, thanks especially to the cloning technique. Learning how to pull that off made this feel much easier by comparison.

Darksteel was still all over him, though. No doubt, the bastard knew that he'd gained the advantage and didn't want to give it up. Banda had four separate clouds of smoke that all wanted to regather, but Darksteel wasn't making that easy. The first and second ones were being shredded and dispersed by iron bullets while the third was being chased down by Darksteel himself.

But the fourth was largely free. With it, Banda could navigate the battle and soak up stray puffs that were otherwise on the verge of vanishing.

It was mayhem. Furious and constant over multiple minutes. Darksteel was trying to box the clouds, while Banda was trying to melt or puncture his way through each interfering bit of iron.

And it quickly became clear that Darksteel himself was a much bigger problem. These clusters of iron being materialized and flung around--Banda could deal with those. But that armored body was different. It shrugged off materialized osmium spikes and acid. It resisted coatings to slow its movement down.

And worst of all, it always seemed to know where to find Banda's core. His mind. That had to be the reason Darksteel was pursuing the third whiff so persistently. The son of a bitch just knew.

Banda managed to outlast the onslaught, though. The fourth whiff finally regathered enough mass to mount a proper counterattack, something that would at least get Darksteel to stop hounding him for a moment.

A mouth formed in the fourth cloud, and from it, a heat laser surged forth. Banda made sure to shoot from Darksteel's blindside, too, aiming for center mass.

As expected, Darksteel was still able to dodge in time, though not without leaving a scorch mark across his breastplate. That was fine. It gave Banda the time he needed.

The third merged with the fourth, and now he had more than enough mass again. His gangly wings sprouted back out as the gaseous form gave way almost fully to the Chaos form again.

He immediately went for more heat lasers. Three at once, shot from three different mouths grown out of his face, shoulder, and chest.

And now, it would be Banda's turn to chase.

He could feel Grigozo's cowardice creeping to the fore, seeping into his reasoning.

Was he actually considering abandoning the fight, right now? Disbanding pan-rozum and letting the reaper flee underground?

No. Absurd.

Darksteel had surprised him, sure, but this fight was far from lost. And besides, splitting up now was not traditionally considered a wise strategic move. There were too many ways for high threat warriors to chase an escaping reaper down and kill or capture them.

In fact, according to Bloodeye, that was precisely how Darksteel had managed to kill the Man of Crows.

Banda wasn't going to let Grigozo make the same mistake.

None of these thoughts were fully articulated in Banda's mind. They were flashing sensations, at best. Instinctual feelings. He didn't have the luxury of time to mull things over as much as he wanted. Confused as he was, he still knew that he had to be decisive and quick in his thinking here.

Especially when he felt the ground and rubble all around him begin to tremble.

Darksteel wasn't going to just let him sit down here and regenerate, it seemed.

The gaseous form was the only solution to Banda's mind. It allowed him to squeeze through the gaps in the rock and escape out into multiple directions at once.

He had to be careful here, though. In this depleted state, he didn't have much smoke to pull from, and he ran the risk of spreading himself too thin--quite literally.

That was the biggest danger when it came to learning and maintaining gas forms with pan-rozum. The gas had to be rigidly controlled with one's mind. It was already trying to spread itself apart and disperse by its own physical properties. If you let the gas thin out too much, then the pan-rozum merge would collapse and exhaust both the reaper and servant simultaneously.

Thankfully, he could add more smoke to himself through the materialization component of pan-rozum, but that also put more strain on the form--and was only a bandage on the problem, besides. The materialized smoke wasn't truly part of him, after all. Regeneration was still preferable.

But that was also an issue. In the gaseous form, regeneration was halted. He needed to get out of it as soon as possible in order to let the healing continue. Which was a risk, too, of course.

He made it aboveground with multiple different whiffs of red smoke. He rushed to reconvene them but sensed another attack coming and had to disperse again.

Darksteel slipped away. Banda could tell that much. He needed to focus on mementori in order to locate him again. Where was he?

Agh, what was this? It was like a fog. He could certainly sense Darksteel's aura, but it was unclear. Messy.

Concealed? Hiding itself? Those were the only things he could discern of its nature, right now. It didn't want him to know it. It wanted him uncertain.

And again, Banda barely sensed the next attack coming before it was too late. A full body tackle, it still clipped him in the shoulder and sent him spinning lower. He struggled to regain his bearings. Mementori wasn't as helpful as it was supposed to be. He turned to Grigozo's ability to sense souls, instead, but that was just as bad, if not even worse.

Frustrating. Fine. He'd have to rely on smell. His snout elongated as he demanded it of his Chaos form. With this, at least--

Darksteel slammed into his back with full force. Banda rocketed forward against his will, and he tried to look back, only to notice a shadow above him, instead.

An iron meteor was there. Too enormous for Banda to even process in the split second that he had to stare at it blotting out his view of the sky.

It fell upon him.

On impact, he lost all awareness. All ability to think or reason. It didn't hurt. There was no pain. Instead, it was like he blinked out of existence for a few moments and touched oblivion.

The meteor crashed to earth with all the power of a bomb. From his vantage point, Banda had no concept of how big it might have been, but he could certainly feel his body being shredded to pieces. And by the time he regained full awareness again, he could only see pitch blackness around him.

He'd been drilled so deep into the ground that he could hardly tell which direction was up, anymore. A mountain of rubble lay on top of him, pinning him down, all but telling him to give up. To simply stay down here. To admit defeat, even.

His body, however, was still regenerating. It may have been torn to pieces, but apparently, enough of it was still intact for him to remain conscious.

He decided to take his time.

After that last attack, Banda felt like he needed to reevaluate some things. Maybe everything, actually.

What in the fuck was happening here?

A cluster of molten iron flew toward him, but Banda was ready for it. He flipped out of the way, swirling up into the air as his wings expanded out and gained strength again. A surge of heat built up in his gut, preparing to spew a white hot laser at Darksteel in retaliation while perhaps devouring more iron chunks with an open mouth, too. He fully expected the iron to keep swarming him as he moved, following him up into the sky like machine gun fire.

Instead, he saw too late that Darksteel had chosen to close the gap and was now right in his face. The armored man crashed into him, elbow deep into Banda's scaly stomach, sending him shooting back down to the ground, bouncing and skidding across the dirt again.

The heat laser choked and died in his throat, burning and dribbling out of the sides of his mouth as Banda struggled to find his breath again.

What had just happened? Darksteel had changed tactics on him. He wanted to get up close and personal now? What, he wasn't afraid of being eaten again? Agh, why would he be? Damn him.

Banda didn't need long to rebound. He flung himself back up into the air and activated mementori again. That was a risk, as always, but he was in control again. He could suppress the damned souls. And he needed the extra sensory advantage, right now.

His body burned, but he didn't lose focus. Where was Darksteel? Where had he gone? He had to be--

Above. Banda sensed him at the last moment and narrowly avoided another pummeling. He lashed out with hand-sized claws, and the blow landed cleanly.

But it stopped. Bits of armor seemed to fly off, but the claws didn't pierce, didn't cut. What the--?

Darksteel went for the gut again, this time with a materialized blade. It didn't break through his scales, strangely enough, but the spot was still a bit sore, so it didn't exactly feel like acupuncture, either.

Banda resorted to his gaseous form. Darksteel wanted to fight up close? That was fine. He'd smother him with acidic red mist and burn him out of that little armored shell until the metal was all that remained.

Rage fueled him. Made his attacks hit harder. His acid more potent. His smoke more oppressive.

Until an explosion burst through his concentration, as if hitting him directly in his mind. The smoke faltered and lagged while he battled his own disorientation.

What came forth first was a dark hand. A gauntlet. Then the arm. It bent down and gripped Banda's shoulder, as if needing the leverage to pull the rest of Darksteel free.

Banda could only watch as this armored figure emerged. He felt paralyzed in this moment, unable to make his own body listen to him.

It was a slow, horrible process. It was less like vomiting and more like Darksteel was peeling Banda's bloated, distorted form off of him. Removing a skin-tight suit in mid-air.

Halfway through it, Banda could no longer keep up his flight. His pterosaur wings bent out of shape and locked up, making him start to fall gradually, then sink like a stone.

By the time they neared the ground, Darksteel was free again. But Banda was also more in control, more aware of what was happening.

Banda Toro hit the dirt hard enough to leave an explosive crater.

But he wasn't altogether bothered by that.

Flat on his back as he looked up at the armored figure floating above, Banda Toro had regained enough of his senses that he was now primarily just... annoyed.

Extremely annoyed, as a matter of fact.

This Darksteel was proving to be a real son of a bitch. Sure, Banda had not possessed this Chaos form for very long, but never before had someone he'd devoured been able to climb their way back out of his brew.

What kind of power did a man have to possess in order to be capable of resisting digestion? Was this guy just that much of a stubborn bastard?

For a time, Banda just lay there, looking up at Darksteel. That armor had looked a little different at first--darker and shinier--but now it looked the same as before, if a bit bulkier.

Curious.

Either way, the fight was about to be back on. That much was obvious. Banda was prepared from the moment he hit the dirt, but he decided to wait. If Darksteel had anything to say to him, Banda intended to hear him out. And if Darksteel just attacked instead, that was fine, too.

At length, though, Banda's curiosity began to get the better of him. "How was it inside my stomach?!" he shouted up at him.

Darksteel didn't answer, the rude bastard.

Banda growled, which turned into a snarl as he transformed again. He hoped that pursuer showed up soon so that he could kill both of them at the same time.

Banda could only care so much about that, though. He had to get back to the encampment. To Bloodeye and their reinforcements. It was the only hope for a reprieve, right now, and even that was questionable.

Problem was, they were quite far. In Callum. He would have to fly all the way across Lorent in order to get there. They did have a couple of smaller encampments in Lorent, too, but those were only harboring one or two servants each. Not enough to provide him a proper place to rest, especially when being pursued.

Worse still, he feared deeply that a visit to Lozaro would be required, which would be a much longer trek all the way over to another continent. But if this pain didn't alleviate once he and Grigozo separated, then that would be the only course of action left. The more time passed, the more tempted he was to simply separate right away and let the chips fall where they may.

He just. Had to. Hold on.

His face was caked with sweat, even as the wind howled past him and tried to dry it out, even as he shifted between his solid and gaseous forms in order to reset the moisture. It simply wouldn't go away, goddammit. He wanted so badly to resolve it with mind over matter. Years upon years of meditative training and experience--it all felt so worthless, right now.

And then it hit him.

A shooting pain in his gut that made him stop flying and double over in the air, clutching his abdomen as he writhed in agony.

This was too much. Far worse than before. He could feel it in his head now. In his mind. His soul, even.

He used his anger again. Tried to force it back down. Suppress it violently.

But it didn't help. It wouldn't listen to him. It wouldn't be ignored.

The Chaos form activated against his will.

The most dreaded scenario to his mind. The loss of control over his own body. He could feel the damned souls clawing against his flesh now, tearing at him from the inside, demanding to be let free.

Then it was his stomach again. No longer painful. Suddenly, there was relief from that. But not from something else.

Something there.

It didn't hurt, anymore, but he could feel the physicality of it now. Forcing open his stomach, his throat, and then his mouth.

"Well, in any case, I don't know if there's much you can do help me just yet," said Hector. "I'm gonna try to force myself back through Banda's stomach, first. If that doesn't work, then maybe I'll take you up on your offer."

'How do you intend to "force" yourself back?'

Hector took a deep breath as he began to regather his focus on his materialization. Being able to breathe again might improve his concentration now, he hoped. "I guess I'll figure that out, right now."

'There is more I would tell you. Specifically, regarding how to get into contact with me again after you return.'

"Keep talking while I work, then."

And the world of iron began to tremble once more.

Chapter Two Hundred Seventy-Five: 'O, boiling Brew...'

Banda Toro felt like absolute shit. His stomach had never ached so badly before.

And it made no kind of sense. None whatsoever.

In the middle of pan-rozum like this, he should have been unable to feel pain. The numbing factor provided by his reaper should have been built into his very being.

Yet this pain was undeniable. It was struggle enough just to maintain pan-rozum through it, to maintain his presence of mind. If not for Grigozo's help, they would have separated by now. The Chaos form was certainly unsustainable in this state. The threat posed by the damned souls within him would prove too great.

Hell, even now, he could still feel them. Perhaps that was the true source of this pain. In fact, perhaps that was the only explanation. The pain could not be physical in nature, surely. It had to be metaphysical. Imaginary.

But how, then, to escape it?

That was what Grigozo was thinking. Somehow, the reaper's mind was able to remain largely clear, even while Banda's own mind burned with agony.

This had to be Darksteel's doing. It defied explanation, but it had to be. The pain erupted almost instantly upon devouring that bastard. That was obviously no coincidence, but then did that mean Darksteel was struggling to get out? Still fighting from within the brew?

Impossible. Utterly impossible.

He wanted to use mementori again in order to perhaps discern something new, but he didn't dare risk it in this state. The Chaos form was too volatile now. And there was a pursuer. That much, Grigozo could still sense. Someone was giving chase.

Written by George M. Frost No comments:

Previous Page

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!