Chapter 32

  Flint, gazing up at the crossed swords hanging above the doorway, let out a guttural battle cry that echoed through the stone chamber. “Onward to battle!” he roared, his voice ringing with anticipation, before kicking the wooden door with the force of a battering ram. The door splintered and burst inward, sending wood shards flying as Flint charged through the opening and into the next room.

  Behind him, a deep, grinding noise, like mountains scraping against each other, shook the very foundations of the cavern. A massive slab of magically reinforced stone slammed down, sealing the doorway shut with a resounding crash that nearly knocked Flint off his feet. He glanced back, a wry smile spreading across his face as he surveyed the impassable barrier between himself and his party. His smile widened, morphing into something predatory, as he spoke in a low, menacing voice, just loud enough for anyone who might be listening to hear, “You think I’m locked in here with you…”

  He turned, his gaze sweeping across the vast space, taking in the details of his isolated arena. The room was immense, a rough-hewn cavern carved from a single piece of a mountain’s heart. The air hung heavy with the smell of damp stone, a faint metallic tang, and the thick anticipation of the coming battle. Torches, set in crudely fashioned iron sconces along the uneven walls, flickered with an erratic, orange light, casting grotesque, dancing shadows that stretched and contorted across the damp, uneven surfaces. The cavern was so large that a full-sized football field could have easily fit within its empty, echoing space, with room to spare. At the far end of the chamber, a collection of dozens of weapon and armor racks gleamed invitingly, a veritable enchanted armory. Before the armory, a single armored figure stood motionless, their head bowed as if in contemplation. The figure was clad in black iron armor, intricately carved with grotesque, snarling faces and symbols of torment. A thick, white braided beard, streaked with silver, hung down to his waist, a stark contrast against the inky black of his breastplate.

  Flint moved cautiously forward, his hammer and shield raised and ready for anything, as the dwarf on the far side of the huge room stirred. The dwarf slowly raised his head, his dark eyes locking onto Flint with a predatory intensity that sent a shiver down Flint's spine. The unknown dwarf’s mouth opened, and a commanding voice, amplified by the cavern’s acoustics, echoed through the chamber.

  “So, Thor, Flint, or whatever you call yourself, has finally arrived at your end,” the dwarf said, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “I must admit, I have been following your progress with… interest. The Red Sands Arena, I was there, watching your… performance. Messy, yet effective, as you say. Your little escape from the clock tower in this very city, I observed that as well. I imagine you’re wondering who I might be. I am Torvin the Destroyer, and today you will experience firsthand why I wield that title.” Torvin said slowly, his voice resonating with menace, as Flint cautiously advanced.

  “So you like to watch, huh? Should be named Torvin the Voyeur,” Flint chuckled, trying to goad his enemy into attacking first so he could gauge his strength and fighting style.

  Torvin chuckled with utter confidence, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the very stone of the cavern. “I’ve been patient, puny human. I could have destroyed you at any point along your journey. But I wanted to see how far you’d come, to see if you were… worthy of my blade.” He gestured with his chin towards the sealed doorway. “Your friends… they won't be joining us today. We shall see how you handle a real battle without your precious healer mending the wounds from your ineptitude.”

  Torvin pointed a familiar, shining blade towards Flint, his black shield still resting on the floor at his side. “This blade,” he announced with pride, “was acquired at great expense at a recent auction. I have yet to break it in, but I suspect your blood will be sufficient for the task.” Torvin raised his shield to just below eye level, leaving the sword pointed directly at Flint, before continuing his monologue. “You may be strong, but you're also predictable and stubborn. Those are weaknesses I can easily exploit. When I am finished playing with you, I will tear your friends limb from limb. Then, we are onto the Doombringer himself, that sniveling, spoiled brat of a necromancer. He is to be replaced with a Necromancer that is even dumber and easier to control. We will then defeat the Council and create a new power, ruling with an iron fist rather than silly contracts and treaties, but before I get ahead of myself…”

  Flint, normally one to interrupt the Big Bad Evil Guy’s monologue, decided to use the time to his advantage. While Torvin ranted, Flint quietly mumbled the incantations, channeling his inner strength to cast Bastion, Retaliation, and his newest spell, Steel Skin. Bastion created an invisible magical shield around him, shimmering faintly, decreasing all incoming damage by fifty percent. Retaliation imbued him with a magical charge that would reflect incoming damage back at the attacker. And Steel Skin layered his entire body with a flexible yet incredibly tough metallic substance, significantly increasing his resistance and defense, even if his worn armor was pierced. Torvin’s boastful monologue, meant to intimidate Flint, instead served as a crucial window of opportunity for the dwarf warrior to prepare for the coming confrontation.

  With a sudden, blinding flash of movement, Torvin surged forward, his shield held tight against his body, his sword moving in a blur of deadly motion. Flint, anticipating the attack, roared his Challenge, a guttural cry that echoed through the cavern. The magical energy of the Challenge washed over him, granting him a ten percent boost in strength and simultaneously weakening Torvin, lowering his armor and constitution by ten percent. Waiting until the absolute last moment, Flint leaned slightly backwards, the razor-sharp edge of Torvin’s sword lightly scraping against his metallic breastplate. The blade, despite its magical glow, failed to even leave a scratch on the pristine, blue metallic armor, which shimmered faintly under the torchlight.

  Torvin, not overcommitting to his initial attack, smoothly reversed the blade’s movement, slashing upwards at an angle towards Flint’s face while simultaneously taking a small, deliberate step forward, pressing the attack. Flint, a wide, confident smile spreading across his face, sidestepped slightly to his enemy’s shield side while tilting his head ever so slightly. Once again, the gleaming blade scraped harmlessly along his helmet, leaving no mark whatsoever. Torvin, his frustration growing, took another step forward, reversing his blade yet again into an overhand chop aimed straight down towards Flint’s shoulder. Once more, Flint executed small, quick movements at precisely the right time, allowing the blade to connect with his shoulder, but at an angle that deflected most of the momentum harmlessly away from him. The blow, despite its ferocity, still failed to leave even a scratch on his magically enhanced armor.

  A sneer twisting his lips, Torvin stepped forward yet again, this time thrusting straight at Flint’s center of mass, aiming for his heart. Flint, with a practiced ease that belied the speed of the attack, raised his shield, deflecting the thrust effortlessly. Flint’s shield, now a mere inches from his foe’s exposed face, remained raised. Flint, his eyes locked on Torvin’s, took two steps backwards, a silent, unnerving smile playing on his lips. He didn't say a word, letting his actions speak for themselves.

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  Torvin’s face, now a shade of purple bordering on crimson, contorted with rage. He redoubled his efforts, abandoning any semblance of strategy in favor of pure, unadulterated aggression. He unleashed a furious flurry of rapid slashes, trying to overwhelm Flint with sheer speed and ferocity. Flint, however, kept up his precise, last-second movements, allowing the sword to barely touch his armor, or to be deflected harmlessly away time and time again. Changing his tactics, Torvin began aiming his strikes at what he perceived to be the weak points of Flint's armor, the joints and gaps, but to no avail. The Steel Skin spell provided near-complete coverage, and the Bastion shield absorbed any stray damage.

  With a burst of raw, uncontrollable rage, Torvin thrust his blade at Flint’s exposed eyes, aiming through the wide opening in his helmet. Flint, anticipating the desperate move, moved his head just enough to the side, allowing the blade to slice harmlessly across his cheek instead of piercing his eye.

  With a triumphant roar that echoed through the cavern, Torvin halted his relentless assault, pausing to catch his breath and revel in the sight of his enemy’s blood streaking his blade. He held the gleaming weapon up to view it in the flickering torchlight, anticipating the crimson stain that would mark the start of his victory. But to his astonishment, no blood stained the polished steel. Looking back at Flint, he could see no cut, no wound, no sign of injury on the man's face. Torvin’s heartbeat pounded in his temples, his vision growing red with fury. He unleashed a never-before-seen flurry of blows, a chaotic storm of dozens, then hundreds of strikes, thrusting at Flint with a wild abandon, hoping to overwhelm the human with sheer volume before finally delivering the coup de grace.

  Flint, however, reacted to the onslaught with calm detachment, not even attempting to counterattack. He was beginning to find the fight… tedious. He decided to see just how far he could push Torvin with words, using the dwarf’s rage against him. “You know, back on Earth,” Flint began conversationally, moving slightly to allow Torvin’s blade to lightly tap his thigh armor, “you know, the planet you decided to invade, we have a great warrior.” He continued as the blows coming his way became faster and more erratic. “He won his battles, while not always being the biggest, toughest, or even the strongest.” Flint moved his hips with a subtle, thrusting motion, allowing the blade to scrape across his rear end slightly. “There was a grand fight in a jungle with the entire planet watching. The fight was generally seen as such a huge mismatch, and everyone was sure the warrior would finally lose.”

  Torvin’s face was now contorted with rage, spittle flying from his lips onto his thick, braided beard. He ignored Flint’s words, his focus entirely on the kill.

  Flint continued, unfazed by Torvin’s fury. “You see, this warrior won by being smarter than his opponent. He allowed the highly trained fighter to tire himself out by deflecting the incoming blows and merely outlasting his opponent, only striking in the final minutes of the fight as his enemy was too exhausted to react.”

  Torvin shouted, his voice hoarse and strained, “There is the flaw in your battle plan, young Flint! I can fight like this for days on end without pausing, unlike your pitiful three hours against low-level skeletons before you scampered off like a COWARD!” Using every last ounce of his available energy, Torvin stepped forward with the most powerful thrust he had ever attempted, aiming straight at Flint’s chest. Flint, with a casual flick of his waist, turned sideways at the last moment. The blade, intended to pierce his heart, scraped harmlessly across his breastplate, again doing little to no damage.

  “I agree, the mundane Rope-a-Dope wouldn’t work with your magically enhanced body. You have far more stamina than myself,” Flint said calmly, as he used the huge opening his enemy left in the wake of the all-or-nothing strike to finally swing his own weapon. His hammer smashed straight into the face of Torvin’s helmet, the impact resonating through the chamber. The blow instantly broke the dwarf’s nose, sending a sheet of blood flowing down Torvin’s brilliant white beard, staining it crimson. Flint continued his vocal spar, “But what you never realized is that my Retaliation spell doesn’t cause any pain while it whittles your health down with every strike.” Flint followed up with a shield bash to the exposed side of the shocked dwarf, knocking his shorter opponent off balance. He finished the combination of blows with an overhand hammer blow, delivered with brutal efficiency, directly down onto the top of the dwarf’s black helmet, cracking his skull and shattering his spine.

  Torvin’s fall, accelerated by the hammer blow, slammed him to the ground. His shield, locked under the weight of his body, caused him to bounce slightly before settling back to the cold stone. His eyes, losing focus on his prey, stared blankly at the flickering flames on the far walls as he expired from this realm.

  Flint remained silent, his gaze fixed on Torvin’s lifeless form. He had won. He had defeated the Doombringer’s adventuring party tank, general, and one-time friend. He allowed himself to bask in the glory of victory for just a moment before stowing his weapon and shield, and, with a touch of magic, absorbing his enemy’s corpse, gear and all directly into his inventory. He was going to strip this room bare; he would sort out the loot later. As he was emptying the weapon racks, he found a single hidden walkway that led to a balcony overlooking the sprawling city of Doombringer. He paused there to eat some jerky and drink a Mountain Dew while the sun set, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. He would search for a way to get to his friends and assist them in their battles, but this magical universe was so much like the old tabletop games he knew. He was confident that each of his friends would be just fine in one-on-one combat against such overconfident and arrogant opponents. Flint kept the pop-up window open basking in his victory. "Your group has slain a carrier of Cadium. How would you like to distribute the 5 Cadium acquired".

  Back in the previous chamber, the four party members stood shocked as a huge piece of glowing stone fell, sealing the doorway Flint had just stepped through. Evolon, Ignis, and Pierce exchanged uneasy glances before erupting into heavy laughter. “Oh god,” Evolon gasped between guffaws, “who wrote this script? The brave band of adventurers finally gets to fight the evil oppressors, and they’re split apart to fight enemies that exactly mirror and counter their skills, one on one? This sounds like a creative writing prompt a teenager wrote five minutes before it was due!” She managed to say through the continuing laughter, wiping tears from her eyes.

  “My only question is,” Pierce asked, a wide grin spreading across his face, “do we want to mix things up a bit and not have the Hunter go up against an opposing bow wielder? It might be a little… predictable.”

  “Nah, I got this,” Evolon replied, regaining her composure and adjusting the quiver at her hip. “It’ll be fun to see the look on this guy’s face when I go all Robin Hood and split his arrows mid-flight.” she added with a glint in her eye.

  “How are you sure it's a guy?” Ignis asked.

  “It’s always a guy. Idiot men write this kind of stuff, the only time they think of women is to ogle at their bodies or have them undress.” Evolon said with a smirk.

  “This is true,” Grok said, nodding her approval, a thoughtful expression on her usually fierce face.

  Evolon adjusted the strap of her quiver, and taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she offered a small, confident smile to her companions. "Wish me luck!" she said to her friends, her voice ringing with a mixture of anticipation and determination as she reached for the heavy, wooden door, pushed it open, and walked into the darkness beyond.

  “LUCK!” Ignis and Pierce shouted in unison, their voices echoing slightly in the chamber. Even as the word still hung in the air, the awaited, massive stone slab, glowing with an eerie, internal light, slammed down with a resounding crash, sealing the doorway shut between the remaining party members and their Huntress. Dust and small pebbles rained down from the ceiling where the stone had been dislodged, momentarily obscuring the now impassable barrier. The suddenness of the stone's descent, the finality of its placement, left no doubt in their minds, Evolon was on her own.