EV B2 Chapter 30:

  "Aaaaaaaaand nooooow! Our 12th contestant!" A booming voice shook throughout the arena. "Let's see how long this one lasts against the Wyvern of Thranduil!"

  People went wild, cheering.

  "Get your bets in now because in ten... nine... eight..."

  As the countdown continued, I drew my swords and prepared for battle. It dawned on me that the time trial wasn't about how fast we could defeat the monster but rather how long we'd last. Hopefully, that meant death wouldn't be as punishing as it might be. But I wasn't too worried about that—more about the pain that the apparent Wyvern of Thranduil, or whatever "Thranduil" was, would inflict.

  And I'm not sure if it was just the sheer amount of stressful situations I'd been in recently or maybe the terror of potentially being eaten. Still, one of the thoughts that ran through my head was that I didn't remember wyverns being part of Norse lore. Of course, our records were vague. I didn't really know much about it or anything, but I'd always thought it was some sort of snake-like a sea serpent or J?rmungandr. Didn't seem like those. It seemed more along the lines of the Norse legends. This just looked like some sort of medieval dragon with no front legs.

  The draconic had burning red eyes and stared at me with undisguised hate. It was odd to see such a human emotion in a reptilian face, but—well—something pulled my focus back to the fight. It was probably the announcer shouting, "One!" and I decided I wasn't about to be eaten.

  This wouldn't be me running around, wasting all my magic as I cast spell after spell, moving myself. No. I might not be able to win, but I would at least make it so that I could last as long as needed. And to do that, I needed to attack.

  "And go!" the announcer shouted, and the crowd noise cut off as the protective barrier reinforced itself. The chains holding the Wyvern down released instantly. It flapped its wings—not that it could fly in this dome for any length of time—but enough to launch itself toward me and buffet me with a gust of wind that threatened to send me tumbling. But I wasn't. I was already moving. Not where the leap took the beast.

  I ran and dove, sliding through the sand as its talons raked above me and its tail lashed the ground, barely missing my form. It smashed into one of the body doubles I'd cast—an illusion produced as I had fought more and meditated. The Loki's Champion trait had taken more and more effect. Things like controlling doubles or producing them were more manageable, as were certain other things that chaotically happened around me in battle, such as the Wyvern stumbling as it tripped over something—some slightly larger sand dune from a previous fight.

  It didn't fall entirely but crashed to its side before rolling to its feet, giving me enough time to recover my own footing and turn to face the beast.

  Pushing more mana into the Dance of the Jester, I flashed forward as the Wyvern was still setting its feet. It was intelligent and didn't give me an opening. I'd hoped it would raise its head and roar in the challenge, but instead, it snaked its head low and moved sideways, protecting the wing I was targeting.

  As I slashed, my left sword bounced off its scales along the neck, while my right sword barely connected—the tip tearing a small gash into the massive wing. The Wyvern turned its head and snapped at me. I threw myself back, avoiding its teeth by a hair's breadth, teeth as long as my fingers would've torn through my leather armor like paper.

  I rolled as it slammed one wing down near where I had been lying in the sand. I attempted to slash at it with my sword as I moved, but the force of the wing's impact and the sand it threw up sent me tumbling across the arena. The wind it generated was clearly magical. As powerful as a flap from a wing nearly fifty square feet in size would be, it shouldn't have been enough to send me flying like that. This was something else—like standing next to a jet engine. But the jet engine was only turned on at full throttle for a split second at a time, with no ramp-up. One moment, I was stable; the next, I was tumbling unless I was properly braced for the blast.

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  Even so, I managed to hold onto both of my swords. Flinching from the wind, I flared and pushed some of my mana into A Fool's Constitution, healing my burst eardrums from the near thunderclap-like sound of the wind blasting against the side of my head.

  Before either of us could recover, I launched forward again, this time jumping in as it moved its head to intercept me. As its wings shifted, I slammed one blade down on top of its head, using it to leverage myself slightly higher as I vaulted. The Wyvern attempted to snap its mouth shut on me, but as it raised the top of its head slightly, it unintentionally pushed me even higher.

  What happened next was something that would have been improbable—if not impossible—for any Olympic gymnast. Using my superhuman strength, I stiff-armed the Wyvern. I didn't slam it into the ground, but I pushed myself over it, vaulting toward its wings. As I dove, swords in hand, I prepared to shred at least one of them.

  However, I had forgotten about the tail. It whipped forward, catching me in the hip and spinning me. This time, I managed to extend one arm enough to cut a much larger slash down the center of its wing. As I rolled down its back, I felt the fragments of my pelvic bone grinding against each other.

  I channeled all my focus as I completely dropped the Dance of the Jester enhancement and pooled all my available mana into A Fool's Constitution. I screamed in pain as the bones reknit themselves, only to break again upon impact with the ground, before reknitting a second time as I rolled to a stop. Luckily, the beast couldn't turn quickly enough to follow up, and this time, it reacted to the pain. It wasn't standing as firmly now.

  I realized, however, that I only had one sword. The other had carved a several-foot-long slash in the Wyvern's wing before lodging itself into the ridge bone. It seemed the wing's membranes weren't sensitive, but the ridges running through them were. The Wyvern flailed its wing wildly, and with a tearing sound, a flap of membrane—and my sword—went flying. The blade crashed into the barrier protecting the crowd before dropping to the floor.

  At that moment, my focus wavered. The roar of the crowd overwhelmed me as the Wyvern stumbled around in pain. I had to admit—though it wasn't the time to dwell on it—that this probably looked awesome from the audience's perspective. I considered pulling out another weapon, but I didn't have the chance. The Wyvern was already advancing again.

  I dashed around, fending off a few of its bites by slapping at its face with my remaining sword. Nothing fancy, just aiming for the eyes. It seemed wary of me now and wasn't charging as recklessly. It tried to buffet me with its wings, but when it flapped the injured one, it hissed in pain. The gust from just one wing was no longer magically empowered like before. Whatever skill or magic it had been using must have required both wings to function fully.

  After we circled each other a few times, I managed to position myself near my second sword. Dropping to a knee for half a second, I grabbed it and stood again, both blades in hand. Advancing, I watched as the Wyvern stood its ground, just as I'd expected.

  With what little mana I had recovered, I activated Dance. Juking to the right, I slashed with one sword, then spun like a matador avoiding a bull. I got past its snapping teeth and drove one blade into its neck. It skittered on a scale but caught and sank in a few inches before tearing free from my hand. My other sword was already diving toward the open belly. The Wyvern's lack of front claws was coming back to bite it now.

  Bracing myself, I drove the sword between the scales and ribs. It sank several inches before halting. I rammed forward with all the strength I could muster, slamming the hilt and pommel with my arm and shoulder, driving it the entire length into the beast. The Wyvern screamed and reared up. My first sword flung free from its neck, while the second remained embedded deep in its torso.

  I tried to pull the embedded blade out, but the Wyvern's rearing motion must have wedged it between its ribs. I couldn't retrieve it. Dancing backward, I cursed my decision not to spend my free points earlier. My reliance on magic was being pushed to its limits. I had never needed to rely on it so heavily in such a long, drawn-out confrontation before. Against people, short bursts of strength, speed, and healing had always been enough. But monsters like this—or maybe equivalent monsters in human form—were a different matter entirely.

  I didn't have much time to think as I desperately dove for my remaining sword, coming up with a single blade and fending off the Wyvern's furious assault. I kept expecting it to slow down, to keel over and die. It had a blade stuck halfway through its torso, but it was barely dripping blood.

  I knew if I wanted to win, I needed to retrieve my other sword—not just because two blades would give me a better chance, though that might be true, but because leaving the blade in was stemming the flow of blood. If I couldn't get it out soon, I wasn't sure I'd have enough mana or strength to pull off the same trick again.