Zenith Online: Rebirth of the Strongest Player

Chapter 619: Dance of Death



Hunched over and holding his rear with nonstop sniffles, Bastion felt a sensation similar to phantom pain. Though the arrow that had ruthlessly pierced his ass was gone, the memory of the entire situation remained, and that made it next to impossible for Bastion to scrub from his mind.

"My poor tushy," Bastion complained, weeping with a disconsolate and sorrowfuln/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

expression. "I'm no longer chaste. I've been violated in the worst of ways, and no one is consoling me. My heart is aching so much."

"Nah, I just think that's your ass still aching, mate," Nemean quipped, earning an apt gale of laughter from Lux, Ezra and Altair. On the flip side, he received nothing but a hateful glare from Bastion.

"Whatever, you damned asshole," Bastion seethed, bristling like an enraged hound. However, that rage wasn't as intimidating as he suspected it to be. In fact, it garnered a reaction opposite of what he expected, and the blame mainly was his to bear.

"Speaking of assholes, I think you've got a fine addition there," Nemean continued to taunt, squeezing out as many humorous quips he could possibly muster.

Answering with a grunt that highlighted his chagrin, Bastion stood and shook his leg, feeling the pain in his ass dissipate significantly. All things considered, as a Disciplined with superior defensive abilities, his recovery rate was astounding, and Bastion was as resilient as they

come.

Which spoke to the piercing power of Lux's arrow. It packed a terrible amount of force insidiously compacted into the arrowhead to ensure a successful puncture wound. Even the arrow's shape suggested it favored piercing power over stopping power.

After a few additional minutes to recover, Bastion was back on his feet, glaring at Lux with an expression full of challenge, malice, and vengeance.

"I have a bone to pick with you, you damned booty bandit. And yes! I know what I'm saying right now. It tracks, man. That guy uh-" Bastion collected his thoughts, searching for the right words until he had a mental ah-ha! moment. "-Robin Hood! He was a bandit with a bow and arrow. So I'm right."

There was no argument to be had, and the silence that came over them had Bastion feeling triumphant, confidently pushing out his chest until Nemean again prodded a sore spot.

"That's a pretty confident expression for a person that just got his ass taken from him due to negligence. We should have devised a plan to account for the guy's rapid-fire shooting capacity beforehand. I mean, how the hell do you get a bow and arrow to resemble a Gatling gun?!"

"You focus on Agility, Control, and Perception," Altair answered matter of factly despite Nemean's seemingly rhetorical tone.

Lux nodded. "He's right. However, more specifics come into play when we talk about our Attributes. As you know, our Type and Class make the effect of each one unique to our skillset."

"True," Altair said in agreement. "That's enough talking, though. We came here to push ourselves and understand what we can accomplish as Adepts. Enough chit-chat, get to work."

"Sir, yes, sir!" Nemean offered a mock salute, running off into the distance with Bastion and

Lux.

Whereas Lux kept going, the duo stopped to devise methods capable of tackling their skilled opponent, whom Bastion no longer underestimated. One arrow to the ass was enough of a lesson for him. And to repeat that would be utter insanity.

Meanwhile, Altair and Ezra stood a few meters apart, looking at each other calmly. Though they appeared relaxed, many of their muscles tensed beneath their fine leather armors, and their hands rested on the sheaths of their weapons.

Altair was the first to ready himself, the sleek bayonets as black as the dead of night, being drawn slowly from their similarly dark and pristine scabbards. A subtle, stringent song hung in the air, humming a gloomy tune as the darkness at his feet turned liquid and chilling.

"How do you want to do this? All in or take it easy?"

"All in," Ezra answered, her expression steely and postured incredibly sharp like the scimitars she grew. Only artificial light was provided by the large magelight positioned above, yet her blades glimmered with a tantalizing radiance.

Something about her weapons seemed off, forcing Altair to focus intently. After a while, however, he was forced to shift his focus.

"Strange. Why did it feel like your blade was trying to cut into my attention itself?"

"Who knows," Ezra gave a cryptic smile.

Then, she bounded across the training room, closing the distance within a heartbeat. Altair met her glancing blow with an opposite attack. She ascended skyward, and his blade descended earthward.

Neither Altair nor Ezra focused on Strength as their priority. Still, the power they brought to bear was massive, evident by the give of the floor as opposed to their blades. Naturally, their pristine weapons were more resilient than the ground they stood upon, which could be repaired. Those costs were factored into the quote at the beginning.

Sonorous screeches came occasionally until Altair retreated, resulting in Ezra momentarily losing her balance. It was an abrupt slip-up, one she knew could cost her dearly had there been any enmity between them or if this was a dire situation, but such a concern didn't pass her mind currently.

Instead, she shifted her weight to her other lead foot, breaking into a violent rush to closely follow Altair's retreat.

A flurry of strikes ensued, each side moving faster than an ordinary human eye could track. Altair and Ezra achieved a riveting dance of death by stressing their attributes to their presumed limits. Their rhythm was abrupt, destructive, and calculated, each strike looking to be a deathblow but narrowly avoided with svelte deftness.

"Not bad," Altair panted, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Your blade is so precise and fast. Sharp too. And those concepts have been assimilated into your movements. Actually..."

Ezra smiled, her abundant chest rising and falling in an exaggerated rhythm. "You're not so bad yourself. But I also know you're holding back. Where is the use of those dark shadows you command? And what of that deep chill lingering but not being employed?"

"It's not purposefully," Altair admitted. "In its current state, it's not exactly fit for battle. It demands too much attention and limits what I can do physically. Also... I could say the same about you."

"What do you mean?" Ezra raised a brow. "I'm operating at the limits of my physical

prowess."

"Physically, perhaps. But what of that rhythm you started to build and the subtle change in your blade? That was not a coincidence, nor was it an effect of you being enraptured by battle," Altair squinted.

It sounded like an accusation, but Altair was confident in his senses. If they told him a threat stood before him, he was inclined to trust that impression.

"Well, you're not wrong. The Unbroken Blade isn't just a Class or a physical object from which I've yet to gain recognition... it's so much more, and it is what I strive to be."

A moment later, Ezra and Altair were embroiled in another round of intense sparring; only the vibe and direness of their clashes had changed... had become utterly dangerous.