"To our left we have the Great Clam, necromancer by profession and avid participator of many our events! Full of confidence, he is the...,"
The anchorman sounded as if somebody was going to crush his balls if he didn't get the audience pumped up enough.
So did the crowd react, humouring this desperate man tearing apart the last remains of his vocal cords in an effort to please the haughty bastards currently sitting on the furthermost row.
Wine and pastries, women and callboys... I averted my eyes, the stimulus proving too much. Yet while they enjoyed their betting, the orgy and what bloody else there was, us down here bled.
"...student of Alamur the Great. This mage has mastered many nasty spells!" And on he went. "Splattering blood, cursing language, rotting limbs and of course the walking dead!
His knowledge is vast and scary. And that, good gents, that's only part of it! He's..." I couldn't help but lament, my essence feeling especially weak these days.
Without Noxins to replenish what was lost or even stem the leakage, I was constantly getting weaker.
But that was only half the reason. The bigger one was I had had no success with my trials. Yes, throughout the last five days, [Inventory] couldn't be cast.
Even the weakest abomination of that darn spell couldn't. So I... in my desperation, I fed the youth my own blood. Grumbling, I laboriously continued with my training exercises.
The reason for doing so now of all times while those fuckers watched me amusedly was that with each drop of blood I lost, my strength waned too.
Every part of an immortal was precious, so we absolutely shouldn't lose any of it willy-nilly. My reason for doing so was simple.
If I didn't know what my body was capable of at the moment, how could I put up a proper fight? In the middle of it all, the youth didn't show any of her earlier busts of energy.
My blood... well. I knew for sure it wasn't the best nourishment. My origin wasn't exactly stemming from life itself.
Anyway, while the anchorman did his part splendidly by saying all kinds of dastardly things about me, I once again took the time to confirm that had I used any spell I'd be worse off by now.
The anger levels rose and my chest threatened to explode as my heart thumped furiously. This whole big fiasco didn't sit right with me.
The realisation that I had to keep my summoner alive by any means possible did the rest. I was fired up. Really. I was sure he had it coming.
"...so we open the curtain to this fight and prepare to laud the winner! Start... NOW!!" Ignoring most he said, I only took the staring signal to heart.
While the portcullis was still holding me back and the necromancer casting feely inside the ring, I decided to do something against these crooked fuckers and dash their obvious schemes.
Gathering all the force in my right arm I could muster, I launched the punch at the portcullis. Bang!! The sound was deafening as half the wall crumbled down, reducing the mechanism to wreckage.
No doubt some people shat their pants because of this. Even that sorry excuse of a necromancer flinched in surprise, misspelling the latter half of his prepared spell and spitting blood as a result of the backlash he incurred.
I didn't hold my horses and dashed forwards, reaching him in a matter of moments. The man raised his staff in a misplaced attempt to defend himself from my mighty shoulder, but the stick simply snapped.
As did his hand holding it right up to the shoulder. Blood ran down, the ground dyed a nasty mix of brown, grey and vibrant red.
"Argh!!!!" His screams rang out belatedly before they ebbed away soon enough. The reason being my flurry of punches making a mess out of his teeth.
"Thought yourself mighty, eh? Genius to start casting right off the bat? Moron." His other useful hand slapped me on the cheek.
I could feel the bones creak. His, they were. The mage could apparently too, for his groans intensified.
Yet I didn't relent. Not after feeling that this little bit of exercise was already draining my reserves. The misguided voices of protest coming from the stalls didn't shake me one bit.
For all I cared, the hapless spectators better came running down in anger so I had the chance to tell them my opinion. Very extensively.
But that little part of me still happily married with reason told me otherwise. It urged me on to end this and get back to my cell, recuperating what little mana I could amass down there.
Having already second-guessed my decision to partake in this rigged game, I could only third-guess it.
"Oh nooo! That beast, honourless non-human, lowly spittle on the ground...," Really? That anchorman might need an oculist. And most of the spectators too, by the way.
"...dare you taking the Great Clam by surprise? Oh, wait. Our man recollected his resolve, now gathering mana. That's it, good gents. Once he hits—" Of course I didn't let him.
A sickening crunch made sure the second arm was also dangling down powerlessly for the rest of the fight.
Possibly also forever, if the citizen's level of magical knowledge was really such they let outsiders see. I'd have let him go, but...
Delirious eyes met mine before the necromancer basked me in his instant repertoire. "[Lesser Wither I], [Lesser Confusion I], [Lesser Madness I]...,"
The last choice wasn't all that clear to me. I mean, had this spell messed up my mind as intended, he'd feel the consequences immediately after.
"...[Lesser Bone Spiral II], [Lesser... Lesser... L—" He spat blood in batches, emptying the precious liquid all over me.
Doused like a wet chicken, I begrudgingly kicked his dead body away before taking my leave from this place.
The anchorman was supposed to shower me in praise, but even if he did halfheartedly, nothing good would come out of it.
I knew nobody expected me to win just as much as I was certain that many of the very distinguished faces, now all pale by the way, had lost their assets and then some.
Yet that knowledge was the only solace I got. Now there were... five fights outstanding. "You can do this, old boy." My murmurs accompanied me all the way to my lovely abode.