He didn't know what to expect with this fight that seemed inevitable. After escaping the guards at the limbo meat, he had expected to survive for at least a couple more days, laying down low while he got a lay of the circle.
Now everything was about to go out the window because he was not going to leave a defenceless old man in the hands of the brutish robbers.
The thugs, noticing their taunts weren't enough to deter Quentin, decided to switch to attack mode.
They ignored their prey, who lay on the ground behind them, clutching his bag to his body, and circled around Quentin, brandishing their weapons as they threatened to attack.
Quentin didn't need to be told; he sidestepped before they had the opportunity to close him up completely.
"O-oh, look, the young buck, he has some fight in him," the one spitting out the acidic saliva said.
"Do you believe in your training so much? Is that what gives you so much audacity?" the guy with the club asked.
"No, I know... He doesn't rate us. He thinks we're a bunch of cowards, and he can just come up and stop us from finishing our mission."
During their mini-speech, Quentin used the opportunity to go through his profile one more time. The sudden pop-out of floating texts not fazing him anymore.
'Yes, the centaur's fur should be able to protect me from whatever burning effect that slobbering beast has to spit out.'
He summoned the two things he needed the most, his whip and attire, and the moment the weapon appeared in his hand, the beautiful glowing whip, the last thug, the one with the knife, stopped his talking.
The fear was apparent in their eyes; the once prideful chatterers shrunk back in their stances.
"He's one of them!" snapped the knife wielding thug as he turned and ran, much to Quentin's shock
What happened next shocked Quentin. The last of the thugs, the knife-wielding one, turned and ran.
"Coward!" his huge brother with the club called after him as he ran. He lunged at Quentin, throwing his full weight as he swung the club.
Ducking the attack wasn't a difficult task for Quentin; that's what he had trained for the majority of his life, but the intensity of the swing blew his mind. A normal human should not have been able to unleash such power.
As Quentin crouched to evade the club, the assailant with the acid spit decided this was his right time to attack.
Unleashing a torrent of saliva, each drop enough to melt a rock to nothingness. Quentin rolled across the dirt, with the centaur's fur protecting him from the burning effect of the acid.
'I should steer the attack away from the old man.' Quentin thought to himself.
He was on his feet in a split second; his upgraded battle ability made him feel free as he moved.
He launched his attack; he never had any practice with the whip, but yet it felt like a part of him, an extension of his will.
Curling in the air like a snake ready to strike with piercing venom, the whip moved with ferocious precision.
The acid-spitting one was quick to dodge, his brother not so much.
Now, Quentin had read what the little information had to say about his weapon--Whip of Vocaghter: A dread instrument of the Fifth Circle. By mere touch, it casts unspeakable torment upon thy foes—but he had never seen it in action before.
The whip knocked the giant with the club smack on his right arm, the one he held his weapon with.
The scream that followed was nothing short of scary.
Skin fell from muscle, muscle separated from the blood vessels that fed them, and the bones of the arm were left exposed.
In front of Quentin's eyes, the whip had disintegrated the right arm of the thug just with one touch.
"Brother!" The spitting one cried out for his injured brother, spraying his acidic spit everywhere.
"G-get me out of here," the newly handicapped thug replied. His right hand had been completely obliterated, his massive club leaving an indention on the ground where it lay.
Quentin was too shocked to try and stop the two as they ran away, a man's hand had literally withered away before him, and yes, he thought the whip looked cool, but he sure wasn't expecting it to be death incarnate.
A tap on his shoulder snapped him out of his trance. He spun to see the old man grinning from chin to chin, his arm weakly clutching the bag he had been willing to risk his life for.
"The gods must have been in a happy mood today, my child," the old man said, wiggling a wiry finger in Quentin's face.
Quentin cringed at the sight of the rotten teeth; this old man probably had nightmares about toothbrushes.
"My name is Charon, and fate has brought us together a little earlier than I expected Quentin."
"Oh, just great another person that knows who I am." Quentin replied in exasperation, "I'm so not ready for another round of bs."
"You're going to find that you're well known to a select few here in the Inferno realm," Charon said.
"You know what... I'm not even surprised, and I don't think I'm keen on knowing anything about it either."
Quentin sighed. He had just destroyed the arm of a stranger to protect some weird old man, and still he wasn't any closer to finding the damn kids that ran off with his money.
"Great, just great." He said as he walked past the old man, no destination in mind, he returned his weapons back into the inventory, eyeing the massive club that destroyed the ground and saying a silent prayer of gratitude for surviving unscathed.
The night sky was littered with the most beautiful of stars, and Quentin had not noticed while in the town square because of all the electric lights that adorned the square, but now in the rundown ends of the town, where the lights weren't all that bright, he could see them clearly in all their wonders.
Colours of every kind, like little jewels that designed a pure endless black, were mesmerising to Quentin, and walking down the street in this beautiful trance, he realised a pressing issue.
He had nowhere to sleep for the night.
'Fuck my life.'
He looked back at the old man who was still standing right where Quentin had left him, smiling and waving like a little toddler.
'Might as well."
He made his way back to the old man—he didn't want to—he'd have preferred to end everything right now and return back to the half-myth base, but there was no way, and he couldn't dwell on that right now.
"Charon! My man, you were headed somewhere, right? Like with a roof? And fingers crossed a bed, perhaps a mat?"
Charon laughed, "You'll get to rest to your fill, Quentin; it will be your last for a while, so make sure you savour every moment."
"Whatever man, lead the way."