Crooked starts by walking. I match her gait — I don't know why I call it a her, but it seems appropriate. It assumes a lithe, feminine figure, quick and slim. Reminds me of Sorina almost.
We circle each other, the blood rain building in intensity, drenching me in sticky viscosity. It smells of copper and runs over the mud like a great purifier. I don't know why she hesitates — Crooked was defeating me well-enough earlier. Maybe she's just taking her time.
I think I surprise Crooked by moving first, breaking our circling flow, sprinting across the ring of mud, blood, and trees. My feet slosh and slush along the wetness of the ground, but I am balanced enough to turn missteps into skids, propelling my momentum along nicely. I have to play the hare — attack, get out. So, I slide around Crooked and try pulling at one of her loose roots. It snaps off too easily — no change in her balance. Instead, she spins around on her trunk's torso, the wood of her center splitting slightly as her bludgeoning arm lobs my way.
But I am gone, maintaining distance along the side of the ring of trees, simultaneously feeling my way along the ring of trees for some sort of opening. No chance of that — they are wound up tight.
If my ten years at the Thunder Tower taught me anything it's that, sometimes you just have to fight. So, that's what I'll do. I've survived worse than this: I've fought daemons, half-giants, warmonkey, ravens, wolves, an eldritch elk with a djinn within. Hells damn me, I even once fought an injured wyvern that tried passing into Adachi lands. I can win. I can do this.
Then, the sky rumbles with something else.
And blue lightning strikes frighteningly near where I was about ten seconds ago. What? That can't have been by chance, right?
Crooked chases me, her right bladed branches slashing after my legs. I jump and twist, making another slide around the ring to avoid her blows. Lightning strikes once more, searing the mudded area from where I slide. Yet somehow, it completely avoids Crooked — as if this arena of hell couldn't get any worse.
So it is deliberate — another machination of whoever created this plane. I scoff. It's ironic that they chose lightning.
I have to keep moving, so I push off the ring's tree wall and slide under Crooked's thick, stumpy legs. Grabbing onto one of them, I deliver two knees, smashing against the wood with as much hip-thrusting force I can muster. Wood cracks and splinters, yet Crooked's constitution holds strong. She kicks back, flinging me into the tree wall. My back smashes against the ring and I slide down with an unceremonious thump.
Great idea, idiot. Let's knee her back leg, I'm sure she won't just kick me back like any sane creature would!
I groan and pound the mud-blooded ground, taking a stand. Then, realizing my mistake, I jump out of the way just in time to avoid another lightning strike — the force of which sends me flying across the ring once more.
This time, when I get up, I meet a tri-bladed slash that comes chopping my way. Yelling, I sprawl and let my body hit the ground. One of her blades skims my hair. I roll away and scramble to make some distance between the two of us.
Another lightning strike, barely missing. It's like clockwork. And it's getting faster — the time between strikes lessening. I feel burns across my flanks, my thighs. I start keeping a mental track of the time between the strike itself and the thunder that follows, as well as the times between strikes.
Honestly, I could probably handle a few lightning strikes — without the angel dust, it's hard to channel and control, but I've tested it during my time at the tower. Yet, if I go overboard, I'll die. And, besides, I can't afford to get blasted while this tree is hunting me.
She's pushing now.
Crooked hounds me across the arena, slashing and thrashing, not giving me any room to breathe. This fucking tree is relentless.
"Raiten!" a voice calls. It's not Zyla though.
"Kiren?" I ask while leaning forward, the tip of one of Crooked's blades grazing my shoulder. Some of the wood sticks and blood slicks down my shoulder blade, to the small of my back.
BOOM! Another lightning strike, followed even more closely by the sound of thunder. This one singes my back, propelling me forward slightly.
"Yes!" Kiren confirms, his voice coming from all around me, like the wind itself. A big clump of blood rain drips down my hair and into my eyes, so I waste precious time wiping them clean and find myself veering towards the ring-wall. I slide and press off the wall, avoiding another hammer smash from Crooked's left arm, which breaks through the trees. There's an opportunity to escape but it only lasts a damn second — before I have time to think, the wall is reformed and Crooked is re-balancing herself, crown craning towards my blood-drenched form.
"Raiten, have you killed the node-creature yet?" Kiren asks, his voice worried.
"No."
"Alright, listen to me: I can see that your body in the mortal plane is taking actual damage. Zyla is doing her best to heal you, but whatever damage you take in there is reflected out here. I'm going to do my best to help you—"
"How?!" I yell, backing away as Crooked struts forward once more. Panic is leaking into my voice because I'm realizing something — unlike most of the enemies I have faced, Crooked won't get tired. I can't just outlast her because my blows don't seem to do any damage whatsoever.
"I killed mine using Meteorfang. I'm going to hand it to you now, all right—"
"Just give me my amulets then!"
"It won't work Raiten, I can't alter the runic magicks on those because there are none — with Meteorfang, if I bind the weapon to you instead of me, you should be able to use it even in the illusory realm—"
His voice is cut off when, as I'm skidding along the walls, I finally do slip. Desperately, I try clawing my way up but before I can even get my face out of the mud, pain eclipses all else and I scream out.
But it's not the lightning, for that struck only about two seconds prior.
Instead, Crooked's three blades pierce my left leg.
I am making animalistic groans now, like a wolf caught in a bear trap, snarling and growling as I try to fight off the pain.
Then, Crooked starts dragging the blades back, tearing my leg asunder.
Not like this. Not like this—
With a sickening, wet tear, I hear bone and muscle snap like cords as Crooked drags her blades free, cutting down my leg like I'm some piece of meat to be stripped to the bone.
My vision blackens as I look at my leg.
So I start cursing and screaming and pounding my fists — anything to stay awake. I need to let the regeneration do its work, as slow as that may be. That might be my only shot.
Crooked stares at me now, not deigning to raise her hammer-hand to just end me. Instead, it's as if she's admiring her work, her invisible eyes no doubt tracing the contours of my raw, fleshy strips.
I'm going to murder this fucking tree. I'm going to break you piece by piece, I swear. I swear.
"I swear…" I say, but my voice comes like a whisper. My body is shutting down.
Lightning strikes. Blinding pain. My flesh burns.
I expect myself to yell once more, but I can only groan. Lightning is a familiar pain — when I was first getting accustomed to the angel dust, I had to learn to contend with it. To channel it — bend it to my will. This might not be my crimson lightning, so I can't exactly tame it. Yet… at least I can manage to live through it.
Barely.
I sit up on my elbows and turn, trying to drag myself back.
When suddenly… a black dust, granules of essence, form around my opened palm.
Meteorfang forms from the black essence, the ball and chain-roped dagger falling limply into the wetness.
There's a deafness to my ears now, a constant ringing. I never used to have it while using angel dust, so the feeling is odd here.
It brings the whole situation into focus. My leg is cut through. My body is scorched and broken. I am awake only through luck, will, regeneration, grit, and my previous experience with lightning.
And there, in all that blood and mud — with all that screaming storm and Crooked, now edging closer and closer, finally raising her blades once more — there, is where I find enough hate, enough spite, to do one last thing.
I lob the metal ball-end of Meteorfang towards Crooked. It arcs over her shoulder, the chain hooking around her hammer-arm while the blade arms strikes down.
Having timed the lightning strikes in my head I grant her a petty grin.
Then, I snap my fingers.
Lightning hits me once more, this time not only traveling through my flesh but also conducting along the chain of meteor fang.
And when the ball end curls around to hit Crooked's back…
The lightning surges through Meteorfang, exploding Crooked's trunk with a deafening crack. Her bladed limbs thrash wildly before they splinter and collapse, flames devouring her crown as she stumbles backward into the wall, leaving a trail of burning branches and cinders in her wake.
I lay my head down, watch the red angry sky, feel the blood rain drip.
Drip.
Drip…
…
I open my eyes to find myself looking up at a normal, blue, cloudless sky. No blood rain assaults me, but pain still rules my thoughts. Craning my head forward, I see Kiren, Zyla, and Umbrahorn all giving me frightened looks. I take one glance at my shredded leg and, right before blacking out, I spit hard.
"I think I hate trees now."