The blood of a forgotten prisoner bathed an alley in Markshal. Earth and stone pierced his flesh as if they were part of the same being. The Blood Defiled struck with animalistic fervor, trying to destroy the target that had wounded it. However, the prisoner was absurdly resilient. After minutes of consecutive attacks, a hole had formed in the ground, and the Other's tentacles were soaked with its enemy's blood.
The prisoner's back was deformed, but he still moved. His glazed eyes burned with a sanguine fury against the creature. His breathing became more ragged with each interval between blows. The rage bubbling in Ezkiel was not just against the monster, but against his own foolishness. He had underestimated the enemy, believed the Other would be dumb, predictable.
Nothing was simple in this world. Why would his first combat be any different?
Anger at that silly smile he'd given earlier, at the happiness of thinking he understood the enemy's movements as if it were a game boss's attack. He needed to be alert always. Trusting his instincts wasn't enough. He needed to always expect the worst.
When the last blow sounded upon the prisoner's body, striking against the chains, the disfigured humanoid staggered, nearly falling from exhaustion. Its tentacles were limp, inert. Its mouth moved slowly.
In that instant, the fire in Ezkiel's eyes spread through his body. An impulse of pure will emerged, and he stood up as fast as he could. He held the dagger with arms that were now completely purple, his fingers bloody where his nails had been torn off by the crushing. And he advanced. The rage made him focus on the wounds he had already opened in the creature. They had been deepened by the monster's own blows.
The blade was close to touching the flesh, but the monstrosity reacted. It collapsed forward, falling on top of Ezkiel, its mouth opening wide to devour his head.
Ezkiel, however, had learned from his mistake. He focused on defense. He gave up the cut and flowed with the movement, throwing his left forearm toward the creature's maw. The Other bit the chain, startled. Its jaw snapped shut on instinct, and its teeth ground against the indestructible metal, to no effect. Ezkiel didn't wait. He pulled the dagger and began to stab it into the monster's exposed neck. Finally, he was at the right height.
The dagger entered the flesh up to the hilt, came out, and was plunged in again. And again. Non-stop. Every time the creature threatened to retreat, Ezkiel shoved his left arm deeper into its throat.
The prisoner's eyes boiled with hatred. The monster's blood finally mixed with his, bathing them both. Revenge was pleasurable. A feeling of success rose to his head, but he dispersed it. He would only celebrate when the monster was dead.
Blood gushed, but the creature regained control. It lunged forward, trapping Ezkiel's arm in its mouth. A crash echoed as they both slammed against a wall. Ezkiel's head bounced off the wood. A normal person would have passed out. He didn't. He held firm, stabbing at the enemy's jugular.
The Other finally managed to free the chained arm and threw the prisoner to the ground. However, the being was resilient and landed on his feet, his back gushing blood.
Like a red figure, the right tentacle flew horizontally, straight at Ezkiel's head.
With no room to retreat, he ran forward, ducking as low as he could. The wind whistled over the nape of his neck. Before he could react, another tentacle came from below, hitting his right leg squarely.
Ezkiel spun in the air, excruciating pain exploding in his limb. He was thrown meters away. He looked down, tears welling, and saw his leg, twisted, turned inward. Broken at the shin.
Drooling in agony, his vision tunneled. The bone wasn't exposed, but the pain was so immense that all his previous suffering seemed like nothing. All because he wanted to train, because he wanted to see if he could get a dream from that creature.
Trusting his instincts, snorting in pain, he observed the target. The monster stumbled, nearly toppling from blood loss. Its steps were wobbly, and its neck lolled to the side, an open wound spreading a smell of rotten spices like a fountain. Its tentacles were melting, forming small puddles on the ground. The creature was falling apart, losing mass and height.
Ezkiel looked at the scene. The fear was gone, but his end was near. In moments like this, there was no thinking. Only doing. He put both hands on his broken shin, extended his leg, and with all his strength, twisted the bone back into place.
— AAAAAAHHHH!
The roar of pain was so loud that even the creature paused. The leg was straight, but limp, useless. Trusting his talent, he tried to stand. He couldn't. There was a limit, and he was near it. He could barely distinguish the creature, just a red, blurry figure.
He dragged himself to a wall and, using it as support, stood on one leg. He pulled the dagger close. Even destroyed, he got into a defensive stance, the chains on his arms protecting his face and chest.
The two combatants stared at each other. The eyeless creature moved its mouth, furious, while its head lolled with every movement. Its tentacles were now the size of human arms.
The prisoner barely balanced, his right leg dangling. His head was bleeding, mixing with the blood from his back. His arms were purple, covered in bruises. It was hard to tell which of the two was the monster.
The impasse lasted for minutes. Both waiting for the other to fall first. Even being instinctual, the Other knew that attacking again could mean death for them both.
Ezkiel, on the other hand, thought the opposite. He had a blind confidence in his talent. Scurrying along the wall, he approached. Two meters away, he propelled himself with his one good leg. The Other reacted, throwing its smaller tentacles in a cross-attack.
Madly, Ezkiel used his forearms to parry the blows. The pain was much greater than he expected; so much that the dagger slipped from his hand. Unarmed, he threw himself forward, jammed both forearms into the creature's mouth, and used all his weight. Weak, the monster bit down involuntarily and fell backward. Its head, almost loose, lolled, and the creature emitted a hollow roar, muffled by the chains. Its tentacles retracted, whipping Ezkiel's back.
They fell to the ground, but this time, Ezkiel was on top. He began to hammer with his forearms, sinking the chains into the monster's skull. The blows had no rhythm, just brute force, sinking deeper and deeper. The tentacles thrashed, hitting his ribs, but he didn't stop. When he felt his arms deep enough, he threw his body forward and began to twist, trying to rip the creature's head off.
The Other, in its last effort, aimed for Ezkiel's broken leg. A weak whip hit him, enough to make him vomit bile and blood. Another tentacle came at his face. Instinct screamed for him to defend himself, but he knew that if he did, he would lose the advantage. The blow hit his temple. A deafening ring echoed in his skull. The next tentacle hit his leg again. But Ezkiel recovered. He hammered with more force at the mass of flesh that had once been a face. The teeth dislodged.
The tentacles stopped moving. The sound of steel against bone was the only one in the air. Incessant. For minutes. Ezkiel was in such a frenzy he didn't realize when the creature died. He continued striking until the head became a liquid pulp.
"I killed him... I killed this son of a bitch!"
The prisoner collapsed onto the corpse. The blood and pieces of flesh adhered to his clothes, which had been clean just minutes ago. Slowly, consciousness returned, and with it, the consequences.
"Not even one dream. Shit! All this for nothing! What did I gain by starting this fight? I wanted to find out how to fight? Done! It's done! My leg can barely move. My arms feel like two volcanoes from so much pain. My back is all cut up. My ribs are fractured. What was this idea? What was this impulse to think I could beat a creature like that?"
He punched the monster's body. A rage at himself.
"My body responds well! I thought I could do it! That it would be easier! I just wanted to confirm a stupid theory and get better at combat. But who gets better at combat against a creature like this! How can I be so stupid?"
His vision tunneled again. He was about to faint. Sleep began to calm his thoughts, and a strange sense of well-being arose from seeing the creature dead. The desire to win. To destroy. In a place like this, the combat instinct was essential, and his had been strengthened in that bitter victory.
The world seemed different. A cruel success. He was learning. And one of the biggest lessons was the use of his perseverance in combat.
The spirit of combat was born. An uninterrupted will to survive.
He stood up, leaning on the wall, limping on his one good leg. He looked at the alley and saw the breach in the wall where the Other had tried to pass. He slipped through the narrow passage, entering a destroyed area full of rubble.
He lay down on the cold ground, hid himself, and closed his eyes.
"These Others are really strong."