Chapter 46: Deathbane

The punch did not go well.

Before his fist could reach Teragen's face, it was brought to a painful halt by a wall of aura. That aura immediately closed around his fist, binding his arm in place and then pinning his entire body there. Teragen rose to his feet, towering over Rick and staring down at him.

"Why?" The word was so chillingly calm that Rick could barely even hear what the man sounded like. But he'd been prepared for something like this, and extended his other hand, holding the empty Deathbane bottle.

"I want to train to fight a wolf by attacking a bear."

For a long moment Teragen just stared down at him, utterly expressionless. Rick forced himself to stare back, though he was dimly aware that Granny Whitney had noticed and was approaching. That could be a problem. Likewise, it would be an even bigger problem if Teragen decided to just kill him. The tension stretched and his entire body cramped.

Then Teragen let out a snort of amusement. Somehow Rick found himself staggering back, his ears ringing. He hadn't even seen the blow, was barely catching up to feeling it now.

"That's enough!" Granny Whitney was moving toward them, eyes burning as she reached for her knitting needles. She was too late.

When he moved, Teragen seemed to entirely vanish, leaving his chair falling backward in his wake. But Rick had barely registered that fact when he felt a blow strike his back.

It wasn't just overwhelmingly powerful, it was complex. At first he felt the blunt force smash through his aura as if it wasn't there, then collide with his back. Yet even as his body started to fall away from the impact, there was a secondary force, a sharp blow piercing through his lucrim defenses. Rick had been focusing entirely on defense, yet it wasn't enough. He desperately threw everything he had against the blow, trying to resist the third element: a shockwave that threatened to shatter him.

Yet even as that blow ended, he glimpsed Teragen again, this time in front of him. Rick still had no chance of following his movement, he just felt his head snap back as a fist collided with it. Again he threw everything he had into defense, trying to resist the overwhelming power.

The blow knocked him off the ground so quickly that the air burned against his skin, yet it was the same instant his feet left the ground that he saw Teragen above him. Nearly at the same moment, a foot collided with his chest, yet another explosive three-part attack.

Somewhere in his mind he knew that the movements must be happening terrifyingly fast, yet in his consciousness it was a slow agony. He had expected it to all be over in an instant, yet as his mind struggled to react, he needed to throw his will into his defenses with each and every moment. This wasn't a sprint over lava, it was a marathon through it.

Impossible as it seemed, he didn't give in, maintaining his defenses as well as he could. Through his agony he recognized that he was plummeting down toward the deck, but before he landed, Teragen had already moved back down, kicking upward directly into his spine.

From there Rick lost all conscious control, lost even the ability to mentally follow the attacks against him. There were only the overwhelming blows from every side, tossing his body through the air like a ragdoll. The whiplash alone should have been life-threatening, yet somehow he held on.

It ended with a searing pain in his chest, different than all that came before it. Rick's mind caught up and he realized that he was almost standing, or at least his feet were pointing down. He couldn't really feel his body.

Except for Teragen's palm stabbing into his chest.

The warrior's fingers were crooked like claws and they went straight into his chest. As if his aura, his lucrim, and his flesh were no more than hot butter. He could feel every finger digging into his body, even the palm pushing into him like white hot plasma. That blow could have torn straight through him and left nothing behind.

Instead, Teragen used his bloody grip to knock him backward, sending Rick flying back through the air. As he sailed back, Rick had his first moment of true clarity since the assault began. Judging from how he was falling, he was probably going to break his neck and die. He saw Granny Whitney, still on the yard staring in surprise.

And he heard the chair hit the deck with a dull thunk. No, surely the entire attack couldn't have taken place in such a short time...

Rick wasn't sure whether or not he blacked out before he hit the ground. He simply ended.

~ ~ ~

Pain and darkness.

~ ~ ~

Lucrim and fragments of consciousness, trying to force their way through the emptiness...

~ ~ ~

Rick faded in and out of consciousness several times before he finally came to enough to register and remember his surroundings. It seemed that he lay alone in a large bed. He didn't recognize the ceiling, but based on the quiet outside, he guessed that he was in the farmhouse.

Movement was impossible. At first he was concerned that he had been paralyzed, yet he couldn't move his mouth or face. How had he opened his eyes? Even blinking was difficult, struggling through some power that kept him bound firmly in place. His eyes were growing dry by the time someone came into the room.

"Oh!" It was a woman who he dimly remembered as one of the Underground's doctors. She moved closer to him, looking him over somberly. "Are you feeling well?"

He couldn't answer and couldn't even convey that to her, but she remembered a moment earlier.

"Right, we needed to do a complete aura suspension. I'll ease that off so you can relax while I get Granny Whitney. Uh... good luck."

With that ominous note, she rushed from the room. Rick did feel a bit less stiff, as if the invisible bonds around him had eased. But instead of relaxation, the new freedom just brought pain. It was worse than any wound he'd ever felt before combined with the internal injury pills he'd taken. Yet he didn't think that he had been permanently disabled and the presence of the doctor supported that theory.

Yet he had to wonder if that would last as Granny Whitney entered the room. "My, my... you're a problem child, aren't you dearie?" She seemed even sweeter than before and it was honestly terrifying. The old woman sat down in a chair beside the bed and pulled out some knitting, her needles flashing in a silver blur. "Just what were you thinking?"

When Rick tried to answer he found that his throat ached and he couldn't speak. Clicking her tongue impatiently, Granny Whitney stabbed a needle into his neck. Suddenly his throat felt clear - much worse, but clear. "I... I need to get stronger."

"You were already strong enough, but I suppose that's what I get for recruiting your type." Her needles went back to flashing back and forth, scraping against one another sharply. "I saved your life, but it will require more than that to put you back together in fighting shape. I'm not sure that's worth my investment."

"You..." Rick swallowed painfully and just pushed forward, since there was no way back. "You always made it clear that we're not friends, and we're not allies. I decided that I was willing to bet that you wouldn't be willing to throw away or replace me this close to the tournament."

"Yes, yes, you're very clever. Don't overestimate your own value."

"I made preparations. Took Deathbane... there's more medicine in my backpack... and I have a deal with a lucrim therapist..." Though he wasn't sure how things would work with Lisa. His original plan had been to challenge Teragen after the tournament, in a more public location. That was a concern, but when he saw Granny Whitney sigh in resignation he began to feel relief.

"If you hadn't taken those precautions, you would be dead. Even if Teragen had left you alive, I would have ensured it." The old woman's fingers finally slowed, no longer knitting at a terrifying rate. "I suppose I can tolerate this as overzealousness, which is a common failing of your type. But as soon as the tournament is over, we are done. I had been planning to heal any injuries you sustained during the matches as thanks, but... I no longer feel so generous."

"Thank you."

She snorted and left the room without answering. Rick spent a while just staring at the ceiling, wishing he could fall unconscious but hurting too much to slip away.

Eventually the doctor came back in and began to give him some of his own medication, along with something that made him sleepy. He drifted in and out of consciousness, mostly waking to be given water or more medication.

They had drawn the curtains, so he had no way of measuring time. Seconds felt like hours, so he gave up even trying to pass time via hours or minutes. All he could focus on was the pain, which changed as he progressed. It began as aches and pains everywhere and slowly became a cool, liquid pain that flowed through his veins. Though it hurt, he could feel himself adapting, transforming...

When he finally checked his lucrim portfolio, he was surprised to find that it wasn't destroyed. If he had wanted to, Teragen could have shattered every Lucore he possessed. The fact that he was still alive meant that he had been spared, as he had hoped.

As the pain progressed, a few others occasionally visited him. Emily came once to confirm that he was alive and would recover, but otherwise seemed entirely preoccupied with her own concerns. He blearily taught her the defensive rituals that he had planned, even though she objected that he wouldn't be able to learn from her. That was fine - he'd gotten what he needed for the tournament.

One day Granny Whitney came in along with the doctor, carrying something that hung loose. He looked at it nervously until he realized that it was a rough yarn sweater. The doctor tugged off his shirt and replaced it with the sweater, leaving him a bit stunned.

"Uh..." Rick pulled at it weakly, both trying to find a comfortable position and to determine if the sweater was created with lucrim. "Is this part of the recovery?"

"No, it's part of your punishment." With that, Granny Whitney swept out of the room again, leaving him partially baffled and partially concerned that she'd left some horrible trap for him.

As his recovery continued, he gradually realized that this was neither something to help him nor a trick to drain his lucrim. But it was both a malicious scheme and revenge.

The sweater was extremely itchy.

~ ~ ~

Every time Rick awoke he felt a little better, though utterly distanced from the world. Once he was surprised to see Lisa there, apparently tracked down and brought to the location. He worried that something might be done to her, but she seemed more concerned about him than for herself, so perhaps they were merely letting her honor the deal.

He had a vague impression that her hands were strong and gentle, but he drifted in and out of consciousness while she worked. The first time he actually accepted a massage from her, and he was barely able to feel it. But when he woke up with her gone, he could feel a significant difference.

Piece by piece, he was being put back together.

Eventually, Rick woke up and he felt fine. Everything about him seemed to have been scoured clean by fire, but there was no more pain, at least not compared to before. When he flexed his aura, everything in his lucrima responded appropriately. When he tried to sit up, his body obeyed and he didn't feel anything tear inside him.

Dammit, he was still wearing the sweater. Rick tugged it off and threw it aside, noting that there was a terrible hand print scar on his chest from the final attack. Ignoring it, he pulled on one of his shirts from his backpack. It was light now, all the medicine that he had brought with him consumed in his recovery. But it would be worth it. Right now he was too exhausted to properly appreciate his own power, but once he restored his energy, it would be worth it.

As rough as it had been, he could feel that the Deathbane had done its work. Instead of breaking, his lucrima had struggled to adapt to the overwhelming power set against it. They stood no chance, but now the bar for raw power that his body understood had been greatly increased.

He padded his way from the room, not bothering to find his shoes. It seemed his room had been on the third level of the house, so he headed down to find the others. But when he found the stairs to the first level, he discovered that Granny Whitney was coming up the stairs toward him. Something in her gaze told him to wait for her.

"Finally, you're awake. I was beginning to worry that all of this was a waste."

"Is it that close to the tournament?"

"We leave in an hour, and you need that time to restore yourself. There's also one more thing." Her friendly smile turned sharp and she grabbed him by the collar, pulling him into one of the side rooms. Since she had helped heal him, he didn't resist, but he also strongly disliked the look he saw in her eyes.

"What is it?"

"You see, dearie, in all your frenzy to train as much as possible, you've been rather an inconvenience. I estimate your lucrim generation rate to be nearly 35,000 now. Even with that last leech of yours, that's rather impressive."

Rick was surprised to hear it and almost smiled - he hadn't expected to make that much progress - yet the way Granny Whitney spoke of it made him nervous.

"Here's the problem: I needed a featherweight, and the maximum generation rate for that power class is 30,000. All this extra power you've worked so hard for is useless to me."

He froze, instincts warring within him. The way she spoke so coldly, part of him was certain that she intended to kill him now that he was useless to her. Yet he knew that she wouldn't have paid to help heal him if that was her intention, so he forced himself to remain still.

"So Granny Whitney had to come up with a solution. What's one more expense before the end, hmm?" From her handbag, the old woman pulled out something new: an aura leech. Unlike the others, this one was pale white and pulsed softly. It strained through the air in his direction, revealing serrated teeth that he hadn't seen on the others.

"That's going to handicap me down to the class limit?" Rick asked. "Is that legal?"

"Within certain limits relative to total portfolio size, leeches are considered just part of a natural lucrima. If you had increased your power too much I would have had to cripple you permanently. Fortunately, this will suffice. Unlike legal aura leeches, this one will restrain you to the exact generation rate limit and no more. You won't have to pay it off, but I leave figuring out how to remove it to you."

Swallowing, Rick pulled his shoulders back and braced himself. "Well, go ahead and use it. I won't run."

"After all this trouble, dearie, you don't have a choice." She gave him a kind smile and then let the leech burrow into his chest.

The pain was intense, and a few days ago he thought it might have made him black out. Yet after what he had been through, Rick just swayed on his feet. Pushing through the pain with sheer willpower, he ignored the leech tearing into the heart of his spirit and focused on the old woman in front of him. "If we're being honest with each other... why have you been handicapping me since the beginning?"

"It's a trick." Granny Whitney gave a little shrug, just watching the leech to make sure it implanted. "I knew that Gerald and Alger would be carefully watching every candidate and making their own schemes, so I had to counter. For example, I kept my deal with Emily secret until the last second. With you, I made sure that everyone only saw you at your worst."

"Oh..." Rick thought back over the matches, how she'd given him pills that simultaneously helped him train and made him perform poorly. "And you made me collapse in my last match so I would seem like less of a threat?"

"That's right, dearie. I had a decoy fighter I was making a show of talking to as well, just to make them discount you completely. But I meant what I said the first time: you're a promising young man."

"Did... did you have to go this far? Surely just taking a few steps to hold me back would have been enough."

"Well, it isn't just the mind games." Granny Whitney smiled cheerfully and rubbed the fingers of one hand together. "There's also the betting... and the odds on you have become long indeed. The money doesn't mean very much to me, but Gerald always prides himself on beating the odds. This should be quite an embarrassment for him."

Learning that he was basically just a gimmick in Granny Whitney's arsenal should have upset him, yet Rick found that he didn't care. Yes, she had used him, but in a way he had used her. Provided that he could get rid of the leech in his chest - and assuming she really wouldn't come after him - he would end their relationship in a much stronger position. He'd definitely paid for it in pain and suffering, but now that he was on the far end, he would accept the progress.

"There's also this." She pulled some dark cloth from her bag and handed it to him. Rick realized that it was a high quality aura suit, designed for easy movement and manifestation of combat aura. Suits like these did a good job of absorbing aura, potentially becoming as durable as the fighter themselves. "I can't have you representing me in those shabby clothes."

"I... thank you. Anything else?"

"Just this."

Granny Whitney's hand snapped out and he felt her poke him in several places. His lucrima immediately screamed, beginning to burn in a way he'd never felt before. He dropped to one knee in pain... yet through the pain, he actually felt better. Broken and inefficient lucrim began to swirl, temporarily unlocking strength that had been restricted within him. Strange how Granny Whitney both helped and hindered him, so that he was restricted to the power class, yet fully able to use every lucrim within that limit.

"There! Now that's everything, I suppose!" The old woman smiled at him and began making her way down the stairs slowly. "Get dressed and come down as soon as you recover. No more time for games or preparations. The tournament is about to begin."