Chapter 32 - Sol vs Blüt

Blüt roared in agony. He was a being unused to pain. Too strong to be harmed much of the time, and so used to Merri’s instantaneous healing that lingering pain was practically new to him. He wailed like a baby, although his deep voice and large throat amplified and distorted his cries, creating a gut-wrenching wave of overwhelming noise. Luna covered her ears, as did Sol. Merri froze up, tears beginning to stream from her eyes on instinct.

When his cry ended and the shock wore off, Blüt experienced something else new to him. Perhaps not new, but long forgotten. Genuine rage. For so long he had gone unopposed that to be damaged like this was an inconceivable insult. An insult that only served to enrage him further.

His arm was totally gone, replaced by a constant waterfall of blood from his stump of a shoulder. Despite this, he paid no mind to his missing limb. Instead, his bulging bloodshot eyes focused straight on the source of his pain. He couldn’t yet identify Luna, but he knew her rough position. He stomped through the river, approaching the cliffside.

Sol knew he had to act quickly. Blüt was about half as tall as the cliff already. It’d take him no time at all to scale it, even with one arm. He’d have to seal off his movement properly this time. Once more, he rushed toward Blüt’s leg, assuming he’d get a clean shot from the amount of shock and pain he was in.

But adrenaline is a powerful thing, even more so when gallons of it were sloshing around inside an oversized body like Blüt’s. The moment he heard the splashing of Sol’s feet following him into the river, he began to turn, fist raised.

The momentum of this turn increased the power in his fist. Sol knew as soon as it began that this wasn’t an attack he could dare to match. He was barely able to hang on in their previous clash, and now Blüt had both momentum and rage on his side; it’d be hopeless to try going blow for blow.

He had no option but to evade. He was too close to fully retreat and such a large and imposing fist couldn’t be simply side-stepped or rolled away from. He had to make the exact right move at the exact right time. Luckily for Sol, he knew exactly what that move would be.

As Blüt’s fist came rocketing down toward him, he made the best possible move he could think of. He jumped as high as he could, attempting to recreate Clint’s manouvre against the Slime Queen.

Blüt’s fist burst the surface tension of the river beneath him, sending water splashing up all around Sol. His dodge was successful… But he was one step behind. Gravity caught up to him as he began falling before he could reach for his sword. He was left falling unarmed toward Blüt’s fist.

With a fierce backhand, Blüt launched Sol up into the air, hard knuckles connecting with his stomach and cracking his ribs. Although it was an awkward strike for Blüt, sheer power carried him through, flinging Sol’s body into the air.

Sol’s eyes glazed over for a moment. Although this was a pivotal battle, he lost focus. “Man… Clint made that look way easier…” He thought.

He forgot the fact he was tens of feet in the air for a moment, mind flittering elsewhere. “This sucks… Why’s it always me who’s gotta fight like this…?” He was numb to the pain he felt, his mind was totally separate from his body at this point, like Blüt’s strike had knocked it free. “Welp, gotta deal with it, I guess. Who else is gonna stall for Luna?”

He sighed, gritting his teeth and snapping back to reality. All of a sudden he felt the wind whipping around him as he plummeted back down toward Blüt, whose gigantic fist was already rising to meet him. He had even less control now. If he had failed a far simpler evasive manouvre prior, what hope did he have of avoiding this rising uppercut?

Sol’s mind got to work desperately. “Can’t let Luna down. Can’t let Merri down. Can’t let Marrie or Lillinberg down. I really can’t let the Dragoneart name down… Ugh! Think, Sol! If you can’t get out of this, what good are you? You’re not just some spoiled prince, are you? Do something!”

Regardless of the demands he made of himself,. he was staring a gigantic fist down while in a freefall. “Counter-punch? I do have gravity on my side… But that’s just the same as before. I’ll break my arms, Blüt won’t. I can’t risk that… If I go out of commission, he’s got free reign to go after Luna while she charges.” Sol focused hard, but he couldn’t devise a single plan. There was simply nothing his physical body could do to avoid Blüt’s strike.

Nothing his physical body could do…

Sol’s brain burned with realisation. That same creative spark that allowed him to master Fondre reared its head once more. He sheathed his sword as he went over the idea again in his head. “It’s so simple! I can’t move myself falling like this, but it’s not like I can’t BE moved.”

“Fireball propulsion!” Mana warmed his hands, starting to spark and flare between them as he pushed them forward and together. A large, wide cone of flame poured forth, propelling Sol backwards and out of the way of Blüt’s fist. He was well clear, the gigantic hand flying straight past him and finding only the air he once inhabited.

Sol’s grimace shifted, a twinge of a smile emerging on his stress-ridden face. Magic was fun, even in this situation.

And what would be even more fun was what he planned to do next. He unsheathed his sword, pulling it back as the momentum of his fall drove him through the air toward the Ogre. When he arrived at his head, he used all his strength and the momentum of his fall to smash the blade downward.

Blüt’s knotted and matted hair caught the blade and slowed its descent, but did nothing to stop it. Sol’s weapon made contact, splitting a fierce crack into his thick skull and embedding itself. Blüt groaned in pain as Sol allowed himself to fall past the Ogre’s gaping mouth and back down to the ground. The water was just deep enough to lessen the impact, though the fall still left him bruised.

Blüt’s eyes were wide and wild. Something changed in him as Sol struck his head, a speed and desperation in his movements. He used his one good arm to scrape at his hair and attempt to rip the sword away. All he managed to do was nick his fingers, causing his state to only worsen. It seemed his anger was not evaporating, but shifting, transforming into something else entirely… Whatever odd emotion it was, it was focused entirely on one person: Sol Dragoneart.