HH 6 - Hasty Construction

Castor hefted the wrench and began to stalk the [Hero], who’d finally gotten the idea of cutting the oilcloth away. His sword was clumsy for the task, and the inexperienced martialist had failed to bring a knife. Even after he’d managed to slice through some of the cloth, the majority of it was still plastered onto his face, glued to it with Castor’s Adhesive. His panic wasn’t helping.

Castor approached the [Hero] from behind, reared back with the mighty wrench, and brought it down onto the back of the [Hero]’s head with all of his Strength. 

The wrench bucked in his hand like he’d struck solid stone. 

The [Hero] staggered forward under the hit, but spun and cut across Castor with his sword. Castor brought the wrench up to block on instinct, but his tool was cleaved in half, along with his right hand.

“Mmmmph!” shouted the [Hero], his voice muffled by the cloth. He tried to say more, but the water-proofed material was airtight. The oilcloth over the [Hero]’s mouth bowed in and out as he tried to gasp for air.

Castor held up his bisected hand, watching the blood squirt out from where his fingers used to be. He decided to back off to his toolbox again and let things play out while he tried not to bleed to death.

The [Handyman] wasn’t sure what would happen if he lost too much blood. He didn’t think that it would damage his mana core, and the System had told him that was the only way he could die. Based on the lightness Castor felt in his head, he suspected he’d still pass out if his blood pressure got too low. If that happened, the [Hero] could take his time cutting him apart and hunting for the core within.

Castor’s first move was to staunch the bleeding, and his eyes crawled over the messy pile of compartments beside his toolbox. He dropped to his knees next to the first-aid kit and pulled out a wad of bloodroot. He shoved it into his mouth and ran mana through the herbal compound, seizing control of his blood and forcing it away from the wounds. His flesh would necrotize if he deprived the tissue for too long, but it was the best strategy he had for this level of hemorrhaging.

Next, Castor pulled out a canvas bucket wrapped around a brick of powdered Dwarven concrete. He snapped the canvas bucket into shape and squeezed the brick, tearing through its paper packaging with his fingers. Once the powdered mix was exposed, he dropped the whole thing into the bucket. He grabbed a skin of water and tore out the top with his teeth, taking a chunk of lambskin along with the plug, then dumped the water into the stone mix.

He dunked his wounded hand into the bucket and used it to stir the mix, hissing at the pain. Many of the demons watched the wild-eyed madman, dumbfounded by his actions and delighted by the manic grimace locked onto his features.

Dwarven concrete hardened near instantly under heat, and Castor paused when he realized his Infernal Torch was still empty. He took out his can of refined whale oil and crushed it on the ground underfoot, its contents splattering into a puddle. He struck a match and lit the puddle, then held his wet, muddied hand in the flame.

The Dwarven concrete expanded and hardened, fusing with Castor’s skin and plugging the wound. Castor slung more concrete onto his ribs, chest, and shoulder, bending over into the flames to let it harden and growling as his skin charred. There wasn’t anything he could do for his lung, but hopefully this was enough to see him through the fight.

Castor worked in a frenzy, executing the sloppy craft with the precision of a master and working every cell of his enhanced mind and body to complete it at speed. He kept an eye on the [Hero] as he worked, but the teenager had paused to collect and calm himself.

The [Hero] couldn’t breathe, but physical class holders could go without air for an inhuman length of time. The kid had seized his panic and pushed it down, forcing himself into a meditative state to analyze the problem. He stood completely still, sword held up before him in the direction of the flickering oil fire.

Castor knew how he would solve the problem the swordsman faced.

He also figured the reason his wrench had been so ineffective was because it wasn’t enchanted. Castor had a fix for both of these problems, but it was a long shot. If it didn’t work out, there were always plans D through F. While plans A and B had already failed, Castor saw failure as an invitation to find another, better solution.

Castor upended his toolbox until a mallet and a pile of neatly bundled chains poured out amidst a deluge of other materials. Castor had gathered endless useful nicknacks over thousands of years fixing the [Demon Lord]’s castle. 

Castor animated the mallet, giving it a few instructions and releasing it to hover toward the [Hero]. He glanced at his mana. Out of a pool of 70, he’d burned through 50 with both uses of Adhesive and two casts of Animate Object. 

There was enough left to animate a single chain, so he selected the thickest gauge he had with a durability enchantment. He activated the spell and let it flow through the air behind the mallet. Then, Castor started working on his next project.

His Maintenance skill added damage reduction to anything he created or repaired. Unfortunately, dumping Dwarven Concrete onto his limbs didn’t count as creation or repair. Castor took issue with that, but it was what it was. 

He rifled through his piles of random shit for a small formwork, deciding to jury-rig one with a few lengths of crown molding and a piece of plywood. He assembled the shallow wooden box with nails he pushed in with his bare hand, then filled it with the rest of the Dwarven concrete. 

The [Hero] flinched at the sounds of Castor’s work, beginning to circle so that the fire wouldn’t get between them. The animated hammer and chain floated silently nearby, staying just out of the sword’s reach as the [Hero] closed in. As Castor began pulling new chains from his pile, the [Hero] decided to take a chance and give himself some air.

There was enough space between the [Hero]’s lips that he could slice through the oilcloth without harming himself. If he were careful, he might be able to cut through the space over each eye to give himself some visibility as well. Had the [Hero] been willing to risk injury, he could have done this quickly. However, the teenager’s hesitance told Castor the kid was more likely to take his time, and that’s exactly what happened.

While Castor began setting three chains into the concrete, the [Hero] brought his sword up to his mouth, blade nearly horizontal, and slowly tried to slice through the cloth. Castor’s mallet and chain sprang into action.

The chain shot forward, catching beneath the sword’s hilt and wrapping around the [Hero]’s head with the speed of a thrown bola. The mallet was close behind and the moment the chain made contact, it walloped the dulled back edge of the sword. The [Hero] let out a shriek as his own sword was thrust deep into his mouth, carving through both cheeks and certainly several teeth. As the blade sank in, the chain wrapped back around to catch the blade on the other side of the teenager’s head.

The [Hero] tried to force the sword back out of his jaw, but the chain kept it held in tightly while the mallet kept trying to whack it further in. The kid let out a terrified wail as he dodged the mallet. On the bright side, the [Hero] could now breathe. Kind of. All the blood pouring into and out of his mouth got in the way.

Castor laid one chain in a loop around the top of the rectangular slab of wet concrete, and a chain on either side toward the bottom. He clipped a hook onto one of the side chains, then dropped the entire mess into the still-burning whale oil.

The concrete dried and expanded, embedding the chains and splintering the wooden formwork. Dwarven concrete wasn’t meant for clean work; it was mainly deployed for emergency mine repair. 

Castor didn’t need ‘clean’. This work was about as dirty as it got. 

Castor grabbed the heavy slab and slung the top loop over his neck, then wrapped the side chains around his waist, snagging the hook on a link to hold it tight.

It was the shittiest breast plate Castor had ever seen or heard of, but it triggered his Maintenance specializations. The stone-and-plywood slab gained 100 points of damage reduction to every single type of damage known to man. Castor grinned, ignoring that some of the wood chained to his chest and gut was still merrily burning from the oil.

Castor had prioritized the slapdash piece of armor for a couple of reasons. First, he needed to protect his mana core. While the ‘breastplate’ wouldn’t guard much of his body, it covered the central mass of his torso. Castor knew his mana core was in that area somewhere. He wasn’t sure where, exactly, but he’d made the slab large enough to cover the most likely spots.

Castor’s second reason was [Hero] fuckery. While the bath-robe-wearing teenager was blinded, could barely breathe, and had a sword buried halfway through his head, Castor was under no illusion that the fight was his to win. If the [Hero] needed to pierce Castor’s mana core to come out victorious, then that little asshole was guaranteed to have an ability that would let him do it, no matter how bad the circumstances.

Castor’s head was fuzzy from blood loss, and his health was down to 70, but he knew this fight would only end in his favor if he took decisive action. He couldn’t give the [Hero] any time to recover. For all he knew, the guy had a god-given potion of Full Restoration somewhere in his stupid robe.

Castor forced the last bit of air trapped in his still-working lung into a brief, barking shout, and charged. The [Hero] rounded on Castor’s location, miraculously slicing through and destroying the animated mallet with part of the sword sticking out of his face. The kid lowered his stance, angled toward Castor’s approach.

The demons in the stands roared as the [Handyman] charged, the ground thundering with the strength of their cries. Castor’s footsteps over the sharp, glassy field were swallowed by the throaty shouts of countless hellspawn, and the [Hero]’s stance became uncertain as he lost track of his opponent. 

Castor cut away from his original angle of approach. He swept to the [Hero]’s right, pivoted, and took two bounding steps behind the teenager. He spread his limbs, jumped, and mounted the [Hero]’s back.

Castor’s mighty legs wrapped around the [Hero]’s waist, and he hooked both arms behind the blunt edge of the teenager’s sword. He reared back with everything he had, teeth bared as he drove the blade further and further into the [Hero]’s mouth.

The [Hero] was much stronger than Castor had imagined. Although clearly an Agility fighter, the [Hero]’s class had been dropping at least 1 point into the teenager’s Strength at every Level. Even so, Castor had 300 pounds on the willowy kid, and the lion’s share of it was muscle. He’d been able to lug hundreds of pounds of equipment up and down dozens of flights of stairs before he’d even gotten a class, and his own Strength attribute stacked an extra 2,000 pounds of lift capacity on top.

The [Hero] had Castor beat by the numbers on his status screen, but between Castor’s natural power and specialization, the [Handyman] was still stronger. Castor worked the superior leverage of his position, using the full weight of his body against the strength in the [Hero]’s arms alone.

The [Hero]’s struggle lasted only a moment, slicing his hands as he tried to push back against the blade. He reached around to gouge out Castor’s eyes, but Castor’s height and the angle of his body kept his head out of reach. The blade went deeper and deeper, and as the [Handyman] felt the blade meet resistance against the [Hero]’s spine, his opponent’s body began to glow.

Castor threw himself into the pull even harder, twisting his body from side to side, trying to get the sword to bite into the [Hero]’s spine and slice through. The kid’s bones felt like they were made of mithril. 

Before Castor could take off the top half of the teenager’s head, three sharp symbols appeared high above the arena floor. Castor couldn’t read the language, but the symbols transcended the written word and resonated with meaning. 

The mouthful of sword didn’t matter. The [Hero] recited each word flawlessly. His voice rang out, overpowering the hysterical shouts of the demon crowd and rattling Castor’s skull.

GALSTORM: SHATTERED LIGHT!

The tip of the [Hero]’s sword shone with brilliant light that scattered into a dozen lancing beams. They spun around the sword tip, carving a spiral of deep glowing furrows into the ground for twenty feet in all directions. The light passed through the [Hero]’s body harmlessly, but Castor felt a razor sting cutting through him so deep and fast that the nerve endings didn’t even have time to scream in alarm.

Castor felt the oddest sensation as his limbs grew lighter in stuttering chunks. His fingers fell away one knuckle at a time. His hands came off at the wrists. His feet and legs followed suit, taken apart at each joint. When his forearms tumbled away at the elbows, he lost his hold on the [Hero] and fell back. 

He tumbled end over end, head bouncing against the jagged, broken ground. He came to a stop on his side and saw his headless torso on the ground, thin gashes between each rib. The concrete armor he’d made to protect his chest fell away in triangular chunks.

Castor’s neck burned, and his thoughts slowed. Shadows filled the edges of his vision while he watched the [Hero] sway. The sword was still chained into his jaw, pressed so deep into the muscle that it had nearly bisected his head. Castor had been so close, and he felt like he was watching the scene from a vast distance when the [Hero] reached into his robes to pull out a glowing potion.

Castor’s last thought was a single word sent to his animated chain around the [Hero]’s head. It unravelled from the blade and snapped its end at the potion, knocking it from the [Hero]’s hand. Reality seemed to move through syrup as the bottle fell end over end to the ground, breaking open on the sharp lip of one of the furrows made by the [Hero]’s own skill.

A second after it shattered, the [Hero] slumped to the ground, and the universe around Castor faded to black.