Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius lunged forward with a thrust, then cut upwards as Zehr dodged.

Zehr swayed sidewards, moving as if his spine were made of gelatin, then reared his arm back for a horizontal strike.

Quickly stepping forward, Tycon blocked the incomplete swing. With the advantage, he shoved the snake god back-- but he took a solid kick to his thigh in the exchange.

Zehr sighed as he stretched and rotated his right shoulder, "Seven hells, having a mortal body is shite... You'll have to take my word on that, though."

"Granted..." Tycon groaned as he rubbed his leg, "What's changed, Zehr? Why choose this generation to stand with the dragon god?"

"The Dragon God bares his teeth, Tycondrius." Zehr clinked his sword against his shoulder, "He spreads his wings, preparing to take flight."

"If you think you're being cryptic," Tycon rolled his eyes, "it's coming off as pretentious."

"Anyroad," Zehr shook his head, "My involvement ensures that my people-- your people survive the coming conflict."

"And, most importantly, yourself," Tycon offered.

"And myself," Zehr smirked, flourishing his blade, "Now, let us fight. The least I can do is grant you an honorable death."

"Which you've been forced to do, as your other servants are shite."

"Granted," Zehr sighed... "You would do the same thing."

It sounded like the snake god could not be convinced to stand down-- Tycon wouldn't, in the same situation.

It wasn't a fair fight. Zehr controlled the Reality Marble... and likely had the culmination of several centuries of experience, drawn from his worshippers. On top of that, Tycon was still diverting most of his mana towards...

« System, inquiry: Status of the brute-force protocol. »

⟬ System response: 80.2 quadrillion sequences checked... ⟭

"So you say I can't run, snake god..." Tycon quietly sheathed his sword.

"Oh? Giving up, Tycondrius?" Zehr chuckled. "I'm glad you've realized that you can't--"

Tycon turned and ran.

"I don't believe in you!" He yelled aloud.

"YOU!! YOU COWARD!!!" Zehr shouted as he pounded tiles, running after him.

"It's a perfectly viable strategy!"

"You're only prolonging the inevitable!!"

Tycon turned, running backward, "You would do the same thing!"

"That's not the point!!" Zehr yelled, "⌈Iron Dragon REND!!⌋"

It was disheartening for Tycon to hear one of his own Skills used against him... but he expected as much.

He made a quick mental calculation as he glanced behind him at the oncoming line of exploding roof tiles.

...Unlike his own usage of the Skill, it looked Zehr's might kill him.

He didn't have the mana to activate his ⌈Tumble⌋ skill, so he was trying to be as careful as possible. Stopping briefly to crouch, he flipped backward off the rooftop.

Rotating once in the air, Tycon caught himself on a balcony railing. Looking down, instead of trash-covered roadstones, there was... nothing to catch his fall. Everything in Charm that wasn't a building had turned into an ominously deep pit.

Zehr had administrator access to the Reality Marble's creative functions... and he had... deleted the ground.

"Seven hells," With an exasperated curse, Tycon kicked off from his current balcony onto a different one, then barreled through the adjacent door.

Inside, he found white walls-- painfully bare, no rugs or furniture... and no light sources. What should have been a two-story home was just an empty shell. It was likely that, with the exception of his mother's estate, all the structures in the Reality Marble were the same.

Sensing movement from above, he dove away. Zehr broke through the ceiling, stabbing downward in a fantastic shower of red-tile and cream-colored debris.

As fast as he could manage, Tycon drew his short sword, slashing at Zehr's head.

"Too slow," His doppelganger deflected and countered-- far faster than before.

Gritting his teeth, Tycon moved his left arm to block... and the arming sword bit deep into his forearm.

It was a chance.

He cut his short sword at Zehr's undefended side, bashing into the handsome gentleman's chain shirt. It cut... but not deep.

...Having his strength reduced to merely Iron-Rank meant he couldn't ignore even mundane armor. While he was trained to do so, anyroad, it was disheartening to see his opportunistic attack mostly nullified.

While he was lamenting his situation, Zehr jabbed him in the face.

Tycon reeled back, his fingers squeezing the bridge of his bloodied nose... "I suppose I deserved that."

"You did," The snake god grinned. "Seeking vengeance is one of my tenets, you know."

Tycon wiped the blood away with his sleeve, "Petty revenge, too, then?"

"Still counts," Zehr shrugged.

The walls began to vibrate... crumbling and dissipating. Tycon's beautiful city of Charm and its hundreds of buildings and thousands of inhabitants-- gone in an instant. Only the white platform he stood upon remained, all else the black-green sky of the void.

Empty night.

Tycon glanced at his left forearm. It was still bleeding... and profusely.

"No more running, then?" He mused.

The injury stung and detracted from his overall combat power. He wanted to heal himself with an ⌈Inspirational Surge⌋... but it was still too soon. His System was still working tirelessly towards attaining access to the Reality Marble.

"No more running, Ivory Prince," Zehr confirmed. "Just you... and me. One on one. Final destination."

He held his blade up in a salute and in an instant, it was sheathed with brilliant white piercing mana, "⌈Legionbreaker.⌋"

"You seem to enjoy using my Skills," Tycon rolled his eyes... but rendered a return salute out of politeness.

"Though Rylania is stronger than you, your skillset suits me more," Zehr relaxed his stance, the glowing sword still at his side, "Believe it or not, you're the strongest male cultivator among my faithful... and what better skill to end your life than this, your strongest Skill."

Tycon smirked, having realized something. Unbeknownst to the snake god, ⌈Legionbreaker⌋ was not his strongest Skill...

...He just needed to survive long enough to prove it otherwise.

"I don't suppose you'd allow me to--"

"⌈Shadowfang Strike,⌋" Zehr plunged his white glowing arming sword into Tycon's chest.

Tycon dropped his sword, first slapping his palms onto Zehr's blade, then gripping it tightly with his fingers. Fresh blood pumped out of the injury on his left forearm.

But more than that... he. hated. being interrupted.

Thankfully, he had managed to twist his body, so the sword went through his outer pectoral instead of his heart. It still hurt... immensely... but he lived.

"Don't you have a healing Skill?" Zehr asked. "Do you have enough mana to use it? Or did you waste it all in The Real?"

Tycon gave a grim smile despite the pain.

"Nevermind," Zehr grinned. "I don't need an answer."

With a surge of mana, Zehr pushed the weapon in deeper, the friction making Tycon's fingers bleed.

His blood intermixed with that of Atusa's... and that of his sister.

Tycon grabbed onto Zehr's collar and smashed his forehead into the god's nose, "Sod off, dragon f*cker."

Zehr staggered backward, releasing the grip on his sword-- leaving it lodged in Tycon's flesh.

Still-- the snake god was a shite combatant to relinquish his weapon so easily in a life or death combat.

"Ah! Gods DAMN it!!" Zehr cursed, wiping the blood on his face with his wrist... "MY MISTAKE! Well played, arse."

"Thank you," Tycon sighed.

He grimaced, looking at the sword stuck in him.

The injury was hot. It itched. Other parts of his body were growing cold as his blood was redirected towards it. He had to force away the instinct to pull it out... but without using a healing Skill, he feared he'd go into shock from the blood loss.

Zehr raised his arms... and a familiar greataxe coalesced into his hands.

There was no fanfare... no flashy Mana-Creation Spell. He merely summoned the Spinal Reaper into being.

"I probably should have used this from the beginning... the weapon of my greatest champion, Sandstone Reaver Pontius." Zehr pursed his lips, "He was far more likable than you are, by the way."

"That thing's been destroyed," Tycon frowned. "Athanasius broke it."

"I am the master of this place, Tycondrius," Zehr laughed. "Here... reality can be whatever I want."

⟬ Brute-force protocol complete. Granting access to host... Access granted. ⟭

It seemed that Zehr's previous statement was no longer true.

Tycon took in a deep breath as he felt his self-imposed mana limiter release... the cool resurgence of life force renewing his spirits and making the pain slightly more manageable.

« System, change access code. Randomize an extended hash... 20 characters should do. »

⟬ ...Setting change complete. ⟭

Trying not to show his glee, Tycon settled for a light smirk as he removed the sword in his chest and tossed it to the ground.

"Oh?" Zehr grinned, "Is that not the best you can do?"

Tycon raised an eyebrow, "It is not."

⟬ ⌈Inspirational Surge⌋ conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ⟭

« Please and thank you. »

⟬ Activating... You're welcome. ⟭

Tycon's injuries grew scalding hot... the outer skin closing as the wounds knitted closed.

Zehr tilted his chin forward, his greataxe resting on his shoulder, "Go on, then. As I am a benevolent god, I shall allow you to use both your current sword and my previous one."

"Kind of you," Tycon grinned. "I think we'll take you up on your offer."

",