Chapter 939 Kill-Strike

The Thunder God stopped mid-sentence, his mouth twisting into a grimace, "No... the Sea God can *not* lose here."

"It doesn't look good," Said Wroe as he sucked in air through his teeth. "Krysaos is constantly reinforcing his Transformation Skill to reduce his damage."

Tycondrius nodded quietly in agreement.

The Captain's ability, (likely named something asinine like... Avatar of the Ultra-Glacial Whitesaber Tuna)... gave him a sizeable boost to his already formidable physical abilities. However, the mana cost to sustain its effects was clearly exorbitant.

...Observing the haggard look on his face, he had grown as exhausted as the Thunder God.

"Let us watch and wait," The god of shirtlessness suggested... "Perhaps the Sea God can win in the next three exchanges?"

Judging by that fellow's tone of voice, he was not at all confident in his words.

Wroe grit his teeth, "The Lady hasn't used any Spells besides her exploding balls."

...Lady?

"Mister Wroe," Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Is there something you know of the enemy that we do not?"

"Ehe, you caught me, Boss~" Wroe shrugged. "The only Spell the err-- that she's revealed is ⌈Eldritch Blast⌋... an Elementary-Rank Warlock Spell."

It was then that the young 'Lady' in question shouted to the forest canopy.

"Hey, Tree God!" She screeched, "Give me your blessing, you stinky old fart!!"

The Thunder God's face contorted in... disgust? Scorn? Whatever emotion it it was, it seemed rather unpleasant.

"The side of justice is faltering, indeed," He said, shaking his head.

In a similar vein, Wroe looked thoroughly baffled, "That's... ⌈Barkskin⌋? Isn't that a Druid Spell?"

...Tycon wiped the sweat off his brow before observing the field of battle once more.

Hardened bark had grown over the snowy-haired child's orange scales.

One of Krysaos' strikes slipped past her guard, but the god-weapon bounced off of her body with impunity.

The enemy mage took that brief window of opportunity, smiting the half-god first with her fist to the side, then with a jumping knee to the opposite shoulder, and finally with the pommel of her curved blade to the jaw. Each strike resounded with a thunderous boom, not dissimilar those created by her explosive spheres.

"It seems that the Tree God has intervened on the enemy's behalf," Tycon sighed. "While unfortunate, such is not entirely unexpected, no?"

"Who... who the F*CK are you, GIRLIE?!?" Shouted a (shamefully) tearful Sea God as he staggered backward, "And why are we even FIGHTING?!"

"Valeria Ashenspire," The arrogant mage declared. "And weird perverts like you should just DIE!!"

"I'm not a pervert!" The half-god shouted, "My name is Krysaos, Captain of the Neptune's-- oh fff--"

The ability to speak while simultaneously defending oneself was one of great important. Unfortunately, it was one that the half-god lacked.

In that precarious moment, Krysaos chose to use the Heart of the Ocean not to deflect Valeria's eruptive ⌈Eldritch Blast⌋, but instead... slice through it.

Tycon, his shame immeasurable, squinted his eyes as he watched that sphere burst into brilliant light.

He fully expected Krysaos to be executed summarily-- perhaps with her violent magic leaving his semi-divine body in ruin.

What happened, however, was not that.

Valeria took two steps forward and lowered her body. Springing up and with her movement aided by an almost palpable torrent of mana, she shot her right knee forward.

And so, Krysaos, the immortal god of the sea, suffered a devastating knee-strike to the crotch.

And so, without words... he fell, his defeat an undeniable truth.

"KRYSAOS!!" Shouted the Thunder God.

"Mister Wroe," Tycon waved his hand, "Engage."

"Got it, Boss."

As Wroe sped away, Tycon paused his formation work to analyze what he'd witnessed...

Considering Valeria's mediocre performance, Krysaos' testicle-crushing defeat was inconceivable.

But how?

Did Valeria take advantage of a critical vulnerability?

Was there something sinister in her magic besides its revolting stench?

A number of theories came to mind, but one, in particular, stood at the forefront.

Like all Caster Classes of Sol Invictus, Krysaos was trained to ⌈Mana Ward⌋ as a reflex response.

Further, a human male has a natural disposition toward defending their crotch-area from harm. Krysaos should have instinctively cast ⌈Mana Ward⌋ even without specialized training... and even at the risk of explosive feedback or mana exhaustion.

He did not.

Not even a partial ward was formed...

Tycon quietly observed Valeria as she fought against Tarquin Wroe. The blue-haired Hexblade seemed advantaged, his aptitude for swordsmanship clearly superior.

Did that child perhaps... have the rare ⌈Counterspell⌋ ability?

...If so, its benefit would be negligible against Wroe.

He was the Arcanite Prince. Considering his age and the amount of time he'd spent training in Nemayan martial arts, Valeria was not his opponent.

He did not need magic in order to kill her.

...Nevertheless, anxiety and doubt tormented Tycon's heart.

Valeria's unorthodox magic offended all of his senses. Underestimating her would be a grave mistake...

Until she was incapacitated or killed, his concerns would remain.

Reminiscent of a gentle tide, a wave of saltwater washed the face-down Krysaos to the Thunder God's feet.

The Shirtless God held his hand out towards him.

"Sea God..." He whimpered.

"Don't... don't talk to me right now," Came the response in a pathetic falsetto.

"He will be fine," Tycon shrugged. "I advise you to worry about yourself, Thunder God. Should Wroe be disadvantaged, I may ask you to intervene."

The Thunder God's eyes sparked with a surge of magic, "I have recovered enough to assist Hexblade Wroe. Say the word, friend-Maedar."

​ Krysaos flopped over, "Yeah... I'll go too. Just... auuuUUUgh, who am I f*ckin' kidding? I'm done, for now. That dumb b*tch's magic... it's... I dunno. What kind of flames don't get doused by water?"

"It's been some time, but you may have forgotten," Tycon sighed... "Valeria is not our greatest enemy. Rest, both of you."

Krysaos crossed his arms, not bothering to stand.

"You got a lot of faith in a guy you've tried to kill so many times in the past few suns."

Tycon paused his work, closing his eyes in thought.

It wasn't a question of faith.

His resources were dwindling. He wished he had more options... more tools, more magic items, more people. The time-sensitive nature of his quest did not allow him the luxury.

Valeria defeated Krysaos on account of her abnormal magic... volatile spheres of fire that could not be quenched by even remarkably pure water mana.

It was also possible that she had a Skill or Artifact with the ⌈Counterspell⌋ or ⌈Nullification⌋ properties...

However, Wroe's abilities... of the moon... or metal... or pale hands. If Valeria was an unpredictable opponent, Wroe was inexplicable chaos in mortal flesh.

Thus, Tycon would trust that Wroe could bring victory by... out-weirding his opponent.

...And besides that--

Tycon sighed and shook his head, "Let us observe, Brother-Captain... the capabilities of the most notorious womanizer in Sol Invictus."