All three of us are ready to fight. I feel it like a charge in the air, and I'm not the only one; the Concept-Bound senses it, too. Phylus stills, and there's suddenly a note in his voice that sounds a lot like concern.
"Sothing is different," he says, half-musing the words. Talking to himself, for so reason. "I can delay no longer."
That's all the warning we get.
The ropes that Ahkelios brought in—I don't know what they are, but those things are strong. They actually hold him back for about half a second, which is more warning than we would have had otherwise; they flare to an eye-searing brightness as Phylus brings everything he has to bear against it.
They shatter and the devices generating them burst into flas and smoke, but it's more than enough ti for Guard to get in front of Ahkelios and I, burning with the Breath of Life. The field of green glows bright as it deflects the sudden near-solid dark blue that crashes against us.
Novi huddles in the center where it's safest. I'm closest to the edge—dark-blue Firmant brushes against my finger, just for a fraction of a second as it leaves the protective grasp of Guard's aura. That's enough for it to burn straight through my skin and down to the bone like it's concentrated acid.
Very good thing Guard got in the way of that. When it dissipates, Phylus's eyes widen slightly, like he's both surprised and annoyed that all four of us are still there. He doesn't waste ti talking like I expect him to, though.
Instead, he attacks. He's faster than before. Three solid spikes, Bound with Regret, aid directly at our throats; Guard's aura won't deflect sothing physical like that.
So I Evolve faster than I ever have before.
Our ti in Kauku's pocket dinsion seems to have helped the Knight recover; it's able to join with in record ti, and together the transformation accelerates through our bones, cracks through our body. First cos its default Form, the transformation of my bones into armor—
Distorted Crux.
The first spike is headed toward ; it's forced to slow down as it approaches, though I note with alarm that the Concept bound to it allows it to partially bypass that defense.
Not nearly enough, though. I grab it with an armored fist and shatter it.
The other spikes are too far away, and with the Concept interfering I'm wary of Warpstepping into their path. But the Generator Form is already creeping through the Knight—the plates of our armor begin to separate, pulling with it the underlying muscle. The sensation would be uncomfortable, but I'm focused on the fight, and the Knight takes on most of the burden of the transformation.
New organs shuffle into place. I can't see them, but I can feel what they do. They draw in Firmant like makeshift lungs, pulling ambient energy into my core and twisting it in an instant into sothing pure and mine. It's almost like it's burning it for fuel.
Either way, new Firmant pours into my body, and I throw a hand out, reaching for Great Filter at the sa ti. Carefully, as Kauku warned. I can sense how much easier it is to use Firmant Control now—the power leaps eagerly into my ntal grasp as I reach for it, and pulls away just as quickly if I demand it. Even with how hungry this skill is, I'm able to feed it exactly the amount of Firmant I intend to.
About ten percent of what I have available drains into Great Filter. The air in front of those spikes harden into a glasslike surface. I can sense almost instantly that the skill is only half-ford—it doesn't have nearly the Firmant it needs to manifest fully—but it doesn't matter. Even only half-ford, I get a powerful impression of what it is.
You do not pass, the barrier tells the spikes. It takes every attempt, every future possibility, and stands in their way like an insurmountable wall. You have failed.
Even with the power of a Concept behind them, the spikes are forced to obey. They clatter harmlessly off the faux glass and onto the ground.
There's no ti to celebrate, because Phylus is already following up with his next attack; he's crawling along the ceiling in a zig-zag, disruptive pattern, firing more spikes, building up power for sothing, but before he can, Ahkelios steps up.
"My turn," he announces. I can feel this is him, now. He shoots a grin—
—and I blanch as he sohow balances a foot on my shoulder and uses as a launching pad. "Ahkelios! You're not small enough to do that anymore!"
"My bad!" he calls, but he's grinning. Little bastard.
Or I guess I can't call him that anymore, if he's bigger than I am. That's going to be awkward. I watch as he crashes into the ceiling and slashes with an arm. A steel-gray blade of sharp Firmant bursts out of him like a sword summoned into existence; it blisters with an edge too sharp to be real, lined with the power of a Concept. I blink, and a vague mory cos back.
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"My Concept is that of the Sword," Ahkelios says.
I hadn't thought anything of it at the ti, but I guess he wasn't exactly an ordinary Trialgoer, either. Even if he was just at the second layer, the power of that Concept is enough for it to weaken the spikes being launched toward us—it doesn't stop them completely, but it breaks them down enough that a Crystallized Barrier does the rest.
His strike, on the other hand, continues. The Sword he wields, pure Firmant and little else, tears straight through the blessed stone of the tunnel ceiling. Even without a skill, it turns the ceiling into a series of crumbling rocks. Ɽ�
With nothing to stay attached to, Phylus falls—and Guard and I are there to catch him.
With our fists, specifically.
Amplified Gauntlet burns as it activates. Quite literally. The Form I'm in alters the skill, and when my arm transforms, six miniature engines erge from beneath the plating just along my forearm. I feel it burn Firmant, feel it transform that Firmant into pure kinetic energy.
The Knight grins, wide and savage. It loves this new Form, I can tell.
Next to us, He-Who-Guards catches on to what we're doing. There's a split second of analysis. He doesn't have quite enough force behind his own strike to match mine.
Realization, recalculation, redirection—
—a new pattern erges in front of him. I recognize it as another inverted skill, though I'm not sure which. The black hole the Seedmother used, if I had to guess.
It's not quite complete. Instead, it's half-ford, the sa way the Great Filter skill was half-ford. Did he... pick up on what I did and imdiately incorporate it into a skill he didn't know how to use yet?
Damn.
I'm pretty sure he did, because in the next mont, a trio of tiny specks of white burst into being at his elbow, burning with force. His enormous Firmant reserves pour carelessly into the skill, and suddenly he has power enough to match mine.
Impact.
Phylus tries to guard against the blow. Tries. He crosses all four arms in front of himself, two to block Guard and two to block . A shockwave blisters the air around us. There's a mont of almost-cartoonish delay; I sense Phylus pouring Firmant into so sort of positional skill, trying to avoid being thrown back...
Because Ahkelios wasn't done with a single strike. When I look up, I see the ceiling shining with Firmant. Sharp blades protrude from the top of the tunnel, each one aid unerringly at Phylus. I'm impressed the Concept-Bound noticed at all, focused as he was trying to stop and Guard.
It's not enough, though. Not against the sheer, combined weight of our strikes. Guard pours more Firmant through his arm, my gauntlet burns even more of mine, and together, we break through whatever barrier he's using to stay in place.
He rockets backward. Ahkelios moves out of the way gracefully, hanging on to one of his blades; where it would cut anyone else, he simply clutches it with an arm and balances on a leg, entirely unhard.
Phylus, on the other hand, is impaled by six different blades at once. There's a sickening crack of carapace followed by squelch of flesh; a choked groan of pain erupts from him. Green-blue blood trickles down from his mouth and from the rest of his wounds, falling from the ceiling like rain.
Novi starts forward, mouth opening in relief, but Guard shakes his head and holds her back. "It is not over."
And it isn't.
How he's still able to move is beyond , but Phylus lashes out with a wave of Firmant powerful enough to shatter Ahkelios's blades; the mantis—scirix?—leaps away before the shockwave can hurt him, landing nimbly back beside . Guard takes point in front and shields us with another Breath of Life, his systems straining with the effort. I hear the whir of his fans as green Firmant streams from him.
"Ahkelios," I say. He latches on to what I'm thinking with a simple flicker of intent through our bond, and we leap into action.
He goes left. I go right. Firmant Control allows us each to grasp a small piece of Guard's shield—not enough to destabilize it, just enough to let us survive the wave of Firmant trying to crush us as we approach. Ahkelios borrows Primordial Foray from , and I borrow his Sword Concept from him.
They don't oppose one another, but they don't have to. The Sword cuts. That's the essence of the Concept, resonating through us both; a weapon that slices through any obstacle, wielded sotis in defense, sotis in offense, but always to cut.
Primordial Foray turns into a sharp, cutting force that brims with Life; there's a mingling of two Concepts that don't quite match. We're not practiced enough for them to sh perfectly, so so power is lost in that exchange, but not enough to matter.
Phylus roars. There's a mixture of panic, frustration, and maybe a hint of approval mixed in with the agony—I see in his Firmant that he doesn't understand how this is happening, how he's losing. He's at the fourth layer of Firmant, and being overwheld by the three of us doesn't make sense to him.
He tries to lash out again, but his body is falling apart. Twin blades of Firmant slice off his lower arms and cut into his torso, and wounded as he is, bleeding as he is, his strength is leaving him.
He staggers. Tries to move, but collapses instead, no longer able to hold the weight of his body. He laughs a choked laugh.
"Incredible," he murmurs. "Well done, Trialgoers."
My eyes narrow at that word. Ahkelios starts. We glance at each other.
[You have defeated Phylus, Bound by Regret (Rank SS)! 337 Strength credits. 100 Durability credits. 100 Reflex credits. 100 Speed credits. 500 Firmant credits.]
"Ahkelios," I start. "Did you—?"
"Yup," he says. He stares at the window in front of him. At the Interface.
His own Interface, separate from mine. I can see it, though. The bond between us grants us that much. His credit distribution is different from mine, but all in all...
A ssage hangs in the air in front of him, gleaming blue.
[Welco back, Trialgoer Ahkelios.]
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