Jet wiped blood from his mouth, spitting red onto the cracked ground. His body was already working overtime, wounds sealing themselves with that familiar burning itch of regeneration. But damn, this Riley guy hit different. Each bubble had left him feeling like he'd been run over by a truck.
"You done showing off, bubble boy?" Jet panted, rolling his shoulders. His ribs ached, but they were healing. They always healed.
Riley tilted his head, genuinely curious. "Are you seriously asking for more? Most people would have stayed down after the third Burstling Orb."
"I'm not most people." Jet cracked his neck, the sound sharp in the tense air. "I don't stay down. Ever."
"Fascinating," Riley mused, his flexible blade shifting back to its sabre form. The translucent coating caught the light, making it look like liquid mercury. "Your regeneration is quite impressive. But tell me something—"
Riley's hand moved in a casual gesture, and three Gleamweb bubbles materialized in the air between them, floating lazily like deadly jellyfish.
"—how's your pain tolerance?"
Before Jet could respond, Riley flicked his wrist. The bubbles shot forward, but Jet was already moving. He dodged left, then right, the third bubble grazing his shoulder as it stuck and immediately began expanding.
"Shit!" Jet grabbed his shoulder as the gel hardened, trying to rip it off. But the stuff was like cement mixed with rubber—flexible but unbreakable.
Riley's blade extended into its whip form with a sound like silk tearing. "Here's lesson one about fighting above your weight class."
Soapfang lashed out, wrapping around Jet's trapped arm. Riley yanked hard, sending Jet stumbling forward into his waiting palm.
Burstling Orb!
The explosion at point-blank range sent Jet flying backward, his shoulder dislocating with a wet pop. He hit the ground hard, rolling across the stones as his body worked to heal the damage.
"Son of a bitch," Jet groaned, forcing his shoulder back into place with a sickening crack. The Gleamweb gel had finally dissolved, leaving his skin raw and bleeding. "Okay, that one actually hurt."
"Did it now?" Riley's voice carried mock concern. "How terrible for you."
From her protective barrier, Eirlys called out, "Calm down and think carefully you moron! He's obviously way stronger than you!"
Jet's head snapped toward her, his face twisted with stubborn fury. "Like hell I'm staying down! Not to this pretty boy!"
"Pretty boy?" Riley laughed, the sound bright and genuinely amused. "Oh, I like you. You've got spirit. Stupid, self-destructive spirit, but spirit nonetheless."
Jet pushed himself to his feet, his body still smoking from the internal burns Riley's bubbles had left. His regeneration was working, but it was slower now. Each technique seemed to leave something behind, some lingering effect that made healing harder.
"You know what your problem is?" Jet said, spitting blood. "You think this is a game. You think you can just play with me like I'm some toy."
Riley raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you?"
The casual dismissal hit harder than any physical blow. Jet's vision went red, rage overwhelming tactical thinking.
"I'll show you a fucking toy!" Jet roared, charging forward with everything he had.
Riley sighed, looking almost bored. His hand moved in a complex pattern, and suddenly the air filled with floating bubbles—dozens of them, creating a maze of potential explosions between him and Jet.
But Jet didn't care. He plowed through them, accepting every detonation, every binding effect, every disorienting blast. His body took a beating that would have killed a normal person ten times over, but his regeneration kept pushing him forward.
"Admirable," Riley murmured, watching Jet's battered form continue its relentless advance. "But ultimately pointless."
When Jet finally reached him, fist drawn back for a devastating punch, Riley simply stepped aside and placed his hand on Jet's chest.
"Here's lesson two," he said softly.
Hemoburst.
Riley's palm pressed against one of Jet's open wounds, and Jet felt something cold and liquid slide under his skin. For a moment, nothing happened. Then his chest exploded from the inside.
Jet's scream tore through the air as blood erupted from his mouth. He staggered backward, his hands pressed to his chest as his regeneration went into overdrive, trying to repair the internal damage.
"What... what the fuck did you do to me?" Jet gasped, his voice wet with blood.
"I put a little present inside you," Riley said cheerfully. "Your regeneration should handle it eventually. Probably. If you're lucky."
Jet tried to charge again, but his legs gave out. He collapsed to one knee, his body shaking as it fought to repair the catastrophic internal damage.
Riley walked over and crouched down beside him, his voice taking on a conversational tone. "You know, you remind me of someone I used to know. Stubborn, reckless, absolutely convinced he could win through sheer determination."
"Fuck... you," Jet wheezed.
"He died, by the way," Riley continued, ignoring the insult. "Bled out in a ditch because he couldn't accept when he was outmatched."
Jet's regeneration was finally starting to win against the Hemoburst, but it was taking everything he had. He could barely keep his eyes open, let alone fight.
Riley stood up, brushing dust off his clothes. "Now, I have a decision to make. Do I finish you off here, or do I let you live to learn from this experience?"
Before anyone could answer, Jet's instincts kicked in. Through pure survival instinct and animal cunning, he realized something crucial—Riley was stronger, faster, more skilled. But he had one advantage: Riley's ego.
The bastard wanted to play with his food.
Jet forced himself to his feet, swaying dangerously. His chest was still on fire, but his regeneration was winning. Slowly.
"You know what?" Jet said, his voice rough but gaining strength. "You're right. I can't beat you in a straight fight."
Riley's eyebrows rose with interest. "Oh? Finally showing some sense?"
"Yeah," Jet nodded, then suddenly bolted away from the narrow alley they'd been fighting in. "So I'm gonna cheat!"
"What the—" Riley started, but Jet was already running, heading directly toward the village proper where dozens of innocent people were going about their daily lives.
"Are you insane?" Eirlys shouted from her barrier. "Where the hell are you going?"
Jet glanced back over his shoulder, grinning despite the blood on his lips. "Somewhere Mr. Perfect can't use all those fancy techniques!"
Riley watched him go, his expression shifting from amusement to something colder. "Clever."
Gareth, still struggling to get to his feet, looked up at his brother. "Riley, you can't let him—"
"Stay here," Riley commanded, his voice cutting through any argument. "Keep the pretty lady company."
He smiled at Eirlys, who just glared back at him with undisguised disgust.
"This won't take long," Riley said with a laugh, then sprinted after Jet with inhuman speed.
The chase led through narrow streets between stone houses, past market stalls and workshops where villagers looked up in confusion as two figures rushed past. Jet vaulted over carts, slid under hanging laundry, and used every dirty trick he could think of to stay ahead of Riley's pursuit.
But Riley was faster, more agile, and infinitely more experienced. His blade lashed out repeatedly, the whip-form allowing him to attack around corners and obstacles.
Soapfang wrapped around Jet's ankle, sending him tumbling into a pile of pottery. The ceramic shattered, drawing concerned shouts from nearby villagers.
"The Crimson Watch!" someone called out. "The Crimson Watch are fighting someone!"
Jet rolled to his feet, ignoring the cuts from the broken pottery. His regeneration sealed them almost instantly, but he was getting tired. Each healing took more out of him, and Riley's techniques seemed designed to make recovery harder.
"That's right!" Jet shouted to the gathering crowd. "Your precious Knight is trying to kill me!"
Confusion rippled through the villagers. These people had lived under the protection of the Crimson Watch for decades. Riley was a hero to them, a protector who had kept them safe from monsters and raiders.
A middle-aged woman called out. "He's obviously the invader!"
"Guardian Riley!" an elderly man shouted. "Do you need help?"
Jet's plan was working perfectly. Riley couldn't use his more destructive techniques with civilians around. The bubble-based attacks that had been devastating in open combat were now liability—one stray Burstling Orb could kill innocent people.
"Ah," Riley said, catching up as Jet reached the village square where dozens of people had gathered. "I see. You think surrounding yourself with shields will help."
Jet backed toward the center of the square, where a small group of children had been playing before the commotion started. They were looking up at the two fighters with wide, curious eyes.
"Something like that," Jet panted. "Figured you can't go all out here. Too many witnesses."
Riley's smile never faltered, but something dangerous flickered in his eyes. "You know, that's actually quite clever. Most people never think to use innocents as human shields."
"Guardian Riley!" a young boy called out, no more than eight years old. "Are you okay? You look tired!"
The child's innocent concern sent a spike of something uncomfortable through Jet's chest. These people genuinely loved their protectors. They weren't just random civilians—they were people who had been cared for, protected, cherished by the very person Jet was trying to manipulate.
"I'm fine, Marcus," Riley called back, his voice gentle. "Just dealing with a troublemaker."
"Can we help?" the boy asked eagerly. "My dad's got his sword!"
"That's very brave of you," Riley replied, never taking his eyes off Jet. "But this is grown-up business. Why don't you all step back a little?"
The villagers began to comply, but they weren't leaving. They were forming a rough circle around the confrontation, ready to support their Guardian if needed.
"This is fucked up," Jet muttered, realizing that his brilliant plan had a major flaw. These people weren't afraid of the violence—they were excited by it. They wanted to see their protector win.
"Guardian Riley!" an elderly woman called out. "Don't let him escape! We'll watch the exits!"
"Thank you, Mrs. Chen," Riley replied politely. Then, to Jet: "Thinking isn't really your strong suit, is it?"
Before Jet could respond, Riley moved. But instead of his usual elaborate bubble techniques, he simply closed the distance with inhuman speed and precision.
His fist connected with Jet's solar plexus, driving every bit of air from his lungs. As Jet doubled over, Riley's knee came up to meet his face, breaking his nose with a wet crunch.
The villagers cheered.
Jet staggered backward, blood streaming from his nose, but Riley was already following up. A devastating combination of punches to Jet's ribs, each one precise and brutal, designed to cause maximum pain while his body struggled to regenerate.
"You see," Riley said conversationally as he systematically beat Jet down, "the thing about fighting in front of an audience is that you have to put on a good show."
He grabbed Jet by the throat and lifted him off the ground one-handed, showing off his supernatural strength to the appreciative crowd.
"And these people have been waiting for some entertainment," Riley continued, then slammed Jet into the ground hard enough to crack the stone.
The children clapped. The adults cheered. Even the village blacksmith had come out of his shop to watch, hammer still in hand.
"This is sick," Jet wheezed, his body working overtime to repair the damage. "These people are cheering for my murder."
"Not murder," Riley corrected, hauling him to his feet again. "Justice. You're the villain who attacked their protector. They want to see you punished."
Riley's next punch sent Jet spinning, blood spattering across the stones. The crowd roared approval.
"Guardian Riley is so strong!" the boy named Marcus shouted excitedly.
"Show him what happens to people who threaten our village!" Mrs. Chen added.
Jet tried to retreat, but there was nowhere to go. The circle of villagers had tightened, not to trap him, but to get a better view of his beating. Their faces were filled with righteous satisfaction as they watched their beloved Guardian demolish the intruder.
"You wanted to use them as shields," Riley said, catching Jet by the hair and forcing him to look at the crowd. "But you forgot something important."
Riley's fist connected with Jet's jaw, the impact echoing across the square.
"They're not afraid of me," Riley continued. "They look up to me. To them, watching you suffer is a religious experience."
The truth of it hit Jet like a physical blow. These people weren't innocent bystanders—they were active participants, cheering for his destruction. Children were calling out suggestions for how Riley should hurt him next. Adults were placing bets on how long he would last.
"This is fucked," Jet gasped, his regeneration struggling to keep up with the constant damage.
"This is reality," Riley corrected.
He grabbed Jet by the shirt and spun him around, displaying his battered face to the crowd like a trophy. The villagers erupted in cheers and applause.
"Now," Riley said, his voice carrying clearly across the square, "shall we continue our lesson?"
Jet's answer was lost in the roar of the crowd as Riley's systematic destruction of his defiant opponent entered its final phase. The village square had become an arena, and there was only one person the audience wanted to see win.