Chapter 692: Battle of Attrition
Fyren and the undead giant exchanged another dozen blows, releasing shockwaves that shook the city. The fight was far from the battle between Elaine and the dragons, yet I couldn’t let my guard slip.
The giant was unlike any enemy I’d faced before. It had almost no mana and used neither spell nor magical technique. Its body was pushed to the early stages of eighth-level through muscle density and physique. Without mana enhancement, Fyren himself could only reach the upper regions of sixth, maybe seventh. Whatever monster the undead had been before Connor raised it must have been terrifying.
Fyren landed a blow on the monster’s chest, sending it staggering back a step. He followed it up with a cut at its neck, but it got its forearm up in time, receiving a cut to the bone. Fyren’s mana detonated, but the explosion hardly reached a dozen feet before collapsing in on itself, suppressed by the weight of the black mist. The giant was scorched, but the burns were little more than cosmetic damage on its skin.
"Can you do something about the damned mist?" Fyren asked, weaving around a series of punches.
"I’ll try."
I activated the Oracle of Eternity, analyzing the weave of Connor’s ability. Every burst of fire disappeared into the mist, reaching only half the distance and strength it should have. It was like shooting an arrow into water compared of air.
Fyren dashed between the giant’s legs, slashing at its left shin. I pointed at my staff and whispered, "Dispel Magic."
A burst of chaotic mana erupted from the star, slamming into the mass of rotting muscle. The black mist exploded, dissipating in a small area, clearing the way for his sword.
Fyren’s sword cut deep into the creature’s leg, stopping only as it ran hard into bone. A violent shudder ran up its body, and the giant groaned, its fist stopping inches from striking the demon. White ash flaked from the wound as fires devoured its flesh.
The bubble of discordant mana popped, and the black mist came crashing back in. Fyren retreated a few steps, keeping his sword trained on the undead. It staggered, and its wound began to mend. Unlike before, there wasn’t enough material for it to stitch together, but the mist compensated, reconstructing its leg with pure mana in an illusory, translucent prosthetic.
"Try its arm," Fyren said, lunging into the air.