Blood Online: Evolving Endlessly-Chapter 168: Winning At A Cost

"Now," Thorin said, finally releasing the now-disarmed ninja, "let me show you what happens when you mock a Forgeborn."

His hammer—which had been embedded in the barrier—suddenly flew back to his hand, as if pulled by invisible chains. The dwarf caught it one-handed, the weapon that should have weighed hundreds of pounds moving like it weighed nothing at all.

{ABILITY CONFIRMED: WEAPON DOMINION - Can strengthen or weaken any weapon upon contact}

The notification appeared above Thorin’s head, and in the divine realm, weapons-focused gods leaned forward with intense interest.

[Goddess Vaydrix: A Forgeborn! I haven’t seen one of those in centuries!]

[God Verbraucht: Their weapon manipulation is legendary. This one’s young though, barely scratched the surface of what they can do.]

[Unknown: Doesn’t matter how strong you are if your weapons turn to dust the moment you make contact.]

The disarmed ninja looked at his rusted blade fragments, then at Thorin’s hammer, then made a decision. He ran, heading for the platform’s edge, perhaps thinking he could find a weapon somewhere else, regroup, survive.

He made it three steps before the hammer caught him in the back. The impact drove him to the ground, bones shattering. Thorin walked over calmly, retrieved his weapon, and brought it down one final time.

Two opponents. Two kills. Maybe thirty seconds total.

The Dwarven King stood there, breathing heavily not from exertion but from lingering anger, his hammer dripping with blood.

"Never," he muttered, loud enough for nearby platforms to hear, "call a dwarf short."

---

Back on the main platform, the fights had reached critical points.

Ryan’s regeneration was dangerously slow now, multiple wounds leaking blood that refused to clot. The energy-draining ninjas pressed their advantage relentlessly, knowing they just needed to accumulate enough damage to overcome even his incredible healing.

Seth’s Martial God coating flickered, his energy reserves depleting from constant high-level combat. Blood ran from a dozen cuts, his fore perception struggling to track two perfectly coordinated opponents.

Layla’s undead servants had bought her breathing room, but the ninjas were systematically destroying them, learning their movement patterns, exploiting their lack of true intelligence.

Greg’s revolver clicked empty. Both ninjas recognized the sound immediately and charged, knowing this was their window.

All across the platform, the twenty survivors fought with everything they had. But everything might not be enough.

In the divine realm, gods watched with rapt attention, commenting and wagering and demanding more.

[Goddess AuraNova: This is it! This is where we see who’s really worth watching!]

[God Poloneus: The regenerator’s slowing down. I give him two minutes before his healing fails completely.]

[Goddess Jayne: Don’t count him out yet. He’s survived worse.]

[DaylithNight: The boxer’s energy coating is flickering. He’s running on fumes.]

[Goddess Vaydrix: They all are. This round will end soon, one way or another.]

And on screens throughout the settlement, thousands watched with held breath as their friends, their comrades, their champions fought for their lives against opponents calibrated specifically to push them to—and past—their breaking points.

Akhil’s hand gripped the Blood Fang so tightly his knuckles had gone white. Around him, his group stood in tense silence, unable to look away, unable to help, only able to witness and hope.

Hope that somehow, against all odds, their people would survive.

The battles ground toward their inevitable conclusions with the slow, brutal certainty of falling dominoes.

Ryan’s regeneration had slowed to a crawl, each wound taking precious seconds to close instead of the instant healing he’d relied on. Blood covered his massive frame, running from dozens of cuts that refused to seal. His movements had become heavier, slower, the accumulated damage finally taking its toll.

But he was still standing. Still fighting.

One of his ninja opponents—the one with the energy-draining daggers—lunged for a killing blow, aiming for Ryan’s throat. Ryan didn’t dodge. Couldn’t dodge, not with how sluggish his body had become.

Instead, he caught the blade.

With his bare hand.

The dagger bit deep into his palm, blood spraying, the draining effect intensifying. But Ryan’s fingers closed around the blade with crushing force. The metal creaked, groaned, then shattered.

Before the ninja could react, Ryan’s other hand grabbed his head and slammed it into the platform with enough force to crack stone. Once. Twice. The ninja stopped moving.

The second ninja, seeing his partner fall, hesitated for just a moment—and that was enough. Ryan’s foot caught him in the chest, the impact launching him backward into the platform’s barrier. He hit hard, slumped, and didn’t get up.

Ryan stood over his defeated opponents, chest heaving, blood still seeping from wounds that were only now beginning to properly heal. His legs trembled slightly, threatening to give out.

But he’d won.

---

Seth’s Martial God coating had flickered out entirely two minutes ago, the blue energy dissipating as his reserves hit empty. Now he fought on pure skill and desperation, every movement costing him more than he could afford.

The two ninjas facing him recognized his exhaustion and pressed ruthlessly. The female came low while her partner went high—the same coordinated attack they’d used at the start, but now Seth was too tired to thread the needle between them.

Her dagger opened a deep cut along his thigh. His partner’s blade scraped across Seth’s ribs, drawing a line of red.

Seth stumbled, went to one knee, and both ninjas moved in for the kill.

His gauntleted fist shot up, catching the male ninja under the jaw with everything he had left. The impact snapped the ninja’s head back hard enough to lift him off his feet. He flew backward and didn’t get up.

The female ninja’s blade descended toward Seth’s exposed neck—

And froze inches away.

Seth had caught her wrist with both hands, his fore perception giving him just enough warning to react despite his exhaustion. They stayed frozen like that for a long moment, strength against strength, both fighters operating on fumes.

Then Seth twisted. Hard.

The ninja’s wrist broke with an audible crack. She gasped in pain, and Seth’s headbutt caught her square in the face. She dropped, unconscious before she hit the ground.

Seth collapsed backward, sitting hard on the blood-slicked stone, breathing in great gasping lungfuls of air. His vision swam. His body screamed in protest.

But he’d won.

---

Layla stood among the remains of her undead servants—all destroyed, torn apart by the skilled ninjas who’d systematically dismantled them. Her whip lay coiled at her feet, the green energy coating it long since dissipated.

But both her opponents lay unconscious. Kira stood over one of them, the tiger’s jaws stained with blood. Layla herself was covered in cuts and bruises, one arm hanging awkwardly from a dislocated shoulder.

She’d won. Barely.

---

Greg sat against the barrier, his revolver being methodically reloaded with hands that shook from exhaustion. Around him, his two opponents lay in spreading pools of their own blood, victims of his final desperate gambit when the gun had run empty—using the weapon as a blunt instrument, enhanced with whatever enchantment made his bullets so devastating.

It had worked. But his knuckles were shattered, the gun bent slightly out of true from being used as a club.

He’d won. At terrible cost.

---

Across the massive platform, similar scenes played out. Of the twenty survivors who’d entered this round, fourteen remained standing. Six had fallen, their bodies already being collected by those faceless attendants.