Grand Ascension-Chapter 93: Jorg Vs Bol

It had been a while since Jorg had a fight that had pushed him to his limits. The only semblance of such an event happening was when he faced Zorak the Pactbound Warrior.

Zorak had been a good fight, but not much of a challenge. The last opponent that made made him go all out was the member of the Hollow Court he enacted revenge against.

He had lost his eye, almost lost his life at multiple points.

But he had been victorious.

Now though, to Jorg, Bol was a good opponent to push him, make him cross that threshold, He had been stalling too much as an Adept. He had to become an Elite.

Both of them had two very powerful sub-routes of the warrior route. He was a Graviton Sovereign, one who understood mass, weight, gravity, while Bol was an Inertia Breaker who understood momentum, inertia, speed.

Jorg knew this was his chance, His chance to gain enlightenment through combat, His chance at advancing and he was going to take it.

BOOM!

His Route Core pulsed, full of his will and comprehensions he had honed over the years.

This was not going to solely be a battle of martial arts, The winner here was the person who had understood reality the best, the person with comprehensions more powerful, the person with the stronger will.

Jorg knew this, and he had decided to be that person.

His Ashe, will and comprehension flooded the bounded field, multiplying the gravity everywhere, while his body maintained the original weight.

Dust collapsed to the ground mid-swirling. The street lights of the parking lot groaned.

Every movement now required ten times the effort. Jorg had made sure of it.

He made sure Bol should not be able to move here.

He knew momentum was mass times velocity, He knew that if movement became harder, velocity dropped and that affected the momentum Bol could display.

He indirectly attacked Bol’s main weapon, speed.

Bol felt it, his legs had grown heavy, his arms were slower. It felt like he was in quicksand.

But.

His Ashe surged.

His boots sank half an inch into asphalt. His lungs compressed as blood thickened in his veins and Ashe in his Ashe pathways.

WHOOSH!

Bol blurred as momentum overrode the gravity pull, SLASH! He struck,

CLANG! The sound exploded.

Jorg caught the blade, his hand weighted and unmovable. He looked at Bol and BANG!, he redirected gravity downwards, slamming Bol into the pavement.

A crater formed with an imprint of Bol’s body.

Jorg slammed Bol into the ground again.

BOOM!

And again.

BOOM!

Bol’s body should have been broken. His bones should have shattered. He should have been in despair, but his look said something else.

It was steady.

He is using gravity to pin me down. Constant pressure. Constant pull.

Bol’s mind raced even as his body suffered.

But gravity is external force. My inertia is internal. If I cancel my own resistance to motion, his gravity has nothing to anchor.

He could not lose here. He could not get captured by these guys. Not after everything. Not after the promises.

Jorg appeared above him, fist hurtling down, the weight of it bearing down on Bol.

BANG! The floor cracked.

Jorg’s fist landed.

But.

Bol had disappeared.

For one instant, he had cancelled his own inertia. No mass resistance. No anchor for gravity to grip. He slipped through Jorg’s field like water through fingers.

"Oh!" Jorg’s eyebrows raised. He turned around looking for Bol.

Moving here should not have been possible.

How did he do it?

He only had the thought before Bol appeared behind him, dagger aimed at the spine. But Jorg’s gravity sense was absolute. He felt the shift in mass, the disturbance in weight distribution.

He spun, redirecting gravity sideways.

Bol’s trajectory bent mid-motion. His blade missed. He stumbled.

Jorg punched. His fist carried the weight of a falling building.

BOOM!

Bol dodged by resetting his momentum, stopping instantly, then accelerating perpendicular. The punch missed, cratering the wall behind him.

Jorg pressed forward. SLAM! His palm struck Bol’s chest.

Bol flew back, ribs cracking. He coughed blood but rolled to his feet.

Bol countered. SLASH! His dagger cut across Jorg’s forearm. Blood dripped.

Jorg grabbed for him. Bol reset, vanished, reappeared at his flank. STAB! The blade sank into Jorg’s thigh.

Jorg roared, increasing gravity around Bol. Bol’s knees buckled but he burst free, leaving the dagger behind.

They separated. Both bleeding. Both breathing hard.

....

On the other side, Cheryl and Amelia had started fighting.

Cheryl as a Puppeteer knew she needed matter from her opponent to get control of them. Blood, saliva, hair. However, fighting Amelia was a tedious task. Amelia appeared and disappeared like she never existed. And every time she appeared, her attack aimed at a vital spot on Cheryl’s body.

SLASH!

Amelia appeared again, her blade aimed at Cheryl’s heart.

PUCH!

Cheryl parried with her hand, sustaining another injury. The blade cut deep into her palm, blood flowing freely between her fingers.

Her petite body was covered with scars. A gash on her shoulder from an earlier strike. A cut above her eye that dripped blood into her vision.

She had no weapon to parry, and had no hardening technique like Zack York or like Jorg. The only way was dodge or sustain less important injuries. She turned around and launched a punch, carrying more strength than she should generate.

SWOOSH!

She missed. It was as if Amelia was never there to begin with.

Cheryl gritted her teeth. She was getting angrier. Everything had gone against them since earlier, yet she did not move. She closed her eyes, waiting for Amelia’s next attack.

WHOOSH!

Amelia flashed at speed that went beyond normal human measures, her blade aimed for the throat, Ashe coated on it. She wanted to finish this.

However, as if awaiting this, Cheryl’s hand reached for her throat and she held the blade, a wound opening on her hand.

The steel bit into her flesh, cutting to the bone. As soon as she held the blade firm enough for it not to budge, she felt Amelia drop it.

Amelia spun, a second blade coming out of nowhere, aiming for the back of Cheryl’s neck.

But Cheryl had anticipated that. She sent her hand at her back and GRAB! Instead of holding Amelia’s blade, she held her hand.

Amelia could not escape. She felt incredible strength keep her in place. She could not attack. She had lost a blade and her second hand was fixed in place.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Cheryl’s onslaught started. Blood sprayed everywhere as she hit, clawed, punched, slammed Amelia. A blow to Amelia’s jaw. Her lip split.

A claw across her cheek. Three red lines welling with blood.

BANG!

A punch to her stomach that made her double over.

She was not leaving her hand behind. She was pissed.

Who did these guys think they were? Why were they stopping them from achieving their goals, as if it had anything to do with them?

She screamed. Her Ashe extended. The pressure of immense weight fixed on Amelia. Her claw reached for her tied hair.

SLASH! SLASH! SLASH!

Part of Amelia’s hair fell on the porcelain doll who had been floating. Eerie dark energy coated Amelia. She was being taken control of.

However, contrary to Cheryl’s belief, Amelia’s presence completely disappeared.

It was as if she was never there to begin with.

The dark energy that spread was searching for prey but found no one.

Amelia was a Stealth Warrior, an Assassin sub-route.

Her entire path was built on suppressing her Ashe, erasing her spiritual signature, becoming nothing.

The hair Cheryl had taken held no resonance. Amelia had long learned to sever the connection between her body and her presence. What Cheryl captured was empty matter. A shell with no soul attached.

Cheryl’s eyes widened. "What?"

Amelia reformed behind her, blade already swinging.