The Legendary Beekeeper-Chapter 50: The New Fragment

The needle spike descended, its tip striking down onto Beelathorn’s head with surgical precision.

However, all it met was empty space.

Beelathorn... or at least the shell of him, was a meter away with his dagger in hand... wings spread like an angel warrior.

"Well done, dearest," the shadow woman taunted, her laughter echoing off the walls. "You dance like a pretty little butterfly with clipped wings."

Yet still, no response came from Beelathorn’s lips. His face was one of fire and stone... eyes a steadied flame that studied the walls.

The pools of ink appeared once more, dozens of them, crowding the walls above and below him. Needlework would soon rain down upon him, and yet, fear did not defile his mind.

No, it now belonged to the fight entirely.

Projections pumped in his brain like lifeblood. Range calculations, flight patterns, and the limitations of his own body aligned like cells in a hive.

When the spikes began to fall, his body reacted like a marionette, a puppet, slave to his mind.

Using his wings to push himself even faster than his legs alone would allow:

He weaved between falling spikes.

Fluttered above those that rose.

And conserved energy by completely ignoring all those that fell out of range calculations.

But soon, the spikes began to crowd the room like fallen greatswords on a cramped battlefield.

He was running out of space, and his mind was painfully aware that his body could not continue like this forever.

Seconds stretched into minutes, and his perfect evasion became tainted with the blood of graze wounds.

"This won’t do, darling."

The shadow woman’s laughter filled the air as it became obvious his body was falling short of calculations... which themselves were becoming all too difficult to handle.

Flight patterns were now too complex to completely avoid both fallen and falling spikes.

Range calculations were muddied by reduced visibility.

And his movement was slogged down by the exhaustion that stung his legs and wings.

He needed to evolve. A computer alone could not turn the tides of a battlefield.

And so, as he waged battle to survive the onslaught, his mind tore itself apart once more.

This time, picking and choosing from those threads of creativity that could work beyond the limitations of a mechanical brain.

And as he snaked his way through another barrage of spiked jaws, his battle form was born anew.

"Queen’s Gaze!"

...

’...’

’Death. Death is all I see,’ Beelathorn - or at least this fragment of him- thought. ’Every calculation, every matrix of probable cause and effect, all lead to a biological limit, and then a cease of bodily function... Death.’

As the fragment pondered, the system screen popped into view, and his current stats were fed directly into his mind.

His HP was bordering 50% and falling, Queen’s Gaze seemed to be draining it at a rate of 0.5% per second, time was not on his side.

’The critical error was allowing the fragment known as Han the human to cease control of the main body. An error catered for by the greater analytical fragment,’ it thought in annoyance, as the index navigated itself into the traits-skill screen.

’I have been created by fools, for the purpose of killing a fool,’ it thought, as the different descriptions of each of his skills were fed into his mind. ’However, one does not argue the purpose or cause of their existence.’

’That is a job left to more fools.’

The information extracted from the trait’s screen was instantly processed, and two skills were brought to attention: Humble Bladesman and Scent of the Hive.

One, an F-grade skill obtained from Chul’s skill scroll before the battle against Beelaques, supposedly increasing physical prowess when using a blade weapon. And the other, an area of effect skill with an oddly vague description.

’Both scarcely used, and scarcer understood. Han the human, you are truly a fool... and I will not partake of your folly any longer,’ he thought.

His mind recalibrated.

Activation of the bladesman skill required actual use of the weapon, and the Scent skill was a complete gambit.

Still, this was better than nothing.

’Queen’s Gaze.’

Time unfroze, and with it the spikes came rushing in from all around him.

But now, Beelathorn’s patterns were different.

Where he had been a butterfly, trying to avoid the webwork of shadow-needles, he was now a thrashing snake... the fang of his blade striking at approaching spikes as he slithered between them.

Cuts and gashes continued to litter his body; however, with every blade strike, he noticed something.

Small traces of energy were returning to him... movement was becoming more automatic. He did not have to think about slashing and thrusting, they merely happened...

The secret to the humble bladesman’s skill was slowly revealing itself.

However, that would not be enough.

The Shadow Woman’s spikes were becoming faster -or was it he who was becoming slower?- regardless, only a tiny portions of the room were left uncrowded by the spikes.

A narrow corridor right through the centre, almost as if the woman had purposefully done so... no, he was certain it was by design. She was toying with him, showing him that he moved only as she saw fit.

"Fool," he whispered.

With bloody gashes littered across his face and body, he thrust himself to the centre of the room, right where she wanted him, and unleashed his final card.

"Scent of the Sun!"

Light shot out of his mouth, bathing the room in ice and gold. He braced himself for the sensory overload, fracturing his mind so that it was boxed into a controlled region, whilst the rest of him focused on its mission. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

And what a sight it was to behold.

Like the rising sun bringing an end to night, the spikes began to disintegrate... shadows erased by light.

The walls shifted, and an instant later, at the far corner to the right, the shadow woman’s form was revealed... naked without her shadows to cover her.

She stood frozen, in a mix of shock and amusement.

"Indeed, I am surrounded by fools."

Beelathorn spat blood and spread his wings. His task was complete; now all that remained was for him to claim it in blood.

However, right as he was about to launch off towards her, his knees buckled under his weight.

A pool of blood had collected below him, and he found his muscles were too weak to hold onto his dagger.

The HP cost of Scent of the Sun had exceeded estimations. His gambit had failed.

His mouth twisted in disgust. "No. No," he barked, reconfiguring his very nerves to ignore the cries of his body. He would not allow his biological limitation to dominate over his mental prowess.

The shadow woman pouted. "And you were so very close," she mocked.

Beelathorn’s wings fluttered, and he staggered towards her with his knife in hand.

"But don’t worry," the shadow woman mused as he struggled. "You get a pass."

Beelathorn hurled the knife at her; both angle and power perfectly calculated to wipe that smile off her face.

This was his win.

"Shadow Coffin."

*