Street Cultivation, page 33
As they descended, he saw that what appeared to be an ordinary farm house from the air was actually a much larger complex. That wasn't a barn, it was an armored bunker. Rick swallowed and tried not to let it get to him.
When they landed, Granny Whitney recalled the lucrim vehicle almost immediately, forcing him to rush to land on his feet instead of being dumped on the ground. Once he had his balance, he tried to check his phone, only to find that he had no reception. They should have good reception even out here, so he could only assume...
"That isn't going to work, dearie." The old woman began walking away from him toward the central house. "Take some time away from all these modern screens and enjoy nature, okay?"
That was obviously not the purpose of all this, but he had no choice but to humor her. They walked up toward the large farmhouse, which looked to be much more elaborate than he'd thought at first. This place had never been used as an actual farm, that much was obvious.
Still, it was strange being out in the country. It had a different smell, more different than comparing the city center to the suburbs. An earthy smell, but more pleasant than what he'd grown up with in the trailer park. Above all, it was silent, just the sounds of the wind in the trees. He'd spent some time outside the city visiting distant relatives, so it wasn't exactly shocking, but out here the stillness of it all was eerie.
As they reached the door, it opened and a young man pushed through. His lucrima felt strong but disrupted, in the 60,000 lucrim range but difficult to evaluate. Though he wore training gear, it was old and stained. When they approached, the man smiled and rushed to shake his hand.
"Hey, man, how's it going? I'm Anthony, nice to meet you."
"Uh, nice to meet you too." Rick shook his hand and tried to pull back, but Anthony wouldn't let go. Instead he kept a grip on his hand and pulled him out to the edge of the porch, movements a bit jerky and manic.
"This is a nice place, you're gonna have a good time here." When they got a short distance away, he leaned closer and spoke in a lower voice. "Listen, man, do you got any elixir?"
Rick realized what was happening and forcibly pulled his hand away. Anthony was a power addict going through withdrawal - now that he was looking for signs of addiction, he spotted them immediately. The other man twitched in response and frowned.
"Come on, I need-"
"Anthony." Granny Whitney spoke warmly... from just behind them. Rick hadn't heard her move and Anthony jumped in place. "You know this is for your own good. Just calm down and get through it and you'll feel much better in a few days."
"Yeah... yeah, Granny, you're right. Let me just take a walk around, clear my head..." Anthony nodded and headed out into the farm, entirely too quickly.
Granny Whitney floated behind him, her knitting needles sliding smoothly from her handbag. As graceful as her movements looked, they weren't slow: Rick could barely follow them with his eyes, much less avoid them. She struck Anthony in the neck with her needles as she landed behind him and his entire body went limp, slumping to the ground.
"He's a good lad, just a bit mixed up." The old woman turned back to him and smiled. "Would you carry him in for me, dearie?"
Rick headed back to pick up the power addict, carrying him over one shoulder and hoping the man didn't vomit down his back. It seemed like whatever Granny Whitney had done to him had disabled him completely, because he didn't respond at all.
Inside, Rick found the house to be well-furnished, if a bit rustic. The living room was to the left, so he headed there to set Anthony down in one of the overstuffed chairs. He almost didn't see Emily there, since she sat with her legs crossed in a dark corner. When he smiled at her she just nodded in acknowledgment - clearly she wasn't in the mood to talk.
Since Granny Whitney had vanished, Rick decided that he was probably free to spend his time how he wanted. Three days in this place... that would be extremely strange, if he didn't already have plans for it. But for now he needed to get his bearings and find the other fighters.
Leaving the living room, Rick headed in the other direction, to a kitchen area. It appeared to be devoid of most of the items he'd expect in a kitchen, but a woman sat in one of the chairs, staring out the window. He realized that he recognized her: it was the woman he'd seen with Granny Whitney, presumably their group's cruiserweight.
"Hi, I'm Rick."
"I'm Malati." She shook his hand reluctantly and then pulled back. "No offense, but I don't want anything to do with you fighters. I'm just doing what I need to do, then I'm getting back to my life."
Not the best start, but he didn't need to engage her in a long conversation, so Rick just nodded. "I'm here under duress too, for whatever that's worth. Rest assured, I'm not trying to pry into your situation, I'm just noting who's here since we'll be fighting together."
"We won't actually ever fight together. Our points count toward the same ends, but otherwise we aren't involved."
"That was what I meant, but fair enough. I won't bother you too much, but I'm curious: how does someone who isn't interested in fighting end up in a situation like this?"
"There are certain bills I need to pay and my options were limited. Eventually you get... stuck in a rut." Malati fixed him with a stern gaze. "I guess you're better than Anthony, but if you keep talking to me I might revise that opinion. Are we done yet?"
"Fine, just one more question: have you seen our heavyweight? He's... uh, I think you'd remember him."
"Back porch." Malati pointed into the hallway, then turned back to staring out her window. Rick nodded his thanks and went in the direction she'd indicated, though his thoughts stayed with her a moment longer.
Could he sense a slight disruption in Malati's lucrima? It might be presumptuous of him to draw conclusions when he was still a novice at sensing lucrim portfolios, but he thought there might be. Perhaps something like a chronic illness... it wasn't like his sister, but in a way he was reminded of her. He wondered if that was the source of the bills she needed to pay and if Granny Whitney had either offered her a way out or forced her into it. Either way, he should ask Emily later.
The fact that Malati had apparently stumbled into this role bothered him more than whatever her personal situation was. She had a generation rate well above 150,000 lucrim and felt strong enough, far above his power class. How did someone just wander into a life like that? Yet he knew that many of his own decisions had been determined by the ruts he'd worn for himself...
Well, he was going to be getting out of one rut. It might be stupid, but whatever was left of him would definitely be out of the rut.
After a couple wrong turns that revealed empty bedrooms, Rick discovered which of the halls led out to the back porch. It was actually more of a deck, an expanse of polished wood that looked out over the nicely cut lawn.
Teragen sat there, just as inhumanly intense as he had been before, even though he was just sitting in a chair. Granny Whitney stood beside him, speaking softly, but he could barely hear her as he reached the doorway.
"-know you don't need it," the old woman was saying, "but it's better to be certain about these things. I don't want you starting a war with the American Basilisk."
Instead of answering, Teragen just looked up at her. Granny Whitney sighed.
"I don't care what you want, that fight gains me nothing. Just cooperate, or our deal is off and you'll have wasted all this time."
Rick wasn't certain if her words got through to Teragen, because at that moment the huge man looked back, straight at him. Not as if he was surprised, but as if he'd known Rick was there from the beginning. As Granny Whitney turned toward him, Rick decided to just head out onto the deck, since he would look like a childish eavesdropper trying to hide.
"We were in the middle of a conversation, dearie." Granny Whitney seemed truly annoyed with him, perhaps worn thin from dealing with someone she couldn't bully. Rick raised his hands and sat down in one of the furthest chairs on the deck.
"Don't mind me, I just need a few minutes to collect myself."
Clucking disapprovingly, the old woman lingered a while longer, then wandered out into the yard. He realized that she was checking invisible lucrim defenses, so subtly woven into the hedges of trees around the farm that he hadn't even noticed them. But that was a distraction, since his real purpose was finally within sight.
Instead of paying attention to her, Rick ran through his exercises again. As he did, he took the Deathbane out of his backpack and slowly opened its special case. He turned the potent bottle over in his hands as he continued meditating.
Was this stupid? Undoubtedly, but it might still be his best option. Rick stared at Teragen, trying to read him. His body seemed to be built entirely from tightly corded muscle, bursting with power, but he might be tense beyond even that. Or perhaps bored, not wanting to waste time in this hiding place. He wanted to fight - hopefully that was a good thing, not a bad one.
When he finished his exercises, Rick drank the Deathbane. As he swallowed it, he realized that he was fully committed now. Fear or caution had nothing on his desire to avoid wasting that much money.
Rick stood up and walked across the deck toward Teragen. It became more difficult to walk as he drew closer, the air itself resisting him. Not the man's aura, which was suppressed, but some kind of secondary aura that bent the world around him. He was unquestionably the most powerful person Rick had met directly.
When Rick got close, Teragen looked up at him. The power in those eyes nearly froze him in place, leaving Rick with only a few seconds of movement before he was overwhelmed.
So he used them to punch Teragen in the face.
Chapter 46: Deathbane
The punch did not go well.
Before his fist could reach Teragen's face, it was brought to a painful halt by a wall of aura. That aura immediately closed around his fist, binding his arm in place and then pinning his entire body there. Teragen rose to his feet, towering over Rick and staring down at him.
"Why?" The word was so chillingly calm that Rick could barely even hear what the man sounded like. But he'd been prepared for something like this, and extended his other hand, holding the empty Deathbane bottle.
"I want to train to fight a wolf by attacking a bear."
For a long moment Teragen just stared down at him, utterly expressionless. Rick forced himself to stare back, though he was dimly aware that Granny Whitney had noticed and was approaching. That could be a problem. Likewise, it would be an even bigger problem if Teragen decided to just kill him. The tension stretched and his entire body cramped.
Then Teragen let out a snort of amusement. Somehow Rick found himself staggering back, his ears ringing. He hadn't even seen the blow, was barely catching up to feeling it now.
"That's enough!" Granny Whitney was moving toward them, eyes burning as she reached for her knitting needles. She was too late.
When he moved, Teragen seemed to entirely vanish, leaving his chair falling backward in his wake. But Rick had barely registered that fact when he felt a blow strike his back.
It wasn't just overwhelmingly powerful, it was complex. At first he felt the blunt force smash through his aura as if it wasn't there, then collide with his back. Yet even as his body started to fall away from the impact, there was a secondary force, a sharp blow piercing through his lucrim defenses. Rick had been focusing entirely on defense, yet it wasn't enough. He desperately threw everything he had against the blow, trying to resist the third element: a shockwave that threatened to shatter him.
Yet even as that blow ended, he glimpsed Teragen again, this time in front of him. Rick still had no chance of following his movement, he just felt his head snap back as a fist collided with it. Again he threw everything he had into defense, trying to resist the overwhelming power.
The blow knocked him off the ground so quickly that the air burned against his skin, yet it was the same instant his feet left the ground that he saw Teragen above him. Nearly at the same moment, a foot collided with his chest, yet another explosive three-part attack.
Somewhere in his mind he knew that the movements must be happening terrifyingly fast, yet in his consciousness it was a slow agony. He had expected it to all be over in an instant, yet as his mind struggled to react, he needed to throw his will into his defenses with each and every moment. This wasn't a sprint over lava, it was a marathon through it.
Impossible as it seemed, he didn't give in, maintaining his defenses as well as he could. Through his agony he recognized that he was plummeting down toward the deck, but before he landed, Teragen had already moved back down, kicking upward directly into his spine.
From there Rick lost all conscious control, lost even the ability to mentally follow the attacks against him. There were only the overwhelming blows from every side, tossing his body through the air like a ragdoll. The whiplash alone should have been life-threatening, yet somehow he held on.
It ended with a searing pain in his chest, different than all that came before it. Rick's mind caught up and he realized that he was almost standing, or at least his feet were pointing down. He couldn't really feel his body.
Except for Teragen's palm stabbing into his chest.
The warrior's fingers were crooked like claws and they went straight into his chest. As if his aura, his lucrim, and his flesh were no more than hot butter. He could feel every finger digging into his body, even the palm pushing into him like white hot plasma. That blow could have torn straight through him and left nothing behind.
Instead, Teragen used his bloody grip to knock him backward, sending Rick flying back through the air. As he sailed back, Rick had his first moment of true clarity since the assault began. Judging from how he was falling, he was probably going to break his neck and die. He saw Granny Whitney, still on the yard staring in surprise.
And he heard the chair hit the deck with a dull thunk. No, surely the entire attack couldn't have taken place in such a short time...
Rick wasn't sure whether or not he blacked out before he hit the ground. He simply ended.
~ ~ ~
Pain and darkness.
~ ~ ~
Lucrim and fragments of consciousness, trying to force their way through the emptiness...
~ ~ ~
Rick faded in and out of consciousness several times before he finally came to enough to register and remember his surroundings. It seemed that he lay alone in a large bed. He didn't recognize the ceiling, but based on the quiet outside, he guessed that he was in the farmhouse.
Movement was impossible. At first he was concerned that he had been paralyzed, yet he couldn't move his mouth or face. How had he opened his eyes? Even blinking was difficult, struggling through some power that kept him bound firmly in place. His eyes were growing dry by the time someone came into the room.
"Oh!" It was a woman who he dimly remembered as one of the Underground's doctors. She moved closer to him, looking him over somberly. "Are you feeling well?"
He couldn't answer and couldn't even convey that to her, but she remembered a moment earlier.
"Right, we needed to do a complete aura suspension. I'll ease that off so you can relax while I get Granny Whitney. Uh... good luck."
With that ominous note, she rushed from the room. Rick did feel a bit less stiff, as if the invisible bonds around him had eased. But instead of relaxation, the new freedom just brought pain. It was worse than any wound he'd ever felt before combined with the internal injury pills he'd taken. Yet he didn't think that he had been permanently disabled and the presence of the doctor supported that theory.
Yet he had to wonder if that would last as Granny Whitney entered the room. "My, my... you're a problem child, aren't you dearie?" She seemed even sweeter than before and it was honestly terrifying. The old woman sat down in a chair beside the bed and pulled out some knitting, her needles flashing in a silver blur. "Just what were you thinking?"
When Rick tried to answer he found that his throat ached and he couldn't speak. Clicking her tongue impatiently, Granny Whitney stabbed a needle into his neck. Suddenly his throat felt clear - much worse, but clear. "I... I need to get stronger."
"You were already strong enough, but I suppose that's what I get for recruiting your type." Her needles went back to flashing back and forth, scraping against one another sharply. "I saved your life, but it will require more than that to put you back together in fighting shape. I'm not sure that's worth my investment."
"You..." Rick swallowed painfully and just pushed forward, since there was no way back. "You always made it clear that we're not friends, and we're not allies. I decided that I was willing to bet that you wouldn't be willing to throw away or replace me this close to the tournament."
"Yes, yes, you're very clever. Don't overestimate your own value."
"I made preparations. Took Deathbane... there's more medicine in my backpack... and I have a deal with a lucrim therapist..." Though he wasn't sure how things would work with Lisa. His original plan had been to challenge Teragen after the tournament, in a more public location. That was a concern, but when he saw Granny Whitney sigh in resignation he began to feel relief.
"If you hadn't taken those precautions, you would be dead. Even if Teragen had left you alive, I would have ensured it." The old woman's fingers finally slowed, no longer knitting at a terrifying rate. "I suppose I can tolerate this as overzealousness, which is a common failing of your type. But as soon as the tournament is over, we are done. I had been planning to heal any injuries you sustained during the matches as thanks, but... I no longer feel so generous."
"Thank you."
She snorted and left the room without answering. Rick spent a while just staring at the ceiling, wishing he could fall unconscious but hurting too much to slip away.
Eventually the doctor came back in and began to give him some of his own medication, along with something that made him sleepy. He drifted in and out of consciousness, mostly waking to be given water or more medication.
They had drawn the curtains, so he had no way of measuring time. Seconds felt like hours, so he gave up even trying to pass time via hours or minutes. All he could focus on was the pain, which changed as he progressed. It began as aches and pains everywhere and slowly became a cool, liquid pain that flowed through his veins. Though it hurt, he could feel himself adapting, transforming...
