Chapter 244

The beggar closed his eyes, accepting his fate. At the last possible second, they snapped open. The cloudy haze of age had vanished, replaced by a cold, piercing clarity.

He stood in sudden, fluid motion. His joints moved effortlessly, his bones seemed to have turned to steel before raising one skinny hand to strike. His fist connected with the big stone chunk. The impact produced a sharp, violent CRACK, like a massive slab of stone splitting under a hammer blow.

For a split second, the rock held. Then, spiderwebs of fissures shot across its surface. An instant later, it exploded into hundred of smaller pieces, a shower of sharp shards and pebbles raining down around the beggar's feet, clattering harmlessly on the cobblestones.

He stood amidst the dust and debris, unharmed. The crowd's silence was shattered by gasps of disbelief and flurry of panicked shouts. The old man had just destroyed a boulder by his bare hand. It was impossible. Unnatural even.

But the beggar wasn't done. He shook his hand, the dust and tiny pebbles falling from his knuckles. A thin, red line of fire erupted, snaking around his forearm and coiling around clenching fist like a living whip. After an impossible burst of speed, he dashed forward.

The distance between him and the mad mage closed in a heartbeat. The beggar threw a punch, a simple, straight jab aimed at the the opponent's head. But the crazy man, in his desperation, reacted on instinct. He twisted his torso, presenting the rocky growth on his left side to the attack.

THWACK!

The flaming fist connected with the sound of a tree being struck by lightning. The concussive force was immense. The rocky shell shattered, exploding outwards in a spray of shrapnel and grey dust.

Underneath the stone, a bloody, raw mess of skin and muscle was exposed, a deep crater in the mage's side oozing red and black. The mad man cried out, a raw, agonized sound of shock and pain.

He was outmatched. He knew it. The raw, untamable power he wielded was nothing compared to the focused, controlled destruction this beggar embodied.

"I won't go back there! You can't do this to me!" he screeched, his sanity finally snapping completely. He turned to run, abandoning all pretense of a fight.

Panic ensued. The crowd scrambled to get out of his way, shoving and stumbling while the half-stone, half-man beast plowed through the square. He was running blindly, a rampaging monster seeking any escape.

And his escape route, in a cruel twist of fate, was directly in Lyssandra's path. She was standing near the bookseller's stall, watching the drama unfold when the charging maniac turned and headed right at her direction.

People screamed and scattered.

"Get away from him!"

'Come on, stop him. What are you waiting for?' Lyssandra thought, her gaze darting to the beggar but the old man was just standing there, calmly, as if watching a play. He wasn't making a move to chase, or even to ensure his victory was final.

"What the hell?" Lyssandra mumbled.

But the problem was coming. The mad mage was bearing down on her, a ton of angry, bleeding rock and magic. He was just right ahead so Lyssandra had to act.

In a flash, her arms crossed, one over the other. A shimmering, translucent green wall of slime shot out from her forearms, solidifying into a shield. Almost instantaneously, a wave of cold washed over it and a delicate, beautiful layer of crystalline ice armor formed over the slime, reinforcing it. Her defense rating spiked.

CRASH!

The sound of rock slamming into ice was sharp and final. The impact was tremendous but Lyssandra had braced for it. She slid backward a bit on the flagstones, feet grinding for purchase, boots scraping loud against the stone. The ice armor held, cracking but not breaking.

Irritated by this unexpected obstacle, the lunatic let out a furious roar. "Get out of the way!"

Red lightning, raw and unstable, began to arc and crawl across his skin and the remaining rock on his shoulder. He raised a hand, the air around crackling with ozone, intending to blast this new annoyance into oblivion.

"Really?" Lyssandra's voice was a cold scoff. "Casting magic this close? Are you stupid?"

She didn't give him time to answer. Dropping the slime shield, she surged forward, closing the gap before he could fully channel the spell.

She was a storm of motion.

Her right hand, fingers stiffened into a knife, shot forward, aimed directly at his throat. He flinched, raising his rocky arm to block but it was a feint. Her left leg swept out low, a vicious kick aimed at the back of his knee - the joint not protected by solid rock.

He grunted when his leg buckled, his balance thrown. As he stumbled forward, Lyssandra's elbow, sheathed in the remnants of her ice armor, slammed into the back of his skull with a sickening crack.

The mad man staggered, his body was too saturated with chaotic magic to feel the strike. He swiped a wild, backhanded blow with his stone hand. Lyssandra ducked under it, fluid and low. She came up inside his guard, her knee driving hard into his groin, then her palm striking upwards into his nose with a wet crunch.

Blood sprayed across in arc. Blinded and disoriented, he flailed wildly. Lyssandra spun around his back, arm hooking around his neck to slam the heel of her palm into his spine, then again, and again.

Each strike was precise, brutal, targeting the nerve clusters controlling his limbs. The psycho spasmed, magic inside flickering and dying while his body was overwhelmed. He crumpled, a heavy sack of rock and flesh, falling to the cobblestones.

A heavy silence descended upon the square. It was absolute, so complete that the only sounds were the gentle rustle of the wind and the distant chirping of birds.

Everyone stared.

The crowd that had been watching in cynical amusement was frozen in shock. The merchants who had been cowering in their stalls peeked out, eyes wide with disbelief. The nobles who had been giggling behind their fans were silent, their painted faces pale, their amusement turned to awe and a touch of fear.

They had watched a beggar shatter a boulder with his bare hand. They had watched that same beggar punch a man so hard his magical rock armor had cracked and bled.

Then, they had watched a cloaked stranger, someone they hadn't even noticed, erect a wall of slime and ice, absorb a devastating charge, and then, in a whirlwind of impossible speed and weird technique, dismantle the beast with her own two bare hands.

A monster made of rock and rage. Fallen. All of it. In less than five minutes.

"That…"

A single voice, hushed and awestruck, broke the silence. It belonged to the red beard stocky man, his earlier cynicism replaced by pure wonder.

"…was…"

Another voice joined in, this time from one of the stunned priests, a young man who looked as if he were witnessing a divine revelation.

"…AWESOME!!!"

The yell came from a young boy near the edge of the crowd. His face was half-human, half covered in a short muzzle of fine fur, with large, intelligent eyes and pointy ears twitching in excitement. His furry tail thumping enthusiastically against the ground.

The spell was broken.

The crowd erupted into a mixture of cheers, frantic whispers, and loud, boisterous praise.

"Did you see that speed?" an adventurer marveled.

"She stopped the lightning bolt by her hand! How is that possible?" a merchant's wife cried out.

"Those strikes! I've never seen anything like it! She moves like a ghost!" someone else shouted.

The feeling of awe and respect was intoxicating.

'This feels nice,' Lyssandra thought, a smug smile hidden beneath the mask.

But the feeling was short-lived.

A new sound cut through the clamor of the crowd. The sharp, disciplined sound of armored boots marching in perfect unison on the flagstones. The noise grew louder, a heavy, rhythmic thumping.

The crowd parted again, this time with a sense of respectful haste rather than fear. A throng of men in gleaming steel armor, each carrying a halberd and a round shield marched toward the center of the square.

They were led by a man in his forties, face stern and carved with authority. He wore no helmet but a high-collared uniform of deep blue. His eyes were sharp and missed nothing.

"Move aside!" he roared, his voice a command that was instantly obeyed. "What is going on here?"

His gaze fell upon the massive shape of the half-rock, half-man lying face down in a pool of his own blood. The scene was a picture of utter destruction.

"What is this… this thing?" he demanded.

A nervous-looking man stepped forward, bowing slightly. "There was… from nowhere, a guy just went crazy and started smashing everything, Captain."

He gestured first to Lyssandra. "And that person…" then he pointed to where the beggar had been standing. "…and that beggar…"

His voice trailed off when he looked again at the spot. The old fellow was gone. Vanished. "Where is he?" the man wondered aloud, confusion on his face.