Zarek was finding it hard to get his footing. Every blow he suffered, even if he managed to parry it or slide it away from himself, cost him several more fractions of a second than usual—not just because he was injured, but because these Strength Types were simply too powerful.
The fact that he was even still standing at all was a testament to his skill. The twists of his body, the shifts of his feet, the way he generated power and offset it.
The more he fought, the more his blood boiled, and the more those natural instincts seemed to return.
He had been fighting all night, but it wasn't until he was pushed to these limits that the dregs of his real combat experience began to come forward.
A glow radiated from the depths of his eyes, every movement coming with another shredding stretch to his muscles. He was already at his limit, and then he had broken beyond—now, he was trying to do it again.
A fist whistled past his head.
He sidestepped, a perfectly timed movement causing an attack from the second Strength Type to collide with the first.
He had already rendered the arm of one of them useless, causing it to be off balance. But it was still foolish enough to continue to attack with it.
BANG! BANG!
The Strength Types rebounded away from one another.
Zarek had already pivoted again, accelerating toward the injured one. It had lost out in the exchange, and as a result, it had fallen onto its back. Its movements were slow and clumsy, its Dexterity so low that it wasn't even sure how to pick itself up for a moment.
With a slash, Zarek came down on one of its sides, but the moment it reacted, turning with a slap toward the pain to press Zarek into a meat paste, Zarek himself had already retreated, tapping a foot on the moistened grass and leaping onto the back of the Strength Type's hand.
He unleashed a roar, thrusting down his machete through not just one, but both of the Turned's forearm bones.
The second Strength Type was already behind him, having recovered far faster than the first. But Zarek didn't even look back as he leapt over the first's body.
The attack of the second Strength Type landed on the first once again, only driving the machete further in and hindering its attempt to peel its arms away from one another.
Zarek's amber eyes shone like boiling brass, leaving streaks in the night air. He landed behind the neck of the Strength Type pinned to the ground. With its body forced down onto its side, even with its enormous size, Zarek hardly had to try at all.
It was a Strength Type, not an Endurance Type. With it being so vulnerable, Zarek had all the time in the world to pick the most sensitive and least defensible position, thrusting down with all his might.
Puchi.
His blade ran right through the Strength Type's neck, slipping the disks in its vertebrae and severing its Godsfall Crystal.
BANG!
Zarek was sent flying, a slap from the second Strength Type finally landing. It leaned over the body of the first as though it forgot it was a two-limbed walker and not a four.
Tumbling across the ground, Zarek coughed up mouthfuls of blood, agony racking him from head to toe.
His hands were now empty, both of his machetes having been wasted on the same target. But even so, there was a heat bubbling up in his eyes as he flipped to his feet.
He had experienced far worse, been through far worse.
The situation seemed dire, and yet not for a single moment did he think that his life was on the line. This was his orchestra to direct, his stage to command.
Suddenly, Zarek reached out, his hand grabbing a neck.
The bulging eyes of the Charisma Type almost popped out from their sockets.
"I know who you are now," Zarek said with a calmness that belied the fiery heat of his very aura right now. Solar flares of crimson continued to pool out of his body, making him look like a miniature blood sun all his own. "A Control Type and an Illusion Type. You're also a Mental Type, aren't you? To think I'd met the Violet Enchantress before she could grow her wings.
"Should I say that I'm very lucky? Or very unlucky?"
Illusions were next to useless on Zarek. How could he forget about the existence of the Charisma Type with his senses?
He had only been waiting for an opportunity, a chance to get close to it without its bodyguards. Getting the Strength Type to slap him over here was the fastest method he could think of.
It wasn't stupid if it worked. That was probably his favorite motto.
As expected, the Strength Type stopped when Zarek swung its master toward it. Caught between the order to kill Zarek and protect the Charisma Type, it didn't know what to do.
Right now, though, Zarek was pissed. He had met the Violet Enchantress before her rise, and that should have been a great opportunity. But it was clear that the Enchantress hadn't awakened her Mental Type Talent yet. Otherwise, capturing her wouldn't have been nearly so easy.
A Dual Mutant Type was rare, but unless they were truly shocking Talents, it wasn't enough to become a Named Turned. From the fact the Violet Enchantress had to turn away the other Turned to focus on controlling these two Strength Types, it meant that her Control Type Talent was mediocre at best. In addition, Zarek had personally felt the Illusion Type Talent—it too was weak and was ultimately just marginally better than a shroud.
This Turned would be a nightmare to most, but it was well within Zarek's abilities to handle.
Although the Violet Enchantress was still an F Tier Mutant, it shouldn't be so weak considering its future abilities.
Clearly, something between now and the future occurred that not only helped it to awaken a third Talent, but also propelled it into the ranks of Named Turned.
'Is it a coincidence?' Zarek thought to himself.
[Ironbound Compulsion] was also a Mental Type Skill… and now there was the Violet Enchantress appearing in the same region?
It seemed that he was missing out on quite the secret. Was this why Malik had always been so cautious? What was he hiding?