(Second Book Complete!) Runeblade: A Delving & Skill Merging LitRPG

Letting out a roar, Porkchop barrelled towards the champion. Its entire existence offended him. The unnatural melding of discordant body parts, the violent smell, the way its eyes slid over its flesh to track him, the chittering smirks. Everything.

He spotted the mouth that had vomited on him. Despite having slid across the mutagenic body of the Champion, it was given away by the yellow trickle of bile that dribbled from its thin lips. Blades of mana flashed into existence and he drove his claws deep into the flesh surrounding the mouth.

He fell into a flurry of blows, the thick digging claws of his people well suited to tearing out chunks of flesh with every blow. In moments he had dismantled the mouth, carving an elbow deep pit in the flesh of the abomination.

It’s core pulsed green again, a mouth leaving a wake in the meat behind it as it rushed across the surface of the monster to aim at his chest. This time he was ready, diving to the side as another compressed stream of partially digested offal and stinking bile sailed past him to splash against the ground of the pit.

Porkchop rushed back in, suppressing his growing nausea. Swipe after swipe he tore into the Champion, ripping out chunks of its flesh with his claws and mana blades. It tried to resist. Mouths stretching out to snap at him, tendrils of flesh elongating to connect the maws to the greater whole.

He dismantled it bit by bit, cleaving through exposed flesh to sever the grotesque voids. The mound of meat quickly became pockmarked with the evidence of his assault, red fluid congealing into a sealing gel as the wounds regenerated missing flesh.

The bottom of the stone hole where he fought the Champion had turned into a charnel pit, stone bricks covered in weeping fluid, scattered chunks of flesh, stray eyes, and spilled bile. Porkchop tuned it all out. Fully focused on dealing with his foe.

He felt confident, secure in the knowledge that there was little the Champion could do to harm him. The stinging acidic burn of the bile hurt, but it was no real threat. Sure, it might have been a nightmare for any combatant that fought by whittling their opponents down with a thousand nicks. That had never been his style, there was something so visceral about tearing your enemies apart with your own claws. Hearing the gnashing teeth of their despair as you tore them to shreds.

Another mouth slid across the sagging body of the Cystic Failure, spraying another gout of bile towards him. It seemed to have learned, the mouth gouging its chunky payload as it moved, hurling bile in a wide arc. Disgusting creature. He wouldn’t be able to dodge.

He didn’t try to.

Snapping his muzzle shut so he could live his life without the knowledge of what abomination vomit tasted like, Porkchop launched himself forward through the caustic fluid. He grit his teeth as the bile misted his face and back, sizzling as it ate its way through his fur and skin. As soon as he was through, a howl of fury erupted from his throat.

The offending mouth didn’t last long under the ministrations of his claws.

Despite removing enough meat to entirely rebuild the Champion, it was still almost entirely whole. A fight of attrition, its regeneration was more than enough to keep up with the pace of his attacks. Worse even than the twisted teratomas, Porkchop could physically feel its flesh fighting him as he burrowed into the beast. Surging and roiling as it regrew at a visible rate.

Three grasping mouths converged on him, forcing him back from the rent he had gouged into the abominations side.

Mana pulsed, different this time. It was using its other skill.

Eyes slid over the corpulent mass, converging to lock their gaze on him. They started to weep, tears of yellow bile floating in front of the Champion to amass into a globe of acid. Porkchop fell deep into the flow of battle, throwing himself to the side in the hope the eyes wouldn’t be able to track him. He snarled as the eyes ripped across the flesh, the spell anchored in front of them.

He would need to dodge. Trusting that this skill would only be as caustic as the vomit would be the height of stupidity.

Mana built in the core of the Champion slowly as the orb grew in size, first as big as an apple, then growing larger than his head.

Porkchop raced back. If he couldn’t evade the skill, he would have to give himself enough room and space to dodge. He’d need it with his bulk.

Before he could get more than thirty strides away, the Cystic Failure released the growing deluge of its mana. The caustic orb raced forwards, launching from its starting point directly towards him at a breakneck pace.

He moved.

Throwing himself to the side, Porkchop kept his eyes locked on the skill. He just made it, the globe of acid missing him by less than a claw length. Even then, the fumes it let off ravaged his barding, metal plates sizzling as they rusted in seconds.

Seeing the damage that mere proximity had done to his armour, Porkchop blanched. Not so harmless after all.

No matter, a little danger was expected in a fight. He raced back in, tearing into the Champion with renewed vigour. While his natural mana sight was far less acute than his brother’s True Sight, he could still see the mana in the beast had gutted out. The monster was clearly focused on regeneration and staying power. No matter the natural talents of recovery of its decidedly unnatural body, he knew that the level of healing the monster displayed would be impossible without most of its build devoted to it’s health stats. It had to be out of mana.

Secure in his faith that he didn’t have to worry about any more skills, Porkchop continued his work of ripping out chunks of the creature’s flesh. It tried to fight back, but with its ungainly form there was little it could do to stop him.

Death was an inevitability. It was all about persistence now.

After what felt like an hour of hard work, Porkchop finally got the notification he had been waiting for. Tearing out four eyes with a single swipe, the monster shuddered. The sticky caps of vital fluid that surrounded its wounds released all at once, blood and alchemy pouring from the accumulated wounds. The Cystic Failure sagged, impossible biology trying to sustain its life without the bolstering power of its Health. It couldn’t.

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It died.

**Ding! You have slain a Champion: Cystic Failure - level 28 Caustic Biohorror!**

As he watched the ball of meat deflate, Porkchop roared his victory to the ceiling, the sound echoing off the hard stone and amplifying his fervour.

…

Kaius gnawed on his cheek as he watched his friend battle the Champion. Every near miss he had to hold himself back from launching himself off the stairs and diving into the fray. He knew Porkchop had it, that it was a good match up. Hells, the thing could barely touch him. Despite that, it felt wrong to simply sit back and watch his friend fight alone.

At the end of the day, his feelings didn’t matter. Porkchop had chosen his path, and it would be cruel of him to stand in the way of his friend’s shot at gaining an Honour. So from his vantage point on the stair he stood, and he watched.

Despite his restraint, he did admit that he had descended a few steps when he noticed the mana pulsing in the flesh amalgams centre. Though, when he saw the monster let loose an absolute torrent of vomit he had been unable to stifle a laugh at the sheer disgusting ridiculousness of the skill. He had warned Porkchop it was a possibility after all.

After a few handfuls of nail biting minutes it was done, Porkchop releasing a roar of his triumph as the Champion collapsed into a sagging blob of dead flesh.

Kaius launched himself off the stairs, dropping a full ten strides to the stone below as he raced to congratulate Porkchop. Joyous laughter spilled from deep in his chest, relief and jubilation unable to be contained. Not that he wanted to contain them.

Porkchop had done it! Slain another without his assistance. Crossing the distance between them, lithely jumping over pools of blood and bile, Kaius threw his arms around Porkchops neck with a laugh in complete disregard of the stinking detritus that coated his friend’s chest.

“You did it!” He laughed. “I knew you would, even if you did get a little sick on you.” He said, wiping one slickened palm on one of the few patches of fur that wasn’t already coated.

“Hey!” Porkchop yelled, yanking his way out of his grip to give him a playful shove.

“What? Scared of a little mess?” He teased.

Porkchop rolled his eyes. “If your nose was as sharp as mine, you’d understand.”

His friend’s eyes suddenly narrowed, searching around the gore ridden pit that he had had his battle.

“You wouldn’t happen to have spotted where my loot is, would you?”

Kaius paused. He hadn’t, now that Porkchop mentioned it. With every other Champion they had faced, the loot had been relatively easy to find. Sure, it might have been tucked away in some bolt hole or another, but it was mostly obvious where they should look. Not so in the pit, there was nothing out of place.

“Huh.” Kaius said, stepping back to look around the battlefield. There was nothing, just plain brick and the body of the Champion. A sudden, horrific thought jumped into his mind.

“Oh please fuck no.” He said, his gaze locking onto the grotesque corpse.

It couldn’t be. It must. Where else would it be hiding? After all, it wouldn’t be the first time they had found things in an abomination. The Champion was clearly some superior form of a twisted teratoma, and they had found out pretty quickly that they must have a tendency to eat random objects. Half of the globular depths-spawn they had slain had had remnants of shattered glassware left in their strange central stomachs. Hells, more than once he had shattered something when he had plunged his sword into the monsters.

Porkchop followed his gaze, looking at the deflated body of his slain foe.

“You have to be joking.”

“Remember the glassware?” Kaius asked, dread evident softening his voice to a bare whisper.

“Oh sweet Matriarchs.” Porkchop muttered. Suddenly his friend whipped his head towards him. “You do it.”

“Oh, no no no. It’s your kill you do the honours.” Kaius insisted.

“Kaius,” Porkchop said plainly, staring him dead in the eyes. “You have a fucking sword. I have claws. I would have to get shoulder deep in its guts. I also saved your life barely more than a month ago. Don’t be a weasel.”

Kaius winced. Harsh words coming from a Greater Meles, Porkchop had made his distaste of the ‘failed imitations of little meles’ very well known.

“Fine,” He sighed. “But I want it noted that I am kind, magnanimous, and a fantastic friend.”

“Yes, yes.” Porkchop said, waving him towards the body with one meaty paw as he grinned. “Hurry up and get our loot, minion.”

Kaius groaned, but drew his sword and stepped up to the stinking corpse of the Cystic Failure. Taking a deep breath -through his mouth of course- to steady himself, Kaius raised his sword high over his head. He paused for a moment, assessing the reality of what he was about to do. A final half hearted scowl towards Porkchop revealed his friend had backed out of the splash zone. He shook his head before turning back to the corpse.

“This is some gross fucking bullshit, i’ll tell you what.” He grumbled to himself.

With a grunt, he brought his blade down. The razor sharp blade cleaved clean through the boneless flesh of the abomination, opening it like a sack of wine. A deluge of slop, shapeless organs, and chunky bile burst free from the flesh sack. It poured in a wave, washing up around his ankles.

Kaius gagged, feeling soft chunks slap into the leather of his boots as the fluid started to seep in. He jumped back, leaping out of the puddle to a nearby stretch of dry stone.

“It’s in my socks!” He howled in despair, gagging as he shook unmentionable clumps from his feet.

“Lucky.” Porkchop said, approaching the deluge.

“How the hell is this lucky!” He asked, looking up to find Porkchop peering closely at the sludge that had flowed from the corpse.

His friend stepped back, revealing a thin strapless satchel that sat in a pool of viscera. Blood beaded on its surface, running free in rivulets to leave the slate grey leather untouched. Even the mess that surrounded it pulled back, leaving the bag in a circle of clean stone.

“Can you imagine if you did that and there was no loot?” Porkchop grinned.