Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius let out a sigh as he glared down at the broken god.

...Some of his more critical wounds were beginning to heal.

He was tempted to test the veracity of Zehr's claims... that the god could not be killed by one of his 'followers'. Instinctively, however... Tycon felt that it was true.

"I'm assuming... you're going to try to kill me as soon as you recover?"

"I will... but when you least expect it," Zehr chuckled-- though his voice grew hoarse and he let out a hacking cough...

"Or... or that's the idea, anyroad..." He muttered. "Might be tomorrow. Might be half-a-century from now. Remain ever vigilant for the enemies that lie wait, Tycondrius... as I hope all my faithful do."

Tycon inhaled deeply through his nostrils... "You're an infuriating god, you know that?"

"Ahaha... I'm just trying to do what's best... for our people."

"For yourself, first, of course."

"Of course... Of course, Ivory Prince..."

Tycon inclined his head... "Goodbye, then, snake god."

"Heh... hehe..." Zehr wore a wide grin, his teeth covered in blood, "Don't you mean to say... 'Until next time'?"

Tycon grimaced...

« System, inquiry: What is the status of Garock Heartrender? »

⟬ System response: Garock is standing by and awaiting contact. Establish connection? Y/N? ⟭

« Yes. »

⟬ Establishing connection...⟭

...

Tycon opened his eyes to find himself, once more, in the lush swamps of the Free Nation. He was in an illusion inside of a Reality Marble.

...A dream within a dream... the concept was jarring.

Standing in front of him was a tall, orc with grey-green skin, his wide, tusked face set into a grave expression...

⟬ Garock Heartrender, Gold-Rank Orcish Samurai. ⟭

He was not in his usual attire of simple robes, but instead wore an old, but well-maintained set of brigandine armor. His hair had been washed... tied into a high ponytail... and he wore two curved blades on his waist.

"Brother-Garock..." Tycon gulped.

"Brother-Tycon," The orc nodded.

"You know why I'm here, then?"

Garock loosed a long, thoughtful sigh... relaxing his shoulders and rubbing the back of his head.

"Honestly, I was hoping you'd find me a few more students to impart my techniques to..."

"I wanted similar," Tycon smiled weakly... "Circumstances have dictated otherwise."

He flicked his wrist, summoning a bottle of distilled spirits. It was expensive-- but the occasion called for better than the usual swill.

"Shall we?" He offered.

"Indeed," Garock nodded slowly. He retrieved something from one of his side pouches-- two ceramic cups.

The orc offered them forward, "In my culture... usually the younger pours."

"That's fair. I am asking a favor, after all," Tycon nodded.

He opened the bottle with great care and poured into both cups, circulating his mana to ensure not a single drop spilled.

Garock lifted his full cup, grimacing.

Tycon raised his, to match.

"All warriors wish to die with honor," Garock drank deeply.

Tycon, too, drank his fill... "You're welcome, old orc."

The orc shattered his cup onto the ground...

"...You're a good man, Warrior Tycon... even despite your snake tongue."

Tycon dropped his own empty cup, allowing it to crack into pieces on its own... "I am not. Fulfilling your life wish just happens to coincide with my best chance of survival."

The orc allowed himself a chuckle, shaking his head, "Take care of that Zenon kid... and it'd be nice if you started a Sect to teach my blade art."

"Not gonna do that," Tycon grinned.

Garock grinned... wide and wicked, "You probably will. My sword techniques are superior to your White Raven school."

Tycon rolled his eyes... "I'll grant you that much."

Garock's Demon Blade techniques required several years of training before it would be effective... but once mastered to a moderate completion, it was superior to his other learned sword arts at murdering swaths of lightly-armored enemies.

In that way, it was similar to that trash art, the Elven Blade Dance... which needed decades of training before even being usable.

« System, temporarily suspend activity. Allow Garock to take control of all functions. »

⟬ Understood. Entering hibernation... ⟭

He reached his hand forward, "Garock... take care of my body."

"I will," Garock reached forward, clasping his meaty fist around Tycon's wrist, "Death to the enemies of Sol Invictus."

...

The first thing that Garock noticed when he opened his eyes... was how low to the ground he was.

The warm sun shone high upon the rocky sands and gentle waves, as far as he could see. He clenched his pink-skinned hand... tiny and weak.

It was no use complaining. Warrior Tycon had performed miraculous feats of agility and strength, regardless of his seemingly feeble body. There was no reason Garock should not be able to do the same.

The body with the burnt face slowly got to its feet... eyeing him warily. The waves washed over the greataxe stuck in the sands.

...That was careless of him. It was going to rust.

"You... who in the seven gods-damned hells are you?"

The snake god had noticed something was different. The corners of Garock's tuskless lips curled upward as he reached for the sword on his belt.

"Who or... what are you?" The snake god snarled as he heaved his weapon up, "ANSWER ME!!"

Garock raised an eyebrow, "I am... Samurai."

He would not claim his own name. That... would live on in the blade techniques that Warrior Tycon would bestow to future generations. Currently... he was only a weapon... the finest weapon produced by his clan.

He grabbed his sword... a comfortable curved blade. It wasn't nearly as good as his old one, but the Warrior was more than merely his steel.

"⌈As the Swallow Flies,⌋" He slashed twice, the first deflecting the snake god's initial axe strike... the second opening a new gash on their chest.

Undeterred by the critical injury, the snake god held a palm forward-- to cast a Spell, most likely.

"⌈Gentle Water's Reflection,⌋" Garock dashed to the side, one mana-reflection dashing opposite, while a second mana-reflection remained and struck down with his blade.

"⌈Earth Spike!⌋" A pointed protrusion of hardened sand pierced through the immobile clone, making it dissipate into bubbling seawater.

The remaining reflection struck at the snake god's neck, staggering him as the blade burst into water. Garock aimed... and with a quick swipe of his real sword, severed four fingers off of the snake god's left hand.

"T... tycon," The man coughed... "Stop this. You... you can't do this. I... I am a god."

"Your pitiful cries for mercy are useless, godling," Garock smirked. "He cannot hear you, now."

",