Arthur ducked low, sticking his arm upwards. The edge of the kris scraped along the tip of the wing that tried to bat at him, ineffectually. It was almost cute, the way the baby Rocs fought. They were definitely juveniles, for they had a lack of elegance, a clumsiness that was over and above the fact that they were birds on the ground. It made fighting them somewhat easy, though Arthur was focused not on killing them but poisoning.
It was why he was holding his spear low and to the ground, grip shortened so he could thrust when he needed to or deflect the beak, but mostly, he cut and stabbed, again and again. The kris would work a lot better with a living creature whose hot blood pumped the poison through the body. Get a half-dozen good stabs or cuts in and they would fall over.
More than what it had taken to take down Mel earlier, but then again, they were multiple levels up. The effectiveness of the kris was decreasing as the monsters and individuals increased their body and their natural resistance to such things. Eventually, it would be worth no more than a normal knife. Eventually, he'd sell it off.
But that was not now.
Focused as he was, only a glimpse as he ducked back and turned his head gave him warning. The cries of surprise were just rising, but he reacted without thought. He swung his weapon sideways, smacking Eric away with the haft of his spear even as he threw himself to the side.
A touch too slow, as the descending claws closed, grabbing hold of his outstretched arm and piercing part of his chest and arm as it grabbed him. This time, the Mama Roc did not land, instead beating its wings and pulling upwards with a shriek. Air and wings buffeted him, knocking Arthur around and his helm askew as it rose, pain and the attacks disorienting him for precious moments.
By the time he managed to figure out what was happening, he was in the air, dangling from one arm that was threatening to break, an arrow flashing by his face to lodge in the body above him. He swung his free arm in an attempt to cut the creature. Too far, he realised. No body to cut, and its legs were bunched up and gripping tight. The movement itself sent bolts of agony down his arm as Arthur realised that the damn creature had broken something important.
He pushed past the pain, stabbing into the leg holding him, again and again. He would have sawed against a tendon or something, but the kris was not really meant to be a cutting weapon; its thin, pointed edge really meant for stabbing and then widening the wounds. Even as he did so, he began the process of changing the flow of power, dropping the Heavenly Sage's Mischief for another full-body technique. As he stabbed, he tried to get the weapon into the bony, tendony claws that gripped him; though from his experience, it would take a bit to poison the creature with the appendages having so little blood flow, so far away from its body.
It did, however, manage to do one other thing.
It annoyed the Mama Roc.
Flapping a half-dozen times more, rising with each flap, the Mama Roc chose to drop him. He could hear the silence from below, the almost continuous boom of Rick's shotgun having ceased. Whether he was reloading again or scared to hit Arthur, no way to tell. Casey had slowed down too, only a single arrow flickering past him to embed itself in the creature as he dropped.
The Mama Roc waited a brief moment, just long enough for Arthur to start dropping, turning as it did so and rising upwards and away. Arthur could see its intention and knew he didn't have time. He could feel the weaves of energy forming within him, the necessary pull of power coming together. Quickly, but not quickly enough as the creature tucked its wings close.
That was when Arthur released the Refined Exploding Energy Dart, his back to the ground and arms and legs splayed. He had managed to get himself into fall position through all this, stabilized just about enough to send it in the right direction. It didn't hit the Mama Roc's directly in its open, screeching mouth, but it struck the top of its beak and that explosion of energy was enough.
The initial dive ended, the bird throwing its wings back, squawking loud and surprised as it rolled its head to the side and twisted. One eye partially blinded, the other blinking and upset as an arrow flashed past Arthur's tumbling form. Then the bark of a shotgun shell, the warm spray of blood, and the shower of feathers and bone falling around him.
Arthur grinned a little and spun in the air, twisting to spot the ground rushing up to him. All too close, shadows forming beneath his falling spot to catch him. No time to explain he didn't need help, all he had to do was . . .
Form a cloud and jump.
What he hadn't considered was how fast he was falling. The cloud he formed was shattered, broken almost immediately as his foot came down upon it. He felt a jolt of pain run through him, like stomping particularly hard on a concrete floor. He tried to form a second cloud, but he was still falling and had never mastered it, so all he got was wisps of mist that slowed him down a little.
Then, the shadowy tendrils were there. Like falling through particularly spongy branches, he shattered the tendrils that reached for him, that cushioned his fall. Only problem was, he had no idea where the ground was, so that when he hit it, it was a surprise. He rolled with the fall anyway, the same injured leg taking the brunt of the damage.
More sharp, shooting pain as he tucked himself and rolled forwards, bleeding off energy and momentum with each moment. It still hurt, it still sucked, and his ribs felt bruised beneath the armour. He didn't even manage to put together the rest of the technique he was intent on building, so much tumbling and moving around there had been.
Still, Arthur managed to get onto his foot, though he found himself heavily lopsided. One leg not wishing to bear his weight, one arm broken and hanging uselessly by his side, his spear lost somewhere in the commotion. He still had his kris though, but the Mama Roc was still up there.
Or . . . not?
Jerking his head around, he searched for the monster. Couldn't find it in the air. Then, he realised of most of the team was moving in another direction. So large was the creature that its thrashing body was easy to spot. As he tried to limp over, he found Uswah sliding under the arm of his injured side to give him aid.
"What happened?" He waved a hand at the Mama Roc.
"We downed it. I think your attack concussed it. Add in blood loss and a lucky shot, and it tumbled to the ground. We're trying to finish it," Uswah said, gesturing around before lowering her voice. "I'm almost out though."
"Energy?"
She nodded.
Arthur checked his own stores, grimaced. He was fine on Tower energy, had quite the decent store. Refined energy, however, was low. Always his problem, because he had a tendency to use that more than his other forms. Maybe he should spend some time learning a basic healing technique, one that used normal energy.
He discarded the idle thought, knowing how poor those were. It wasn't as if he didn't have enough work anyway.
Her words did have him check over his people. They had burnt hot, utilising their skills and resources without stop, burning through energy to take down monsters. He could see the signs everywhere. Jan no longer utilized her aura, having switched instead to her sling so that she could strike at the still-living Roc from a distance. Casey had put her bow away, edging around the sides in an attempt to attack the bird though she refused to get too close. Even Rick was careful about his fire, switching out his shotgun and its percussive booms for the sharper snap of his pistols as he unloaded into the massive monster.
Only Yao Jing and Lam seemed to be going strong, the pair having been more circumspect about their energy use. He also knew they had pushed towards a more enduring use of their energy, allowing them to outlast their opponents. For Yao Jing, it was just a consequence of his greater use of passives, Arthur assumed. Lam was more reasoned, for what use was a bodyguard who was too tired to guard his charge?
Eric was the other fighter who seemed to be doing well, though he was still fighting the last remaining baby Roc with the help of Mel. She had switched out with Yao Jing at some point, though—when, Arthur wasn't sure. It felt like he had lost bits and pieces of time, almost like people had teleported or made decisions without his input.
Fights were sometimes like that, when you lost track of what was happening. He might have, he figured, lost a few moments when he was grabbed, when he rolled. Hard to say, except by virtue of what was happening.
The Mama Roc was still alive by the time the pair limped over, pushing itself around on one last wing, twisting its body and head. It would not be long now though, for Jan had snuck up on the dead wing side with her spear, ready to plunge it deep in and finish the job.
Arthur almost felt sorry for the creature. Sorry for the piteous cries it released, for the fading light in its eyes. It was hurt, bleeding from numerous wounds, furious at the death of its children, at being disturbed when it just tried to live its life. Or at least, Arthur thought he saw all those emotions in its large, remaining eye.
He pushed the feelings aside, refusing to acknowledge them. That was how the Tower caught you, making you think the monsters were real. Making you hesitate. Better not to feel, better not to acknowledge what they were doing. Even if it was, in a way, truly barbaric.
There was no other way, after all.
"What?" Uswah said.
Arthur blinked, realised he had spoken aloud that last sentence. Shook his head, trying to clear it, realised maybe he was a little loopier and more concussed than he realised. By the time he focused on the bird again, it was dead. Unmoving.
And just like that, they were free to make their way to the seventh floor. The final rest floor before it was just a punishing run.