Chapter 118: The Luck Thief |
If there were a happiness index of clones, Ace believed he would be at the top of it. Morph would come next since he had the most significant degree of freedom after him. Eins would follow as he genuinely loved everything to do with Arcane Smithing. However, that was likely to change in the near future when El-Prime turned him into Thor, the armored frontliner god. It was a fun mental image, especially given the beauty of the Storm Gauntlet and its still-work-in-progress armor.
They should replace Shaker’s Beard with a hammer, ideally something that calls forth lightning and strikes with the power of sonic booms.
Ace tossed his die into the air, watched them rotate as they ascended, and caught them on the way down. He adored how much El-Prime feared the weapon’s power.
“You’re never using the weapon near me, Flukas, or Morph,” El-Prime had commanded. “I can’t afford them to get caught in whatever havoc follows a bad roll. We don’t even know what twelve does yet, and I don’t want to be around when you find out.”
It was why El-Prime kept Ace at a distance and gave him far more freedom than the other clones enjoyed. His current directives came with plenty of room for interpretation and tomfoolery: investigate the Fighting Pits and look for traces of inherited or pacted magic.
There were no instructions related to not fighting or betting. El-Prime only insisted that Ace mask his appearance. A broken nose poorly fixed by an inexperienced healer, heavy smithing goggles helped with his apparently poor sight, and coal dust across the lower half of his face sufficed. It was an almost steampunk get-up, but Ace fit right in with the miners, refiners, and smiths who frequented the pits.
“If I win this fight, I’m taking all of your hats and helmets,” Ace announced to his opponents, lazily leaning against the rectangular arena’s walls. There were six of them. One stood at each of the corners. Ace stood at the halfway point between two of them against one of the longest sides. The sixth fighter was already in a defensive stance with a tower shield directly opposite him. Ace pointed at the man. “Maybe not yours. It’s uglier than your mug. I’m taking your hammer instead. It’s pretty.”
“And I’m going to cave your blighted face in.” The man grunted as he spoke. He cleared his throat and spat a glob of luminous mucus on the floor. It looked like residue from an alchemical brew.
“I’ll bet my right testicle that you’ll fall on your face before you even make it here.” Ace grinned, tossing the die and then catching them again.
Ace laughed. “I like you. You look familiar. Aren’t you a member of the Aquila guild? Do they know you’re here with us, criminals breaking the law of the land?”
The woman’s face tightened, and her eyes narrowed. Morph had seen her around the Aquila compound. She was a tier-two member. “That was a mistake, friend.”
“Ooooo. Friend.” Ace shot her a wink. “Now, you’re flirting with me, too? I’d much rather find a room with you. Better use that fat guild purse to take me somewhere nice, love.”
Things were different from El-Prime’s duo match. Ace couldn’t hear anything from the announcer or the crowd. Instead, a translucent film covered the top of the arena, and there was a hole in the roof. A Stalker’s intelligence gathering mission suggested a stray spell had escaped the pit, killed three audience members, and then damaged the building.
A gong reached Ace’s ears, marking the start of the fight, but he didn’t move. Instead, the clone tossed the die into the air again. The ugly man with the tower shield and warhammer rushed him while the people at the corners engaged with the people closest to them. As predicted, the man made it to the center of the arena before tripping over a crack and landing on his face.
It wasn’t divination magic, even though El-Prime and the other clones considered it so. Ace called it an educated guess.
Much like Spellweaver, Fortune’s Favor had a passive effect not listed by the journal. Ace had a sixth sense. He saw colorful hues where most saw nothing. Shades of red were bad. Blues were good. The fight began for him long before the gong or even entering the arena. When Ace learned the identities of his fellow fighters, he made a point of walking past them and attempted to make physical contact. He shook hands with the woman fighting the Aquila Guild member and then shoulder bumped Ugly. Ace had sapped luck from both of them, and now the pair carried a faint orange hue.
Meanwhile, the crack in the center of the arena was crimson. Ace put two and two together. It added to four, and he knew things were going to go wrong for whoever got close to it. When the pair of dice fell, he didn’t catch them. Instead, he danced where he stood, swinging his arm in a wide arc and slapping it at Ugly. Ace didn’t need to see his weapon to know the roll. The top-facing sides appeared in his mind’s eye. One stopped at one, but the other kept rolling.
Don’t be a three. Please don’t be a three!
The second dice stopped at two just as Ugly got to his feet. He took a step forward before his knee twisted, and an audible crack reached Ace’s ears. A scream burst from the man as he fell to his hands and knees.
Ace cupped his hands and blew into them. The die reappeared between them, sapping his magic. “You going to surrender, buddy, or do I have to force you?”
“Blighted bastard! What did you do to me?”
Ugly didn’t try to stand. Instead, he stayed on his knees, grimacing, and held the massive shield in front of himself. The man’s eyes wildly scanned his surroundings for the ornate hammer and widened when he spotted it halfway between where he knelt and Ace.
“Oh? For me?” Ace skipped to the woman. “You shouldn’t have!” He exclaimed, picking up the hammer. “This is so much better than a bouquet of flowers! Yes, I will marry you.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“Give it back, you—”
“As you wish!” Ace flung the hammer back at the man.
More screams burst from Ugly’s lips when he caught it. Gold lightning burst from the hammer and coursed over his body. The products of Thunderstorm’s Eye seemed to have adopted the gold from the Mind ability’s die. It was perfect. Lightning magic or ability users weren’t common, and the color set him apart from El-Prime and Flukas. Ugly dropped his weapon before collapsing. The ground swallowed him and carried him away, leaving the hammer behind.
“Thank you!” Ace exclaimed, looking up at the translucent film above. Muffled noises came through it now, and he heard the faint gong that marked an eliminated combatant.
A bolt of pure white cut the celebration short. It came as no surprise that the Aquila woman had also knocked out her opponent. The objective wasn’t to help others but to thin out the competition. Ace had worried that since he was a first timer, the other combatants would focus on him like they had Flukas and the Stalker. Instead, everyone had gone for the person closest to them. The pair to his right were locked in a furious melee and appeared to lack long-range abilities. So, he ignored them for the time being.
“That was a lucky break,” the woman commented, as she and her casually nonchalantly walked toward each other. She appeared as relaxed as Ace, but he could feel magic swelling inside of her. The woman had already prepared a spell and was likely waiting for the perfect opportunity to unleash it.
“Luck and skill go hand in hand.” Ace shrugged, tossing the die and catching them. The woman’s eye followed them. It was clear she had guessed that they weren’t just an ordinary trinket.
Unlike Ugly, the woman radiated pale blue. Her luck was currently in a positive state, making it not ideal for Ace. For the time being, he focused on her magic, trying to figure out what she had waiting for him. Despite the pair fighting on the other side of the arena, neither of them rushed things. The first to move wasn’t necessarily going to win. If either launched a spell and it got countered, missed, or was negated, they’d lose magic and valuable preparation. Ace felt like a duelist in the wild west, staring down his opponent and looking for the perfect moment to draw.
“I can feel your magic, you know?” the woman said. “You hide it well and play mind games, but there is a reason diviners rarely see combat.”
“Short-sighted. Close-minded.” Ace sighed, shaking his head. He wanted her to cast her magic first. It didn’t matter to him if he lost or died. He was having a good time, and his instincts told him that she was one of the Aquila guild’s special ones. The magic circulating within her also radiated a faint otherworldly feel. “I think I’ll stick to Ugly. We won’t be a good fit.”
“Pity.” Her expression didn’t change. However, the magic concentration in her hands increased. The woman’s eye darted between him and the fighting pair behind him, suggesting that their confrontation was almost over. She either wanted to take one of them out so things didn’t get too chaotic or hoped the melee fighter would take Ace out. “Even though you outed me, I was going to give you a shot.”
“Oh, I’m sure the people up top know who you are,” Ace replied. He caught the tossed die again and shook his cupped hand, making the pair dance and clack against each other. “Your guild members frequent this place. Or, so I’ve heard.”
“Who are you?” She demanded.
“Give me your hood, and I might just tell you.”
The woman replied with a spell. Five white lances manifested in an arc in front of her. Ace knew as soon as he felt its magic. She either had a pact with an otherworldly entity or was another subject of experimentation and breeding like Mira. He didn’t throw the dice but dropped them. When one stopped at six, Ace’s breath caught in his throat. A two or six would spell disaster. So, he burned stolen luck, pushing the probabilities in his favor. He grinned when the second die stopped at one.
Lucky number seven!
The woman launched her lances. Three shot past Ace while two came at him. He didn’t move. One flew just under his left arm, while the other grazed the right side of his head, setting his hat on fire.
“That was my favorite hat!” Ace exclaimed. He raised a hand, releasing a blast of golden lightning. It was a contact spell, but everything was going to go in his favor. He didn’t need to raise a finger. Things worked out for him whenever he rolled a seven. However, it wasn’t as great as snake eyes, and both were unpredictable, so he refused to take any chances.
Ace had invested minimal energy, but an almost blinding stream of golden lightning burst forth. The woman threw up a white barrier, but the spell shattered it before striking her. She comically spasmed where she stood before collapsing.
The translucent barrier fell, and two gongs rang through the arena. The accompanying cheers were sparse. Most appeared confused. Several booed and complained about luck. Ace smiled and waved at them. Meanwhile, the ground swallowed the collapsed mage and carried her away. He heard the same happen to the fighters behind him. Given the dice roll of seven, it was more than likely the woman’s blindingly white lances took them out.
“What the hell?” Ace demanded, looking up at the announcer. The translucent barrier had disappeared. “Weapons and trinkets?” He waved at the items his defeated opponents had left behind. Ace returned to the dropped ornate hammer. “Why are the hats gone? I don’t want the rest of this junk.”
“What’s with you and hats?” Someone in the audience laughed.
“A man is nothing without his hat!” Ace exclaimed.
“Your reward is an essence, fool!”
“The weirdo should’ve lost.”
An arch opened on the opposite wall just as someone threw a half-eaten pastry at Ace from above.
“Please evacuate the arena to claim your reward,” the woman’s voice boomed through the arena. “You’re free to collect your opponents’ remnants, but I wouldn’t advise remaining in the arena for long.”
“If I don’t get a new hat, I’m bringing this whole place down,” Ace grumbled, marching out of the arena. None of the trinkets or other weapons appealed to him. They all carried weak arcane signatures, but nothing potent or pure enough to bother with. Meanwhile, the warhammer was made of magic metal and had a strong arcane crystal stored within. Its craftsmanship appeared above average for the Gray. If El-Prime failed to find use for it, someone was sure to buy it.
Healers worked on the defeated fighters in the underground room beyond. Ace made a beeline for the Aquila mage, but guards stepped in his way. “Please report to the office for your winnings.”
“What if I need healing?” Ace asked, flashing the man a friendly smile.
“Not here.” The guard shot a glance at the people working on the Aquila mage. She had far more attendants than the other combatants. “Move along. Now.”
So this lot has ties to the pits? El-Prime will be pleased to hear that.
“Why is it so hard to make new friends?” Ace sighed, turning on his heel and marching away. He reported to the office and collected his prize: Essence of Force. On the way out of the building, he spotted a man wearing a wide-brimmed hat with flaps that covered his ears. It looked like a cowboy hat for snowy climates. Ace burned the little extra luck that he had left and grabbed it before disappearing into the crowds.
The hat’s owner yelled after him, but failed to catch or find Ace. He blended into the throngs of people entering and exiting the Gray’s illegal Fighting Pits. There was still plenty Ace wanted to do, but reporting his findings took priority. It would’ve been faster to dispel himself, but Ace refused. He didn’t want to lose his new hat, and the others were bound to throw it away.