Round 14: Death Fight

Fierce roars seemed to envelop the entire Notari Plain, and the swinging stone arms were nothing the elven scimitars could withstand.
The two demonized elves were sent flying by Hoffman’s massive arms like swallows struck by an airplane, clearly severely injured. Their blackish-red blood splashed onto the grass, emitting a sizzling, corrosive sound.
Hoffman’s swift movements carried a stench of sand and stones soaked in sewage, nauseating to the extreme. It was hard to believe he could move with such leopard-like speed, catching up to a demonized elf he had just flung aside.
Faced with Hoffman’s mountain-like figure blocking out the sky, the demonized elf with snake-like eyes let out a shrill scream. It dropped its twisted, ruined scimitar, its body suddenly elongating. Its scaled, slender yet powerful torso and limbs stretched and twisted upon contact with Hoffman’s fist, wrapping around his arm like a python. Its mouth—no, its entire lower jaw—split open, forming a monstrous triangular maw. All its fangs were exposed, and its forked tongue hissed as it stretched its neck. After a brief search, it bit down hard on the thin flesh of Hoffman’s arm. The deathly pale and swollen flesh immediately turned black and began to spread rapidly.
But at this moment, Hoffman, like the demonized elf, paid no attention to poison—a sneaky weapon that killed silently. His disproportionately small eyes in his huge head stared at the snake-like demonized elf coiled around his arm, as if it were just a stray dog biting a dragon’s toe. He swung his arm, but it had no effect. The demonized elf clung tightly, determined only to hold on and inject all the venom from its venom glands into its enemy.
Hoffman bent his arm. Just as a normal person would tense their muscles, his stone-armored arm swelled outward, the stone-like muscles grinding against each other with a rustling sound. The demonized elf, capable of easily strangling an ox, was torn apart like rotten rope.
The demonized elves scattered across the plain, hunting down members of the reconnaissance team, all turned their attention to Hoffman’s location. Their telepathic ability allowed them to understand each other’s actions and thoughts without words over short distances, so the intense emotions of their fallen comrades pierced their hearts at once—even Forty-Seven, their leader, felt it too.
Anger, shock, confusion, endless emptiness.
Fergas nocked an arrow. She stared at the giant stone monster in the distance, her eyes glowing red. A fierce desire to kill surged through her body—memories long buried deep in her mind, memories from before she became a demonized being, memories of being powerless against Agus’s onslaught, of watching her comrades die helplessly.
She loosed three arrows in quick succession. The sharp-tipped arrows screamed as they pierced the air, carrying the energies of fire, electricity, and acid as they struck the iron-giant’s body.

The arrowheads imbued with elemental power caused a small explosion on Hoffman’s body, the only result being the shattering of a few pieces of his stone-like scalp. Hoffman bent forward with force, intense gusts of wind blasting out from every crack in his stone armor, pushing aside broken weeds, blood-soaked soil, and fragments of corpses. Pairs of fiery red eyes quickly approached—the demonized elves led by Phylgas surrounded him like a pack of wolves. Instead of attacking immediately, they circled Hoffman, waiting for the right moment to tear him to pieces. Invincible, but their pride as former elves wouldn’t allow them to retreat. They lunged at him, only to be flung around by his immense strength, utterly no match for him. “Back off all of you!” Along with the roar came forty-seven irresistible wills—followed by flame comets that ignited even the wind. Morriel, riding at full speed, pulled on the reins, causing his armored warhorse to stand upright. A deafening explosion echoed in the distance; after a giant fireball as bright as the sun, a small mushroom cloud rose slowly. It was Forty-Seven’s mighty arm-mounted cannon! The mages behind him, seeing this for the first time, were stunned. If it weren’t for the fact that armored warhorses weren’t as easily startled as living creatures, many of them would have already fallen to the ground. The giant cannon on his left arm was scorching hot. If it were on his right hand, he might resemble more that legendary mad leader—someone Forty-Seven had always admired. Of course, to be perfect, he would need to find a way to turn it into a pistol or an airplane. Forty-Seven temporarily abandoned the idea of restoring his shapeshifting ability, as Hoffman, having taken a blast from him, still stood firm on the melted ground. “How dare you not die,” Forty-Seven’s fiery eyes narrowed. “I’ll kill you—” Hoffman roared loudly. His body was melted, but that didn’t affect his movements at all. Though not unharmed, his half-golem immunity to magical energy meant he wasn’t seriously injured. Instead, as Hoffman charged, molten rock splashing across his distorted face only added to his ferocity. Forty-Seven recognized from Hoffman’s voice that he was the white-bearded thief leader who had once given him gifts. “This is the second time you’ve survived under my cannon’s fire. How annoying,” Forty-Seven muttered. The cannon fired two more small fireballs at Hoffman, who seemed to ignore them. Instead of slowing down, he accelerated forward, swinging his arm like a club with precision. The two fireballs traced two opposing paths across the sky. In an instant, Hoffman, engulfed in fire and smoke, crashed into Forty-Seven like an avalanche. The two rolled together, sending dirt and dust flying. Forty-Seven agilely flipped backward with the force, then jumped to his feet. The giant fist charging at him had sharp spikes, and the steel runes on Hoffman’s arm seemed to come alive, possessing enough power to collapse city walls. Infected by Hoffman’s madness, Forty-Seven didn’t dodge. He crouched, used his feet for strength, and took Hoffman’s full-force strike head-on.

Steel fists against iron armor—the collision of these two forces unleashed a deafening roar. Powerful gusts of wind were deflected by 47’s chest in all directions, causing sandstorms to sweep across the area. Hoffman exerted insane force, pushing 47, who seemed rooted to the ground, several dozen meters before finally stopping.

47, whose feet had carved deep grooves in the ground, remained in his initial stance, bravely enduring Hoffman’s proudest and most powerful attacks. “It’s nothing special,” 47 said before raising his right arm and swinging it forcefully at the strange giant fist on his chest, crushing half of Hoffman’s arm into the ground. The black giant sword popped out of his right arm with a clang. 47 stepped on Hoffman’s fist, using his left hand—whose fingers were as sharp as swords—to grip Hoffman’s shoulder. Hoffman screamed in pain and raised his left arm in an attempt to knock 47 off his right arm.

Using his left hand as an axis, 47 kicked Hoffman’s left fist away with his right foot, then slammed his left foot onto Hoffman’s face. His massive body shook violently from the forceful kick. As he turned and landed, 47 swung the giant sword at Hoffman’s right shoulder, severing it off at the shoulder joint.

Hoffman roared, seemingly trying to vent the long-suppressed anger and fear in his heart. He raised his remaining left arm to grab 47, who was on his right side. But his severed stone arm slammed back onto his own chin, sending his huge body flying backward almost into the air. 47 discarded the stone arm he had just used for his fierce attack. Spreading his black wings, he leaped upward, using gravity to kick Hoffman’s chest, forcing his off-balance body to hit the ground. The newly cooled stone armor immediately cracked like a spiderweb under this impact.

Hoffman twisted his body, barely tilting his legs to stay upright in a C-shaped position. His leg muscles instantly hardened, and he tried to stand straight again to regain control. He couldn’t accept that this metal man, who was two full sizes smaller than him, could overpower him in terms of strength. 47, who had bounced back using momentum, descended from the sky, delivering a thunderous strike with the chainsaw in his hand. Hoffman’s chest collapsed severely, and his legs could no longer support his weight or 47’s force, breaking completely.

He raised his remaining arm in an attempt to counterattack or defend, but the black giant sword pierced through mercilessly, pinning his arm to his body. 47 held the sword handle with his right hand and gripped the blade with his left, twisting it hard. When they made eye contact, he saw Hoffman’s small eyes still staring at him fiercely. “What are you looking at?” 47 simply stepped onto Hoffman’s sunken chest and stamped on his head—once, twice, three times. The muddy ground was torn into deep pits by these stomps. Hoffman’s head, and even his entire upper body, kept sinking inward until his remaining body was completely buried in the ground.

47 pulled out the sword and put it away, brushing off the stone debris from his body. “You should try Cai Le in your next life.”

Immediately after, 47 soared high into the air. The mounted cannon reappeared on his wrist, and the tremendous thrust from the explosion turned him into a rapidly falling meteor, carrying scorching heat and terrifying destructive force. He stepped down hard with both feet together. Finally, with a loud crack, the pile of stones once known as Hoffman and the ground around it collapsed violently. 47 crushed them into rubble—now he was nothing at all.

47 bent his knees and did a few squats, just like an athlete warming up before a match. Then he raised his head and saw Moriel still sitting calmly on her steel warhorse at a slight distance, staring at him coldly.

“…Attack!” The mages, shocked by the earlier battle, finally remembered to cast spells. They took out their components, raised their wands, and chanted. Colorful streams of magical energy formed a dazzling ring of death.

Attack me?

47 jumped out of the crater left by Hoffman’s rubble. His entire body seemed to be ablaze with dark red flames. The humid night air even became misty due to the heat, tightly surrounding 47 and unable to be dispersed by the wind. His eyes flashed, and hot breath escaped his mouth as he flew toward Moriel and her group with his wings half-unfurled, utterly unafraid of the impending storm of magical attacks.

“Useless!” Moriel cursed under her breath. It was obvious that the iron-clad figure across from her was going crazy because of those fools’ reckless actions!

Moriel had no time to worry about what those idiots were doing. If they ended up being slashed by 47 without any reason, like the unlucky Castor, that would be truly disastrous. Though she was quite confident that 47 wouldn’t do such a thing, who knew? After all, you can’t expect a rusted automaton to always act as you expect—it had already surprised her enough.

A resilient shield formed with Moriel’s murmuring. A perfect sphere emitting a soft golden light appeared around her and her warhorse. Any attack was ineffective against this stationary magical barrier, whether from the outside in or from the inside out. It would be good if those pests died, so they wouldn’t get in the way. Moriel watched the flying magical energies and the flame storm that would soon engulf everything, thinking viciously.

“You, me.” They had also stared at each other like this during their first meeting in the mage tower.

47 looked at Moriel inside the golden shield, manipulating the mounted cannon on his arm like a cowboy, twisting it back and forth with subtle changes. The smoke from each shot even formed faint trails along the barrel’s path. He was becoming increasingly skilled at controlling it.

Moriel glared at 47. He began scratching the shield with his sharp claws, grinning as he felt the icy sensation, as if touching the most luminous crystal.

“Idiot,” Moriel said silently, leaning forward slightly at 47, who was making a clumsy face at her.

Forty-seven pairs of hands slammed heavily against the shield, furious that their mouths were too simple to retaliate with mouth shapes like Morriel’s. He turned the barrel of his weapon and pressed it against the shield, pointing it darkly at Morriel.
He could hold on a little longer. Morriel estimated the duration of the spell. The people she had brought with her had all been wiped out by Forty-Seven—perhaps it was time to let this fool understand the situation a bit…
A flaming projectile of unknown origin shot out from outside the shield’s surface, only to scatter wildly upon hitting an insurmountable obstacle—although she knew Othilic’s elastic shield could defend against all attacks, physical or magical, Morriel was still stunned by the immense roar and the towering clouds of fire in that instant.
Forty-Seven stepped back a few steps, looking disheveled.
“That turtle shell won’t protect you for long! Watch and learn!” he roared angrily, causing Morriel inside to vibrate. Strangely enough, the shield did not block light or sound waves; it only filtered out anything lethal.
As if to prove Forty-Seven’s words, the golden shield flickered a few times before dissipating like smoke.
“Hahahaha!” Forty-Seven was delighted by this perfectly timed prediction. The cannon retracted slightly, and the spiral rifling inside rotated a few times. “Come on! How about trying again?”
Morriel raised her wand and smacked Forty-Seven hard on the head. “Idiot! Do you really want to kill me?”
Forty-Seven touched his head, unsure whether it was because of the heavy blow or because the once-cold red-robed mage before him suddenly became ferocious—very much like the Morriel he remembered—leaving him stunned.
Sure enough, he’s an idiot. As Morriel thought about how to make Forty-Seven listen to her, the sky in the distance suddenly brightened, accompanied by rumbling thunder.
Morriel turned her head in shock and saw chaotic clouds swirling in the pre-dawn sky. In the direction of Vilker Town, a bright streak cut through the sky like lightning, rushing toward them—
Yatu! Forty-Seven also turned his gaze that way, sensing the immense power of the approaching storm.
They can’t meet now! Morriel wasn’t sure what Forty-Seven had become, but she didn’t think he could handle Yatu, at least not easily—let alone with Dagulas lurking and Sullivan’s ulterior motives!
“Archmage Yatu is arriving soon! You can’t escape!” Morriel shouted, though the literal meaning of her words was nothing short of “Run away!”
Seattle? Isn’t that a place name? Forty-Seven glanced at Morriel and decided to settle accounts with her later.
Just as he took off, a tremor shook his body. It was as if a thousand suns were exploding inside him, with overwhelming power surging through his body like a tsunami of lava. The new flame formed from the power of that mysterious scroll swelled rapidly—this feeling was just like—the power that suddenly appeared when fighting the Flame Monarch at Hell’s Gate Fortress.

Forty-Seven turned to stare at Moriel. The female mage was pointing at him, magic energy sparking at her fingertips as if preparing some powerful attack spell. But as Moriel uttered strange, rough syllables, the flame within Forty-Seven seemed to grow stronger in resonance…
“You’re done! Get lost!” Moriel snapped angrily.
It wasn’t that easy, Forty-Seven thought resentfully.
His left arm, along with the mounted cannon, began to transform—not just the left arm, but the right arm as well. Forty-Seven brought his arms together, and with the sound of metal clashing, a massive combined cannon took shape.
Damn it! Moriel retreated in panic, instinctively feeling that Forty-Seven was about to cause trouble again.
“Come on, Baby!” Forty-Seven adjusted his target, aiming at the beam of light rushing forward surrounded by black thunder clouds.
A lightning bolt struck not far from Forty-Seven.
Golden snakes danced in the dark sky.
“Fire—” The intense recoil knocked Forty-Seven back a step.
A blazing column of light erupted from the cannon’s mouth like a volcanic eruption, instantly colliding with the beam in the sky.
The sky was lit up as if dawn had arrived early; every detail on the grassland became visible in an instant. The shockwave compressed the air to an unnaturally high density, causing the night sky to distort and tremble as if it might melt and collapse.
A muffled roar like thunder could be heard in the sky.
Forty-Seven was in high spirits. He spread his wings and flew up, circling above Moriel in a showy display before shouting his classic line: “Decepticons, retreat!”