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The Apocalypse Grinder - Chapter 196
🕑 Added 2025-08-31 17:15:34 +0000 UTC<< Chapter 195 | Index | Chapter 197 >>
Ronan threw himself to the side right as the goblin chief shaman’s staff smashed into the ground. If he was a fraction of a second slower his head would have been turned into paste.
The shaman was undeterred by his sudden burst of energy. It screeched and raised the staff to strike once more. Ronan noticed the mana that had filled the air around it before was lessened. It also wasn’t using any magic at the moment, only attempting to strike him with its staff.
Whatever he’d done when he forced out its soul-draining spell had clearly backfired on it. That worked in his favour, but he was still dodging staff-strikes while on the ground. He needed a way to get back to his feet or he would remain at a disadvantage.
The opportunity presented itself about three seconds later. The shaman was growing frustrated at its continued failure to strike Ronan. Ragar’vath held the upper hand in the battle, but it lacked patience.
With a roar, it raised the staff higher, sweeping it to the side before stepping backwards and swinging it sideways at his torso. Right before the twisting staff of bone struck him, Ronan used magic money to summon a shield. The staff bounced off the translucent blue wall, sending Ragar’vath stumbling with it as all of the force of his blow was transferred back to the shaman chief.
Ronan immediately sat up, his abdominal muscles straining at the sudden movement. There was no time to waste. He placed his hands on the ground and raised his feet to press against the ground. His legs exploded upwards like springs, sending him shooting upright.
He conjured a shortsword and raised it in front of him just in time to block the shaman’s first blow after it had recovered. A single moment of impatience from his foe had given Ronan a chance to get back in the battle and this time he wasn’t going to go down.
He darted forward, unleashing a flurry of rapid strikes to disorient the boss. To the shaman’s credit, despite it being a magic-focused monster it was extraordinarily proficient at melee combat with its staff. Whenever Ronan thought he’d found an opening in its guard, the shaman would twist its body and whip the staff around to block his strike. Not every time, though.
Slowly but surely, Ronan was pushing the boss back. However, he had felt for the past twenty or so seconds that its magic was gathering again. The boss was preparing to use another spell. If it struck his soul again, Ronan wasn’t sure he would be able to fight off the corruption fast enough to stop the chief from killing him while he was incapacitated.
He pushed the conjured weapon further than he ever had before. Ronan had gained a lot of experience with the skill, especially learning how it functioned and the way the mana flowed. He was proficent in using the skill as a standalone, but had never used it with sorcery before.
But he needed a spear, and he didn’t have one in his inventory.
He pushed his mana into his hands, forming the beginning of a handle. Rather than end it when it reached the size of a sword’s handle, he kept pushing. He reached a construct that was the size of his usual shortswords, but was only the rounded shaft of a spear. He felt the mana pushing back against him. The stability of the construct was starting to grow weaker.
It took a concerted force of effort to push enough mana into the construct to form a sharp spear-tip, but he managed it. The mana in the conjured spear was vibrating and required constant focus and a small upkeep of mana to maintain its form.
The shaman saw him form the spear, eyes widening slightly at the display of sorcery, but it was caught in the middle of twisting its staff from a block to a strike. Ronan lunged forward, thrusting the short spear at its throat.
He activated all of his offensive skills. Arcane piercing strike, magic strike, surging strikes, and stone grip to ensure he kept a firm hold on the weapon throughout the blow. Ragar’vath grunted, raising its staff to attempt to block while shifting its hunched body to one side to change the impact point of the thrust.
Ronan had expected that, and moved with the goblin chief. His shortspear slipped over the bone staff, the tip striking the base of Ragar’vath’s neck.
The tough skin held off the weapon for a fraction of a second before the overwhelming power contained in the spear burst through the leathery flesh, piercing the muscle beneath. It slipped through the rest of the goblin’s throat with ease, tearing through the soft windpipe and muscle behind. The thick spine resisted for a good second, but even that couldn’t hold back Ronan’s devastating spear thrust.
Shards of bone exploded out the back of its neck as the spear broke through. The chief tried to roar but only managed a gurgled screech that caused bubbles of blood to fountain out of the wound. Ronan’s control over the mana construct failed almost as soon as he finished executing the thrust, the spear dissipating into the surroundings.
A second and third blow followed after, ghostly spears tearing away more of its flesh and nearly decapitating the goblin chief. He wanted to keep striking, but felt a dangerously heavy build up of mana in the surroundings.
He jumped backwards, a wild swinging staff blow from the goblin chief narrowly missing his temple as he widened the gap between him and the boss. At the tip of the staff there were insidious sparks of purple mana—soul-draining voodoo.
The tenacious monster still stood tall even as rivers of blood streamed down its neck and chest. The vitality of a boss was not to be underestimated.
The chief’s blackened fingers began to glow a virulent green and it wrapped them around its throat. He saw that it was healing the damage, but there was no way it could handle a wound of that magnitude in short time. Ronan had no intention of giving it the space it needed to recover.
Pulling a longsword from his inventory, he dashed back in and swung at the chief’s right arm. Distracted by its attempt to heal itself, the shaman completely missed Ronan’s rapid charge. The sword swing caught its shoulder, biting into the flesh as he activated his skills.
The limb fell away as Ronan finished his cleaving swing. The shaman roared and lunged at him, one remaining hand clawing at his throat. It glowed red and purple, the shaman going wild and attempting to use any weapons at its disposal to hurt him. It wasn’t very successful.
He stepped inside, swinging at the goblin chief’s other arm. With how wildly it was clawing at him, he found it difficult to accurately cut, but eventually found an opening to carve it off at the bicep. The shaman still had a stump to use, but it was essentially crippled. The bone staff had been cast aside as it tried to heal itself, but it now had no way to pick it back up.
Ronan knew he had almost claimed victory, and there was just one final push before he could put the goblin chief shaman down for good. Ragar’vath had not given up, however, and had started wailing and moaning as tendrils of purple magic burst out of its severed arms, forming pseudo-arms.
It inhaled deeply, and the same black smoke from before started to flow out of every orifice and pore on its body. Ronan looked on, part disgusted and part intrigued, wondering what would happen next.
He didn’t have to wait long. The smoke formed two tendrils that shot towards him. Even without arms its magic seemed just as potent as before. That was a problem.
Ronan was too close to avoid the spell and would be forced to take it head on once more. He had the experience of purging the soul-drain, but he didn’t know if he could repeat the feat.
He tried to dispel the smoke as it shot through the air towards him, but even after draining thirty points of his mana it only managed to slow the progress of the smoky tendrils. Knowing what came next was inevitable, he knew that the only way he would survive and win was if he ensured the boss couldn’t hit him while he was struggling against the spell.
He darted towards the goblin chief. The smoky tendrils struck him, one in the face and one on his chest, as he conjured another short spear in his hands. The second time using conjure weapon through sorcery was easier, but the construct still strained against his control.
Ronan’s strike connected with Ragar’vath’s chest right as he felt the corruption of the spell striking against his soul. He had to hope that arcane piercing strike and surging strikes carried enough power to incapacitate the boss while he fought against the spell. A sharp lance of pain struck his core, and Ronan fell to the ground once more.
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