Kaijin Fighter: So I Have to Make Monsters, So What?

Chapter 1663: Not as much rage

<So...it appears Hurricroak has officially lost her shit.>

=Yup.=

<And it appears that the False Crusader she’s fighting is still somehow conscious enough to regenerate the damage from what I can only describe as a maelstrom of violence...on the one hand, I’m kind of impressed. On the other, I’m deeply annoyed that she isn’t holding the fuck back in the slightest.>

=Indeed...=

<...>

=...=

<Who do you think is going to be the first domino to fall in this all out war of ours?>

=Honestly...I am not sure.=

Now that they were truly alone in the observation room, Logos and Pathos became a touch more candid and detached with their analysis of the battle.

Normally, the curators would be hosting the orphan siblings, the guest blacksmith, or the former slave girls by now, but they had been sequestered elsewhere for safety reasons this time around.

Evidently, that was a prudent decision.

Even though the library was designed to contain the rage and power of the kaijin, there were still limits to how much could be mitigated.

Needless to say, Hurricroak’s hurricane of rage and violence was kind of pushing it.

Then again, the others weren’t helping in the slightest.

<You know, I was expecting this level of violent activity from just the kaijin. I was not expecting this much coming from Lythero of all people.>

=Right???=

...Wait, what is Lythero doing?...

[You know, I read about how some aether warriors end up fucking up their own cultivation by relying too much on aether treasures. Are you one of those case studies, too?] Screamira asked.

"No! I mean...maybe?" Lythero answered, his tone sounding unsure.

[Hmmm.]

"Can you two not have a fucking conversation in the middle of a battle to the death?!" Prince Lauvanne shouted as he tried and failed to land a blow with his tonfa-like [Astra].

Before the bipolar twin objects of destruction could crack his head open, Lythero whipped around his own [Astra], which was currently shaped like the now-broken [Black Iron Slab], and blocked the incoming attacks.

This battle was initially between Screamira and Lauvanne, and was surprisingly even for the most part.

Screamira had the raw power to overcome the spindly prince, but the man proved to be as smart and tricky as he claimed to be and was able to keep up with the skeletal kaijin by making sure to pull back whenever she went in on the offensive.

The only downside was that he was more or less ineffective in being able to deal any proper damage against the menace of a bone devil.

However, that equilibrium was thrown out of whack once Lythero dropped in like a guillotine and attempted to decapitate the prince in one go.

It didn’t work, which leads to now.

A burst of heat, cold, and a small spark of lighting exploded against the [Black Iron Slab], but failed to do any real damage to Lythero or his [Astra]...sort of.

Lauvanne could sense that nothing had actually happened to the [Astra], but visually, it looked as if it was starting to crumble.

"The fuck kind of shitty Astra breaks apart from a love tap like mine?" Lauvanne asked before realizing what he had just said into the universe. "Okay, I need to get out of here quickly before this place ends up changing my speech patterns for the worse."

"Don’t worry about my blade here," Lythero retorted as he focused aether into the blade. "Focus more on the fact that I’m going to jam it into your skull!"

Under his direction, his [Astra] transformed into a facsimile of the [Devil Fangs], a pair of katar-like weapons that seemed to ooze venom. Or in this case, pure [Chaos].

Katars in hand, Lythero closed the gap and attempted to land a venom-coated blade directly into Lauvanne’s brain. Unfortunately, the seventh prince proved to be much more adept at close-quarters combat than Lythero had anticipated.

Every punch was redirected at the last possible moment, while every strike was met with a surprisingly quick dodge that converted to an even quicker counterattack.

While this was all happening, Screamira simply continued to watch.

...

[Are you sure I shouldn’t intervene? Lythero appears to be flailing more than he had in the past.]

<The man insists on doing this like this because, and I quote, he feels that he needs to figure out his own limits before he can pick up a real sword again. Besides, we can clearly see from up here that he hasn’t kicked the bucket quite yet.>

[Very well... how are the others faring by the way? Not the ones fighting the other princes or mortals, I mean the weird undead motherfuckers that give me a bad name?]

<=Well...=>

...

[How the fuck are you not dead?] Frosttusk rumbled in a smooth voice, which was clear evidence that this battle of his had made him start running hot.

"Fuck you, not even I’m sure," Magnarus answered despite his current appearance.

During the battle between Frosttusk and Magnarus , the mammoth kaijin had used a multitude of moves that would’ve normally ended the life of other aether warriors.

He had frozen the bastard solid, frozen off limbs, broken off limbs, and just straight-up perforated the man with enough holes that they could’ve been mistaken for a living instrument or a humanoid sea sponge.

Unfortunately, Magnarus survived all of that and more.

Every single time a fatal wound was inflicted, that stupid [Flame of Ambition] flared up and restored the undead fucker back to normal.

Mostly.

Frosttusk could sense that there was some minute cost to this whole regeneration thing, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

All he knew was that this undead fuck wasn’t going back to the grave as he was supposed to.

But the most maddening thing of this conflict was the sheer nonchalance this weirdo had in understanding his undead mortality.

No, not nonchalance.

Ignorance.

More than once, Frosttusk had made a pointed comment on the weird regenerative immortality that this motherfucker seemed to have. He had done so to help drive a wedge between the fact that they were technically an undead meat puppet with a touch more sentience. Granted, Frosttusk wasn’t actually one to judge.

But alas, these comments didn’t work.

Every single time the comment was made, the corpse warrior made the same, stilted, robotic response.

This latest comment and attack had forced Frosttusk to encase the entire room in ice.

Alas, it still didn’t work.

’If I go any colder, it might just break the room...but maybe I don’t have a choice?’

Funnily enough, though, someone else in the library wasn’t having such a tough time in determining whether or not they should go all out.

...Razorstella the dancing queen...

[You know, it was kind of interesting how you kept regenerating despite me slicing you to pieces the first six times, but now it’s starting to get incredibly annoying,] Razorstella stated as she kept her leg aloft. [And before you ask, not killing you isn’t an option.]

"Then you can go fuck yourself," Bolandra gurgled as blackened blood leaked from their mouth. "Put me down!"

"No."

Razorstella had basically dominated the entire fight between herself and Bolandra, since the first punch was thrown.

This entire time, Razorstella had landed devastating kick after devastating kick that had Bolandra losing limbs and their head a couple of times over.

Unfortunately, none of these attacks seemed to hold.

Severed limbs were either reattached with the power of flames, or were engulfed in flames before turning into ashes that reconstructed themselves into the limb before it was fully amputated.

As for the decapitation strikes, that’s where things got really weird.

The first time Razorstella did it, the severed head was simply reattached after a moment.

The second time, though, Razorstella tried to be extra brutal so that the reattachment would take up more time and possibly resources.

Her method: eviscerate the body so that there wasn’t anything for the head to reattach to.

The body pieces then erupted into flames before turning into ashes and reforming into a body that the head could now attach itself to.

The third time, she just tried to destroy the head.

The results were too gruesome to describe in any meaningful way withiut using the words, "meat blender".

Unsurprisingly, Bolandra recovered from this injury as well.

To be more precise, the undead fuck just regrew their head like a fucked up axolotl.

And now, after decapitating them a grand total of twelve times, Razorstella had opted to simply impale the fucker and keep them from being able to meaningfully act or move.

Bolandra, for their part, just kept flailing in an attempt to grab or attack the bladed ballerina holding them hostage.

It was humiliating for everyone involved, but it was oddly effective.

[Is it safe to assume that you’re not going to give up unless you or I die in glorious combat?] Razorstella asked with no small hint of sarcasm.

"Yes," Bolandra answered as he kept flailing.

[Okay...in that case...]

Razorstella trailed off for a bit before lowering her leg just enough to throw Bolandra into a nearby wall at mach five speed.

The impact was loud and painful, but the threat that followed was even more vicious.

[I’m going to turn you into mincemeat!]