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Chapter 30 - He was drowning in mud. 

The Fire Slug, now a fragile, smoking husk, was behind Ketovan. The intense effort of using Minority World to neutralize such a powerful elemental creature had left the warrior momentarily vulnerable, his focus blurred, and his muscles screaming from the energy drain. 

But the elements waited for no man. 

The seven-foot Ice Slug, a crystalline mountain of frigid danger, was already pressing its advantage. Its movement was not quick, but its attacks were instantaneous. As Ketovan turned, the air crackled with a sound like shattering glass. The Ice Slug had extruded and launched a volley of lethal projectiles. 

They were not mere shards or pellets; they were true blades—long, wickedly curved scimitars and straight, needle-like rapiers, all formed from super-compressed black ice. They shot toward Ketovan at utterly ferocious speed, far exceeding any conventional projectile, reaching what sounded and felt like a subsonic whoosh as they tore through the already chilled air. 

Ketovan had mere milliseconds to react. There were at least a dozen of these blades, aimed for his chest, head, and legs, and they struck with the force of ballista bolts. 

He was too depleted to activate Minority World again so quickly. This was a battle of steel and skill. 

Ketovan's blue greatsword came alive not with magic, but with pure, defensive skill. He executed a movement sequence that was less a block and more a sustained, controlled blur of motion, turning the heavy greatsword into a defensive shield that covered a six-foot radius around him. 

The first few ice blades—a scimitar and a rapier—struck the broad, flat of his blue steel with shocking force. 

KCHINK! KCHINK! The impact vibrated up his arms, momentarily numbing his fingers, but the Valyrian-like strength of the greatsword held. The ice blades shattered on contact, sending a fine, stinging spray of frozen dust over his armor. 

The next wave was harder: four blades aimed at the same point. Ketovan quickly shifted his grip, leveraging the immense weight of the sword to perform a sharp deflection. The force of the strike drove his boot heel a half-inch into the cold earth, but the blades were redirected, burying themselves into the rough bark of a tree ten yards away with deep, echoing thuds. 

But the Ice Slug was relentless, and its crystalline form was already preparing another launch. Its segmented, glacier-like body shuddered, and six more blades—including two wider, axe-like ice cleavers—began to emerge from its translucent hide, ready to be flung. 

Ketovan knew he couldn't survive another barrage. He had to close the distance, force the slug to fight him hand-to-hand, and deny it the room to launch its high-velocity ice weaponry. 

He took two enormous, aggressive strides toward the creature, crossing the slick, black-ice trail the slug had left. 

The moment his boot touched the trail, his footing vanished. The black ice was not just slick; it was unnervingly frictionless. Ketovan's momentum failed him, and he slid, his planned attack turning into a desperate scramble for balance. 

This was the opening the Ice Slug needed. It launched the final six blades in a tight, concentrated cluster. 

Ketovan was falling, unable to bring the greatsword up for a clean block. In a desperate, split-second improvisation, he used the sword for a different purpose. As he slid, he drove the tip of the blue greatsword into the black ice trail, using the immense steel as an anchor. The blue light flared slightly, an internal, stabilizing magic resisting the cold. The grip on the ice stopped his fall just before he went completely down. 

This new, half-crouching position was awkward, but it allowed him to swing the greatsword in an unconventional, sweeping underhand arc. 

The massive blade met the incoming cluster of ice projectiles, but this time, he didn't try to shatter them. Instead, he utilized his anchor to rotate his body and the sword just enough to meet the blades with the cutting edge. 

SHRRRK! 

The sound was a gruesome, extended screech of steel shearing against super-hardened ice. Instead of shattering, the ice cleavers and rapiers were bisected and deflected, sending harmless halves spinning wildly off into the surrounding terrain. 

Ketovan used the deflection's momentum to rip his anchored sword out of the ice, launching himself forward, right into the Ice Slug's immediate personal space. 

The Ice Slug, unable to use its long-range attack, immediately resorted to a terrifying close-quarters defense. Its body, which looked like frozen water, violently extruded dozens of long, spear-like spikes from its entire surface, turning it into a seven-foot, glistening hedgehog of death. 

Ketovan met this new threat with another, instantaneous activation of Minority World, but this time, the effect was far smaller, targeting only the space between him and the slug. He inverted the property of cohesion. 

The moment the greatsword swung horizontally, aimed at the slug's midsection, the Ice Slug's structural integrity failed. The spikes, the massive shell, the entire mass—all the super-dense ice was momentarily denied its ability to hold itself together. 

The blue greatsword cleaved through the seven-foot crystalline mass with terrifying ease, encountering almost zero resistance. It was like cutting through a cloud. 

The Ice Slug didn't shatter; it simply dissolved into a massive, wet pile of instantly melted water and harmless, fine mist that evaporated on the ground. Its essence was denied the ability to remain frozen or hard, and it ceased to be. 

The mist cleared, and Ketovan stood, breathing heavily, the blue greatsword steaming slightly from the residual cold it had just neutralized. Two slugs down. Three to go. 

He immediately heard a sickening slurp behind him. The Mud Slug was now only a few feet away, its massive, brown body churning, and the corrosive mire of its trail was lapping at the tips of Ketovan's boots. He was now cornered between the slow, inescapable swamp of the mud and the rapidly recovering, entangled threats of the Stone and Plant Slugs. 

The mud was thick, deep, and heavy, designed to drag him down to his knees. 

Ketovan had decided to fight the Mud Slug now. Ketovan found himself in the most dangerous position of the fight yet. Two formidable enemies were vanquished—the aggressive Fire Slug and the sharp-shooting Ice Slug—but the remaining three formed a slow, inexorable vice. The greatest and most immediate threat was the eight-foot, sludgy mass right beside him: the Mud Slug. 

The Mud Slug was a different kind of danger entirely. It was slow, predictable, and appeared cumbersome, yet its elemental affinity—Mud—was a master of attrition and impediment. It didn't need speed or lethal force; it only needed to slow Ketovan by a crucial fraction of a second. The mire it excreted wasn't just dirt and water; it was a heavy, saturated goo imbued with its essence, possessing the terrifying properties of a dense, inescapable quagmire. 

The mud trail, previously an annoyance, was now a moat of thick, churning sludge that came up to the middle of Ketovan's shins. The viscosity was so extreme that simply trying to lift his foot felt like pulling a fifty-pound weight straight up. His mighty blue greatsword, previously a tool of devastating, sweeping speed, now felt unwieldy and heavy, the mud coating the lower half of its blade and handle, further compromising his grip and leverage. 

Ketovan glanced quickly at his remaining opponents. 

The nine-foot Stone Slug was recovering, its grievous head wound slowly knitting together with fresh, gray rock. It was focusing its gaze, preparing to launch another wave of jagged barriers. 

The ten-foot Plant Slug was the largest and most terrifying, having regrown its vines thicker and with more menacing barbs. It was now within striking distance, its tendrils twitching, waiting for Ketovan's moment of deepest entanglement. 

The strategy of the slugs was brutally effective: the Mud Slug served as the anchor, the Stone Slug as the disrupter, and the Plant Slug as the finisher. If Ketovan could not escape the mire, his movement would be too slow to dodge the Plant Slug's paralyzing sap or the Stone Slug's surprise terrain attacks, leading to a quick, brutal end. 

"Stuck between rock, roots, and sludge," Ketovan muttered, pushing a thick glob of mud from the greatsword's pommel. 

The Mud Slug, sensing its successful containment, let out a deep, sucking slorp sound—a repulsive noise that was its battle-cry. It began to slowly, but relentlessly, press its massive body toward Ketovan, aiming to simply envelop and drown him in its viscous form. Every inch it advanced, the level of the mud rose, threatening to trap Ketovan entirely. 

Ketovan had to use Minority World again, but the exertion from extinguishing the Fire Slug and dissolving the Ice Slug meant he could only sustain a minimal, highly localized effect. He needed a plan that utilized his power for a single, critical purpose: escape. 

He focused his remaining energy, not on the slug itself, but on the mud directly surrounding his left boot. He attempted to activate Minority World with an inverted property of viscosity, hoping to turn the quicksand-like mire into thin water for a single step. 

The blue light on the greatsword flared weakly. For a heartbeat, the section of mud around his boot turned translucent and liquid, releasing its heavy grip. 

Ketovan used that fraction of a second of freedom. He wrenched his left foot out of the mire and took a desperate, lurching step backward, planting his foot on a patch of firmer, undisturbed ground outside the main mud-zone. 

The relief was momentary. The sheer force of the mud's pull, combined with the heavy weight of the greatsword, caused him to stumble, throwing his balance forward. 

This was the opening the others had been waiting for. 

From his left, the recovered Stone Slug roared, and the ground erupted not into a low wall, but into three razor-sharp stone spikes, aimed directly at where Ketovan's chest would be if he fully fell. 

From his right, the Plant Slug launched its two thickest, most barbed vines. They moved with lightning speed, one aimed to bind his legs, the other for his sword arm. 

Ketovan was caught in a lethal pincer. His Minority World was spent, and he was dangerously off-balance. 

He had to choose between blocking the vines or the spikes. Losing his legs meant being dragged into the mud; losing his arm meant dropping the greatsword and facing the slugs unarmed. 

He chose the greatsword arm. 

With a staggering, compensatory heave, Ketovan used the massive blue greatsword as a counterbalance, not to block the vines, but to deflect the stone spikes. The weight of the blade came down on the tips of the three rising stone projectiles. 

CRUUNCH! 

The impact was bone-jarring. The stone spikes shattered, but the force of the collision wrenched the greatsword from his exhausted grip. The magnificent blue blade flew end over end into the air, spinning away from the immediate action and landing with a heavy thud twenty feet away, beyond the reach of the mud, but also beyond the reach of Ketovan. 

The Plant Slug's vines, having avoided the sword, instantly struck. The vine aimed at his legs wrapped around his shins, the barbs digging deep and locking with painful finality. The vine aimed at his arm, though slowed by the impact of the stone deflection, wrapped tightly around his wrist. 

Ketovan was tethered. 

The Mud Slug pressed closer, its slimy, noxious body beginning to ooze over the solid ground where Ketovan stood. 

The warrior was disarmed and entangled. His final reserve of energy had been used for the failed escape, and he was now entirely reliant on his raw physical strength against the three remaining elemental monsters. 

"A shame to lose such fine steel," Ketovan gasped, fighting the sudden, heavy ache of the paralyzing sap already beginning to seep through his armor and into his arm from the Plant Slug's vine. 

He had no time for regret. The Mud Slug's mass was now directly in front of him, its vast body beginning to tower over him, a dripping, brown wave of impending burial. 

He fought the paralysis in his arm, straining against the tough vine. He couldn't reach the greatsword, but he still had a small, concealed dagger—a last resort tool—strapped to his opposite, free thigh. 

With a superhuman surge of will, he tried to activate Minority World one last time—not to fight, but to survive. He focused on the Plant Slug's vine wrapped around his wrist, intending to reverse the property of tension. 

Nothing happened. He was completely drained. The ability had reached its limit. 

He was alone, without magic, against the three. 

Ketovan focused on the dagger. His free hand dove down to his thigh, grabbing the hilt of the small, razor-sharp Steel Dagger of Clarity. 

Before he could use it, the Mud Slug lunged—a surprisingly quick, short thrust of its massive body. It didn't aim to crush him, but to engulf him. A thick, sickening wave of caustic mud sloshed over Ketovan's head and shoulders, blinding him and pouring into his helmet, ears, and mouth. The taste was vile, like rusted metal and rotting earth. 

He was drowning in mud. 

He thrashed blindly, the vines holding his legs and wrist tight, the Stone Slug rumbling its triumphant roar. 

Ketovan had only his dagger and his wits. He was entirely submerged from the chest up. He held his breath, the weight of the mud pressing down on him, and found his target purely by feel. 

The dagger was useless against the Mud Slug's vast, amorphous mass. It was a creature of volume and weight, not vulnerable points. 

His target was the Plant Slug's vine on his wrist. 

With a final, desperate burst of energy, Ketovan brought the dagger up, slicing the tough, barbed vine at his wrist. The Steel Dagger of Clarity, though small, was designed to cut through almost anything. 

SNAP! 

The vine severed. Ketovan's arm was free, though heavy and tingling with sap-induced paralysis. 

He still had the vines on his legs, but his hand was free, and he was still mostly submerged in the Mud Slug's body. 

Ketovan acted on instinct. He knew he couldn't kill the Mud Slug by cutting it. He needed to destabilize its structure. 

He gripped the small dagger and plunged it deep into the mass of the Mud Slug's body, not to pierce, but to deposit something else. 

The dagger was equipped with a rare feature: a single-use core of condensed alchemical salts designed to rapidly dehydrate liquid masses. It was a tool for sealing breaches or stabilizing collapsing structures, not for fighting. 

Ketovan activated the core. 

CRUNCH-HSSSSSS! 

A soundless, violent reaction occurred inside the Mud Slug's body. The powerful salts instantly began to bond with the massive volume of water in the slug's goo, initiating an extreme, rapid desiccation. 

The effect was horrifyingly fast. The quicksand-like mire surrounding Ketovan began to stiffen and solidify instantly. The Mud Slug went from a fluid, engulfing threat to a brittle, rapidly hardening column of concrete-like earth. The pressure exerted on Ketovan's submerged body was immense, threatening to crush his ribs. 

But the mud was no longer fluid. It was trapped in its own hardening casing. 

Ketovan shoved his newly freed hand, now numb from the sap, against the rapidly setting earth and forced his way out of the collapsing column. He burst out of the crusty, hardening shell, spitting vile earth and gasping for air. 

The Mud Slug was defeated, petrified in a column of its own hardened sludge. 

Ketovan fell to his knees, his vision blurring, the thick vines still binding his lower legs. He had defeated the third enemy, but he was exhausted, disarmed, and currently unable to stand. 

The final two slugs—the Stone Slug and the Plant Slug—closed in on their collapsed prey. 

The Stone Slug, furious at the loss of its companion, began to crack the ground around Ketovan, trying to create a deep pit to swallow him. 

The Plant Slug, sensing victory, swung its remaining, tougher vines, aiming to crush him where he knelt. 

Ketovan had to get his sword back. He had to stand. His only remaining chance was a desperation play against the two most physically durable slugs. 

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