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HC: Handyman | Ch. 231 - Unmovable Object
🕑 Added 2025-08-18 11:07:37 +0000 UTCAmari scanned the battlefield. Rob’s charge had gone well; he and the Goat Knights were keeping the Cobalt Romie busy. The Black-Horned Shagrat and Roach Mother were advancing toward the ditch.
But that wasn’t what worried him.
A small, black-and-white blur darted along the canyon wall—claws gripping stone, tail flicking for balance. The Flying Marmoset. Small, fast, and trying to slip through unnoticed.
All this work to handle the bruisers would be for naught if the Flying Marmoset broke their defenses.
If it reached the fortress, everything they’d done would mean nothing.
It didn’t take him long to decide.
“Marie, take the lead. Horace—you know what to do.”
Horace nodded once. He leapt from the carriage with a metallic crash that rattled the dirt. He vaulted the far rim of the ditch, and planted himself between the oncoming horde and the team. Shield forward, stance solid.
“What is he doing?” he heard Jack ask, eyes wide.
“He’s going to tank the bosses,” Marie responded, a hint of amusement in her voice.
Jack didn’t look convinced. He was already playing his turtle song, layering extra defense over Horace.
Amari chuckled under his breath. He didn’t blame Jack for doubting Horace could tank three bosses at once. Very few could. But he knew that Horace could hold them off, at least for a while.
He turned and sprinted after the marmoset.
It was clinging to the far canyon wall now, zigzagging to avoid turret fire. Every burst forced it into gliding hops. The wind was pushing back hard. It would have to land soon.
Amari tracked its pattern.
Right about... there.
Stealth.
He vanished, sprinting invisible toward its predicted landing spot.
Closer… closer—now!
He lunged, fists cocked at an angle. Both clawed fists slammed into the sides of the marmoset’s head.
Pommel Strike!
The creature shrieked, losing control mid-glide. It crashed just before the ditch on a bunch of caltrops, rolled once, then sprang to its feet and bolted for the wall.
Amari’s boots struck the ground behind it.
Selfless Grief!
+100% movement speed and attack power (10s);
All stats will be halved for 60s after this effect ends.
Acid Fang!
+3 acid damage (10s).
Berserker strength roared through Amari’s limbs. His claws hissed and steamed, coated in burning venom. The air around them shimmered faintly with heat.
He blurred forward—and reappeared in front of the Marmoset.
“Scree?” it chirped, startled.
“Get away from the wall!”
Bleeding Puncture!
-48!
-5
Triple Slash!
-164!
-5
-142!
-5
8-Leg Slash!
-188
-204
-256
-284
…
The Marmoset’s HP bar nosedived in seconds, its body stumbling under the sudden barrage.
[Selfless Grief] and [Acid Fang] have worn off.
You have pushed yourself too hard. You are weakened.
The power drained from his body. Strength, agility, movement speed—gone. He staggered a step, every movement suddenly heavier.
He turned to run, but the Marmoset was already lunging—sensing his vulnerability with uncanny instinct.
It slammed into him, claws raking furiously.
-53
-35
-51
“Argh!”
His health dropped by nearly half in a blink.
He’d known this would happen. [Selfless Grief] cut his stats in half once it ended—but he hadn’t expected to feel like his limbs were filled with sand. There was no way he could outrun it.
Movement flickered at the edge of his vision—a bottle arcing through the air toward him.
Is it a healing grenade? From Marie?
But the grenade didn’t burst into green smoke, like it used to. Instead, it came closer and closer and smashed into his forehead and exploded in a splash of sticky mead.
Wait—was that Jack?! Is he trying to kill me?!
+50
Oh. He’s healing me. …Weird method, but thanks.
Two more grenades burst nearby, clouds of green smoke filling his lungs with the sharp sting of one of Marie’s healing mixtures.
+30
+30
+30
+30
His HP surged upward again, and the sluggish fog in his head began to clear—but the Marmoset wasn’t done. It crouched low, tail flicking, tiny claws flexing. Its eyes had narrowed, focused.
It wasn’t trying to get past him anymore. It was coming for him.
Amari’s boots shifted instinctively, preparing to absorb the next impact. The Flying Marmoset was faster, higher-leveled, and brutal.
And yet, he wasn’t afraid.
Horace was nearby. If things got bad, he’d be there. Marie and Jack were watching his back. He could leave the Cobalt Romie to Rob. He felt their presence—not just physically, but in the way the battle flowed. In the certainty that they’d cover for each other.
They had his back. And he had theirs.
*
Horace took a deep breath.
Ah. There’s no feeling like this.
The battlefield churned around him. Arrows, darts, and javelins whistled past—some close enough to brush his sides—but none hit him. It was as if the world parted around him, like water around a rock.
He stood alone, shield in hand, waiting to be surrounded by bosses. Each one could kill him in just a few hits.
And he was about to hold them off anyway.
This... this is what it means to tank.
To stand where no one else could. To take the hit, stay standing, and laugh while doing it. To be the foundation of the team—their wall; their shield.
To his left, the Cobalt Romie darted toward one of the large boulders they’d used in the previous wave. It hefted the stone overhead, but before it could hurl it, Rob flashed in with a stun. The boulder collapsed onto the Romie itself, stunning it just long enough for another devastating Goat Knight charge to slam into its side.
That’s one I don’t have to worry about.
Farther left, Amari was doing his best to dodge the Flying Marmoset’s relentless pursuit. Jack and Marie were doing their part to keep him alive.
That one’s close enough now. If Amari can hold it just a little longer…
Straight ahead, the Black-Horned Shagrat was nearly on him. Only ten meters out. Energy coiled around its horn, heat rippling from its hide. Each thundering step gouged trenches into the dirt, a trail of searing light marking its path.
To the right, the Roach Mother lumbered closer—slower, heavier. Thirty meters out.
I need to stall the Shagrat just long enough for her to catch up.
He planted his feet and raised his shield. It was relatively new—still a far cry from the legendary one he’d wielded in his old account—but the gap between who he was then and who he was now was starting to narrow. He could feel it.
His strength was returning.
This was a shield he could rely on.
Shield Wall!
+20 block.
Golden light flared across the surface. Dust burst outward, the invisible pressure of the skill sweeping the air clean in front of him.
The pushback wouldn’t work on something this massive. But the extra block? That was what mattered.
Battle Call!
+10 defense;
+10 block.
“Come on then,” Horace growled, anchoring his stance. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The air between them tensed, drawn tight like a bowstring.
He felt like he was about to be hit by a freight train. But he couldn’t move. Wouldn’t. If he let it pass, it would harm his friends.
A flicker of memory surfaced—unbidden, sharp. If only he’d pinned the Slayer down. Held him off just a little longer. Given Amari and Marie the time they needed to finish the job. Maybe then, things would’ve gone differently. Perhaps they wouldn’t have had to reset their accounts.
If only I’d been stronger back then.
He clenched his jaw. Not this time. Not today.
Just as the Shagrat reached striking distance, he activated his trump cards.
Copper Skin!
Damage taken reduced by 90% (10s).
Cobalt Sheen!
Physical damage taken reduced by 90% (10s);
Reflect damage based on your defense and block stats.
His skin turned metallic bronze, immediately overlaid with a shimmering cobalt glaze.
He tightened his grip on the [Giant Armadillo Shield].
Then the Shagrat hit him.
The impact was seismic. A shockwave tore through the canyon. Dust and gravel erupted around them. For a moment, everything slowed—the monster’s full momentum crashing into Horace’s defense like a comet against a mountain.
And for that one breathless moment, it was unstoppable force against immovable object.
The clash detonated with a thunderous crack.
Horace was hurled backward, boots carving deep trenches into the earth. But he didn’t fall. The shield held.
Across from him, the Shagrat tumbled through the dust, rolling end over end before finally slamming into the ground. It staggered upright, dazed, unsteady.
Horace exhaled hard, a half-laugh escaping his chest. “That was fun.”
Thudding footsteps pounded to his right. The Roach Mother had caught up at last, her hulking form looming at the edge of his vision.
The timing was perfect.
With the three bosses finally within range, Horace lifted his hammer and slammed it into his shield.
Warrior’s Taunt!
The clanging echo rippled across the battlefield.
All three bosses turned at once—the Flying Marmoset, the Roach Mother, and the Black-Horned Shagrat. Their gazes snapped toward him, eyes burning with fury.
Then they charged.
Horace’s eyes flicked to the ground. Amid the churned-up dirt, sharp glints of metal caught the light—his caltrops. One by one, the monsters trampled over them, triggering bursts of damage and brief staggers.
A quiet satisfaction stirred in his chest. He’d spent time laying those traps before the wave had even started.
He squared his stance again.
I’ll hold the line. No matter what.
*
Jack stared in awe as Horace danced through the attacks of all three bosses.
The Black-Horned Shagrat lunged first, its massive hoof crashing down where Horace had just stood. He pivoted cleanly, lifting his shield to deflect the incoming swipe from the Flying Marmoset. Sparks flew as claw met shield. He rolled to the side, just as the Roach Mother’s mandibles snapped shut inches from his shoulder.
Horace didn’t just hold his ground—he steered the fight. Step by step, he shifted the brawl left and right, edging the three bosses toward patches of the field where there were still caltrops. With every dodge, he was guiding the enemy—like a shepherd with monsters for sheep.
Suddenly, the Roach Mother’s entire frame coiled, segments of her glossy carapace flexing with unnatural tension. Her massive front legs lifted, clicking against each other with a metallic rasp. Her abdomen pulsed—once, twice—then locked tight, swollen with pressure. Acidic drool dripped steadily from her jaws, hissing where it touched the stone. Her wings flared with a shuddering snap, and her antennae stiffened, pointing toward Horace like drawn blades.
She was winding up for something big.
“No, you don’t!” Horace barked.
He surged forward, slamming his shield into her thorax with a perfectly timed [Shield Bash].
The Roach Mother staggered, her wings clattering as Horace’s shield struck home. She choked, the acid she’d meant to spit dribbling harmlessly down her mandibles.
Jack allowed himself a brief grin.
I never tire of seeing Horace do his thing.
Jack had seen him stand against the three IronIre players before—but this was something else entirely. Three bosses. All were higher-leveled than him. And still, Horace stood tall.
It didn’t look easy, though. Even from a distance, he could see the sweat streaking down Horace’s temple. His breathing was controlled, but tight. Every movement had to be exact. One misstep and it would all come crashing down.
I have to help him. Ease the pressure—somehow.
Jack started playing Sonic Valley. He wasn’t sure if the confusion debuff would stick—and if it did, for how long—but every second he could buy the team mattered.
The bosses’ health continued to drop. Marie’s poisons kept ticking, and Tramontane, though no longer a major threat, was still pelting them with icy bursts. The turrets, too, continued to fire. The longer they could pin them down here, the better.
He completed the first section of the song, the eerie, dissonant melody echoing across the canyon.
At the same time, Marie lobbed a grenade high into the air. It burst overhead in a thick cloud of blue smoke, sharp and minty. Within seconds, the haze enveloped all three bosses—and Horace.
Movement inside the cloud slowed. The Roach Mother’s mandibles clicked sluggishly. The Flying Marmoset’s swipes lost their edge. Even Horace slowed—but that only gave him more time to think, more time to react.
Then came the follow-up. A second grenade arced through the air and detonated in a burst of white smoke, laced with a peppery tang—an evasion boost for anyone inside.
Strikes from the bosses began to miss their mark. Horace’s own blows slipped wide, too, but it didn’t matter. His damage was negligible. That wasn’t his job.
Outside the haze, the ranged units kept firing, unaffected by Marie’s support grenades. Arrows, javelins, and bolts rained down without interruption.
But despite all the help, Horace still took hits. The Flying Marmoset tried to jump on him. He ducked, but couldn’t defend against a Shagrat’s stomp, which made his health drop by a chunk.
Jack kept playing, sweat starting to bead on his brow now.
Hang in there, Horace. We’ve got your back.
