The coliseum became a theater of repetition. A stage for a play with only one outcome.
The two Nuisance-class demions shambled forward. Again.
Anya moved. It wasn't a dodge; it was a vanishing act. She reappeared inside the shadow demion's guard, her movements a liquid blur. Her hand, wreathed in silver light, didn't punch. It speared forward, fingers together like a blade. The light didn't explode on impact; it concentrated, piercing the shadowy form with a sound like tearing silk. The creature unraveled into nothingness.
Before the second, stone demion could even turn, she was on it. She didn't strike its body. She flowed up its back like water, her legs scissoring around its neck. A twist of her hips, enhanced by that terrifying gold light, and there was a deafening CRACK of petrified stone snapping. The demion's head tore clean off, its body crumbling to dust.
The fight lasted three heartbeats.
She landed in a crouch, not even breathing hard. The fierce grin was back.
K gave a single, curt nod. "Progress. Let's increase the difficulty."
He snapped his fingers. This time, four demions appeared. Then six. Then ten.
Anya didn't flinch. She became a whirlwind. She was everywhere at once. She used their numbers against them, ducking under a stone fist so it struck a shadow ally, leaping from one's shoulders to deliver a crushing axe kick to another. Her Restoration affinity flared subtly, instantly mending the minor strains and bruises from her hyper-accelerated movements. She wasn't just fighting them; she was conducting a symphony of destruction, and they were her instruments. It was brutal, beautiful, and terrifyingly efficient.
She was physically blitzing them. It was a dance of perfect violence.
« ANALYSIS: PARTNER COMBAT EFFICIENCY INCREASING AT EXPONENTIAL RATE. » « PROJECTED TIMEFRAME TO NUISANCE-CLASS MASTERY: 5 MONTHS. »
Meanwhile, there was me.
My demion lunged. I tried to bend space, to twist its arm away. My control slipped. The spatial warp flickered and died. The stone fist connected with my jaw.
« SIMULATED DEATH #187: LOGGED. CAUSE: CRANIAL TRAUMA. »
Darkness. Light.
Again.
I tried to summon a wall of fire. It bloomed too wide, too wild, obscuring my own vision. The shadow demion flowed through the flames, untouched, and its claw found my heart.
« SIMULATED DEATH #443: LOGGED. CAUSE: CARDIAC PIERCING. »
Darkness. Light.
Again.
I tried to use Lightning, to imbue my katana. The energy surged erratically, shocking me as much as the demion. I convulsed, dropping my weapon, and was promptly disemboweled.
« SIMULATED DEATH #1,209: LOGGED. CAUSE: DISEMBOWELMENT. »
The deaths blurred. A year passed. Then two. I was a statistic in my own personal hell. Decapitation. Spinal Severance. Kinetic Overload. Incineration. The System's log was a cold, endless chronicle of my failure.
I watched Anya. While I died to one opponent, she was now fighting a dozen at once. She'd evolved. She no longer just punched and kicked. She'd developed a style a devastating form of close-quarters martial arts that utilized every part of her body as an Enhanced weapon. She blocked stone fists with her forearms, the impact echoing like a gong but leaving her unharmed. She used their momentum against them, throwing creatures twice her size into each other with effortless throws.
By the time three years had bled into four, the gap was a canyon.
I was finally, finally, landing a killing blow on my single Nuisance-class demion. It was a messy, desperate affair a wild spray of Lightning that finally, accidentally, caught it in a sustained arc until it vaporized. I stood there, chest heaving, covered in soot and my own metaphorical blood.
I had done it. It had taken me five years.
I looked across the coliseum.
K had summoned a new opponent. A Bane-class entity. Valkrus, The Glacial Wraith. It was taller than three men, its armor made of black ice, a spear of absolute cold in its hand.
"Anya. Neutralize it."
She didn't hesitate. She shot forward, a silver bullet.
The fight was nothing like the demion brawls. This was art. This was war.
Valkrus's spear moved, leaving trails of frozen air. Anya didn't block; she redirected, her hands slapping the spearhaft with precise, enhanced blows that subtly altered its deadly path. She moved around him like a mist, her feet never staying in one place for more than a fraction of a second. Where her Enhanced strikes landed on his icy armor, they didn't shatter it; they created spiderwebs of cracks.
He swung the spear in a wide arc, and a wave of conceptual cold erupted forth, flash-freezing the arena floor. Anya didn't jump; she ran up the vertical wave of ice as it formed, defying gravity, and launched herself into a spinning kick that connected with the side of his helmet.
CRACK.
A piece of the black ice helmet shattered.
Valkrus roared, a sound that made the very air crystallize. He became a blur of freezing death.
And Anya met him. Blow for blow. She was going toe-to-toe with a Bane-class demigod. Her silver light was a constant aura now, a testament to her mastery. She was reading his movements, predicting his attacks, her Restoration energy flaring to instantly heal the patches of frostbite that appeared on her skin.
She wasn't winning, not yet. But she wasn't losing. She was holding her own. It was the most magnificent, horrifying thing I had ever seen.
I stood there, the victor of a single battle against the weakest possible foe, my knuckles skinned and my body aching from the effort.
She was dancing with a demigod.
The contrast was so violent it was physically painful.
K watched her, arms crossed, that faint, unreadable expression on his face. He hadn't even glanced my way since my victory.
A potential god.
The words were ashes in my mouth. I was a god of nothing. A king of corpses, reigning over a mountain of my own failures.
Anya landed a particularly vicious combo on Valkrus's chest, making him stagger back a step. She didn't press the advantage. She fell back, breathing deeply now, a wild, exhilarated light in her eyes. The alter ego was in full control, and it was loving every second.
She glanced over at me, standing alone by the entrance. She gave me a quick, fierce grin a warrior's acknowledgement before turning her full attention back to the real threat.
I turned away, the taste of my hard-won victory turning to dust. Five years to kill a nuisance. She was holding her own against a Bane.
The question wasn't just why anymore. It was how? How could I possibly ever catch up? The foundation we built in the first decade felt like a lie. She had built a skyscraper on hers. I was still trying to figure out how to lay the second brick.