The roar was deafening, a physical wall of sound that vibrated against the soles of my boots.
High above the arena floor, massive magical projection screens suspended in the air replayed the final moments of the match in high definition. On the screen, Lysander moved like a blur of golden light, his blade parrying a fifth-year student's strike with insulting ease before he delivered a non-lethal, yet decisive, blow to the chest plate. The fifth year collapsed, and the glowing runic barrier signalled the end of the match.
"Winner: Lysander's Squad!" the announcer's voice boomed.
The crowd went berserk. But as the cheers for Lysander faded, the energy in the stadium didn't dip—it shifted. It became heavier, more expectant.
This wasn't a sideshow. The entire Academy had turned out for the Rift Games. Looking up into the stands, I saw a sea of colours. The Gold of Aurelius was prominent, but so was the Silver and Grey of Argent—my own House. They weren't just here to watch; they were here to judge. The pressure was suffocating.
"Sunstrider Squad and Iron-Jaw Squad to the South Portal," the announcer's voice cut through the noise. "Prepare for deployment."
"That's us," Grace said. She adjusted the strap of her dimensional bag, her knuckles white.
"Did you hear the rumours about Iron-Jaw Squad?" Finn whispered, leaning in close as we marched down the ramp toward the sandy arena floor. He kept his voice low, his eyes darting toward the opposing tunnel. "People are saying Jarek hit his breakthrough last week. They reckon he's a Dark Blue Core now."
"Dark Blue?" Grace hissed, her eyes widening. "That's the peak of the tier. He'll have twice the mana capacity we do."
"And his flankers are Solid Blue at least," Finn added grimly. "Statistically, we're dead in the water."
I kept my face neutral, masking the spark of interest that flared in my chest. Dark Blue.
Finn and Grace looked terrified, but I felt a strange sense of calm. They didn't know I was a dark blue core mage on the edge of going to green.
Waiting for us at the portal's edge was Iron-Jaw Squad—Jarek's team.
They looked like they had stepped out of a catalogue for high-end magical warfare. Their armour was expensive and clearly enchanted. Jarek himself stood at the front, leaning casually against a stone pillar. He was a tall boy with a sneer that looked permanent.
He pushed off the pillar as we approached, his eyes scanning us with undisguised contempt. His gaze didn't linger on our gear—he knew Argent had money now—but it stopped abruptly on my face, specifically, on the jagged scar running down my cheek.
"You know, they say as your Core purifies, the body heals its imperfections," Jarek drawled, loud enough for his teammates to chuckle. He tapped his own flawless cheek. "It's hard to look at your disgusting scarred face, Murphy. It screams 'weakness'."
Finn bristled, his hand twitching towards his belt.
"Save it, Finn," I said quickly, stepping in front of him. I didn't square my shoulders or puff out my chest. Instead, I let my posture slump slightly, shrinking in on myself. I raised a hand to cover the scar, as if ashamed.
"We know we're the underdogs, Jarek," I said, putting a tremor of nervousness into my voice. "We're just trying to get through this without getting hospitalised."
Jarek blinked, clearly expecting a retort. The arrogance in his smile deepened as he saw me cower. "At least you have the sense to be embarrassed."
"Actually..." I continued, sounding almost pleading. "Would you consider a gentleman's agreement? Maybe a twenty-minute truce at the start? Just to let us get set up? Grace here needs time to assemble her constructs, and—"
Grace whipped her head around, staring at me with wide, bewildered eyes. She knew perfectly well she could assemble her golem in under sixty seconds. What are you doing? Her expression screamed.
'Oh, god,' Ronan's voice groaned in my head. 'I know what you're doing. It's smart. But I hate it. You have absolutely no pride, do you?'
'Pride gets you killed,' I shot back.
Jarek laughed, a harsh, barking sound. He stepped closer, invading my personal space, looming over me with a predatory grin.
"A truce?" he mocked, looking back at his team. "Did you hear that? The broken vessel wants a head start."
He turned back to me, his face hardening. "No truce. No mercy. We're going to run you down the second that barrier drops. I'm going to make sure the whole school sees just how weak you really are. You don't belong here, Murphy. It's time the trash was taken out."
He ran a thumb across his throat, locking eyes with me one last time, before turning and marching his squad into the swirling vortex of the Rift portal.
I stood there for a moment, letting my shoulders drop even further until they were gone. Then, I straightened up, the nervous tremor vanishing instantly from my face. I dropped my hand from my scar.
"He didn't go for it," Finn said, sounding disappointed.
"He wasn't supposed to," I said quietly, watching the portal swirl. "I just needed him to think that we need twenty minutes to set up."
Grace narrowed her eyes at me. "I can build the Guardian in forty-five seconds."
"I know," I said, a small, cold smile touching my lips. "But Jarek thinks you can't. He thinks we're terrified, slow, and fragile. He's going to come fast, and he's going to be careless."
"He's still a Dark Blue Core," Finn reminded me uneasily.
"Yeah," I said, feeling the heavy, equal weight of my own mana surging in response. "Which means he'll make a really loud noise when he falls."
I checked the straps on my buckler, glancing at the swirling portal. "So, what's the scenario? Besides Jarek trying to kill us, is there anything else I need to worry about inside? Environmental hazards? Ambush predators?"
Finn stopped adjusting his goggles and looked at me, blinking. "Predators? In a Prelim?"
"I don't know," I said. "You tell me."
"No way," Finn shook his head. "This is just a Qualifier. It'll be standard Capture the Flag or Siege Defence. The Academy isn't going to waste budget on the expensive stuff yet. It'll be a static map. No shifting mazes, no lava, and definitely no Mana Beasts."
I paused. "Wait. Mana Beasts? They put actual monsters in the arena?"
"Well, yeah," Finn said, as if it were obvious. "Usually in the Dorm Wars or the Finals. They simulate beasts with actual lootable cores. But the Rift needs massive mana input to generate them—you get out what you put in. It's way too expensive to burn that kind of energy on fresh meat like us."
He paused, tilting his head, genuinely confused. "Murphy... everyone knows this. It's the most-watched event in the Empire. Even the remote hamlets have projection crystals. Where exactly did you grow up that you've never seen a professional Rift Game?"
I shrugged, adjusting my collar. "I grew up in the gutter, Finn. Not the nice part of the slums, the actual gutter. The only games we played were 'Don't Starve' and 'Run from the Guard'."
I expected him to look pitying, or awkward. Instead, Finn's face lit up. He beamed at me, practically vibrating with a weird, hero-worshipping intensity.
"Hardcore," he whispered.
I sighed. "Sure. Let's go with that."
I signalled the team. "Let's move."
And we walked into the unknown.
The sensation of stepping through a Rift portal was never pleasant. It felt like being pulled through a straw, inside out, followed by the distinct vertigo of gravity reasserting itself at a slightly wrong angle.
One moment, the roar of the arena filled my ears; the next, the sound was replaced by the dry, rhythmic chirping of cicadas and the rustle of wind through tall grass.
We stumbled out, not onto pavement, but into knee-high golden wheat. The air was hot and dry, smelling of baked earth and resin.
"Welcome to Sector 7: The Scorch," a bored voice drawled.
We were standing on a high ridge overlooking a sun-bleached savanna. A massive, jagged valley split the landscape in two like a scar, separating our side from the enemy's.
"Sunstrider Squad," the Teacher's Assistant said, looking up from his clipboard. He was leaning against the rusted, hulking track of a broken dwarven siege tank. The metal beast was half-buried in the dirt, its cannon drooping like a wilted flower.
Behind him stood our 'Fortress'—a rough-hewn structure made of timber logs, reminiscent of a frontier stockade. It looked ancient and battered, with old arrows still stuck in the wood. Scattered around the perimeter were more of the wrecked dwarven tanks, their steam boilers ruptured and cold.
Across the valley, about two kilometres away, I could see the enemy base. It was a mirror image of ours in placement, but the aesthetic was violent and tribal. Orcish totems painted in jagged red stripes jutted from the ground, and their fortress was adorned with massive tusks and tribal banners flapping in the hot wind.
"Capture the Flag," the TA recited, swatting a fly. "Time limit is twenty minutes. If the clock runs out, the team closest to the enemy flag wins. The bridge across the valley is the only stable crossing point. Don't fall in; the drop is simulated, but the elimination is instant."
I barely heard him. My attention was on the three floating orbs hovering at head height, circling us like vultures. They were crystal clear, lenses zooming in and out with soft mechanical whirs.
"Sir," I said, pointing at the orbs. "The broadcast."
"What about it?"
"My team relies on stealth mechanics," I lied smoothly. "Having three glowing beach balls hovering two feet from our heads makes invisibility pointless. It gives away our position."
The TA sighed, tapping a rune on his clipboard. "Fair point. Standard stealth protocol initiated."
He snapped his fingers.
The orbs didn't leave, but they shimmered and faded into transparency. They were still there—I could hear the faint hum of their levitation magic—but they were invisible to the naked eye.
"They're still recording," the TA warned. "But the enemy won't see them. Now, get set up. You have two minutes before the barrier drops."
"Right," I said, turning to the squad. "Let's get to work. Grace, Kael, secure the stockade. Finn, on me."
We moved behind the bulk of the nearest wrecked siege tank, breaking the line of sight from the valley. The moment we were hidden, I turned to the two figures who had followed us in.
To anyone watching the broadcast, they looked like two water elementals—shifting, translucent humanoids made of liquid, glistening strangely in the dry savanna heat.
To me, they were my lifeline.
My Ronan Clone and Murphy Clone.
Both of them were wearing the heavy, rune-inscribed silver rings I had spent a fortune on. The rings projected the "Water Elemental" disguise, hiding their true faces. But more importantly, these two clones were fresh. They had full mana pools.
"Do it," I whispered.
The clone disguised as a Water Elemental stepped forward. It raised a watery hand, and I felt the spike of mana usage—not from my core, but from its core.
New Art: Clone Construction.
The air shimmered. Three new figures knit themselves together from the ambient mana.
Because the caster was a "Water Elemental" (at least in appearance and magical signature thanks to the ring), the spell copied the caster's current state perfectly. The three new figures didn't look like Murphy. They looked like three more identical Water Elementals.
They were translucent, shifting, and held basic iron swords that looked like they were made of hardened ice.
"Perfect," Finn whispered, watching the process with a grin. "Batteries included. They look exactly like the parents."
It was the loophole I had been banking on. If I cast the spell, the clones would look like me, ruining the "Water Mage" persona. But since the clones were casting the spell while disguised, the new constructs inherited the disguise.
The TA glanced over the top of the tank treads, raising an eyebrow at the three new water entities standing there, looking slightly vacant.
"Summoning sub-constructs?" the TA muttered, making a note. "Decent mana efficiency. Though they look a bit... fragile."
He had no idea.
I looked at the three bait clones. They looked back at me. There was no need for words. We all knew the plan.
"Time's up!" the TA called out. A shimmering barrier that had been blocking the path down to the valley flickered and vanished. "Game on."
The three clones turned and sprinted out of the cover of the tanks. They moved with a deliberate lack of coordination, heading down into the valley, their gait uneven, their swords held with amateurish grips.
I turned to Finn, checking the straps on my own gear. "Our turn. Let's go fishing."
The heat in Sector 7 was oppressive. The dry, crackling sound of cicadas filled the silence, interrupted only by the distant, rhythmic thumping of heavy boots marching towards the bridge.
I was crouched behind the rusted treads of the siege tank. Beside me, Finn extended a brass monocular telescope, his hands shaking slightly as he peered over the metal rim. Crouched behind us stood the two disguised clones we'd brought through the portal—my copy and Ronan's copy— motionless like silent blue statues which would be standard for Ronan, but I knew my clone was definitely humming something stupid right now.
"Movement at eleven o'clock," Finn whispered, adjusting the focus on his scope. "Five contacts. They're forming up at the bridgehead."
"Five?" I muttered. "There should be six."
"I don't see Jarek," Finn confirmed, scanning the area. "He must be back at their base guarding the flag."
"Standard tactic, really," I noted smugly. "Leave the tank to guard the objective, send the DPS to hunt."
Then, I saw something else.
Right in front of my boots, the air distorted. It looked like a heat shimmer at first, but the geometry was too sharp. A small, perfect cube of space folded in on itself, and a wooden box dropped out of thin air, landing silently in the dust.
I froze. My Danger Sense was dead silent.
I glanced at Finn. He was still glued to his monocular, staring intently at the valley, looking right through the box as if it wasn't there.
"Finn," I whispered. "Pass me the canteen, would ya…"
Finn handed me the water without looking away from the enemy. He didn't react to the box sitting inches from his foot.
"Ronan," I thought, staring at the object. "Please tell me I'm not hallucinating. There's a box on the ground."
"He can't see it," Ronan's voice murmured in my head. "Sponsorship Gift."
"Sponsorship?" I thought, frowning at the box.
"The Gods aren't the only ones watching from the Higher Realm," Ronan explained, his tone casual. "There is an Audience. Lesser entities, spirits, bored immortals. They watch the Rift Games for entertainment. It's very odd that one of them is watching an Academy prelim. Probably scouting for talent. Occasionally, if they find a candidate they like, they can pay with minor influence points to send them gifts. Gifts are extremely expensive. Whoever has MIP to drop on a School prelim is definitely well off."
I froze. "Wait. Seriously? How much can these people see?"
"Everything," Ronan replied simply.
"Everything? Are they watching us take a shit?"
"Mostly just the games, but if they want to, they can watch everything, Murphy. High-definition."
I stared at the invisible box, a wave of horror washing over me. "Oh my god..."
"Relax, maate," Ronan snorted, "All the Gods are already watchin' ya. This is just a few more people."
I blinked, the sheer absurdity overriding the horror. "Did you just do an Australian accent?"
'Yeah, just testing it out,' Ronan replied, his mental voice sounding pleased with himself. 'A little something I picked it up watching Crocodile Dundee back home. What? Is it bad?'
I paused, my hand hovering over the box. 'No, no… Its fine…you said 'back home'. You mean the gas station?'
There was a beat of silence in my head. A heavy, nostalgic quiet.
"Yeah," Ronan said softly. "Didn't think I was going to call that dusty shack home. But... it kinda was, wasn't it?"
"Yeah," I whispered, feeling a lump in my throat. "It kinda was."
I shook my head, clearing the memory. 'Anyway, I don't actually care. If someone wants to send me presents to watch me take a shit, they can go right ahead.'
'Come to papa!' I reached out. My fingers brushed the wood—it was cool to the touch. I flipped the latch.
Inside, nestled on red velvet, was a silver ring and a folded piece of parchment.
I picked up the ring first. It was smooth silver, completely unadorned. I held it up to the light, expecting to see engravings, but the surface was blank.
I unfolded the parchment. The handwriting was, in a word, eloquent.
…..
To Ronan,
I've been watching the run. Interesting build. The ring will make all your clones spawn with a water illusion without affecting you.
– X
…..
I read it twice. "It's addressed to you, and this guy knows a lot more about us than he should."
"X," Ronan mused. "If he knows about me, he has been following us for a while."
"How much influence can these patrons impart?" I asked Ronan.
"They are limited to the same laws that stop the gods from interfering directly. They would need a considerable amount of influence to give you any magic or information that might change the board. The ring is a very minor magic item, but it would still have cost him an arm and a leg. If he tried to give you information on other entities, the system would just redact it."
I slid the ring onto my finger. Immediately, I felt a shift in my mana circulation.
I no longer needed the two original clones that entered with us, but decided to keep them as mana batteries.
"Murphy!" Finn hissed, collapsing his telescope. "Look! The bridge!"
I scrambled back to the edge of the tank tracks and took the glass from him.
Down in the valley, Jarek's squad had reached the suspension bridge. I swept the glass over them. They were a colourful bunch, looking more like a troupe of anime protagonists than a military unit.
In the lead was a tall, lanky mage wearing impractical red silk robes that fluttered in the wind. He had a staff topped with a ruby the size of an apple.
"Valen," Finn identified. "Fire Mage and a real piece of work."
Behind him was a massive brute of a human—or maybe half-orc—shirtless, with suspenders holding up his trousers. He carried a hammer that probably weighed more than me. "Borg," Finn whispered.
Flanking them were two women: one with dual hook-swords and ribbons tied to her wrists, and a sniper in the back with a longbow almost as tall as she was.
But the one who caught my eye was the fifth member.
He was a Dwarf, but young—no beard yet, just a heavy stubble and a mohawk dyed bright orange. He was decked out in heavy plate and carried a tower shield that looked like a bank vault door.
"That's Torian," Finn said. "Iron-Clan. Good luck getting through that shield."
"I don't plan to go through it, but I probably could phase through it", I muttered to myself.
On the bridge, my first batch of clones—Batch 1—was making their move. These were the ones generated by the disguised clones earlier.
They looked pathetic. The three "Water Elementals" were stumbling, their forms solid, but they acted like they were made of jelly. They waved their ice-swords aggressively at Jarek's squad on the far side.
"They're engaging," Finn said, his voice trembling. "They look... really unstable, Murphy."
"That's the point," I said softly.
Across the gap, Valen, the mage in red silk, stepped forward. He didn't even chant. He just raised his staff, struck a pose that belonged in a theatre, and flicked his wrist.
BOOM.
A Greater Fireball, the size of a carriage, roared across the bridge.
They saw the fire coming. They felt the heat radiating off the timber planks. They had the reflexes to jump off the bridge or raise a shield.
But they didn't. They knew the plan. They knew they were the bait.
One of the clones actually had the gall to trip over his own feet right before impact, flailing his arms to sell the "incompetent summon" narrative one last time.
Commitment to the role, I thought grimly. I'd give myself an award if I wasn't…. No, hmmm, I really should give myself an award. I wonder what it could be. An Oscar-worthy performance, but where would that even rank in this world...
"Focus!" Ronan said sharply, and my attention was right back on the action.
The fireball impacted the centre of the bridge.
There was no scream. Just a sharp, wet HISS of flash-boiled steam. To really sell the "unstable summon" narrative, the clones didn't just vanish; they detonated, spraying gallons of water across the scorched bridge deck.
Then came the refund.
The memories slammed into my skull, followed immediately by the mana rushing back up the connection. My Core was already red-lining at maximum capacity. Normally, that energy would just bleed off into the atmosphere, wasted.
I hated waste.
I mentally grabbed the overflow and shoved it into the Inventory. I couldn't retrieve it yet—once the mana went into the void, it just sort of hung there like background radiation, unable to be gathered—but I'd been dumping my excess capacity in there for weeks. I figured if I hoarded enough of it, eventually I'd unlock a skill to tap the reserve. It was like a savings account I couldn't access, but I kept making deposits anyway.
When the smoke cleared, Batch 1 was gone. Three puddles of water were rapidly evaporating on the scorched wooden planks.
Laughter echoed across the valley. Even from here, I could see Valen taking a bow while Borg laughed, slapping his knee.
"Oh god," Finn whispered, lowering the telescope. "They got wiped. Instantly."
"Good," I said, my voice cold. "They bought the lie."
I turned to the two original clones—the ones carrying the minds of Ronan and me, disguised by the silver rings.
"You two," I ordered softly. "Head back to base. Tell Grace we have a heavy squad incoming: Tank, Sniper, Brute, Duelist, and a Fire Mage. Help Kael hold the line."
The two blue figures nodded once, turned, and sprinted back up the ridge towards our fort
Through the glass, I watched the enemy squad advance. But not all of them. Torian, the young Dwarf with the orange mohawk, slammed his tower shield down at the entrance of the bridge. He wasn't crossing. He was the rearguard.
"Four crossing, one guarding the choke point," I noted. "Smart."
I twisted the Sponsor Ring on my finger.
"Round Two," I whispered.
I pushed the mana. Construct.
I felt the drain immediately—it was sharper than usual. The spell wasn't just knitting together a body; it was printing a complex magical artefact on each finger.
Four figures burst into existence behind the tank.
Thanks to the new ring, the clones I created looked like Water Elementals without the disguise spell affecting me. They appeared instantly as wobbling, translucent blue figures.
They held swords in their hands—my short iron short swords, replicated by the spell. But because of the ring's illusion filter, the grey metal looked like jagged, crystalline ice.
I didn't say a word. I didn't have to give them orders.
One clone would stay behind as a scout while the other three clones turned and sprinted out from behind the tank. Despite their wobbly appearance, they moved with my desperation, heading down the slope to intercept the mages crossing the bridge.
I tapped Finn on the shoulder. "We're moving. Flanking route while they're distracted."
The heat shimmering off the valley floor was intense, but my blood ran cold as I watched Jarek's squad assemble on the bridge.
I looked at the three fresh clones I had just summoned. They stood wobbling in place, their crystalline ice-swords glinting in the sun.
"Alright, boys," I murmured. "You know the drill."
Batch 2 charged.
Down in the valley, the enemy squad halted. Valen, the mage in red silk, sighed audibly. He twirled his staff with a bored expression, clearly annoyed that he had to waste mana on another wave of "trash."
He didn't chant. He just thrust the staff forward.
BOOM.
The second Greater Fireball roared to life, spiralling across the bridge like a miniature sun.
"Now," I whispered.
The first two clones didn't raise their shields. Instead, they thrust their hands forward. High-pressure jets of water erupted from their palms, slamming directly into the incoming sphere of fire.
Physics took over. The water didn't extinguish the magical fire, but it flash-boiled instantly upon contact.
HISSSSSSS.
A massive, blinding cloud of white steam erupted on the bridge, obscuring everything.
"They missed," Finn whispered, gripping my arm.
"Watch," I said.
Hidden by the steam, the third clone didn't stop. He sprinted into the heart of the whiteout. Just as the fireball punched through the vapour, weakening but still lethal, the clone opened the portal on his chest.
Slurp.
There was no explosion. No impact. The fireball simply vanished, swallowed into the void of the Inventory. The clone snapped the portal shut a microsecond later, preserving the volatile energy in stasis.
To the enemy, it looked like the water jets had somehow destabilised the spell, causing it to fizzle out along with the summons.
"Pathetic," I heard Borg, the massive brute, laugh. His voice carried over the valley. "Even their suicide attacks are duds."
Torian, the young Dwarf rearguard, stood up from behind his tower shield. He looked at the empty, steam-filled bridge, then back at his squad marching forward.
"They're dead," Torian grunted, heaving his shield onto his back. "I'm not sitting here guarding wood while you lot have all the fun."
He abandoned his post, jogging to catch up with the rest of the group.
"Hook, line, and sinker," I grinned. "The bridge is open."
"I hate this," Finn whimpered. "I hate you. I hate heights. I hate bridges."
"Keep moving," I hissed, hanging by my fingertips.
We weren't on the bridge. We were under it.
While the mist from the steam explosion still clung to the ravine, Finn and I had slipped over the edge. We were currently monkey-barring our way across the support beams, dangling two hundred feet above the jagged rocks of the ravine floor.
Above us, the heavy THUD-THUD-THUD of Jarek's squad marching overhead shook dust into our eyes.
"Don't look down," I whispered. "Just look at my boots."
Finn was pale, his knuckles white as he gripped the timber beams. "I'm a Sky Knight who can't fly," he wheezed. "This is literally my nightmare."
"If you fall, I'll catch you," I lied. "Now move."
We shimmied across the gap, muscles burning, suspended between the wooden planks above and the death below. It took five agonising minutes to reach the other side.
We hung there, clinging to the cliff edge, waiting.
POP.
A sudden jolt of memory slammed into my skull. The Scout Clone on the hill had just dispelled itself. The memory was clear: The enemy squad had entered the tall grass. The bridge is clear.
"We're up," I grunted, hauling myself over the railing.
Finn collapsed onto the dirt, kissing the ground. "Solid. Beautiful, solid ground."
"Foreplay later," I said, pulling him up. "We have a flag to steal."
The enemy fortress was quiet. It was a crude structure of logs and mud, mirroring ours. We crept up to the main entrance, sticking to the shadows.
I peeked around the doorframe into the Flag Room.
Jarek Stone-Hollow was there. He was alone.
The tank captain was sitting on a wooden bench next to the bright red flag. He wasn't patrolling. He wasn't watching the door. He was holding a small, polished steel mirror, checking his teeth.
"It was a hard-fought battle, Headmistress," Jarek murmured to his reflection, striking a noble pose. "But naturally, superior breeding rises to the top..." He frowned, shaking his head. "No, too arrogant. How about... 'We simply did our duty, as Thorne commands.'"
He smiled, practising a humble nod. "Yes. That plays better with the faculty."
I looked at Finn. He looked like he wanted to die from second-hand embarrassment.
'He is actually rehearsing,' Ronan noted, his voice dripping with aristocratic disdain.
"Get ready," I whispered to Finn. "Get into the rafters."
Finn nodded, activating his Wind Step. He didn't fly, but he ran up the wall with unnatural lightness, settling silently into the shadows of the roof beams.
I twisted the Sponsor Ring.
"Showtime."
I cast a single clone. Thanks to the ring, it appeared as a wobbly Water Elemental. I sent it stumbling into the room.
Jarek didn't even stand up. He glanced at the blue figure, sighed, and his skin instantly turned a dull, granite grey.
Stone Skin.
"Did you get lost, little puddle?" Jarek chuckled.
The clone lunged. Jarek backhanded it without looking. CRACK. The clone shattered into water.
"Is that it?" Jarek called out, standing up and dusting off his knuckles. "I know you're here, Murphy. I can smell the desperation."
"Not quite," I whispered.
I sent two more clones from the side entrance. They rushed him from the flanks.
Jarek was fast for a big man. He pivoted, catching one clone by the throat and crushing it, then spinning to kick the second one into the wall.
"Boring!" Jarek roared. "Come out and face me!"
"Okay," I thought. "Here's the punchline."
The third clone—the one I had held in reserve sprinted out from the main door.
Jarek turned to smash it, but the clone slid under his guard. It didn't strike. It wrapped its watery arms around Jarek's waist in a tight bear hug.
"Get off me!" Jarek growled, raising his fist to smash the clone's spine.
The clone opened the portal on its chest, pressing it directly against Jarek's kidneys. It was about time, too. The volatile fireball stored in the inventory had started adding a mental weight to my mind. I could feel myself tiring out the longer the magical spell was kept in stasis.
"Delivery," I whispered.
I released the stored Greater Fireball.
BOOM.
The explosion was contained. Sandwiched between the clone's body and Jarek's invulnerable skin, the force had nowhere to go but through him.
The clone vapourised instantly. Jarek was blasted across the room like a rag doll, smashing through a wooden support pillar and slamming into the far wall. The entire fortress shook. Dust rained down from the ceiling. I could feel the mental drain release its grip as soon as the fireball was removed.
"Got him," I breathed.
I stepped into the room.
Jarek groaned. He was slumped in a pile of rubble. His shirt was incinerated. His Stone Skin was cracked and spider-webbed like a broken windshield. A nasty, cauterised chunk of flesh was missing from his side.
But he was alive.
"Ow," Jarek grunted.
He reached into his belt and crushed a glass vial in his hand. High-grade healing potion. He didn't drink it; he poured it directly into the wound. The flesh began to hiss and knit together.
He stood up, his eyes glowing with mana.
"That was your trump card, wasn't it?" Jarek wheezed, wiping blood from his mouth. "A stored spell? Clever. Very clever. But you only had one."
He stomped his foot on the ground.
Seismic Summon.
The floorboards splintered. A creature made of jagged rock pulled itself out of the earth. It was shaped like a wolf, but it had no eyes, only a massive, sniffing snout.
"Find them," Jarek ordered.
The Stone Hound turned its head, sniffing the air. It snapped its jaws toward the rafters where Finn was hiding.
"Damn it," I cursed.
I couldn't use my swords—we needed to keep the fighting capability a secret for the next rounds. I couldn't phase—it would reveal my inventory.
"Time for a bar fight," I muttered.
I dumped my entire mana bar. Construct.
The air rippled. Ten clones burst into existence around the room. I stepped out of the shadows to join them. Thanks to the Sponsor Ring, all eleven of us looked like identical, wobbly Water Elementals. I had no choice but to reveal how many clones I could make. I was bargaining on doubling the clone count before the next game.
Ten ice-swords clattered to the floor. I dropped my iron blades, too.
"Let's keep it fair," I said, my voice echoing from eleven mouths. "Fists only."
Jarek blinked, confused by the sudden army of water-men. "Big mistake… You think numbers will matter against my stone?"
"Get him!" I shouted.
The swarm charged.
It wasn't a duel. It was a mugging.
All ten clones were Ronan constructs. Three of which dove for the Stone Hound. They didn't try to punch it; they grappled it, pinning its legs and wrestling the heavy construct to the ground.
The other seven clones swarmed Jarek. They went for the joints—knees, elbows, throat.
Jarek roared, swinging wild haymakers.
CRUNCH.
He punched a clone in the chest, splashing it into mist.
SMASH.
He grabbed another by the head and crushed it.
But for every clone he killed, two more were hanging off his arms. Ronan's influence shone through—the clones were using perfect leverage, trying to execute arm-bars and chokes on a guy made of living rock.
But it wasn't enough.
Jarek flared his aura. It wasn't Blue. A sickly, pale green light flooded the room.
"Light Green," I realised with a sinking heart. "He hit the breakthrough."
"I AM A FORTRESS!" Jarek screamed, flexing his arms. The shockwave of mana blew the remaining clones off him like leaves in a gale. "YOU ARE JUST RAIN!"
He grabbed the last clone and tore it in half.
I stood alone in the centre of the room. My mana was gone. My army was dead.
Jarek turned to me, panting, his stone skin repairing itself. He grinned.
"All out of tricks, Murphy?"
I slumped my shoulders. I raised my hands, trembling.
"Okay!" I shouted, backing away from the flag. "Okay! I yield! Please, don't break anything!"
Jarek's chest swelled. The arrogance was almost physical. He stepped away from the flag, walking toward me with the slow, inevitable gait of a predator.
"You yield when I say you yield," Jarek growled.
He reached out and grabbed me by the throat, lifting me off the ground. His grip was like a vice.
"I'm going to snap your collarbone," Jarek whispered, bringing his face close to mine. "Just so you remember your place."
Whoosh.
A soft gust of wind brushed past us.
Jarek froze. He looked over his shoulder.
The bench was empty. The Red Flag was gone.
Standing near the door, Finn held the banner, grinning nervously. "Uh... see ya?"
Jarek roared, his face twisting in fury. His grip tightened on my throat, ready to crush my windpipe before chasing Finn.
I stopped cowering. I grabbed his wrist with both hands. I didn't try to break his grip. I just smiled.
I opened the Inventory. I didn't pull out a weapon. I pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment. It was one of my failed experiments—a 'Broken Rune' where I had deliberately removed the safety valve.
"Tag," I rasped. "You're it."
I reached for every spec of mana I had. I grabbed it all and shoved it into the unstable rune.
Jarek's eyes went wide. "What are you—"
Flash.
There was no sound. Just pure, white erasure.
I gasped, sitting up violently.
My lungs filled with cold, recycled air. I wasn't in the fortress. I was on the cold stone floor of the Arena Antechamber.
"Respawner active," a mechanical voice droned.
"YOU!"
I looked to my left. Jarek was sitting up next to me, his face purple with rage. "You blew us up!" Jarek screamed, scrambling to his feet. "You suicidal maniac!"
"It's a valid tactic," I wheezed, getting to my feet and checking my limbs. Ten fingers. Good.
I ignored him and limped over to the viewing screens on the wall.
"Status," I muttered.
The kill feed was scrolling.
ELIMINATED: Valen (Iron-Jaw Squad) - TRAP.ELIMINATED: Lyra (Iron-Jaw Squad) - TRAP.
"Grace," I grinned. Her traps—which were vicious, mechanical, spiked Bear traps—had done their job.
I looked at the live feed.
At our base, Kael was locked in a dead heat with Borg. The two giants were trading blows that shook the camera.
Near the perimeter, my two original clones were still alive, running circles around the enemy Sniper, blasting her with water jets every time she tried to aim.
Torian, the Dwarf who had abandoned the bridge, was currently being sat on by Grace's Scrap Golem.
And on the main screen...
Finn stood in the centre of our base. He held the Red Flag. He touched it to our Blue Flag.
Ding.
"VICTORY: SUNSTRIDER SQUAD," the announcer's voice boomed through the speakers.
I slumped against the cold stone wall, sliding down until I hit the floor. Jarek was staring at the screen, his mouth open, his victory speech dying in his throat.
"Good game, Jarek," I said, closing my eyes. "Work on the monologue. It needs more humility."