The school's Rift Pocket Dimension didn't smell like a gym. It smelled of wet earth, crushed ferns, and the sharp, coppery tang of spilt mana.
"Why are we doing this?" I yelled over the sound of ringing steel. "I have the numbers, and I'm still getting slaughtered!"
I stood on a high branch overlooking the clearing. Below me, it was absolute chaos.
"Because duels are polite!" Ronan's voice corrected in my mind as eight golden-armoured clones destroyed me on the battlefield below. "Duels have rules. Duels have rhythm. War has neither!"
In the mud below, sixteen Murphy-Clones were swarming eight Ronan-Clones. Two-to-one odds. I had the advantage of mass, but Ronan had the advantage of being a terrifying, centuries-old demigod of war.
It was a meat-grinder. The Ronans fought back-to-back in tight pairs, turning the battlefield into a kill-box. Every time a Murphy-Clone lunged, a Golden Paladin would side-step, parry, and deliver a lethal riposte that sent my duplicate bursting into mist.
"Chaos is the only honest teacher!" Ronan lectured, ducking under two clumsy swings and decapitating a Murphy-Clone with a backhand strike. POP. "You cannot think your way through a riot, Murphy. You have to feel it!"
I gritted my teeth, forcing the dead clone to respawn instantly.
"Easy for you to say," I muttered, swallowing the bile in my throat. "You aren't the one paying the mana bill."
To my right, the bushes rustled. Master Elrend stepped out. He didn't look like a hero; he looked like a weary gardener on his lunch break. He was carrying a small sack stained with blue ichor.
"Refill," Elrend grunted, tossing the bag at my feet.
He didn't make a speech. He just leaned against the tree trunk, wiping his blade on a leaf. He had been culling the local Mana Beast population for three hours, turning the jungle into a gas station for my engine.
I opened the sack. Five fresh Blue Cores. 'YUM!'
I popped one into my mouth like a grape. The mana rushed into my system, burning away the fatigue of the last hundred respawns.
"Thanks, Teach."
"Stop calling me 'Teach'," Elrend said, lighting a pipe. "Your left flank is dying. Again."
I looked down. He was right. One of the Ronan-Clones had broken the encirclement. He had isolated a Murphy-Clone against a rock face.
And now I really, really, really… religiously would have to keep calling Elrend 'Teach'. Son of a bitch! I sighed as I realised I just can't help it. Sadness overtook me, but moments later, I forgave myself. I forgave my weaknesses, and I accepted the fact that I would need to really commit. It will be hard. There will be times when…
CRUNCH.
Oh shit, another clone died. The memories of the death slapped me out of my thoughts.
The Murphy-Clones were exhausted. They would parry the first strike, duck the second, but the Ronan-Clones would simply feint high and spin low—a lethal, silent thrust aimed at the kidneys from the blind side.
"Another dead," Ronan noted in my head, clinical and cold. "You can't see the blades. Which means you can't Phase what you can't focus on."
That was the rule, and the fatal flaw of the Inventory. You would assume I could just walk around with the door open like a magical vacuum cleaner, sucking up everything in my path, but it doesn't work like that. The Inventory isn't a passive net; it's an active grab. I have to put my attention on the object or visualise the specific space I want to remove. It requires intent. If I just left the portal open without focus, nothing would happen.
And if I can't see the sword coming, I can't focus on it.
I reviewed the memories. The blade approached my clone's lower back, and something strange happened.
Tingle.
The Danger Sense fired in the clone's head. It wasn't a visual warning. It was a feeling. Like getting your attention pulled away by something you couldn't explain. Then I noticed it: The feeling had spatial awareness.
I quickly created a new clone and threw him into battle. This clone had a mission. Use the spatial awareness to intercept the attack and simply Phase.
Another hit came from behind. A tingle. My clone didn't turn around. He didn't look.
He just... emptied.
Phase.
The Ronan-Clone thrust his sword. He expected meat and bone.
Instead, the blade passed harmlessly through the empty space where my clone's lower torso used to be.
'Remember the splashing!' Ronan's voice rang in my head, a reminder of the strategy we'd discussed. 'Sell the effect, Murphy! If they see empty air, they'll know it's the Void. Make them see water!'
'Yeah, yeah! The clone knows what he has to do!'
At the exact same moment, my clone triggered the disguise mechanic—ejecting a high-pressure burst of water from the Inventory into the void.
SPLASH.
The water exploded outward, masking the reality of the Phase. To the Ronan-Clone, it looked like he had stabbed a water construct that had simply flowed around the blade.
My clone spun and countered, driving his sword home.
But I felt the cost immediately. My stamina dipped. Phasing one hit was fine, but if the enemy threw a flurry—bam, bam, bam—I would be in trouble. Opening and closing the portals that fast was physically taxing. If they forced me to Phase four or five times in a second, I'd burn out and slow down, leaving me wide open.
"I can dodge the first one," I muttered, wiping sweat from my brow. "But I'd better make the counter-attack count, or I'm dead on the follow-up."
My clone didn't hesitate. He spun, using the momentum of the dodge to drive his own sword up under the Ronan-Clone's golden gorget.
Swink!
The Ronan-Clone stiffened, then dissolved into golden light.
I froze on the branch. The remaining seven Ronans froze in the clearing.
'Did you see that?' I thought, stunned.
'He didn't look,' Ronan's voice was quiet, tinged with a sudden, sharp jealousy. 'He phased a specific cluster of atoms to avoid a blade he could not see.'
'The Danger Sense,' I realised. 'It acts as a targeting system. I don't need eyes, Ronan. I just need the ping.'
'It would be a skill unique to you,' Ronan admitted. 'My combat awareness is perfect, but it relies on sensory input. If I can't see it or hear it, I can't Phase it. You... you have found a clever loophole.'
"Again!" I roared, the excitement overriding the exhaustion. "Push the exploit!"
The tide of the battle began to shift.
It wasn't pretty. The sixteen Murphy-Clones were still getting battered by superior skill. But now, they were slippery.
Every time a Ronan-Clone went for a kill shot from a blind angle, a Murphy-Clone would Phase. A leg would vanish as a sweep passed through it. A head would disappear as a pommel swung for it.
Whoosh. Splash. Counter.
By the time the sun began to dip below the tree line, the mud was littered with golden light as well as grey mist. We had managed to drag down four more Ronans.
We weren't just surviving the chaos anymore. We were surfing it.
"Times up," Elrend called out, knocking the ash from his pipe.
I dropped from the tree, landing in the mud. I didn't dispel the clones immediately. I walked over to the last surviving group of Murphys. They were battered, missing chunks of armour, and panting hard, but they were standing over a pile of dispelled golden armour.
"Not bad," I rasped, high-fiving myself.
"System nominal," I said to Elrend. "The Blind Phase works. As long as the danger-sense holds up, I'm unhittable from the back."
"Don't get cocky," Elrend warned, handing me one last Core. "Nobles don't just attack from behind. They attack from above, below, and usually, they do not need the law on their side. Speaking of which..."
He gestured to the portal exit.
"We have to leave. The principal will not be happy when she finds out we are using the Rift Artefact as a training room. I will take the heat, but I suspect we will not be allowed this luxury again."
I swallowed the Core, feeling the Green fire stabilise in my chest.
"Right," I said, dispelling the army. "I have a team meeting to get to."
The Angel of Mercy statue stood in the centre of the Academy's main quad. It was a twenty-foot marble carving of a weeping woman holding a bowl. Legend said if you tossed a coin into the bowl before an exam, you'd pass. The bowl was empty, though. Not a lot of believers, I guessed.
I leaned against the pedestal as I waited for the rest of the team.
"You're staring," I whispered.
Next to me, Kael was sitting on the stone steps, sharpening a throwing knife with a whetstone. Scritch. Scritch. He grunted, tilting his head toward the two figures standing near the fountain.
Grace and Finn.
They were standing exactly three feet apart. Rigidly parallel. Both of them were staring intently at a pigeon pecking at a crumb, as if it were the most fascinating biological event in history.
"It's painful, isn't it?" I murmured to the big Berserker. "They haven't made eye contact since they woke up on the rug this morning. I'm pretty sure Finn is vibrating."
Kael stopped sharpening. He looked at the couple, then raised his massive grey hand. He flashed five fingers.
"Five silver?" I asked. "On what? That they held hands on the walk over?"
Kael nodded solemnly.
"You're on," I said. "I bet ten they didn't. Finn is too terrified of messing up the friendship, and Grace treats emotions like unexploded ordnance. Neither of them made a move."
Grace suddenly looked over, catching us watching. She marched over, her face slightly flushed, dragging Finn in her wake like a kite.
"We're all here," Grace announced a little too loudly. "Except Vespera."
"And the Healer," I added. "You said you found a recruit?"
"Right," Grace said, looking relieved to talk business. She turned back to the fountain. "Pippa! You can come out now. He doesn't eat people."
A small bush near the fountain rustled.
A girl stepped out. She was tiny—barely five feet tall—wearing the crimson robes of House Vermilion. They were two sizes too big for her, making her look like a child playing dress-up in her father's war gear. She had thick, round glasses that magnified her terrified eyes, and she was clutching a heavy leather medical bag to her chest like a shield.
She looked at me. Then she looked at Kael.
She squeaked. It was the sound a chew toy makes when you step on it.
"This is Pippa," Grace introduced her, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder to stop her from bolting. "She's a Biomancer. Top of her class in Anatomy, bottom of her class in Combat."
"I... I faint at the sight of blood," Pippa whispered, her voice trembling.
I stared at her. "You're a combat medic who faints at blood?"
"Only... only a lot of blood," she clarified, hiding behind her bag. "I prefer preventative medicine."
"Great," I sighed. "We have a tank who is afraid of rage, a scout who is afraid of heights, and a healer who is afraid of blood. We are literally the terrified squad."
Kael stood up. His shadow engulfed the poor girl. Pippa went rigid, her eyes rolling back slightly as if she was checking out early.
Kael reached into a pouch on his belt. He didn't pull out a knife. He pulled out a small, perfectly preserved white wildflower. He held it out to her in his massive, scarred palm.
Pippa blinked. She looked at the flower, then up at the seven-foot grey giant.
"For... me?" she whispered.
Kael nodded once, a gentle rumble emanating from his chest.
Pippa took the flower. Her shoulders dropped three inches. The terror didn't vanish, but it shifted into confusion, which was an improvement.
"Thank you," Pippa breathed, tucking the flower into her hair.
"One to go," I said, checking the clock tower. "Cutting it close."
"She's coming," Finn said, pointing toward the Library path.
Vespera Winter-Moon was walking toward us. Unlike the rest of the student body, who were already filing into the Grand Hall in chaotic droves, she walked alone. She wore the pristine robes of House Aurelius.
She stopped in front of me. She was pale, but her hands were steady.
"I am here," she said stiffly.
"You okay?" I asked.
"I am fine, thank you."
"Good," I grinned.
I turned to the squad.
Grace, the outcast engineer. Finn, the grounded sky knight. Kael, the gentle monster. Pippa, the terrified medic. And Vespera, the ice queen.
And me. The fraud in the middle.
"Alright, Misfits," I said, adjusting my collar. "Let's go ruin everyone's brackets."
We marched toward the Grand Hall.
Usually, when House Argent entered an assembly, we hugged the walls. We kept our heads down. We apologised for taking up space.
Not today.
I took the point. Kael walked my right flank, Vespera my left.
The heavy oak doors groaned open. The noise of two thousand students hit us like a physical wave—shouting, laughing, the stomping of boots.
We stepped into the light.
I didn't slouch. I walked with the rhythm Ronan had drilled into my bones over the last twenty-four hours.
The students near the entrance quieted down. The silence spread like a contagion, rippling outward as heads turned. They saw the scarless face. They saw the muscle. They saw the Ice Queen of Aurelius walking in step with the Coward of Argent.
We didn't look like a joke. We looked like a problem.
I caught Jarek's eye from across the room. The former captain nodded respectfully and gave us a two-fingered salute.
I didn't smile. I walked straight to the front row, right next to the golden benches of House Aurelius, and sat down.
"Game on," I whispered.