Niko did it. That was… pretty damn cool.

  The arena shimmered for a second, its cracked sand slowly resetting to pristine golden dust. The aftermath of divine lightning and red fury had to be reset. Niko sat on one of the lower stands, breathing slow, eyes half-lidded but proud.

  Mary sprinted over to him. Her hands trembled as she opened her red book, the enchanted cover glowing faintly in her grasp. The pages flipped on their own, and a gentle hum filled the space as she raised a hand over Niko. A bright green magic circle formed above his chest, its symbols turning in perfect rhythm.

  Niko smiled weakly.

  I could hear the unsettling yet reassuring sound of his bones realigning, snapping and sliding back into place. Torn muscle knitted together like threads weaving a tapestry. The light reflected on Mary’s worried face. “I haven’t used this much.” she said quietly. “Does it hurt?”

  Niko grimaced, forcing out a half-hearted grin. “Not that badly...”

  It hurt. Everyone could tell.

  Still, he endured it in silence. And then, just like that, the light faded. His wounds were gone—his body whole again.

  Mary didn’t wait. She threw her arms around him. “Thank you. You saved me.”

  He froze, then returned the hug, eyes soft. “It’s not enough. I should’ve—”

  Mary lifted her hand, pressing a finger to his chin to stop him. “I will not have my savior talk about himself like that. Say something nice.”

  For a moment, Niko’s eyes glistened. He exhaled, voice small. “Alright…”

  Then, a faint chuckle. “I did enough...”

  Mary smiled, finally letting herself relax. “Good.”

  Great timing.

  Alex was shaking on the other side of the arena. His breath came out in short bursts, his arms trembling as he tried to psych himself up. Across from him, his reflection—the clone—stood perfectly still, watching, waiting.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  He looked next to him where Soto stood, and raised a shaking fist, “Watch this, Soto!”

  A flash of white light swallowed him, and in the next instant, he was standing on the battlefield. We hushed.

  He didn’t hesitate. Alex sprinted forward with reckless speed, sand spraying from his shoes. The clone did the same. They collided in the middle, fists clashing with a sharp crack. Alex’s punch connected cleanly with the clone’s jaw, snapping its head to the side and knocking it flat.

  He followed up, stomping down toward its chest. The clone rolled just in time—its movements eerily identical to Soto's—and swept its leg across the ground.

  Crack!

  Alex’s knee bent in the wrong direction. His scream tore through the arena, raw and guttural. He fell, clutching his leg, the pain flashing through his body.

  From the stands, I could feel Soto’s fury. His teeth clenched, eyes blazing, but he didn’t move.

  Was this going to be another loss? Did Niko need to step in again? What would happen if he did?

  Alex hit the sand hard, but he refused to stay down. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright on one leg, summoning something into his hand. The air shimmered, and a cutting knife appeared—its edge gleamed unnaturally sharp. This must be his unique skill, Convenience.

  The clone reacted instantly, raising its arms in a guard. It took a careful step back.

  Alex crouched slightly, holding the knife in a low thrusting position. His injured leg quivered, but his glare didn’t waver. He lunged forward, stabbing toward the clone’s chest.

  The clone tilted its body sideways and countered with a jab to his face. Alex ducked, barely avoiding it. They exchanged a flurry of blows—blade meeting forearm, sand shifting under their feet. The crowd could only follow glimpses of their motion, streaks of movement that blurred into chaos.

  For a moment, they separated, panting. Both were bleeding, though Alex far more visibly. His knee was still twisted, blood dripping onto the sand.

  “This might become a stalemate.” I muttered under my breath.

  Alex looked down at his weapon, then at his free hand. With a defiant grin, he whispered something—and suddenly, a hamburger appeared.

  Even the clone froze for a heartbeat, its expression flat but not confused.

  Alex took a bite.

  Light pulsed through his veins, faintly green and red. The food vanished, but the change was instant. His breathing steadied. His muscles tensed. His broken knee twisted itself back into place with a wet pop. He stomped once, testing it. The pain was gone.

  His food that he demanded we respect. It not just heals, it buffs.

  Alex’s grin widened. “Let’s go again.”

  Before the clone could react, he blurred. His speed nearly doubled, his body flashing through the sandstorm of his own making. The clone swung—but Alex was already gone, appearing behind it in a blink.

  “Too slow.”

  He plunged the knife into the back of its neck. The blade pierced through flesh, ripping out the other side. Blood sprayed in an arc as the clone’s body convulsed. Alex twisted the knife once before yanking it free. The clone fell to its knees, and then to the sand.

  Silence.

  Then, Alex raised his hand to his upper lip, drawing an imaginary mustache with his finger. “That clone got lucky!” he declared, a bit excited. “Soto knows I could’ve taken him out in an instant!”