What a cryptic thing to say. For a moment none of us spoke. Well, I guess it’s a wake-up call for the few of us still denying reality, trying to pretend this wasn’t life or death.

  My gaze drifted to Sosuke. He sat a few dozen feet to my right on a carved stone seat, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands folded loosely. His expression was unreadable, eyes narrowed slightly, lips pressed together in silence. He didn’t move. He didn’t need to. His silence was heavier than words.

  I cleared my throat, forcing my own unease down, and called out, "Good job, Maya."

  A shimmer of light pulsed in the arena, and Maya’s figure disappeared. In the next instant she reappeared among us, her neck battered but upright. Her hand still pressed faintly against the cut on her neck, but her eyes were sharp, unbroken.

  Her voice came as she materialized, overlapping between both locations before settling in the stands. "Thank you."

  Teleport. Relocated. Shifted. So many different words to describe one of the many blessings—or curses—of this Tower.

  I was swallowed by light, my vision erased, and in the next heartbeat I stood on the arena’s coarse sand. The glow faded, leaving only the echo of my own breath. Across from me, my clone materialized, already rolling his shoulders, already calculating.

  He crossed his arms, eyes locked on me, and spoke with my own voice. "Weapon Gate."

  The air split with pink light. Dozens—no, more than fifty—circular portals ripped open in the space behind him. From them jutted weapons of black obsidian, swords, spears, halberds, axes, each one sharpened to kill. The sight was overwhelming, like a storm of death waiting to fall. The clone smirked, hands spread wide as if presenting a gift.

  "This is a surefire shot to win. You're not fast enough to dodge one, let alone all of these."

  He wasn’t wrong. And of course he wasn’t—he thought like me. He was me. Not just in looks, but in calculation, in cold reasoning. It was unsettling. Out of all the clones I’d seen so far, this one felt the most real. I couldn’t even bring myself to call him an "it."

  I asked calmly, though my heart pounded, "Do you know of my Unique Skill?"

  He nodded, smirk widening. "Yes, I do. All clones do. Yours would allow you to kill me in an instant. That’s why I chose the one spell that would ensure your death. Now die."

  The weapons in the portals quivered, ready to launch.

  Hahaha... hahaha!

  I laughed, but it wasn’t joy. It was defiance.

  "You are as smart as me." I mocked, raising my hand into the shape of a gun, "but not as crazy."

  A golden light began to spark at the tip of my finger, a small magic circle spinning into existence, its lines delicate and divine. The very air trembled around it, like the world itself was preparing to reject what I was about to unleash.

  The clone’s eyes widened, his smirk finally breaking. He screamed, desperation in his voice:

  "You’d use that spell even though it’d drain everything you’ve got?! Even though you’ll need everything you’ve got for the next—"

  "Heavenly Wrath."

  The golden circle roared, expanding for a split second before collapsing into a single beam of divine light. It struck him with such force that his body didn’t even get a chance to resist. He disintegrated instantly, reduced to dust and light, his scream cut short. The fifty Weapon Gates vanished with him.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  I lowered my finger, breath ragged, my body trembling from the mana I’d burned. The sand around me was scorched black in a perfect line.

  The spell this time acted different. No gravitas, no resistance. Just a cold, clean, merciless beam of light that erased everything in its path. It was like it sensed my intent. An intent of business.

  I exhaled sharply, realizing I was drenched in sweat. My hand shook slightly as I lowered it, my lungs burning as if I had just run for miles.

  My spells are strong enough. That much is clear. My spells don’t just kill—they annihilate. But raw magical power isn’t everything.

  Speed. I need speed.

  If I’m forced into close range, my magic becomes useless. There’s no guarantee I’ll always start at range. In fact, this Tower seems built to strip away certainty, to drag us into our weaknesses. If I can’t control the distance, if I can’t create the space I need, then it’s only a matter of time before I die.

  I need to make sure I’m at range, by my own feet, not by chance. I need to be fast enough that nothing touches me unless I allow it. Fast enough that I control the rhythm of every fight.

  You're a fool, clone. You forgot one thing us real ones have. Friends.

  I whispered, "Dimensional Storage."

  A shimmer split the air before me. I slid my hand through the cold gap and felt around until my fingers closed around the familiar curve of glass. I pulled out a potion. Green. A health potion. I pushed it back in and reached again, searching with purpose. My hand brushed against a different vial, its liquid glowing faintly blue. A mana potion. Perfect. I yanked it free, uncorked it, and downed it in one motion.

  The surge hit me instantly. Isabella’s work had improved again.

  She only gets one Perfect Health Potion and Perfect Mana Potion each week. She’s saving those for Sosuke. I can’t even be mad. He is the strongest among us. If anyone deserves that kind of insurance, it’s him.

  Light enveloped me again, and the arena rushed back into view.

  I have my own advice to give.

  I yelled so everybody could hear, "Do not be afraid to use your Unique Skills. This is not a game, and you won’t have an ego if you’re dead. Anything is fair in a deathmatch."