"You sure you're good?" I asked Amir.
He rolled his shoulder with a slow grunt, then slapped a fresh mag into his sniper. "I'm fine. Bruised, not broken."
"Speak for yourself," Nel muttered. Her eyes were half-lidded but alert. She had a fresh whip coiled at her hip, slightly shorter than usual—faster strikes, less control. "But I can still hit."
Deya didn't speak. She just crouched beside the arena entrance, coating her dagger in something faint and green.
The announcer called our next fight.
Another visiting clan. This one from the Umber Shield Union, one of those mid-ranked collectives that believed tradition could beat talent.
Three opponents. I didn't care to here any names. Nor did I have any intel. Just a team dressed in muted armor with reflective essence-glass masks.
One of them dragged a chain behind him. Another floated half an inch off the ground. The third? No weapon. Just confidence.
I took a breath.
"Same core setup," I said. "Deya and Nel flank. Amir—cover and pressure. I lead."
"Got it," Amir said.
"Adjust on my mark. We don't know what they do."
Nel cracked her neck. "Then let's find out."
The match started with no grand openings—just the sand shifting beneath our feet and three masked figures advancing in eerie silence.
I moved first. No flourish. Just pressure. I wanted to draw the chain user's attention—and got it.
He swung wide. A slow arc. Predictable.
So I baited it—ducked low and rolled inward, drawing one of my blades and striking for his hip.
It clanged off armor.
Essence-reinforced plating, I noted.
"Right side heavy," I called.
Deya caught the cue and pivoted wide, circling behind the floaty one. She vanished into a burst of green mist, keeping low and quiet.
Nel's whip lashed across the arena, snapping at the floating user's leg—missed, but it forced movement. As they adjusted mid-air, Deya reappeared, slashing their heel.
Blood.
They flinched. Not fatal—but it rattled them.
Amir fired a short burst. Two rounds. Both aimed low.
They deflected them with essence-glass projection. A shield? No—a mirrored barrier. The second round curved mid-air and came back toward us.
"Reflection!" I barked, diving left. The shot missed me but scraped Nel's thigh. She hissed and snapped her whip again in return—this time hitting center-mass.
The mirrored fighter dropped like a puppet cut from strings.
One down.
The chain fighter changed rhythm—faster, tighter circles now. Trying to isolate me.
I smiled.
"Now!" I shouted, and flung my blade to the side. Amir caught it mid-dash, spinning and swinging in one move.
The chain fighter blocked it—barely.
But the real attack was mine—my second sword flashing across his knee as he shifted to parry.
He dropped to one leg.
Deya's fog rushed in—choking, fast-spreading.
The final fighter, the confident one, raised his hands.
No weapons. Just motion.
Manipulator, I thought.
Suddenly, the fog twisted. Not away. Up.
It condensed around us like a dome.
Pressure spiked.
Nel's whip snapped wildly—and fell limp.
My sword arm got heavy. Amir grunted, dragging his sniper through knee-deep haze that now felt like mud.
"Essence density control," I muttered. "He's locking the space."
Zach would've powered through this. I wasn't Zach. I had to think.
"Break angles," I ordered. "No linear movement. He's tracking body weight."
Amir dropped his sniper and sprinted wide left.
Deya vanished again into her mist—thinner now, more illusion than poison.
Nel snapped a whip to the right—then a second to the left. Fake patterns.
And I charged up the middle.
The manipulator raised both palms.
Heavy air. Heavy light. My steps slowed—
Then Amir's sniper cracked.
He'd picked it up again mid-run.
The shot disrupted the fog dome—just enough.
My blade hit true—center chest.
The manipulator gasped and dropped.
Silence.
Three opponents down.
Fog fading.
Whips still humming.
I sheathed my last sword and exhaled.
We weren't pretty.
But we were effective.
Another fight down.
Another clan staring.
And Zach?
Still undefeated—because we were still standing.