Shattered Glass (2)

Sosuke staggered to his feet, breath sharp and shallow. Lightning crawled across his skin in jagged arcs, each pulse brighter than the last. He slammed his palms together. The currents surged into one another, spiraling outward in a massive arc that spun like a wheel of violet fire.

Across the field, one of Lance's clones was too slow. It braced itself with arms crossed, but the blast hit like a divine punishment. The energy shredded through its body, leaving nothing behind but seared bone and ash.

Lance's eyes narrowed. He lifted his arm and snapped his fingers. Tendrils of shadow burst from the cracks in the ground and lashed around Sosuke, slamming him to his knees.

"Since you're so eager to make this personal," Lance muttered, "let's see how you perform when your friends suffer for your obsession."

In a blink, his form melted into shadow. Sosuke growled and tried to stand, but the tendrils tightened. More clones emerged from the dark, their movements fluid, their expressions as cold and exact as Lance's own.

⸻

Elsewhere in the chamber, Lance surfaced again—this time with a worn spellbook in one hand. He flipped through it carelessly as he strolled forward.

"Right, right. That's the one." He snapped it shut and flung it behind him into the void. "You'd think after all this time I'd have it memorized."

Arthur's blade carved through another clone in one clean swing. The light of the setting sun, fading through cracks in the cavern ceiling, amplified the quiet silver shimmer of his magic.

"I must admit, I'm curious," Lance said, hand on his chin. "That moon trick—pretty, but predictable. Surely there's more."

Arthur stood still, his gaze flicking toward the fractured ceiling above. It was seconds from collapse.

"I don't owe you explanations," Arthur said plainly. "I'd rather just erase you."

He pointed upward. A narrow cannon of flame burst from his fingertips and struck the ceiling, blowing open a jagged skylight. Rubble showered down, and cold night air swept through the arena.

"What, trying to bury your allies alive?" Lance laughed. "That's cold, even for someone like you."

Arthur didn't respond. He stepped into the moonlight as it poured through the hole. The sword in his hand pulsed softly. Threads of silver light spiraled from the blade, trailing upward like wind-caught feathers.

"I've read that true evolution only comes at death's door," Arthur said. "And I've always trusted Ouro's teachings."

Lance lunged, arm cloaked in void-born energy. He didn't make it far. A shimmer of white light intercepted him, slamming him backward.

Arthur didn't even flinch.

He raised his free hand, and the glowing wisps orbiting him gathered in formation—brilliant white spirits taking shape like will-o'-the-wisps, their glow casting strange patterns on the ground. A ring of radiant light spread beneath his feet, forming a wide circle that swallowed the dimness of the arena floor.

"These aren't just pretty lights," Arthur said calmly. "They're my spirits. They've waited for this night… to answer my call."

The glow intensified. The ground around Arthur turned luminous white, a canvas for the spirits to dance upon. His voice dropped into a low, measured whisper.

"This is my domain now. Will you fight… or will fear paralyze you before you even cross its border?"

"You're nobodies!" shouted one of the remaining clones, voice cracking with panic. "You shouldn't have this kind of power! Why do you even follow a fraud like Aurelius?!"

Arthur's smirk returned—slight, but sharp.

"Genius attracts genius," he replied. "I don't serve Aurelius. I stand beside him. I grow because I choose to."

He stepped forward, and the glow followed him.

"I won't stop until I've surpassed Estrella."

One of the silver spirits hovered before Arthur's outstretched hand. He plucked it from the air, let it hover a moment longer—then pressed it gently to his lips. The light dissolved into his body like breath returning to lungs.

Darkness exploded from the floor as Lance's replicas burst upward and charged.

Arthur stepped back, barely a flicker of motion. He raised his hand toward the fractured ceiling. The clouds above the arena thickened unnaturally, curling in like a vortex. Moonlight tunneled through the opening, and then—

A column of searing white light struck the ground like divine judgment.

Lance dove away at the last second, his right arm caught in the blast. The skin charred instantly, bubbling and peeling as he hissed through clenched teeth.

"You missed," he muttered, gripping the scorched limb.

Bandages rose from the darkness like summoned serpents, wrapping around his ruined arm. "And missing means I learn. That's how I survive."

Before his remaining clones could reach Arthur, a wave of spirits swirled outward like a barrier. Their light expanded and swept through the line of enemies, knocking them aside like paper dolls. Cracks spread across their bodies before they crumbled into nothing.

Arthur stepped into the still-glowing remnants.

"You've been hiding," he said quietly. "This body… really isn't you. Just a decoy with extra mana."

Lance's expression twitched.

"You can't regenerate, and neither can the others. You're burning through energy hoping we drop first. But we're not the ones wasting mana on disposable puppets."

Arthur tilted his head.

"Tell me, Sterling. Was that really your strategy? Or did you walk in here thinking raw theatrics would win the war?"

Lance dropped back into the void, his mouth forming a cold smile. "This arena wasn't designed to fight your team."

Shadows burst open again—more clones spilling out in waves.

⸻

Elsewhere in the room, Reid hurled a clone against the wall. Its spine cracked, and it dissolved into mist before hitting the ground. He turned on instinct.

Behind him, Lance stood casually, arms at his sides.

"You've been the dullest to watch," Lance said. "No flashy spells. No refined core technique. Just… fists."

A low pulse of black magic coiled around his arm.

"You've made yourself easy."

Reid raised his arms in a defensive X, eyes narrowing. Lance rushed forward—his left elbow shattered Reid's guard, and the next second, a clawed hand locked around his throat. Black tendrils erupted from Lance's palm, snapping around Reid's chest, arms, legs.

The grip began to drain.

Reid gasped, the mana leeching from his core like heat leaving a dying fire.

"I won't—" he wheezed. "I won't be worthless again."

Lance's face lit up with glee. The mana rush from Reid's core fed his army. His clones shimmered, reformed, strengthened.

"I could get used to this."

Then Lance staggered.

Reid's knuckles had slammed into his jaw out of nowhere. The grip faltered. Reid tore free of the dark bindings and drove his fist into Lance's gut, this time cloaked in surging orange mana. The impact rippled through Lance's ribs.

Blood flew from his mouth.

Lance vanished into the mass of clones again, panting. He held up a trembling hand—red streaks dripping from the palm. But something shimmered within the blood. Threads of mana, fine and wispy, lingered in the air.

His eyes widened.

"Residual…" he whispered.

All around them, the battlefield grew dense. Not with fire. Not with mist. But with scattered mana—pale, gleaming, humming softly in the air like embers caught in stasis.

Reid stood among it all, breathing hard. His fists trembled slightly, glowing faintly. Each punch he'd landed hadn't absorbed mana—it had pulled it free. Dispersed it.

"I get it now," Reid said to himself.

He stepped forward, lightning-fast.

Another clone lunged.

Reid ducked under its strike, pivoted, then drove his knee up into its chest. The mana scattered instantly, floating into the air like misty dust.

He turned to face two more. Spinning heel kick. One was erased.

He raised a palm and blocked a third's blade with his bare forearm, then shattered its face with a swift upward punch. The magic burst from it before it could even crumble.

By the time five more surrounded him, the space was flooded with that misty aura. Mana bled from every strike, every movement.

Lance watched it all unfold.

And for the first time, his clones hesitated.

Reid turned to face him across the glowing air.

"How much more can you take?" Reid raised his fist, his tone calm, but firm—like a challenge more than a question.

The arena echoed with silence.

———

Lyra and Rin stood back to back, their breath heavy, hair dusted with ash. The onslaught had finally slowed.

Rin wiped the sweat from her brow, her voice soft but cheeky. "Think he finally scared them off?"

Lyra's pink-glowing arrow stayed notched, trembling slightly with the energy it held. "No. Look at them. They're… hesitating."

Across the cavern, clones twitched like marionettes with severed strings. Their feet dragged as if confused, unsure. Then, one by one, they began to dissolve—melting into the shadows like ink in water.

Lance reappeared in the center of the chamber, arms loose at his sides. His cape fluttered with a sudden gust of unnatural wind. For the first time, his smug grin faltered.

All eyes turned to him.

Without warning, the shadows snapped like rubber bands. Duplicates burst from the walls behind Nina. One clamped her arms, another her legs. She screamed, thrashing.

Ren was closest. He reacted instantly—his blade flaring with frost. Shards of ice screamed through the air, but the clones were quicker.

One wrapped its fingers around Nina's throat.

There was a sickening twist.

Then silence.

Her body collapsed like a broken doll, the shadows retreating just as fast as they came.

Ren froze. His legs locked beneath him. He stared, unable to look away. His blade still hummed at his side.

"No—" Arthur muttered under his breath, too far to reach her. The rest watched in stunned disbelief.

Reid turned, fist still raised, but his expression hollowed. His steps slowed as he scanned the arena. Then—

Isabelle cried out.

A clone had latched onto her ankle, dragging her toward the dark. She clawed the dirt, kicking. Lyra whipped around and fired. The arrow pierced through the clone's skull in a single strike.

Rin reached Isabelle, dropping to her knees. "Hold on!" she shouted, gripping her arm tightly.

Lyra raised her free hand. With a sharp flick, slabs of stone burst from beneath the ground, crashing down on the remaining shadows with crushing force.

"They're picking us off one at a time," Lyra said, voice tighter than usual. She glanced around. "Everyone, find someone to cover your flank!"

Sosuke's voice cut through the chaos. "Stick together! He's cracking. He can't keep fighting like this."

But Lance hadn't moved. He raised both arms as the darkness bent toward him, curling and twisting unnaturally. It coalesced into a swelling orb, a growing sphere of void.

"He's not using clones anymore," Lyra whispered, standing close to Rin and Isabelle, pink light still dancing on her fingertips. "He's gathering something big."

"Then we can't wait." Rin's black flames curled around her wrists. She darted forward, Isabelle following in perfect sync.

"Wait!" Lyra stepped after them, hesitation flashing across her face. "That's not a normal spell—!"

It was too late.

The sphere erupted. Tendrils shot out like vipers, lashing toward every corner of the chamber. Arthur, Ren, Sosuke, Rin, and Isabelle were all caught. The shadows didn't just bind—they burrowed in. Not for mana.

For blood.

Reid was the only one still moving.

Lyra caught sight of him charging and moved with him, boots scraping against the broken stone.

Reid glanced over his shoulder, shouting, "Don't come closer! Only I can push through it! Stay out of the range!"

Lyra stopped cold. Her hand trembled as she drew another arrow, her breath catching. She aimed at Lance, but her arm quivered. He looked directly at her, smiling.

Her string drew tighter. But she couldn't shoot.

Two shadows surged at Reid—one in front, one behind. He lunged at the first. It vanished, a feint. The second stabbed through his side.

Reid gritted his teeth, swung his elbow into the clone's face, then ripped free and drove his fist into its chest. The replica exploded into shimmering dust.

He staggered, blood spilling down his leg.

But he kept going.

He launched toward Lance, fist pulled back, his aura flaring with wild, unstable mana.

The two collided in a blur—Reid's fist clashing against Lance's guard, Lance countering with a whip of darkness. Sparks and shadow danced in the air, neither side yielding.

Then the impact split them apart.

Reid skidded across the ground, hand on his wounded side, chest heaving.

Lance dropped to one knee. His breathing was ragged. The void sphere flickered, its grip weakening.

Ren, eyes narrowed, tore the tendrils from his limbs.