My opponent splits into two. My sensors have no idea which one was the original and suggest there were always two demons in front of me. My mana senses suggest shooting both of them and being done with it.

  My opponents split into two. My sensors are insistent there were always four demons and that I should run a quick diagnostic, just in case. My mana senses have opened the cylinder of their six-shooter and are gingerly rotating it, double checking that the prerequisite six are indeed six.

  My opponents split into two. My sensors have shifted their attention to more pertinent matters, like what’s the air quality and if the stadium has adequate means of egress in case of emergencies. My mana senses mumble out a ‘Gon’ need more slugs’.

  My opponent is waving at me from the stands. His daughter is sitting next to him, exuding the energy of someone that wants to be anywhere else, but secretly enjoying spending time with her dad.

  Eight deep crimson needles find seven heads. The remaining one is two again.

  An image superimposes itself upon my form. Two join my side.

  The first of my clones tangles itself around one of my opponents. That opponent turns into two, tearing my construct into mana.

  The second of my clones has taken an arm, bright blood dripping on the light sand. A needle finishes the job. The clone fails to block a strike that changes the shape of its head.

  Sixteen demons are dashing and lunging toward me. Sixteen clones intercept them, finding themselves facing twice as many.

  A demon blinks behind me and splits into two. While lightning is scorching away at one, the other has exploded into four. Clones intercept those too.

  My hand lifts up, conjuring a barrier of metal. A spear of bone pierces through and stops. A mangled corpse grabs at my ankle. Both the osseous spell and the sanguineous container detonate. Fragments of bone rip through my body. Aerosolized blood sizzles my skin, melting away my flesh.

  My shell gains a soft green glow, mending the damage.

  Bone spires erupt from beneath the sand, skewering my clones. I conjure more.

  The arena steadily fills with combatants. Clones disperse into mana. My opponents riddle the ground with flesh, blood, and bone.

  Acidic ichor splashes against composite muscles, finding it harder to dissolve through. Bone fragments hit against barriers and shields, occasionally finding purchase inside me.

  My opponents are contending with two clones each. The one in the stands is singularly focused.

  Two become three. Sweat starts flowing, body heating up.

  Three become four. Breathing is heavy, brain pushed to its maximum.

  Four become five. My opponents are reduced to inert gore. The one in the stands has relief on his face, the immense burden lifted.

  His eyes meet my good one. A brief smile meets a momentarily permanent one.

  My victory is announced.

  ***

  “Would it be presumptuous of me to ask for hand-to-hand combat?”

  “Not at all,” I reply.

  “You aren’t concerned I’ll have the advantage?”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Ever tried punching metal before?”

  The demon across from me—Sergeant Nea Mitos—laughs. “Not since I got chewed out that one time. Remarks like ‘two hundred percent of our monthly budget’ and ‘it’s your own fault no one living wants to train with you anymore’ were thrown around. But you probably know all that.” She shakes her head. “The face of innocence right here, everybody. So?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve been looking at martial arts from Earth and have been incorporating them into my own techniques. Want to critique me?”

  “Wouldn’t call myself an expert, but I’ll try.”

  My opponent takes slow steps toward me, same as I do toward her. We tap.

  A nimble demon launches and wraps herself around me. I slip the hold and put her in an armbar. While we are still falling to the sand, I feel three quick taps on my thigh. I release and we both twist in the air, landing on our feet. For most watching, we looked like we tapped our fists and then switched places.

  “You have bones, right?” Nea asks.

  “Technically.”

  “Hah!” She beckons with her hand. “Attack.”

  I lunge for a leg. She lets me grab it and attempts a front naked choke. Momentum on my side, I push her down and follow through, putting her in a kneebar before she can get a good hold of me in turn.

  Three taps.

  “What the fuck did experts on your old world have to do to earn it?”

  “Sweat, blood, and tears. Mostly time, though.”

  I offer an arm and let her put me in a lock. When we fall to the sand, my hands find each other, I overcome her leverage, slip between her legs, and put myself on top of her with an explosive rotation.

  “Lock the ankles quickly. Harder to break.”

  I push off and grab her extended hand, pulling her up. A grinning demon beckons for another. Elisa and Xyll both sigh in unison. Then sigh deeper because they sighed in unison.

  After five minutes of rolling around in the sand, the announcer’s hesitant voice sounds out, “Would the two contenders please proceed with the match as normal. Thank you.”

  “Yeah, yeah!” the sergeant shouts, not bothering enhancing her voice. “Just when we were getting in the rhythm. Well, who are you using against me? Wouldn’t mind that hottie Harrn.”

  “I’m sorry, could you repeat that. The last few seconds of my memories have been erased for some reason.”

  “Uh-huh. But you remember flirting between your fights, right?”

  “Vividly.”

  She smiles and takes her stance. “Let’s make up for keeping these fine people waiting.”

  I am hidden within a giant of a man, wild red adorning my head. Nea stiffens, her muscles fighting against their owner. Too bad it’s a losing fight.

  A blurring strike connects, intercepted by a metal-covered arm. Staged impacts ripple through my defenses, inside my body, and out of it, culminating with the enclosing barrier shattering into wisps of mana.

  Flesh and metal knit themselves together, holding me whole still.

  The sergeant and I freeze and wait. Only when the barrier has been restored and reinforced does my mending proceed and does she strike again.

  Her punch hits empty space. I am behind her. She spins and barely blocks. The demon is launched at the barrier. She hits and cracks the magic, bouncing off uncontrollably, but swiftly recovering.

  My next attack is predicted. Two strikes meet each other. The enclosing barrier visibly inflates from the power but does not break.

  A wave, promising destruction and devastation, pulses out of me. A roar shrugs off the effects. Two strikes meet once more. The enclosing barrier pulses.

  Two strikes, pulse. Two strikes, pulse. Two strikes, pulse. Like a heartbeat, steadily pumping to the beat of battle.

  One hit falters. The other doesn’t come either. My victory is announced.

  “That’s... cheating...” Nea wheezes out.

  “You are welcome to try again.”

  “Maybe after... I put my arm back... correctly.” Two officials are stopped with a raised, and a little crooked, arm. Her breathing goes back under control. “Don’t make me look like a chump by losing.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  ***

  A frigid wind brushes past my skin. Clouds roll in, lidding the stadium, dark gray hanging from above.

  Through constant cheers, a voice rises above.

  I can no longer hear, the medium taken. Air within the enclosing barrier, within my body, is gone.

  A deep crimson dart is sheared into fine red threads, floating gently to the ground.

  Long ochre hair spills down my shoulders, a tail swishing once.

  Dark gray clouds light up. Lightning sears through the arena’s barrier, grounding itself sooner than expected, as if lost through a hole open in reality. After a miniscule delay, thunder mutely shakes the restored barrier.

  A spear of crackling electricity begins to take form, gripped tightly in my right hand.

  Invisible crescents of wind split my body apart. Disruptions in space pull and tear at my reforming shell, trying to touch deeper.

  Pressure slams against me from all sides, undulating and churning. Space stretches and compresses, placing me in multiple locations, placing me in the same location multiple times.

  My spear of lightning is complete.

  My arm pulls back.

  My spell leaves my hand. It blinks out of existence. It blinks into existence. It disperses into nothingness.

  My opponent no longer has a midsection.

  My final victory is announced.

  ***

  “What say you, Lucius of... Harthes?

  “I assert my right of challenge.”