The ground exploded in a mountain of rocks and dirt, injuring seven of Dallion’s instances. All the rest scattered away from the point of impact, shield in front.

Gleam, at it! Dallion ordered as he summoned his dartblade.

Using that might be a bit optimistic on your part, dear boy, Nil said. I’d suggest sticking to your harpsisword.

Don’t worry, Nil. Dallion burst into a new set of instances. I’m sure Harp will understand.

Copper colored lines filled the air, each was a vector indicating the speed and direction of every stone particle flying about. An ordinary person would see nothing but an impenetrable field of threads, but for Dallion they were nothing more than an intricate game of cat’s cradle. All he had to do was to perform the right actions at the right moments in time.

Athletics, acrobatics, and arts, he thought as his swarm of instances charged forward.

“Guard,” half his instances whispered.

Four types of markers emerged. Slower than the person they were supposed to help, they followed Dallion like a trail of color. Similar to a ballerina, he turned and twisted, dancing his way through the maze of lines. The ones he couldn’t evade he blocked with his armadil shield, and each time he did, the flying pieces of rock became slower and slower until they froze altogether.

So far so good, Dallion thought. It had taken him months to seamlessly combine dancing and combat—clearly a theater performer he was not. Thankfully, he didn’t have to be. All that mattered was the win.

Gleam? Dallion looked around, gripping his weapon.

Hold on! The shardfly shouted. Lately she had become testier than usual, despite having leveled up a level. It’s not among the debris.

It has to be somewhere.

A dozen instances of Dallion looked down. Almost instantly, another part of the ground broke open, destroying three instances. The action was so fast that Dallion felt momentary pain as his instances were “killed.”

You really are a pain, he thought. Even after all the training and preparation, his opponent was sneakier than expected. Somehow, it had managed to maintain its mobility, despite the time freeze bonus Dallion’s guard skills should have provided.

A formless mass of blackness oozed out of the ground. Dozens of eyes and teeth emerged as it took form, transforming into a clawed bull-like creature. The creature’s presence alone was enough to petrify him. Many times it had, going all the way back to the first time he left his native village. At the time, the chainling seemed an almost indestructible creature, capable of consuming and twisting everything it touched, capable of casting crude, but powerful spells, not to mention shred any person who got close. A squad of awakened soldiers, led by a noble from the capital, and a cleric from the Order of the Seven Moons were needed to destroy the chainling, despite it being seriously wounded. Dallion later found out that the noble was merely a hereditary noble, the cleric—a cursed albino, and the soldiers had barely gone beyond the third awakening gate. His fear of the chainling, however, had remained.

“Astreza, Berannah, Centor, Dararr, Emion, Felygn, Galatea,” Dallion whispered, reciting the names of the Seven Moons.

The fear was briskly swept away, allowing him to attack.

“Lux!” he shouted, initiating an arc slash attack with the edge of his dartblade. Blue flames surrounded the weapon, emitting a cool glow.

The blade ripped through the black silhouette. However, as it did, black tendrils shot out from the rest of the chainling, piercing through Dallion’s right arm, leg and shoulder.

Four red rectangles appeared shortly after, reducing Dallion’s total health to half. The damage was only inflicted to one of the many instances, but Dallion decided to go on with it. Despite the apparently serious damage, he still had the advantage.

The blue flame grew, spreading from his weapon to the rest of his body. A new set of rectangles appeared, restoring Dallion’s health in increments of five percent.

Dallion swing the blade back, attempting a second attack. The chaingling saw that and pulled away. However, in doing so, it had left a small but vital opening: a spot that Dallion could see to be impossible to cover in the next second. It was then that he pulled the trigger of the dartblade.

“Spark,” he whispered.

A bold, seemingly created entirely of bright blue light, shot out, striking its target. The sound of screams combined with the tearing of metal filled the air. Cracks of light covered the black silhouette. Chunks of darkness crumbled off, like cubes of night, evaporating in the air.

A new red rectangle appeared. Time returned to normal. All the dust and stone debris flew on, eventually settling to the ground. Nothing but Dallion and the agonizing chainling remained.

“Enough with the theatrics.” A dark-skinned woman emerged several steps from Dallion. She was athletic and muscular, with a simple leather vest. Even so, Dallion knew that she could defeat him easily without breaking a sweat. “Hawk, get rid of it.”

The chainling quickly went silent, melting away. Shortly after, a new blob seeped up from the ground, this time taking Dallion’s appearance.

“You still rely too much on your trinkets,” Vela said. “Half your actions are predictable. Some of them are outright sloppy. Still, you managed to pull it off.” She turned towards the second Dallion. “Anything to add?”

“No, nothing to add,” the being said in a far deeper voice. “It’s always a treat to face empaths. Maybe you should fail him a few times just for the sake of it?”

The woman smirked. “Tempting.”

“I’d have healed my wounds just as fast in the real world,” Dallion said. Even if there was one in a thousand chance that Vela failed him, he wasn’t willing to just stand by. “Not ending it would have put me at greater risk.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Either way, you’re good enough to risk your life on your own.” Without warning, she disappeared.