Chapter 123 |
The first year passed faster than Max expected.
Training consumed every waking hour. The arena he'd built became his second home, the enchanted stones absorbing the punishment he and Bob inflicted upon them daily. Sometimes the others joined him, testing their abilities against his in preparation for whatever came after the protection ended. Most days, though, it was just Max and Bob, pushing the boundaries of what they could do together.
Show me again.
You're not ready.
I've been ready for weeks. Stop coddling me.
Bob's presence shifted, something between amusement and resignation flowing through their connection.
Fine. But don't blame me when this hurts.
Max stood at the center of the arena, breathing slowly, centering himself. The Mirrored Image skill had always been useful but limited. Half his stats, a pale reflection that could distract enemies but never truly threaten them.
Bob had been working on changing that.
And the cost?
Significant. Creating it will drain more mana than the standard version. Maintaining it pulls constantly from both of us. And if it dies...
You take damage.
I take damage. Real damage. The kind that takes time to recover from.
Max considered that. Bob had always been resilient, bouncing back from setbacks. But this was different. This was Bob making himself vulnerable in a way he'd never been before.
Are you sure about this?
I'm sure it's necessary. Whether I'm sure about doing it is a different question. But we don't have the luxury of hesitation anymore. Not with what's coming.
Then show me.
The air in front of Max shimmered. Light bent and twisted, coalescing into a shape that mirrored his own. But where the old Mirrored Image had always felt hollow, a puppet waiting for strings, this one felt different.
It felt alive.
The clone opened its eyes, and Max saw Bob looking back at him.
"This is strange."
The voice came from the clone's mouth, not from inside Max's head. Bob was speaking through it, controlling it, existing within it in a way he never had before.
"Can you move?" Max asked.
The clone raised its hand, flexed its fingers, and took a step forward. The movements were smooth, natural, nothing like the jerky motions of the standard image.
"Everything works. I can feel the mana flowing, the skills waiting to be activated." The clone's face twisted into something that might have been a smile. "I can feel what it's like to have a body... One without another."
"How does it feel?"
"Limiting... Liberating. Both at once." The clone looked down at its hands. "I understand now why you complain about physical sensations so much. This is... a lot."
Max couldn't help but laugh. "Welcome to having a body. It only gets worse from here."
"Delightful."
They tested the clone's capabilities for the next hour. Bob could access all of Max's skills through it, casting spells and executing combat techniques with the same proficiency Max possessed. The clone's stats matched Max's exactly, making it a genuine threat rather than a distraction.
The clone was real. Not an illusion, not a projection of light and mana. Flesh and blood, bone and muscle, a perfect duplicate down to the scars Max had accumulated over centuries of combat. When Max cut the clone's palm during testing, dark crimson welled up from the wound, thick and warm and undeniably physical.
"That's unsettling," Max said, watching the clone examine its own bleeding hand.
"Agreed." Bob flexed the injured fingers experimentally. "It hurts, by the way. I wasn't expecting that."
"Welcome to having a body."
"You said that already. It's becoming less amusing."
But Max immediately saw there were limitations.
The clone couldn't wield his artifact. When Max tried to it over, the weapon refused to leave his grip, as if bonded to his palm. When he set it on the ground and stepped away, Bob's clone could touch the shaft, wrap fingers around it, but the moment he tried to lift it, the spear simply remained where it lay. Immovable. Waiting for its true owner.
"Expected. That weapon are tied to your essence, not your body. The clone is me wearing your shape, flesh and blood and everything else, but it's still not actually you. The Artifact know the difference."
"So we fight together, but I'm the only one with the god-killing weapons."
"Correct. I can support, distract, flank, and attack with everything else. But the killing blows will have to come from you."
Max considered the clone standing before him. His own face. His own body. His own power.
"We should test the limits."
"You want to fight me."
"I want to fight someone who can actually take a hit. When's the last time I could go all out without worrying about killing my sparring partner?"
The clone's face split into a grin that looked strange on Max's features. "Never. You've never had that."
"Exactly."
They squared off in the center of the arena. Max summoned his weapons from his dimensional storage, the weapons appearing in his hands with familiar weight. Bob's clone drew a sword from thin air, one of the many weapons Max kept stored away.
"No holding back?"
"No holding back."
Bob’s clone moved first.
What followed was unlike any sparring match Max had ever experienced. Bob knew every technique Max possessed because Bob had helped develop most of them. His skill anticipated his movements, countered his combinations, and matched him blow for blow with devastating precision.
Fire met ice. Lightning crackled against stone barriers. They tore through the arena at speeds that would have been invisible to mortal eyes, their weapons clashing with enough force to crack the enchanted stones beneath their feet.
Max landed a devastating combination that would have killed any normal opponent three times over. But his clone staggered back, blood streaming from a dozen wounds, and then its regeneration kicked in. Flesh knitted together. Bones reset. Within seconds, Bob was coming at him again, just as strong as before.
This is what it's like to fight me.
The thought was humbling and terrifying in equal measure.
They fought for hours. Real hours, not the abbreviated sessions Max usually managed with his friends. Every time one of them gained an advantage, the other adapted. Their wounds healed. The only breaks came when their mana reserves needed to be refilled.
Max hadn't felt this alive in centuries.
"You're enjoying this," Bob said, blocking a thrust that would have taken his head off.
"So are you."
"I'm experiencing physical exertion and pain for the first time in my existence. 'Enjoying' might be too strong a word." The clone ducked under a sweep and drove an elbow into Max's ribs. "But I understand the appeal."
They continued until Max realized the only way this would end was if he used the one weapon that could actually kill the clone permanently. His regeneration and Bob's regeneration were too evenly matched. They could fight for days and neither would fall.
"I'm going to end this," Max warned.
"With the Artifact."
"Yes."
"Do it. We need to know what happens when the clone dies."
Max didn't hesitate. He'd learned long ago that hesitation in combat got people killed. The spear crafted from Wekime's tooth pierced the clone's chest, and for the first time, the wound didn't heal.
His clone looked down at the weapon embedded in its chest. "That's... different."
"Bob?"
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"It's cold. I can feel it eating away at..." The clone's legs buckled. "Ah. So that's what dying feels like."
The body collapsed, and this time it didn't rise. The flesh remained flesh, the blood remained blood, but the light behind the eyes was gone. Max watched as his own face went slack, watched as his own body lay broken on the arena floor.
Then the corpse began to fade, dissolving into motes of light that drifted upward and vanished.
Inside Max's head, Bob was silent.
Bob?
I'm... here. His skill's voice was strained in a way Max had never heard before. Give me a moment.
"How bad?"
Like someone reached inside me and tore out a piece. It'll regenerate, but not quickly... We can't afford to lose clones carelessly. Each one costs something I can't easily replace.
Max looked at the spot where the clone had fallen. The blood was gone now, faded along with the body, but the memory of fighting himself lingered.
"That was incredible."
The fighting or the dying?
"The fighting. For the first time in... I don't even know how long... I had an opponent who could match me. Who didn't hold back. Who I didn't have to hold back against."
Until you killed me with your artifcact.
"Yes, until I killed you with our only real trump item," Max agreed. "Which tells us something important."
That only divine weapons can end the clone quickly.
"That the Unbroken is going to have to work for every clone it destroys. And while it's working on killing you, I'll be working on killing it."
Bob was quiet for several heartbeats. Again.
You just said you needed time to recover.
I said it would take time. I didn't say we should waste that time doing nothing. I’ll create another one. Let me practice maintaining it while damaged.
Max shook his head but complied. If Bob wanted to push through the pain, who was he to argue? They'd both done worse in the name of survival.
The second clone formed more slowly than the first, Bob's strain evident in the wavering edges of the image. But it stabilized, and soon they were back to testing, refining, pushing the boundaries of what this new technique could do.
By the end of the session, Bob could maintain the clone for nearly an hour while simultaneously unleashing all the skills Max had. They'd destroyed and recreated it four times, each loss leaving Bob weaker but more experienced. The recovery time shortened with each iteration.
It was progress. Slow, painful, but real.
Enough for today.
Max let the final clone dissolve voluntarily, sparing Bob the trauma of another violent death. "Same time tomorrow?"
Every day until we don't need to practice anymore. Or until one of us breaks.
"Optimistic as always."
Realistic. There's a difference.
***
Three years into their intensive training, a message arrived from Sog.
Max read it in his study, the afternoon light seeming to not displace the shadows that felt like they had formed across his desk. The demon's words were brief but carried weight.
The adventurers are responding. Dungeon clears up 40% from last year. Tower attempts have doubled. Whatever speech you gave them worked.
Max set down the message and leaned back in his chair. He hadn't given a speech, exactly. He'd simply been honest. Gathered the leaders of his world's adventuring guilds and told them the truth: their gods were facing a threat that could destroy everything. The protection that had sheltered them for over two centuries would end in less than twenty years. If the mortals wanted to help, they needed to push harder, climb higher, clear more dungeons and earn more DP for the gods who protected them.
Some had balked at the request. Others had risen to the challenge.
The results spoke for themselves.
Sog's world is seeing similar increases. So are Cordellia's and Rakonath's territories.
I know. I've been tracking the numbers.
Then you know we're still not moving fast enough.
Max didn't respond. The math was brutal, and he'd run it enough times to have it memorized. Even with the increased activity, even with the Associate Membership boosting their DP flow, they were falling short of what they needed. The gap between their current resources and tier five requirements remained vast.
The arena was still the only realistic path forward.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Tanila entered, her expression carrying the mix of determination and concern that had become familiar over the past few years.
"The training arena is ready for the group session," she said. "Everyone's waiting."
"Everyone?"
"Fowl's complaining about missing lunch. Sog is threatening to eat him if he doesn't stop. The usual."
Max smiled despite himself. Some things never changed, even when everything else did.
***
The group sessions had become a weekly tradition.
All seven gods gathered in Max's arena, pushing each other in ways that solo training never could. They rotated opponents, tested new techniques, and learned to fight as a unit rather than individuals.
Today's session focused on coordination. Max and Bob demonstrated the True Mirror while the others observed, then attempted to integrate it into team tactics.
"That's terrifying," Fowl said, watching the clone match Max's movements with perfect synchronization. "Two of you. Both equally annoying."
"The clone is Bob," Max corrected. "Not me."
"Even more terrifying. Bad enough having that skill in your head. Now it's running around with a body."
“You do realize I can hear you,” Bob said, Max’s voice a perfect copy from his clone.
Fowl's beard bristled. "Yes. Still doesn’t mean you both aren’t annoying."
The training continued, each god taking turns against Max and his clone. The results were educational. Fighting one Max was basically impossible. Fighting two, both capable of the same devastating combinations, was a lesson in insanity.
"This changes things," Cordellia said during a break, wiping sweat from her brow. "If you can maintain that clone during the fight against the Unbroken..."
"If," Max agreed. "Bob takes damage every time it's destroyed. Against something that's been killing gods for sixty thousand years, we might burn through clones faster than he can recover."
"But it's still an advantage,” She replied. “Something none of the previous challengers had."
"One advantage among many disadvantages. I'll take what I can get."
The session continued until exhaustion forced them to stop. Even gods had limits, and they'd reached theirs for the day.
As the others filtered out through the portal back to their own territories, Tanila lingered beside Max in the empty arena.
"You're getting better," she said.
"We're getting better. All of us."
"That's not what I meant." She turned to face him fully. "The clone technique. The coordination between you and Bob. It's different from how you used to fight. More... unified."
Max considered her words. She wasn't wrong. The intensive training had changed something fundamental about his relationship with Bob. They'd always been partners, but now they were becoming something closer to a single entity operating through two bodies.
She's perceptive.
She's always been perceptive.
"Bob and I have been working on integration," Max said. "The more seamlessly we operate, the less the Unbroken will be able to predict our movements."
"And the more you blur the line between Max and Bob."
"Is that a concern?"
Tanila was quiet for several heartbeats. "No. It's an observation. Whatever you need to do to survive, I support it. I just want you to be aware of what you're becoming."
Max reached out and took her hand. "I'm still me. Bob is still Bob. We're just... closer than we used to be."
"I know." She squeezed his fingers. "I'm not worried about losing you to Bob. I'm worried about losing both of you to that creature."
"You won't."
"Promise me."
Max looked into his wife's eyes, seeing the fear she usually kept hidden. The fear that had been growing since the arena's offer arrived. The fear that despite everything they did, it wouldn't be enough.
"I promise."
It was a promise he intended to keep.
No matter what it cost.
***
The years continued to pass.
Max lost track of the individual days somewhere around year five. They blurred together into an endless cycle of training, recovery, and preparation. His body didn't age, didn't tire in the way mortal flesh once had, but his mind felt the weight of constant pressure.
Messages arrived regularly from the others, each one painting a picture of worlds transformed by urgency.
Sog reported that his demon population had embraced the challenge with characteristic ferocity. Dungeon delving had become a point of pride among them, with the strongest warriors competing for the highest floors and the greatest contributions. The culture of violence he'd spent centuries trying to temper was finally being channeled toward something productive.
Cordellia's elves approached things differently. They'd established training academies, formalizing the knowledge that had previously been passed down through apprenticeships. Young elves learned combat techniques and magical theory in structured environments, accelerating their development and preparing them for dungeon challenges far earlier than traditional methods allowed.
Rakonath's dragons contributed in their own way. Some of the younger dragons even served as combat partners, fighting alongside mortal teams in the deeper floors where extra firepower made the difference between success and death.
Fowl and Batrire had converted their capital into something approaching a military academy. Every able-bodied dwarf learned to fight, to craft, to contribute. The forges burned day and night, producing weapons and armor for the adventurers who needed them. The tunnels echoed with the sound of training, of steel on steel, of determination hardened into action.
They're all doing what they can.
I know. I just wish it was enough.
It might be. We won't know until we're on the other side.
Max stood at the window of his study, watching the sun set over Sunreach. The city had continued to grow during the years of intensive preparation. More people meant more potential adventurers, which meant more DP flowing into their reserves.
The numbers were better than they'd been. Not good enough, but better.
Tanila appeared in the doorway. "Jazzjak wants to see us. He says the projections have been updated."
"Good news or bad?"
"He didn't say. You know how he is with information."
Max followed her through the corridors of their home, past rooms filled with artifacts and memories accumulated over centuries. They found Jazzjak in the council chamber, his display table glowing with charts and calculations.
"Tell me," Max said, taking his usual seat.
The rabbit's ears twitched. "Mixed results. Your DP accumulation is up thirty-seven percent from the baseline we established five years ago. The other gods are seeing similar improvements. At current rates, you'll have accumulated approximately four billion DP by the time you need to make your decision about the arena."
"Four billion." Max ran the numbers in his head. "That's enough to wager at twenty to one odds and walk away with eighty billion if I win."
"Correct. Which would be sufficient to push you past the point you need to be and cover most of the costs for the others as well." Jazzjak's nose danced. "Assuming you win."
"Assuming I win."
"The alternative projections are less encouraging." The rabbit tapped his display, and new numbers appeared. "You’ll be tier five before protection ends… but the rest… well they won’t be close."
"None of which we'd be prepared to win."
"Most of which you'd lose, yes. The Unbroken isn't the only threat out there. It's simply the most immediate one." Jazzjak looked up from his display. "I've run every scenario I can imagine, Max. The math always comes back to the same conclusion. The arena fight is your best option. Your only realistic option."
Max had known this for years. Hearing it confirmed again didn't make it easier.
"Then we keep training. Keep preparing. And when the time comes, we make sure we're ready."
"When will that be?" Tanila asked. "When do you plan to accept the offer?"
Max had been thinking about this since the beginning. The timing had to be right. Too early, and they'd leave DP on the table that could have been accumulated. Too late, and they'd have less time to recover if something went wrong.
"One year before the protection ends," he said. "That gives us maximum accumulation time while still leaving a buffer if we need it."
Jazzjak nodded slowly. "That would put the fight at approximately seventeen years from now. Give or take a few months depending on exact calculations."
Seventeen years. It sounded like forever to mortals... It felt like nothing at all to gods.
We'll be ready.
We have to be.