Chapter 25: Challenge

  Dinamo stood on that improvised stage—the inside of the concealment zone Yehiel had created. For the record, Yehiel had barely acknowledged Dinamo’s arrival; his eyes never left the spot where his friend’s corpse had once been.

  Dinamo was calm. Immaculate. He couldn’t help directing an amused look at Katherine.

  She, on the other hand, didn’t have the luxury of decoration. Her synthetic body had endured too much. Her mind, too.

  And still, when he spoke, he did so as if they were chatting in a hallway.

  —A skill duel? —Dinamo asked, almost happy. —It’s been a while since we’ve had one. When was the last time? Thirty or forty? My memory’s failing me.

  He said it with a smile that demanded an answer. Not out of curiosity. Out of habit. Out of play.

  Katherine looked at him without expression.

  I don’t have time for this.

  But she needed it.

  She needed him to accept.

  —It was one hundred and fifteen thousand years, sixty days, thirteen hours, and nine minutes ago —she replied, annoyed and resigned, like someone reciting a fact she hated knowing.

  Dinamo’s smile widened a little more, entertained.

  —Ah, is that so? Time really flies these days.

  His gaze shifted, just slightly. Not to her—to the group behind. To the Rank 10s who had come with her. To Caetano, firm as a statue, with a subtle sneer of contempt.

  To Baek, still—not from stoicism. That had been a mask for a long time.

  To Irina, who trembled in horror under his eyes.

  To Romero, who for the first time in his life wore a look of hatred.

  To Hanami, who quickly slipped out of his line of sight, unable to hold his gaze or crack a joke.

  To Yehiel, who wasn’t looking at him at all—because he refused to, or because he couldn’t pull his eyes away from his dead friend. His companions wanted to glare at Dinamo threateningly, but they were afraid of him.

  Dinamo watched them like someone observing well-trained pets.

  No one stepped forward.

  No one could.

  For an instant, his enthusiasm deflated. Just a little. Then it came back.

  —But don’t you think you’re forgetting something?

  This time he looked her dead in the eyes. The smile was more smug. More direct. A sentence that, by itself, said one thing.

  Katherine let out the smallest sigh. She inclined her head slightly.

  —I’m sorry. I promise I’ll behave properly this time.

  She said it with composure. Not from humility. From strategy. Even if it stung.

  Dinamo laughed, and it was almost a cackle. Predatory.

  —Apology accepted. But I have to set a rule if you want me to accept.

  Katherine nodded without speaking.

  —It’s simple —he continued, cheerful—. If anything outside the conventional rules of a skill duel threatens my person, I’ll be forced to end the game.

  A pause. His smile didn’t move, but his eyes did—sharp.

  —If you understand me.

  Katherine nodded again. She’d expected it. She wasn’t hoping for a “fair deal.” She only needed a margin.

  —Perfect —Dinamo said, as if they’d just signed a friendly contract—. It begins whenever you like.

  There was a moment of silence between them. Analyzing, understanding. Both measuring each other, intent on finding the best path to victory.

  And then the cameras appeared.

  As always: without permission.

  The commentator burst in, euphoric, swallowing the transmission with a voice too big for the universe.

  —You heard it, lost audience! These titans of eternity are about to give us a light show! —the sphere vibrated like it might explode—. For those who don’t know: a skill duel means fighting without using your conceptual ability or your trait. Weapons aren’t allowed either. Just internal energy and whatever random concepts you’ve learned. I don’t recommend it for untalented mortals! With that clarification, let’s kick off this bomb!

  Katherine didn’t wait for “begin.”

  She attacked.

  Her first advance was frontal—direct—no dancing.

  —Cut. Thrust. Cut. Fire.

  She said it out loud because that was normal. Because it was hard. Because using borrowed concepts demanded too much concentration. Too much effort.

  Space split into lines that weren’t lines. The thrust arrived before the cut. The fire tried to bite from below, like a cheap trick.

  Dinamo answered just as fast, just as verbal.

  —Right. Shield. Cut. Ice.

  “Right” moved him out of an attack that, by “common” rules, couldn’t be dodged. That was the normal thing with conceptual attacks.

  “Shield” formed a minimal defense. “Cut” dismantled part of her advance. “Ice” froze the fire into a rigid idea, stripping it of freedom.

  Katherine continued without pause.

  —Bullet. Move. Force. Speed. Lightning.

  She didn’t draw weapons. They weren’t weapons. It was “bullet” as a concept: a compressed projectile. “Move” to adjust trajectories. “Force” for impact. “Speed” so reaction didn’t exist. “Lightning” to punish the defense.

  Dinamo smiled as if congratulating her.

  —Stick. Hard. Move. Tenacious.

  An improvised staff, compacted by pure intent. “Hard” so it wouldn’t break. “Move” to intercept. “Tenacious” to hold long enough.

  They collided.

  No metal. No proper names. Only ideas crashing into each other with violence.

  Katherine changed the tempo.

  —Dodge. Forward. Speed. Fist.

  She got in close.

  And when her fist traveled, Dinamo couldn’t resist commenting, genuinely amused:

  —Seriously, Katy? You think we’re in a manga?

  He laughed as he said the next word:

  —Defense.

  The defense arrived late.

  Because he got distracted by a joke. A joke that, if you asked him, he’d say was one hundred percent justified.

  And in that world, an instant was enough.

  The fist connected like a guillotine.

  Dinamo went flying—one arm gone—when he tried to block. Blood burst out in obscene, exaggerated jets, like the universe wanted to remind the audience that yes, this was flesh.

  The commentator shrieked, delighted.

  —OOOH! That hurt even in my circuits! And I don’t even have nerves!

  Dinamo landed, skidded through the void like there was a floor, and his smile never left.

  He opened his mouth, still laughing, forcing himself to continue.

  —Regenerate. Run. Distraction. Heal.

  The arm tried to return. The blood tried to obey. The body tried to “remember” its shape.

  Katherine didn’t allow it.

  She pressed him the way you press a crack before it closes. No breathing room.

  —Speed. Find. Attack. Fist. Fire. Damage.

  The commentator vibrated.

  —This is what I’m talking about! Two users so skilled they can use this many concepts that aren’t even theirs! Fascinating!

  The fight became a sequence of commands.

  Dinamo attacked—finally more aggressive:

  —Dodge. Kick. Bite. Poison. Hammer.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  A kick meant to break her posture. “Bite” as an animal gesture—ridiculous, but real—an attempt to anchor poison into synthetic flesh. “Hammer” as weight and closure.

  Katherine answered without slowing.

  —Pierce. Dodge. Lightning. Blindness. Left. Fire.

  “Pierce” to ignore part of the impact. “Blindness” to steal his read. “Left” to shift the world’s axis one step. Fire to punish.

  Dinamo caught a breath and changed form.

  —Heal. Intangible. See. Earthquake. Flash.

  “Intangible” saved him from a blow already on the way. “See” restored his read. “Earthquake” tried to destroy Katherine’s conceptual base even without a floor. “Flash” tried to reset the rhythm.

  The fight was even.

  But not equal.

  Katherine was better at learning concepts. She always had been.

  Dinamo knew it.

  And still, he didn’t look worried. He looked… thinking.

  Because this wasn’t a fight of strength.

  It was a fight of ideas.

  And if an idea didn’t exist, you had to create it.

  Dinamo got a minimal breath while his body finished rebuilding.

  His voice came out casual—venomous—like he was commenting on a trivial fact.

  —Huh… I’m surprised that body’s still holding up. I could’ve sworn it was such poor quality it was falling apart.

  The sentence landed like a nail.

  Katherine felt the impact somewhere that wasn’t physical.

  And then “Crack” happened.

  She didn’t say it. He didn’t say it. But the concept was born anyway: a direct consequence, an idea accepted by the system—and by both of them. Even if one of them didn’t want it.

  Cracks began spreading over Katherine’s body. Fine at first. Then wider. Like strained porcelain.

  Dinamo saw it and lit up.

  He capitalized.

  —Advance. Hammer. Crush. Damage. Powerlessness.

  The hammer returned, heavier. “Powerlessness” tried to steal her reaction, steal her control, steal her dignity.

  Katherine defended with forced precision.

  —Shield. Cushion. Exit. Distance. Pride. Regenerate.

  The shield held just enough. “Cushion” saved her core. “Exit” pulled her off the strike’s axis. “Distance” bought an instant. “Pride” was a dirty patch—but functional: a mental anchor to keep the body from collapsing under the idea.

  She barely escaped the assault, but the cracks kept spreading.

  Dinamo laughed in ecstasy. He enjoyed having the advantage. He enjoyed when his prey fell into his claws.

  —What’s wrong, Katherine? Don’t you like how true my words are? Or is that body really that mediocre? Should I call a technician?

  The cracks worsened.

  And with them, an inexplicable irritation.

  Katherine frowned.

  Don’t answer.

  Don’t give him that.

  But for some reason, she did.

  —It’s funny you talk about sincerity, when your life is a lie.

  For an instant, Dinamo showed real surprise. Small. Brief.

  And Katherine felt—however morbid—enjoyment.

  The mistake lasted exactly that long.

  Because his smile came back different.

  Not amused.

  Ecstatic.

  Dinamo didn’t say “rule broken.”

  He didn’t say “threat.”

  He just looked at Katherine like she’d touched a door he didn’t want opened yet.

  And it thrilled him.

  Caetano felt it before anyone else.

  The Extinguisher of Lives.

  That was the thought. Not complete. Not elaborate. A pure label.

  And it speared straight through him.

  Caetano began to bleed.

  Not from a wound. From every pore. Like life itself was trying to escape out of shame. His body trembled, his conceptual core trembled. Consciousness became a distant place. His knees almost gave—but he refused. By reflex. By loyalty. By habit.

  Around him, the field grew dirty.

  The air became heavy, as if “breathing” were a concession.

  Yehiel, not far away, lifted his gaze with abject horror. That horror had been there already—accumulated, rotten—from Tirsa’s injury to Quach’s sacrifice. But this was something else.

  This was a clean cut.

  In front of him, his companions were there. Dead.

  Not “falling.” Not “wounded.” Dead.

  Each and every one of them—instant.

  Rajiv, with no time to pray. Ramiro, with no time to grit his teeth. Eoin and Hassan, with no time to drink. Irina, with no time to recover her calm. Hanami, with no time to think of a good joke.

  Baek—even Baek, the most efficient, the most prepared—went out like someone had flipped a switch.

  Every Rank 10 in the area, except Caetano, Yehiel, and Katherine, was dead.

  Yehiel’s cover trembled like it wanted to shatter.

  The broadcast, meanwhile, exploded into noise.

  The commentator screamed, but his voice sounded far away—muffled by a system that didn’t understand what had just happened.

  —T-this…! This wasn’t in the script! This isn’t a show, this is…!

  Dinamo didn’t look at the commentator.

  Or at the dead.

  He only looked at Katherine.

  Katherine was probably the only one who understood perfectly what had happened.

  Not because she saw it, but because she felt it with humiliating clarity: Dinamo got too excited. Like a child squeezing a new toy too hard.

  He unleashed his aura at near maximum power.

  In another enemy, that would’ve been “just pressure.” A gesture of intimidation. An excess. Depending on power and talent, it might’ve hurt.

  But this was his.

  The presence of the Extinguisher of Lives.

  One of his six titles.

  Space turned “malignant.” Not because of temperature, or magic, or “strong” energy. It turned “malignant” because the idea behind his aura wasn’t “power,” even though he didn’t need it. It was termination. An erasure that didn’t ask permission. An extinction that didn’t argue.

  Katherine’s body couldn’t withstand it.

  That deficient, obsolete body was already at its limit even before the duel. And the cursed bracelet—her anchor, her useful poison—couldn’t do much without destroying it further. Every attempt to wring it out meant more cracks, faster collapse.

  So she tried anyway.

  Katherine released her aura almost entirely—matching Dinamo.

  And it worked: it dispersed Dinamo’s tide, pushed his pressure outward, opened a margin of breathable air.

  The problem was the price.

  That deficient body couldn’t withstand its own aura.

  It collapsed.

  It didn’t fall like a defeated body.

  It shut off.

  It splintered, and then it became dust.

  She opened her eyes in her office inside the Central Dome.

  The ceiling was familiar. The silence, too.

  Katherine let out a breath that came out hollow, and aimed her consciousness toward one of the backups she’d stored for an event like this.

  A worse backup.

  Much worse.

  An emergency copy that existed only for the unacceptable—for failure she couldn’t afford. Slower, less durable, cheaper. A reminder that even her immortality had ranks.

  When she opened her eyes a second time, she was already not far from the battlefield.

  She came back.

  Not with epic flair.

  With necessity.

  The place was still just as unreal. Yehiel’s cover was still stamped into space like a fixed scar.

  And there was Dinamo.

  Comfortable.

  Sitting on a sofa as if war were a living room, reading a book with insolent calm. Behind him, the commentator robot was giving him a massage with exaggerated dedication, as if that, too, were part of the show.

  Caetano and Yehiel were nearby.

  Both moved closer when Katherine arrived.

  Caetano didn’t look that bad. Just tired, like he’d survived a long night and nothing more. His posture was the same as always: disciplined, ready to obey even in death.

  Yehiel… was broken.

  It wasn’t just the tremor in his hands. It was the look in his eyes. The way his mind was still trying to accept that “in front of him” there was no one left.

  Katherine gave them a brief greeting, almost automatic, and then focused on Dinamo.

  Dinamo acknowledged her presence without hurry. He closed the book carefully, as if he cared more about paper than the lives he’d just erased. He stood and walked toward them.

  —Congratulations, Katy —he said lightly—. Looks like you won our little duel.

  Katherine showed no reaction.

  Dinamo watched her for a moment, as if waiting for a spark—a grimace, an insult.

  Nothing.

  He sighed.

  —Heh. Looks like I overdid it a little.

  He laughed loudly, genuinely amused.

  —But don’t worry. As a reward for winning our duel, I’ll grant you a small gift.

  He snapped his fingers.

  Just for the show.

  Golden gas rolled over the dust of the formerly living Rank 10s.

  It wasn’t “healing.” It was reconstruction. The gold flowed into the remains as if the remains were empty molds, and life returned with mute violence.

  They came back.

  Alive.

  And with the exact face of someone who’s just understood how close they were to the end.

  Dinamo tilted his head like he was telling a funny anecdote.

  —Sorry. I can’t revive two.

  He smiled, almost proud of his own limitation.

  —It’s impressive how well hidden they were. I have no idea where they died.

  He laughed cheerfully as he admitted he couldn’t bring back Rajiv and Eoin because he didn’t have their exact location.

  Yehiel couldn’t hide his astonishment at seeing his companions back. Even Caetano—who already knew about that ability—was momentarily surprised.

  But the most shocked were the revived themselves.

  Some took a step back as if the air were wrong. Others looked at their hands, their chest, their breathing, as if inspecting themselves by default.

  Reality hadn’t explained anything to them.

  It had only returned them.

  Dinamo rolled his shoulders, puffing himself up.

  —So, what do you think of your reward, Katy? Isn’t it amazing? Aren’t I amazing?

  He even flexed a little—ridiculous, theatrical. Smug.

  Katherine didn’t answer.

  Dinamo didn’t get discouraged.

  —Anyway, why don’t we continue with a little warm-up? I promise I’ll hold back. What just happened won’t happen again. I promise. I swear I’ll behave properly.

  No one moved.

  Katherine knew why.

  It wasn’t strategy.

  It was terror.

  The only one present who still had the intent to keep fighting was, ironically, the only one who wasn’t allowed to fight until his lady ordered it.

  —Don’t be cowards! —Caetano roared—. Where’s your pride? Aren’t you loyal to Katherine? Prove it!

  His voice struck the others like a slap.

  Ramiro answered in a muffled whisper, almost without air.

  —What do you want us to do?

  Caetano looked at him seriously, and noticed the defeatism.

  It wasn’t just Ramiro.

  They were all defeated.

  Irina spoke, with that calm of hers that sounded sadder than serene.

  —We’re willing to die… but does it have to be like this?

  Katherine felt something come undone inside her plan.

  This isn’t working.

  And Caetano was all she had left as her last card.

  Am I really going to have to send Caetano?

  She didn’t want to.

  He was too valuable. Too important. Too necessary. His ability was too unique to lose for an evacuation.

  Maybe I should’ve pulled him out before the Dome.

  But it was too late for regrets.

  Dinamo, meanwhile, recognized the moment with cruel ease.

  He noticed the fun was about to die. He didn’t like that.

  —Eh… honestly I didn’t expect to break you with so little —he said, with a little giggle—. You should improve how you raise your soldiers, Katy. This is embarrassing.

  No one took his words well.

  But they couldn’t answer.

  They only fed their helplessness.

  Dinamo shrugged, almost generous.

  —But since I’m in a good mood, and I have other important matters to attend to, let me give you another gift.

  He began to rise into the air calmly, until he stopped at a considerable distance. Then he extended his hand.

  The first thing everyone felt was POWER.

  Raw, without intent—vast, limitless.

  It wasn’t a “threat.” It was volume. It was the size of something that didn’t fit even in a galaxy.

  That power came from a crack in space.

  A pocket hole.

  A dimension for storing things.

  Dinamo spoke as the crack opened wider, and he slid his arm inside as if reaching for a tool in a drawer.

  —You know? There’s a very interesting hypothesis: that internal energy is just that… energy.

  He pulled out what looked like a hammer.

  Very similar to the ones he’d been using throughout the whole brawl.

  With one impossible difference:

  This one emanated immeasurable power, as if it were made of pure condensed energy. As if its shape were a joke, and the real thing was what was inside.

  Dinamo swung it comfortably, resting it on his shoulder.

  —If a Rank 10 gathered all their internal energy and created a sphere, that sphere would be easily destroyed by a sphere created with only the tiny conceptual capacity of a Rank 1.

  He smiled, enjoying his own explanation.

  —So why don’t we test it? Just on a larger scale. Of course.

  He pointed the hammer at them.

  —My hammer versus you. If any of you manages to survive a single strike from this hammer, I’ll end this show and concede you the victory.

  His smile turned feral.

  —Of course, you don’t count, Katherine. That would be unfair —he added as an afterthought.

  A roar tore through the atmosphere.

  Dimitri.

  He’d been busy with Dinamo’s copies. He’d destroyed every last one. Now only the real one remained.

  And he roared like a beast that finally sees food.

  He charged at Dinamo, completely ignoring the hammer’s terrifying power.

  Dinamo looked at him, exasperated.

  —And here I was trying to give a speech.

  He raised the hammer.

  Adopted a deliberately over-the-top heroic pose.

  —You know? I had a grand speech. One where I bragged about my impressive titles, my most glorious feats, and my future plans, but since that beast doesn’t seem to care…

  His smile sharpened.

  —Let’s move on to the final event.

  The energy turned unholy.

  It eclipsed everything.

  Hanami was the first to move.

  She appeared on the back of the crazed Dimitri charging toward Dinamo, like a seal slapped onto a bullet.

  —Don’t cry for me —she said.

  There was happiness in her voice. Something that came back in the last moments like an old reflex.

  Then she threw Caetano a scorching look.

  —You’d better not fail, Leader!

  Katherine reacted.

  Not with emotion.

  With command.

  —Formation for impact. Chain.

  Her voice cut through the air.

  —Ramiro, you’re first. Then Irina. Then Baek.

  Her gaze fell on Yehiel.

  —Tell your companions they’re next. I don’t care about the order.

  A minimal pause.

  —Caetano, you’re last. Yehiel, at his side.

  Hanami’s farewell kept echoing somewhere in the back of her mind, but there was no time to feel it.

  The only thing she could think was something else. One thing.

  Since when does he have a weapon like that?

  Katherine stared at the hammer.

  That power was unimaginable even to her.

  It wasn’t “a strong weapon.”

  It was a sentence held in a hand.

  Did he ever take me seriously?

  She couldn’t shake that desolate feeling.

  And she murmured, barely audible, as if the world didn’t deserve to hear it.

  —Is this what you fought against… Cursed?