Page 67

Before us, pillars of sand emerged from the ground, one for each contestant. Those pillars trembled and shook. The writhing masses began to solidify, forming arms, legs, and heads.

“What the flark is this nonsense?” Drazen shouted.

Long hair hung over the shoulders of the sandy figure before me. His proportions took on the shape of a formidable male with an aristocratic edge. Chin held high, he appraised me down his upturned nose. In one hand, he clutched a sword. An exact copy of the one I held in my own.

I raised my free hand, swiping a trickle of sweat from my brow. The king’s creation mirrored the motion.

“Seven hells. They’re us,” Drazen gasped, hopping on one foot, staring as his sandy replica mimicked the movement.

“We’re to fight ourselves?” Runa turned to me, her jaw gaping in disbelief.

Horns blew. The flamboyant king thrust his glowing hands into the air. The torque around my neck heated, the restraint deactivating.

“People of Carcerem. Let the trials begin.”

With those words, the sandy figures charged, angry snarls roaring from their inhuman lips. I raised my blade just in time toblock the strike from my doppelgänger. The power of his hit rang up my arm. His strength was impressive—as it should be since he was supposed to be me.

“This is madness,” Runa shouted, blocking a well-aimed kick from her twin.

A weapon made of sand, yet no less deadly, zinged past my cheek. I ducked and spun, barely missing the tip of my assailant’s blade. He was good. I’d give him that.

Still, there was nobody in this world with my kind of skill—except me. Idris had no hope of duplicating my level of experience. Muscles flexed across my shoulders. I shot forward and thrust my sword into the creature’s heart.

There, it stuck.

While the abomination smiled at me, I heaved on the sword’s hilt. My supernatural strength did little to extract my blade.

The sand creature waggled his index finger at me as though I were an errant child. To my bemusement, the bastard grasped the blade of the sword and pulled my weapon from his chest. Before I could retreat, his unyielding fist connected with my jaw.

Pain erupted, and my head spun.

Runa stumbled backward as well. Panting, she turned to me. Blood trickled from her brow. “She knows my every move before I make it.”

“Same,” I uttered, then looked up. “Duck!”

“Argh!” Kronk flew over heads, his massive form hurled by his mirror-self.

Runa glanced at me and blinked, her cheeks pale. “That’s a first.”

I bet. The only creature strong enough to toss Kronk like a stone skipping across water was…Kronk.

I eyed the creature before me, the sandy devil doing the same. He canted his head, a dark smirk flirting upon his lips. His stony eyes flicked in Runa’s direction, and his smirk became a devious grin.

With little warning, the demon before me lunged for Runa. It figured the bastard would seek to destroy the only thing I valued in this infernal kingdom. It was what I would have done. Our mirror selves knew our weaknesses and intended to exploit them.

In turn, Runa’s assailant turned her back on the sorceress and spun to engage her brothers.

“Runa,” Drazen huffed when the abomination jumped on his back, pounding him with her fists. “Make her stop.”

“Stop her yourself,” the sorceress shouted, dodging a slice of my doppelgänger’s sword. “I’ve got problems of my own.”

Purple energy glowed in Runa’s palms. She clapped her hands, and suddenly, six of her stood before her attacker. Unlike the creature Idris made of sand, these were picture-perfect versions of the sorceress.

I scrubbed my eyes. Which of them did I defend?

All six of her images took a fighting stance, flicking their fingers. In unison, they taunted my replica, saying, “Bring it, bula-hole. Give me your best shot.”

Just as confused as I was, my double chopped and hacked through the first mirage, then the second. The moment he prepared to slice into Runa Number Three, his head tumbled free of his body. Defeated, the fake Victor returned to its origins, that of a pile of sand.