Blake watched the ridiculous spectacle with mounting annoyance. The spotlights stabbed down from above like accusing fingers, while camera drones buzzed around like mechanical mosquitoes. Up on the catwalks, ranks of soldiers stood looming in their combat gear, trying way too hard to look intimidating. The whole setup was about as subtle as a kick to the teeth. As Rax kept pontificating about order versus chaos like some cut-rate supervillain, Blake found himself wondering if he should just rush the man and slit his throat. In his experience, the bigger the speech, the messier the aftermath.

Still, Kālī's Maw wanted a show, and Rax was willing to provide the stage.

"Kitt," he thought, maintaining his outwardly disinterested expression. "How much did he actually get from that mind probe of his?"

"Surface stuff mostly," Kitt replied through their link. "He got your name, which is interesting—must be some kind of identification ability. Picked up fragments about your class and some basic combat capabilities. But nothing deep." A hint of smugness colored her mental voice. "Your attributes are one thing, but our bond probably makes your mind... slippery to his kind of probing. Hard to target one mind when two of us are in here."

Blake shifted his weight slightly, testing the arena's metal deck beneath his boots. The knife felt good in his hand—balanced, familiar. But something about Rax's stance bothered him. The warlord held himself like someone unused to physical combat, relying more on presence than practical positioning.

"He's not a physical cultivator," Kitt confirmed, catching Blake's train of thought. "The cybernetics are mostly for show. His real power is mental—illusions, mind control, that sort of thing. I can feel him trying to get hooks into your thoughts even now."

Blake's jaw tightened imperceptibly. "How much will [Warden's Insight] help with that?"

"Hard to say. It should pierce basic illusions, help you separate reality from deception. But direct mental attacks?" Kitt's presence flickered with uncertainty. "That's where it gets interesting. Your mental attributes are surprisingly high for your tier. Especially for a fighter. He won't expect that. And [Battlewright]... well, it's designed to translate combat skills across different contexts. Mind-to-mind combat might qualify."

Above them, Rax was still pontificating about tradition and sacred combat, playing to the cameras with practiced gestures. Blake resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The whole setup felt ridiculous—like a cheap action movie climax cobbled together from half-remembered tropes.

"I could try to run some calculations," Kitt offered, "figure out how your abilities might stack up against—"

"No time," Blake cut her off mentally. "We work with what we've got. Just... keep an eye on my six? I don't like being surrounded."

"Always," Kitt assured him. "Though I doubt the goons will interfere. Rax seems pathologically invested in this whole 'honorable duel' narrative he's constructed."

Rax spun to face Blake, his prosthetic arm humming with power. Purple energy crackled along the metallic surface like lightning, and Blake figured the display was supposed to make him afraid. It just looked like one of those plasma balls you could get at a museum gift shop.

"Have you any final words before we begin?" Rax's voice dripped with melodramatic gravitas; a community theater reject who'd watched way too many period dramas. The crowd of thugs and sycophants, however, hung on their boss's every word. Blake wondered if they had practiced this routine.

Blake tried to keep his tone conversational, but an undeniable chill crept into it. He had no patience left for the man. No mercy either. He stared straight into the warlord's augmented eyes, even as he felt his own eyes burn to golden life as he flared [Warden's Insight].

"Whatever you think this is, you're wrong. This isn't about honor. I'm just here to kill you. Simple as taking out the trash."

The blunt statement seemed to catch Rax off guard, disrupting his carefully crafted moment of theater. Blake could see the warlord's organic hand clench, a tell that revealed genuine anger beneath the manipulative facade. [Warden's Insight] backed his opinion up.

Good. Angry people made mistakes.

"You think a mere knife can threaten me?" Rax's voice had lost some of its performative polish, taking on a harder edge. "Without your strange weapon, you're nothing. I've spent years perfecting my abilities, ascending beyond—"

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Blake's mind brushed against something then—an alien pressure trying to worm its way into his thoughts. He recognized the intrusion for what it was, but found himself genuinely curious about how his own abilities would respond. Years of combat experience had taught him that understanding an enemy's capabilities was crucial to survival.

The mental probe felt like oil against his consciousness, searching for purchase. But as Kitt had noted, his thoughts seemed to flow around the invasion, refusing to be pinned down. Blake focused on the sensation, allowing [Warden's Insight] to analyze the attack's pattern while maintaining his defensive stance.

"His power has a structure to it," Kitt observed. "Like... he's creating a mind-map of relationships between ideas, and trying to overlay that understanding on your mind. Fascinating, really. The way he's attempting to—"

"Less analysis, more practical application," Blake thought back, though he couldn't help a slight smile at Kitt's academic enthusiasm. Even in life-or-death situations, her curiosity remained undimmed.

"Right, sorry," Kitt redirected. "Main thing is, he's used to overwhelming opponents with pure mental force. But your attributes give you natural resistance, and our bond makes traditional mental domination tricky. He'll have to try something else."

"Begin on my mark," Rax announced to the arena, purple energy still dancing across his cybernetic arm. "Three..."

Blake settled his weight, muscles coiling as he prepared to explode into motion. The knife felt alive in his grip, an extension of his will. He'd faced worse odds. Maybe not against mind-controllers, but—

"Two..."

Something felt off. Blake's eyes narrowed as Rax's organic hand twitched, a subtle tell that—

"MOVE!" Kitt's warning exploded through their link. At the same time she forcefully pushed mana from their core into [Warden's Insight], exposing the truth of the scene: Rax was already on him.

Blake was diving left as Rax's augmented fist crashed through the space where his head had been. The countdown still echoed in Blake's ears, but Kitt's presence burned through the deception. An auditory illusion. Clever.

"The countdown was faster than you were hearing, I think," Kitt confirmed as Blake rolled to his feet. "I'm guessing Insight isn't doing much about non-visual illusions, but if we keep it burning it will help with visuals."

There was no time for further chatter as Rax pressed forward, that crackling prosthetic arm leading a barrage of strikes. Blake weaved through them, [Warden's Insight] piercing the subtle distortions that tried to mask the true path of each attack.

"Your speed is impressive," Rax's voice seemed to come from multiple directions—another illusion. "But how long can you maintain this dance?"

Blake didn't waste breath on a reply. His knife darted out, scoring a shallow cut across Rax's organic forearm. First blood. But the warlord barely seemed to notice, his cybernetic hand lashing out with inhuman speed.

[Unfettered Stride] carried Blake clear, but he could feel the strain building. Every burst of movement, every use of his abilities burned precious mana. And Rax... Rax was barely breathing hard.

"His attributes are higher across the board," Kitt warned. "Tier advantage. We need to be smart about this."

Blake circled warily, studying his opponent through [Warden's Insight]. The way Rax moved suggested he relied heavily on his augmentations for physical combat. His organic side showed signs of atrophy—a weakness, maybe...

The thought scattered as another mental probe slammed against Blake's consciousness. This one felt different—less subtle, more like a battering ram. Blake's teeth clenched as he fought to maintain his focus, barely deflecting a follow-up strike from that crackling prosthetic.

"You resist well," Rax's voice held genuine interest now. "But every defense has its breaking point."

The air seemed to thicken, reality warping at the edges of Blake's vision. [Warden's Insight] burned through his reserves as it fought to pierce the layered illusions. Were there really three Raxes advancing on him, or just clever misdirection? The metal deck beneath his feet rippled like water—another trick, but knowing that didn't make it easier to maintain balance. [Unfettered Stride] picked up the slack from his mortal sense of balance.

Blake's knife found two more openings over the next exchanges, drawing blood from Rax's shoulder and side. But the cuts were superficial, failing to slow the warlord's relentless advance. Meanwhile, every dodge, every parry, every use of his abilities drained Blake's precious mana reserves.

"We can't keep this up," Kitt's voice held rare urgency. "He's wearing you down deliberately."

She was right. Blake could feel fatigue building in his muscles, his reactions slowing by fractions of seconds. But ending this quickly would mean taking risks, leaving himself open to—

The thought came too late. He had just used a plane of force to deflect Rax's organic arm, but the prosthetic was already moving. Blake tried to twist away, but with a flare of power Rax's fist accelerated. The crackling metal fist caught him square in the ribs with devastating force.

Pain exploded through Blake's chest as the impact launched him backward. He hit the deck hard, the knife clattering from nerveless fingers. Before he could recover, Rax's organic hand locked around his skull like a vise.

"Now then," the bastard's voice dripped with poisoned honey as purple light bloomed around them both. Blake's guts twisted, nausea clawing at him. "Let's end this farce."

The invasion hit like an iron spike being hammered through his skull. Whatever defenses Blake had left crumbled to nothing, ground to dust beneath that relentless alien force. His mind started to slip sideways, the world splintering around him like a mirror struck with a hammer.

Kitt was screaming his name from somewhere far away, but Blake couldn't even lift a finger to fight back anymore. Rax's power flooded into him, cold as a northern winter, washing away memories, thoughts, everything that made him who he was. The darkness swallowed him whole.