Nick stood up, the light wrapping around his hand and extending outward into the arc of a bow, a trusty weapon in a place wrapped in pure darkness like this. He gave the smooth black surface of this place another look, scanning it for any places to hide or take cover. Aside from the giant corpse of the boss they killed, it was as fine a place he could hope to have for his skills since his target would have nowhere to hide. He might as well have a bullseye.

  The midnight black rock all around them was as good a stage as any for this performance.

  He notched an arrow in the bow, expelling a bit of will to force the mana out of his core and convert into its proper form. Intelligence helped pump up mana reserves, and ever since Colt told him how Edicts worked, he’d been balancing about four different stats to keep them all going, evening out his earlier intelligence-focused build.

  Ah well.

  His fingers played across the string of light; it didn’t have a give to it, not like a guitar. It was smooth and still responded to his touch like a regular string. But the weight was non-existent, even though it was supposed to be taut between his light bow. When he plucked it, too, there was no music. His new instrument in this new world left a lot to be desired.

  If he played the one string of his bow across this stage in its song and dance of tragedy and betrayal, it would only make a silent melody.

  Nick sighed and let the arrow evaporate into thin air, looking at the rest of the group.

  Specifically at Nate. The guy who was aiming to take what should be his into his oversized hands had a brick jaw, stern eyes that contracted his bleached hair like some dude straight from the early 2000s, and a no-nonsense gaze that always got under his skin just a bit. He was confident in what he did, never scared—not like the rest of them.

  Okay, well, minus that Colt. That kid was on another level, and Nick suspected that the apocalypse just broke the way his mind worked. He got excited when there was a fight. Not the same steely acceptance that Nate had… This, in a way, made the bruiser even more intimidating because facing him down now, as he saw that locked-in brow staring at him, he knew there was no excitement. Only acceptance. Nate did precisely what he had to do.

  Terrifying.

  “It’s been an hour,” Nick said, sure of it. His sense of timing was always good. And if it hadn’t… Well, they both looked as good of shape as they’d get anyway.

  Colt stared at them, his eyes scanning the battlefield; he nodded and then moved over to Sarah and Julia, the audience for today’s performance.

  Only, Nate wasn’t one to perform a show. One look in his eyes said enough. They said this was a fight; not a performance, those eyes said. Don’t you dare make a mockery of our battle—serious? Deadly serious. They’d vowed not to kill each other… But how did you pull back on arrows that burned skin or hammers that smashed skulls?

  You kinda didn’t. You threw out what you could and hoped the other guy could take the hit.

  Nick’s stomach crawled; it twisted and knotted like a squirming worm drying to death in the daylight. No, this wasn’t a stage, but it might as well have been for the pre-show jitters he felt.

  “Correct. It has been an hour. Are you ready?” Nate asked, and his shoulders rolled—the massive hammer hung at his side, head down as he warmed up. Nick pictured that hammer smashing his bones to bits and shuddered. The phantom pain resonated in his bones as they sorely didn’t want to be crushed.

  This was a fight he had to win.

  That Icon—it would make a path to all the power he wanted. All the fame and safety that came with it was a ticket to his future, and the only thing standing in the way of him and his ride to being better was the big hunk of brainless soldiers in front of him.

  A joke came to mind as he stared at the guy.

  What do you call kids in the military? You call them the infantry.

  Nick smiled to himself. Dispelling the illusion of a big, bad military man made it easier to cope. His chest puffed out, and his light flared as his confidence soared. This guy was just like him, only dumber. Just because he had military training didn’t make him any better—it only made him more prone to making stupid decisions with his life.

  “Bring it soldier boy,” Nick said.

  Nate picked up his hammer—the steel shifting as liquid metal, forming more of a shield than a weapon, a blunt instrument. The brief skirmish before showed him that it would be a good tool to close the distance.

  Good. Nick tried to hide his smile as he notched another arrow.

  He had a trick.

  There was no announcement that the fight started. No ringing bell or someone saying, ‘You may begin.’ No, they were both ready. It was time to shed blood.

  Nate charged straight forward, his only goal to close the distance and win. This was the condition of victory for the fight. Since if Nate got that, he would win.

  Nick fired a test shot—a pure white arrow—which Nate blocked with little problem. So, he notched another and fired again, rebounding. The soldier twisted as he moved, catching the arrow meant for his back and deflecting it again with the metal shield he’d formed.

  Which was well enough. Expected. He fired off a couple of more simple arrows—splitting them on occasion, getting the fight into a rhythm.

  Nate would charge forward and stop and deflect, taking great care to catch the arrows with his shield as he chipped the distance between them away. The guy probably fancied himself an unstoppable juggernaut. Saw himself as an inevitable steel wall of death. If and when he reached Nick, he figured he’d be able to wreck him with his hammer.

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  That was a fair assessment; forcing a ranged fighter into melee was a sure recipe for victory.

  Fuck soldier boy and his ideas.

  Nick continued to shoot, letting the distance close as Nate moved but making him work for every yard. The key here was a false sense of security.

  Make him think he had Nick dead to rights. That he could block whatever he threw.

  Twenty yards turned to fifteen, and then, it evaporated into ten.

  Now.

  Nick focused, wrapping his skill, magic, and Edict together; then… tripled the output. Sweat instantly beaded his brow. He groaned with the effort as his mind strained to wrap it all together. The mana veins in his body forced out the magic in a gush.

  In his hand, notched in his bow, were three brilliant white arrows instead of one.

  Before Nate could see what he’d done—Nick fired. Ten yards. The perfect distance. As expected, all of the arrows went odd. Not being able to properly aim them a long distance when shooting so many was the downfall of this particular technique.

  It’s why he hadn’t busted it out in a live fight before. He never wanted to get close to an enemy, and if they got too close, that maniac with a knife was there already killing whatever entered range.

  This was his coup de grace, his final curtain song, the highlight of this little performance Nate and he put on on their black deadly stage.

  The three arrows soared—landing near soldier boy, but not hitting him.

  Part two:

  Nick condensed his will. His soul erupted into instant pain, which he pushed through anyway. The pain was temporary; power would be permanent.

  Each of the three arrows split after hitting the ground—rebounded, their trajectory altered from the wild shot to head directly at the man—three arrows split into nine, and then they flew right at his target from too many angles to block with a single big shield.

  “Sayonara, dipshit,” Nick mocked as the nine beams of light flashed at his enemy.

  It was over. Probably wouldn’t kill him; the guy could tank massive hits now, but it was enough damage that he’d be out of the fight.

  If it did kill him…

  Well, Nick would get the Icon, and he’d still come out fine.

  In the end, that power was his.

  There was a flash as the light converged on their target, flaring as six of the arrows connected, and three hit the shield. Nate whipped it around the best he could, but stopping it was plain impossible with all of the angles of attack.

  The light show was blinding, even for Nick, so he looked away, saving his eyes from being scorched out and melting out of his skull.

  A solid chunk of metal smashed into his chest—Nick rolled over, the air shoved clean from his lungs as it hit with enough force to shatter a wall. He went to the ground, his head smashing into the stone and bouncing up with impact.

  “What—“

  Just as his wits got ahold of him—he saw right next to him. That metal shield turned from a hammer—the big guy had thrown it at him, turning the lump of metal into a frisbee projectile. Nate towered in front of him. Chunks of his flesh melted, dripping down, blood and molten skin…

  His eyes were hard, and he smashed a boot into Nate’s chest—Nick tried to resummon his bow, but Nate was there, suddenly grabbing his wrist and pinning the hand uselessly. Hot blood dripped onto Nick’s chest as the monster on top of him took control.

  Nate took a heavy breath, and his grip tightened on Nick’s wrist—the bone threatening to snap.

  “That was a good technique. Surprised we hadn’t seen it before. You fought a good fight, but it’s over now. You cannot win.”

  “Like hell!” Nick shouted, the pain in his wrist all-encompassing. More of that weight was pressed in from above, and it was hard to breathe. Nate must be kneeling on his chest.

  The soldier sighed. “I didn’t want this fight. But I need the Icon. To protect the people that matter—those that can’t protect themselves. To protect my friends.”

  “I need it!” Nick screamed back.

  Nate glanced over to their audience, searching for something. There were no words, empty stares. They didn’t want him to win. No. They were Nate’s friends, not Nick. Fuck them, and fuck him. Of course, Nick tried to turn things around, but there was no escaping it. The weight was too heavy. The man had him right where he wanted him.

  “Concede,” Nate warned.

  “Never!”

  “I don’t have a way of making you, aside from death,” Nate said.

  “Then you’ll have to kill me!”

  “You’re being absurd. We’ve bled together, fought together. One warrior to another, and I fought on your terms and won here. We both know who deserves this Icon by the agreement we made… I don’t want to kill you. Just, please. Accept your defeat.”

  Nick continued trying to squirm and even gave a couple of shots of flashing blinding light at Nate, but the soldier was steadfast. No matter what he tried or what tricks Nick pulled, there was no escaping the inevitable weight of steel in front of him. Like it or not, Nate was the better warrior. And he had won.

  Faced with being able to do nothing, tears welled in Nicks eyes. He screamed, cursed, and kept trying for another fifteen minutes; weak and powerless, useless once again beneath circumstances outside of his control. Hadn’t he trained? Hadn’t he fought?

  I deserve more. Nick screamed in his head, but yet, he got this.

  It wasn’t fair.

  Life had never been fair. And it was pure bullshit. Who was this guy to come in and steal what was his? When they’d met, Nate had been a weak little level-twenty. Barely surviving their first dungeon. This was bullshit. He’d be dead if not for Nick.

  Nate didn’t punish him more, didn’t punch him. He didn’t inflict anymore pain than necessary to counter Nick’s attempt to snake out from under. The entire time the soldier stared at him with a level, yet inevitable gaze. That of someone who’d decided they were a victor, and nothing could change it.

  At some point, Nick’s tears and snot felt overwhelming—his eyes burned, his face gross. Blood and fluids congealed together in a grotesque visage; running down his chin, smearing on Nate as he held him, and pooling below on the dark obsidian.

  The soldier didn’t judge, didn’t budge, and kept him locked down. Only occasionally would he say, “I know. It’s fine. Accept defeat, come back stronger.”

  But what did it matter? It was bullshit platitudes from a man who had everything. Some dumb soldier who brutally forced his way to victory.

  Eventually, unable to bear it anymore, wanting to get the hell out of this dungeon and away from this asshole, Nick gave in.

  He conceded defeat and let his Icon go.