Chapter 132: Where Blood Learns
Amari wasn’t breathing heavy.
But something behind his ribs wasn’t settling.
It wasn’t fatigue—not exactly. It was irritation laced into instinct, the kind that grows in fighters who have survived too much to be toyed with, too long to be impressed by flair, and too often to treat resilience like spectacle.
Lionel, on the other hand, was grinning wider.
His steps no longer held ceremony—just curiosity. And the copies he kept flaring into existence didn’t move with desperation, but with rhythm, mirrored laughs tracing the perimeter of each dodge like a chorus that never missed its beat.
"You’re faster," Lionel admitted mid-spin, voice light as his illusion ducked Amari’s blade while the real one pressed left, dagger skimming close to his shoulder. "I’ve seen a hundred with Uncos move slower than your legs."
Amari didn’t respond.
His blade hissed through the air again—chain whipping in reverse, hook catching edge, twisting with a snap that passed through a shimmered clone before looping back toward the real target. Lionel rotated beneath the strike, pressed forward, dagger clashing once more against Kusarigama steel. Sparks kicked skyward. Both recoiled. Then lunged.
Amari outpaced him.
Just slightly.
The next three exchanges were faster.
Amari’s feet grounded harder, pivoted quicker, chain curled in a tighter arc. He stopped dodging illusions. He stopped reacting to Lionel’s distance bait. He read movement—not motion. He wasn’t fighting reflections anymore. He was fighting shape.