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Chapter 16: Odds and Ends
The air crackled—not with tension, but anticipation.
Kael, Mira, and Throne stood side by side across the field, confidence thick in their posture.
Kael, the Storm Pillar, flicked his fingers. Sparks danced from knuckle to nail. "You sure you don't wanna use your Pillar, mask boy?"
Mira, the Pain Pillar, twirled her staff slowly. "This is suicide. Three of us, one of you."
Throne, of the Iron Pillar, rolled his neck. His skin shimmered, glinting like forged steel. "We'll break you down nice and clean."
Across from them, Chester stood motionless, his sword in hand, mask hiding whatever expression lay beneath.
He laughed—a soft, bubbling sound that made them all pause.
"The worse the odds," Chester said, tilting the sword, "the better my chances."
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The battle erupted.
Kael hurled a spear of lightning. Chester spun wide—barely dodging the arc that scorched the ground behind him.
Throne bulldozed in. Mira's Pain Mirage laced the air, distorting reality—Chester staggered for half a heartbeat, vision blurring.
A punch grazed his side. Electricity snapped around him. Pain flared.
Still, he laughed.
He ducked a staff swing from Mira and kicked up a plume of dust as he retreated. His sword shimmered. The Sword of the Lord of Chance pulsed once.
And then—
The roll began.
The hilt spun in his hand, runes flaring. A ghostly die turned mid-air, slamming down.
Result: Phantom Echo – Mirror the skills and movements of the last attacker for 30 seconds.
Kael leapt again—lightning fast.
So did Chester.
His body moved in perfect synchrony with Kael's—arms flickering, legs lunging, every twist and motion a perfect shadow.
"What the—" Kael's face twisted in disbelief.
Chester's sword became a stormblade. Their strikes clashed, but Chester anticipated every movement—he was the movement.
Then—Chester's mirrored lightning exploded point-blank into Kael's chest.
The storm wielder screamed and dropped.
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Mira lashed out in rage, casting another Pain Mirage. Chester winced, teeth grinding—but he pushed through, charging instead of retreating.
She swung. He deflected.
She stabbed. He spun past.
One deep cut across her ribs—enough to drop her.
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Only Throne remained.
He hesitated, just a beat too long.
Chester walked toward him, dragging his sword across the ground. "Still want to bet against me?"
Throne roared and charged.
Chester stood his ground, then slid sideways at the last second, letting the momentum carry Throne past—then drove his sword into the back of his knee where the metal was softest.
Throne fell, stunned.
And it was over.
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Chester straightened, breathing heavy.
His opponents lay defeated.
No Pillar. No tricks.
Just odds, instinct... and a little luck.
He looked at the blade in his hand. The sword pulsed again.
The worse the odds... the better I perform.
He smiled beneath the mask, voice low:
"Let the real game begin."
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