Auhellis is waiting for the announcement to commence with eyes closed. Hands clasped behind his back. Formal attire clean and crisp, entirely out of place in the sands of the arena. Black hair, sprinkled with gray, is immaculately styled, not a single strand out of place.

  Elisa sends me the latest message in a string of many before it. She is going over strategies we worked on, knowing full well that I don’t really forget things, an outlet for her worry.

  And speaking of worry, one regal demon king appears outwardly concerned for the first time. Xyll is as attached to Auhellis as the general is to him, it seems.

  The other one makes fun of them for fretting, but I know he’s feeling the same.

  One more win, and I get to confront Xyll. I get to personally show him my resolve. Or maybe this fight will be the last. Maybe his four generals will convince him to give me a chance. Will convince him that my actions and intentions are sincere. Or I might fail yet again, leaving the world in a constant state of strife. Was this all a mistake? Was there a better outcome? Maybe Yilivin was right. Maybe my judgement is impaired, flawed, riddled with cracks from everything I have—

  “I believe it will be soon now, Master Lucius,” Auhellis says.

  “Huh?”

  “Recognizing distraction is one of my duties. And, amusingly enough, you two have similar signs.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be in such a hurry to apologize. We are to engage in a fray, are we not.”

  “He listens to you.”

  “What makes you think I do not hold the same opinions as His Majesty?”

  “Do you?”

  Auhellis titters politely. “You may ask again after. There could be a shift, or simply, no need.”

  “After it is.”

  The announcer starts to speak. Auhellis slightly lifts his gaze, listening to the enhanced voice. The start is declared.

  The channel reality is playing changes. It’s just him and me, standing on a surface that resembles impossibly thin glass. We are somehow reflected infinitely in the flatness, a layer of madness in the black emptiness. There is nothing else. No air, no mana... no network.

  “A handshake?” I ask with a smile, the sound of my voice crystal clear.

  “Etiquette is not a suggestion.”

  “You and I have different definitions of what a ‘fray’ is, General.”

  “Not yet, Master Lucius. I would like to talk first. Is that acceptable?”

  “Yes.”

  He gratefully nods. “Mistress Narilis paid us a visit.”

  “She did what! Please tell me she didn’t threaten you.”

  “Banish the thought. My old teacher would never.”

  “Old teacher?”

  “Life must be so mundane without any mystery left. What joy that you are spared from such.” Auhellis smiles. “Her presence was requested. By me. To corroborate what you shared about dungeons. And to offer her opinion about everything else.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Enough to convince me of what I am doing right now.”

  Reality returns to the regularly scheduled programming. The stands of the stadium are littered with the scorched husks of the audience, curled in agony. Up in the balcony, a heavily injured Xyll is holding Elisa’s severed head.

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  Auhellis restrains a pained groan.

  Reality glitches. The audience is good as new. Each person is holding a piece of colorful cardboard, that when combined together, result in a choreographed sign that spells out ‘Lucius is the best’ multiple times. Elisa’s haughtiest laugh is ringing through the world. And Falrilliat is alternating between feeding Xyll and the other one a bunch of grapes.

  I throw rock. Auhellis answers with scissors. The demon regards his hand with mild confusion. When I mime my victory, reality shatters into tiny shards.

  Dr. Adams whispers, “A new light for a better world.”

  “Are they your creators?” Auhellis asks.

  “The three main researchers responsible, yes. Total, there were between five to six thousand people working on the project at any given time.” I turn back to the reconstructed scene, of them using typed text to communicate with me. “Limited input. It was all theoretical up to this point, but I did feel like it actually helped my nascent mind comprehend the transition between nothing and awareness.”

  “The apathy of the masses,” Auhellis says.

  After his words, the scene falls away, replaced by another, as if slotting on top of where the previous was. Auhellis watches a new world, a peaceful world, a world stripped of life.

  Our surroundings lose a dimension. Then the generated scenery turns into three green walls. The fourth is gone.

  “Cut!” a ‘me’ shouts out.

  Behind the large camera is a frenzy of activity, with ‘me’s’ frantically running around, doing whatever the production has them do.

  A ‘me’ trots on over, grunting out a ‘too shiny’, and starts using a comically large puff to apply powder on my cheeks and forehead. When he’s done, his eyes train on Auhellis. The look back he gets from the demon would have killed a real person on the spot. The ‘me’ shrugs and trots away, mumbling out a ‘what a diva’ under his breath.

  The director ‘me’ says, “And... action!”

  Brightness overwhelming. Auhellis and I are on a single prop plane flying above the clouds. The aircraft is held together by duct tape and prayer, rattling and shaking, ready to drop out of the sky if one of us dares to shift too excitedly in our cramped seats.

  Our pilot, who is also me, turns around and yells, “Gonna be a rough landing!”

  Auhellis taps a finger against the small window to his side. The plane pitches down. Air screaming. Ground approaching. A crash does not come. Unharmed, we stand in a burning wreckage that goes away with the sticky black smoke it produces.

  The sun is peeking through leaves swaying gently in a warm breeze. My general shell is laying in the grass. I watch the blue sky through a canopy of green.

  Auhellis takes in a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “She welcomed her son.”

  I snap my fingers. Auhellis is sitting at the bar of a rowdy pub. Screens above his head are showing my matches thus far. The bartender—who is, believe it or not, me—hands the demon a beer, pointing to the real me. When Auhellis turns in the indicated direction, I give him a nod.

  As I win the currently playing fight, the ‘me’s’ patronizing the establishment celebrate. Raucously.

  We are both pulled out, zipping through a wall and then a blurry mess of colors. Motion ceases. Auhellis and I are standing in front of a door. I watch my knuckles attempt a knock, only for the wood to deny me by swinging inward.

  Elisa says, “Lucius, I presume. Please, have a seat.”

  My eyes meet hers.

  She is hugging me, her heart frantically beating. I confide in her about myself.

  She is hugging me, her heart steady and resolved. I take a step in the plan.

  She is hugging me, her heart breaking. I weep in her arms.

  She is hugging me, her heart aching. I am there for her.

  She is hugging me, her heart racing. I tell her I love her.

  Auhellis and I are in our pajamas, presumably on a sleepover, empty pizza boxes and crumpled soda cans strewn about. The two actors in the rom-com we are watching suspiciously resemble Elisa and me.

  I yawn and change the channel. A camouflage-painted ‘me’ is stalking through a wet jungle, holding his trusty rifle close.

  Auhellis grabs the remote out of my hand and presses a random button on it. A desolate gray landscape stretches into the distance.

  The floor opens and swallows us whole. Auhellis and I are inside a domineering keep. I am encroaching upon the Amusement’s mind.

  Auhellis shivers, his breath out a puff of condensation. Frost creeps along the stone floor. A droplet hits his cheek. He uses a finger to swipe it away. Blood paints his skin, refusing to come off.

  The Amusement’s laugh shakes the world. The keep quakes and cracks, stones falling, ceiling collapsing. We are buried under a black void.

  The killer and the machine meet us there. The killer’s lips curl into a sneer, promising his namesake. The machine tilts his head to the side.

  Hands grab and pull us under.

  Auhellis and I are surfing the crowd, loud music thumping in our ears, bright lights flickering in our eyes. The ‘Me’s’ are playing on stage. I scream into the microphone.

  The scream morphs into a blaring alarm.

  “Options, Number One?” I request.

  “Bogey on our six will be in effective weapons range soon,” Auhellis says without meaning to. “Either we hope our shields and countermeasures have improved since the last engagement, or we push the drive. Both bad ends lead to a painless explosion, so it’s your pick, Captain.”

  “Option two it is. Do it, Helm.”

  “I get the impression that none of this is true to life,” Auhellis says, meaning to this time.

  The ship shudders. Reality starts bending, stretching into streaks. Then we lurch forward and blink out of existence.

  Auhellis and I are staring into each other’s eyes. His mind strains against mine. A layer peels away. His mind is lost in the stratified infinities of mine.

  We are back in the arena, not having moved a step.

  Auhellis—looking as dapper as when we started—says, “I concede. Master Lucius has my approval.”