The forest clearing by the lake had never felt so alive. The sun had sunk low, casting long, wavering shadows across the battlefield, yet Nathaniel felt a strange calm beneath the storm of tension. The clones, Ræl's creations, shimmered in the fading light, their pale, scaled forms flickering like reflections in broken glass. Each one carried the sharp essence of its creator, a fragment of Ræl's skill and intent, yet twisted into a ghostly form capable of independent thought.
Nathaniel's heart pounded, muscles taut like coiled springs. Every fiber of his being screamed both excitement and dread. He had faced ultimate physical trials—the thousand laps, the cursed weights—but this was different. This was mental warfare, a labyrinth of perception, reaction, and instinct. Here, strength alone could not win; he would need precision, creativity, and intuition beyond anything he had previously imagined.
Ræl's voice cut through the charged air, calm but commanding. "Observe, adapt, and strike. You will not succeed by force alone. Each clone is a reflection of a choice. Learn to see beyond their shadows, and you will find the source."
Before Nathaniel could respond, one clone lunged. It moved fluidly, every motion precise, as if it could anticipate his thoughts. It carried ten percent of Ræl's power—a fraction, yet enough to push Nathaniel to his limits. He dodged, parried, and countered, but each movement demanded perfect timing, every strike a test of coordination. Sparks flew where steel met scaled claws; elemental energy flared as wind and fire coiled into destructive spirals. The air itself seemed to hum, vibrating with tension, and the forest trembled beneath the invisible pressure of power.
Nathaniel's mind raced. He had to track dozens of threats simultaneously—the clone in front of him, the clones at his flanks, the phantom movements at the edges of his vision. Reflex and instinct merged, guiding his body through a sequence of strikes and evasions. Yet even as he moved, he could feel the clones adjusting, responding in ways that seemed almost predictive. Every decision mattered. Every hesitation invited punishment.
Then, as if sensing his resolve, the initial clone multiplied. Not just a few times, but dozens, hundreds—an ever-expanding wave of ultimate clones, each carrying ten percent of Ræl's power, fully independent, capable of thought and reaction. They swarmed like living shadows, filling the clearing, moving with coordinated chaos. Nathaniel's stomach sank momentarily at the overwhelming sight, yet he could not afford panic.
A soft, mechanical voice echoed in his mind. "Connect," Thorn instructed. "See beyond the illusion. Align your senses with the patterns of energy. Perception is your weapon as much as any blade."
Nathaniel closed his eyes for a heartbeat, centering himself. When he opened them, the battlefield transformed. Every clone left a faint trail of energy, a signature in the air that his enhanced perception could follow. He could differentiate the subtle aura of each clone, trace their intent, and anticipate their movements. And then he saw it—the original Ræl's essence, the source energy among the myriad copies, like a heartbeat hidden beneath a storm.
With newfound clarity, he struck. The ground rippled under his movement, wind whistling past as he weaved through the surging tide of clones. One launched a strike from his blind side; Nathaniel pivoted, planted a temporary clone beneath him as a springboard, and soared over the attacker. Another clone lunged from above; he met it mid-air, twisting and redirecting with fluid precision. Step by step, leap by leap, he turned the overwhelming swarm into a stage for his mastery of spatial awareness and reaction.
He drew his sword, energy coalescing along its blade in a pale, electric shimmer. The air around him crackled with tension. He focused all his strength, all his skill, all his will, and shouted, "Meteor Impact!"
The strike descended with the force of a falling star. The impact detonated in a blinding explosion, shockwaves tearing through the clones and carving a crater into the earth. The source—the true original of Ræl's clones—was obliterated, atomized entirely, leaving no trace behind. Yet beyond the blast, hundreds of ultimate clones survived, their independent consciousnesses unbound from their source. The battle was far from over.
Nathaniel's mind raced. Each clone now operated autonomously, capable of independent thought and adaptation. The challenge escalated exponentially. He could not simply rely on brute force; coordination and strategy were essential. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured clones of himself, matching numbers with Ræl's surviving ultimate clones. The forest cleared of civilians' minds and animals, leaving only the clearing alive with clashing forces.
Swords met swords, elemental energy collided with elemental energy, and the ground shivered under the ferocity of the exchange. Nathaniel moved as one with his clones, each motion synchronized through instinct and focus. Fire leapt from his clone's fists, wind swirled around steel, and shards of earth rose like defensive walls. The battlefield became a symphony of destruction and precision, every strike calculated to counter, every movement a test of coordination.
Minutes blurred into hours. Sweat poured, blood smeared, muscles screamed with fatigue, yet Nathaniel's mind remained a razor-sharp instrument. He directed each clone as if conducting an orchestra—balancing offense and defense, prioritizing threats, and predicting every counter. Even the clones with partial power adapted, learning through their imitation, forcing Nathaniel to constantly adjust.
By the time the dust settled, Nathaniel's clones had triumphed. The ultimate clones of the clone lay broken, dissipating into nothingness, their energy returning to the ether. Nathaniel staggered forward, chest heaving, body trembling, yet a fierce smile spread across his face. The satisfaction was immense—not just for victory, but for the mastery he had glimpsed over chaos itself.
Ræl stepped forward, visibly impressed. His scaled face was calm, yet his eyes glimmered with respect. "Wow," he said, voice tight with admiration. "At four years old, you already wield ten percent of my power with precision, coordination, and judgment. Incredible. Truly… you are strong. Well done."
Nathaniel puffed out his chest, pride swelling. Yet he knew this was merely the beginning. "Now," he said, grinning, "let's see how I do against a perfect clone!"
Ræl snapped his fingers. A perfect clone materialized, radiant and imposing, shimmering with raw, unfiltered energy. Its aura pressed down on Nathaniel like a mountain upon his chest, compressing the air and weighing him with each breath. His legs trembled under the immense force, heart hammering like a war drum. Fear rippled through him, sharp and insistent, but he forced himself upright, eyes locked on the clone's form.
The perfect clone moved first. Lightning-fast, it reacted instinctively to every strike Nathaniel threw. Each attack was countered, deflected, or absorbed, forcing him back over hundreds of meters. The ground was scarred, trees splintered, elemental energy scarred the air, leaving streaks of fire and wind in its wake. Nathaniel staggered, winded, battered—but he refused to kneel. Each strike he launched carried the fire of determination, every defense the grit of experience.
Master Rich stepped forward, his presence calm yet commanding. "Enough for today," he said, voice carrying across the clearing. "You will continue tomorrow. Now, inside. Heal, eat, and rest. Ræl, deactivate the clone."
"Sorry," Ræl said, snapping his fingers. The perfect clone vanished instantly, leaving behind only the echo of its energy.
Nathaniel fell to his knees, chest heaving, sweat and grime coating his skin. "It's fine, Master… I can still fight!"
Master Rich waved a hand, and all injuries melted away—cuts closed, bruises faded, internal strain vanished as if they had never existed. The revitalized energy surged through Nathaniel's body, his muscles humming with renewed vigor.
"The endurance training," Master Rich explained, voice low and firm, "has elevated your physical and mental limits. Your vitality, stamina, and resilience now exceed normal limits. Without it, Ræl's perfect clone would have utterly overwhelmed you. You survived because of your growth—and because your potential is far greater than you realize."
Nathaniel nodded silently, absorbing the lesson. Every triumph had been earned, every struggle a stepping stone toward mastery.
Master Rich turned to Ræl. "Go clean up. Dinner awaits. You must discuss strategies, techniques, and insights—there is much to cover."
Both Nathaniel and Ræl obeyed, retreating to the house. Nathaniel's chest still burned with adrenaline, his mind replaying the battle over and over. He could feel the lessons etched into his body and soul, each movement, each reaction, each choice an imprint of progress.
As they entered, Nathaniel's eyes flicked between Ræl and Master Rich, understanding dawning. This was not merely combat; it was education. A lesson in awareness, in adaptation, in control. Strength alone could not triumph over the unpredictable. To survive and dominate, one had to see beyond the visible, anticipate, and shape the battlefield itself.
That night, as the moon rose high and the stars glittered over the forest, Nathaniel lay awake. His body rested, yet his mind raced, replaying the chaos of clones, the perfect precision of Ræl's attacks, and the intoxicating taste of control. He realized something vital: the universe was far bigger than he had imagined, and power alone would not be enough. He needed discipline, strategy, and vision—qualities that he would continue to hone under the guidance of Master Rich and Ræl.
For the first time, he also understood the weight of responsibility. Clones, ultimate or perfect, were not merely tools—they were extensions of self, reflections of intent, and mirrors of potential. Mastery meant control, not domination. Victory required clarity, not recklessness.
Nathaniel closed his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips. Tomorrow, he would train again. Tomorrow, he would push past the limits he thought unbreakable. And in the back of his mind, a single thought lingered, fierce and unyielding:
This is only the beginning.