The hallway he ducked into was half-collapsed, beams slanted like crooked teeth, embers floating in from the other fights. His clone had already slipped off with the girl—but the real Milo waited behind the curtain of heat, eyes flicking to every shadow.
His opponent came striding through the firelight like some kind of prizefighter straight out of an alchemy lab. Covered in sleek black combat gear, but with glowing red lines tracing up their skin, pulsing like veins.
Name: Rilah.
Unco: Morphdrive — the ability to condense and stretch her limbs like liquid alloy, forming them into blades, whips, shields, or even wings. A living weapon, ever-shifting.
Milo leaned against a beam as she stepped into view.
"Oh good," he said brightly. "I was hoping I'd get the flexible one."
Rilah rolled her eyes and launched forward—her arm morphing mid-swing into a serrated blade. Fast.
Milo dodged by inches, slipping behind her, tapping her shoulder as he passed. "Tag. You're in."
