The Original Realm

The air in the Grand Cell was thick with the electric hum of impending violence. Luke's heart pounded in his chest as he faced Sylveria's clone, her expression unreadable, but her movements graceful and confident. This wasn't the real Sylveria—Luke knew that—but the clone was still formidable, an extension of her power designed to test him. He could see the flicker of satisfaction in her eyes as she shifted on the spot, prepared to respond to his every move.

Luke lunged first, a punch aimed at her midsection, but she was already a step ahead. With a fluid sidestep, she caught his arm, twisting it effortlessly and forcing him into a stumble. The pain flared in his muscles as he fought to regain balance, but before he could recover, she drove an elbow into his side. The blow knocked the air from his lungs, and he gasped, his vision blurring for a moment.

He gritted his teeth, pushing through the sting of pain. "Not bad," he muttered, eyes narrowing. The clone smirked, her silver hair shimmering as she shifted her weight. Luke knew that in this fight, she was every bit as fast as he was, and she could match his strength with her own supernatural grace.

The battle resumed, and this time, Luke's attacks came faster, more furious. He aimed high, a swift uppercut meant to catch her off guard, but she caught it with one hand, spinning under his arm and forcing him into a chokehold. He wrenched free, twisting and spinning with desperate energy, narrowly dodging her follow-up kick.

Blow after blow, the two moved in a dance of strikes and counters. Sylveria's clone was a perfect mirror of her master's prowess, fluid and powerful, always a breath ahead of Luke's reach. His muscles screamed in protest, his breath came in gasps, and sweat dripped from his temples, but he pushed forward, refusing to yield.

Finally, with a roar of determination, Luke summoned Advent's power, channeling it into his fists. His punches landed with the force of a tempest, each one forcing the clone to retreat. It seemed for a moment that victory was in his grasp, but then the clone dodged to the side, a smile of mocking pride on her lips. She was toying with him, waiting for him to falter.

And he did. His leg caught on a stone jutting out from the floor, sending him crashing to the ground with a thud. Pain shot up his spine, and the clone stood over him, the faintest flicker of disappointment crossing her eyes.

"So, this is the one Aldric put his faith in?" Sylveria's voice, cold and condescending, came from the clone's lips. Luke's chest heaved, but a smirk played on his face, even as exhaustion threatened to claim him.

"Thought I was the only fighter in this ring?" he rasped, tilting his head up to meet her gaze. The clone's eyes narrowed, and she turned, a sudden tension in the air as she realized something was amiss.

Luke's hand shot out, tossing Eleanor's bow toward her. The movement was swift, and for a heartbeat, time seemed to pause as the bow glided through the air. Eleanor caught it with practiced ease, eyes flickering with determination as she nocked an arrow. The clone's eyes widened in surprise as she registered the weapon in Eleanor's hands, just in time to see the arrow being released with pinpoint precision.

The arrow shot forward like a bolt of lightning, but the clone twisted with razor-sharp precision, her hand darting out to catch the projectile mid-air. The glow of the arrow dimmed as Sylveria's fingers crushed it, splintered fragments falling like shards of glass to the floor. "Pathetic," she spat, her voice cold and cruel.

But before she could shift her attention back to Luke, he was already on the move. Advent coursed through him, illuminating his fist with a fierce, radiant glow as he barreled forward.

"Gotcha," he growled.

Sylveria spun too late. Luke's Advent-fueled punch connected squarely with her chest, the impact exploding outward in a shockwave of force. The clone's body cracked, shards of light splintering away like fractured glass. For a moment, she seemed to pause, the corners of her lips twitching upward as a proud smile broke across her face. The disbelief in her eyes softened, replaced by a glint of admiration. She watched Luke with a mix of respect and challenge, as if she were pleased he had managed to overcome the clone. The projection shattered entirely, the remnants fading into the air, but that look lingered, a silent acknowledgment of his strength.

From the shadows, Aldric stepped forward, the faintest grin tugging at his lips. "Well, I'll be," he said, voice tinged with approval. "Not entirely incompetent after all."

Luke's grin widened, and he met Aldric's gaze, the weight of his triumph still radiating in the tense air.