–—- ??? —---

  Clap. Clap.

  Jonathan hit the ground, landing on his hands and knees.

  His vision swam. His chest burned with breath that wasn’t there. He gagged, forcing air into lungs that remembered being punctured only seconds ago.

  Around him, the others collapsed in various states of exhaustion.

  Darcy sat back against the planning table, staring at nothing, her daggers clattering from numb fingers. Selva’s knees buckled as she leaned forward, forehead pressed to the stone. Catherine stood rigid, staff clenched so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

  Wilbur sighed.

  “I swear,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “That was worse. Significantly worse.”

  No one spoke.

  Wilbur paced in front of the table, his frown deepening. “You didn’t dodge, you didn’t reposition. You didn’t adapt.” He sighed. “You just… did the same thing again and hoped it would work.”

  Wilburs gaze fell on Jonathan, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t trust his voice not to break.

  “How are we supposed to win?” A small voice asked.

  Jonathan turned to see Catherine staring at Wilbur, tears tracking silently down her cheeks.

  “I couldn’t block anything that time,” she whispered. “Everyone just… died.”

  Wilbur stopped.

  For the first time since this nightmare had begun, the wizard didn’t immediately respond.

  Instead, he studied Catherine for a long moment.

  “Oh,” Wilbur said at last. “You can win. Trust me.”

  Catherine shook her head. “How could you possibly know? We just keep dying!”

  Wilbur sighed. “I’m absolutely sure.” He crossed his arms. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have even bothered.”

  Darcy slammed a dagger into the table, the wood splitting as it dug into the grain. “How?!” She snapped. “How can you be so sure? How many times have we died while you just watched?”

  Her lips curled into a snarl. “Just what the hell is wrong with you?!”

  Wilbur stared at her. Then his gaze slowly moved from grim face to grim face.

  “Fine then.” He said. “I’ll just show you.”

  Wilbur turned away from the table and took several slow steps toward the Demonlord.

  The massive creature stiffened, claws scraping faintly against the stone as his wings twitched. His eyes flicked between Wilbur and the heroes, fear growing as the wizard stepped towards him.

  Wilbur stopped halfway across the hall.

  “Before I do,” he addressed the room, “we’re going to set some rules.”

  This was too much for the Demon. His lips curled back, revealing rows of jagged teeth.

  “Rules?” The deep voice rumbled. “You play with time itself, and you speak of rules?” His haughty body language from before started to return as he drew himself up. “I will fight, but I will not be degraded and restrained!” The demon roared.

  Silence fell and dragged into eternity.

  Wilbur cocked his head. “Are you done?” He took a small step forward.

  Despite his bravado, the Demon stepped back.

  Wilbur raised one finger. “First. I won’t use my own body.”

  Now the heroes took a step back, murmuring to themselves, their eyes wide.

  Wilbur continued, unbothered. “Second. I will not use any power, skill, or stat that your opponents do not already possess.” He gestured back towards the heroes without looking. “Only duplicates of their current equipment. No tricks, no extra mana, no hidden techniques.”

  Jonathan’s heart skipped.

  “And last but not least.” Wilbur locked eyes with the Demon. “If I lose, you’re free to go. I won’t pursue you, and I won’t stop you this cycle.”

  The Demonlord’s eyes narrowed. Slowly, his posture shifted. Less fear. More interest.

  “And if you win?” He asked.

  Wilbur smiled faintly. “Then you keep fighting. Nothing changes for you.”

  The Demonlord mulled it over, then laughed. The deep echoing sound filled the room. “Very well, Wizard. I will accept this.” The demon grinned viciously.

  “Fantastic!” Wilbur beamed. “Then the pact is sealed!” His hands snapped through the air as glowing lines formed in the air. In less than a breath, a complex sigil was complete and shot towards the Demon.

  The Demonlord’s eyes went wide. “... What? How…”

  Wilbur ignored him as glowing light spilled from his outstretched hand. He turned and pointed to Jonathan.

  “[Mimetic Echo].”

  A figure stepped from the glow, and Jonathan inhaled sharply.

  It was him.

  Same height. Same armor. Same sword. Every nick and scratch was perfectly mirrored. The only differences were the multicolored trim of the equipment and the absurd blue conical hat perched atop his head.

  Wilbur pointed again. And again. And again.

  In moments, a second copy of their party stood in the hall. Perfect replicas, each standing in eerie stillness.

  Wilbur smiled toward the original party of heroes.

  “Now, these are nearly perfect replicas of y’all. I won’t be able to do anything you can’t do.” He grinned. “So watch closely. You may learn a thing or two.”

  He turned back to the copies.

  “[True Transference]”

  Jonathan blinked as the wizard's body glowed, then vanished. On his copy, he stared as the white sphere contorted and shifted into a familiar shape.

  “Wow, just how much do you work out?” Wilbur-Jonathan called out, the wizard's face on Jonathan’s body staring back. “Not bad. Alright, let's get this show on the road.”

  Wilbur-Jonathan spun and moved, as did the other clone. Each was still a perfect copy, but now had the face of their tormenter instead.

  The Demonlord snarled and raised his hands, dark magic already gathering.

  Jonathan watched in stunned silence as his double advanced at an angle, his shield oddly positioned. Selva’s copy had her hands out, and cold mana streamed across the floor. Marie’s clone moved behind Jonathan’s and waited and watched.

  The Demonlord struck first.

  A bolt of crackling darkness screamed toward Catherine’s clone. Jonathan’s copy stepped into its path, but no skill or blessing activated.

  At the last moment, the double twisted and the shield caught the edge of the spell. It was redirected harmlessly into the floor, stone exploding from the impact point.

  The Demonlord hesitated, but the clones did not.

  They danced around the Demon as he desperately tried to lash out. But claw met steel as Jonathan’s double foiled his attempts.

  While the copies of the heroes' front line kept him busy, the elementalists went to work. The room filled with myriad colors as spells launched from the doubles of Catherine, Timothy, Selva, and even Marie.

  The Demonlord snarled in frustration and tried to fire back, but was constantly impeded by Jonathan’s double.

  The barrage of elemental spells didn’t let up, and spell after spell started to wound the creature.

  With a roar, the demon changed its tactics and shifted its magic towards the paladin. Despite deflecting them, the double was shoved back with each blast, his multicolored metal boots scrapping across the floor.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  The hulking copy of Algorax rushed to his comrades' aid and slammed his wicked-looking battle axe into the Demon’s lower body. It failed to cut deeply, yet broke the demon’s concentration, causing dark fiery orbs above its head to blink out.

  But this move left the beserker open, and the Demon’s claws snapped out. It roared with rage as even that attack was deflected, as Wilbur-Darcy materialized from the shadows.

  Before the demon could swipe again, the rogue vanished from view.

  The real Jonathan broke his intense concentration on the fight to turn to Darcy.

  “Can you do that?” He asked.

  “I… well..” Darcy sputtered. “I don’t think so? That was a perfect defl–”

  Her eyebrows raised in realization. “Oh!”

  She glanced towards Jonathan, “Actually, maybe?” She bit her lip as her eyes moved back towards the fight. “My deflection skill doesn’t allow me to defend strikes on others.”

  A grin crept up her face. “But, if I were in between one of you and the demon, it should work exactly like that.”

  Jonathan turned his attention back to the fight and watched every move his double made. Each hero stared in rapt attention as the battle raged.

  Less than a minute later, the fight ended.

  In total, it had lasted seventy-nine seconds before the Demon’s head tumbled to the floor.

  The clones all stopped, their focus moving between the head on the floor and the slumped, kneeling body.

  In unison, they all nodded, then turned as one. They faced the heroes and casually strode across the hall. Each clone moved towards the others and merged, until there was only Jonathan's double left.

  Wilbur-Jonathan raised his hands and clapped twice.

  He grew hazy as glowing light enveloped him. The light faded, revealing Wilbur in his tie-dye robes and blue conical hat.

  Hope filled the heroes as they looked past the wizard at the corpse of their world’s greatest threat.

  Then the world lurched.

  The demon’s body began to blur.

  They watched in horror as time rewound around the corpse. The severed head slid back into place. Wounds sealed. Scars vanished. In seconds, the Demonlord stood whole once more, exactly where he had fallen–though his expression was no longer one of fury.

  “You see,” Wilburs said, two fingers pushing on his glasses to adjust them. “It’s totally possible for you to kill him. Each of you just needs more practice.”

  Determination filled the heroes as they murmured and then nodded towards the wizard. Some of them were even grinning.

  Wilbur formed finger guns and gestured towards them. “There you go! That's the look of a party of heroes!” He beamed, “Now, let's go over what you learned and then–”

  A sudden scraping of metal cut him off.

  Wilbur spun toward the sound—and froze.

  The heroes froze with him as they watched the Demonlord—one of the most terrifying existences in Vlanoris, a blight resurrected every few centuries—slam bodily into the small doorway behind the throne.

  Metal squealed and stone shattered as the demon forced himself forward. He physically widened the opening in his panic as he fled.

  Silence followed as the sound of his retreat faded.

  “By my mother's beard,” Algorax hissed. “He’s… fleeing?”

  Darcy shifted into action first.

  “Come on!” She yelled as she sprinted forward. “We can’t let him get away!”

  Heroes surged after her, boots pounding stone.

  –—- ??? —---

  Wilbur did not follow.

  He watched the shattered doorway for a moment, expression unreadable.

  “Huh,” he muttered at last. “I didn’t think he could actually fit through that.”

  Catherine hadn’t moved. Wilbur noticed her and raised an eyebrow.

  “Shouldn’t you be, you know,” he gestured vaguely toward the ruined doorway, “be chasing after him?”

  She shook her head slowly. “You’re just going to rewind them back.”

  Wilbur blinked. Then grinned.

  “Yep. How’d you guess?”

  “It seems like your goal is for us to defeat him,” Catherine said carefully. “In that case, it makes no sense to let him escape.”

  Wilbur nodded. “Right again.” He glanced toward the doorway.“He broke our pact. It’s not like he can hide from me.” He leaned back as his comfortable chair materialized beneath him.

  “If he makes it to the hells and I drag him back,” Wilbur continued, “he’ll either give up… or fight properly.”

  He shrugged and lifted a hand. A mug appeared, filling itself from a floating container. He moved it to his lips and inhaled, his eyes closing. He let out a sigh of contentment, then took a long sip.

  Wilbur opened his eyes and glanced toward Catherine. He took a hand off his mug and waved it. Another comfortable recliner appeared, made of a soft fabric in a royal purple color.

  “Care to have a seat?” Wilbur asked.

  Catherine hesitated.

  Her gaze flicked once toward the shattered doorway, then back to Wilbur. Slowly, she lowered herself into the offered chair, gripping her staff across her lap as if afraid it might vanish if she let go.

  “…Thank you,” she said quietly.

  Wilbur nodded, settling deeper into his own seat. Steam curled lazily from his mug as he sighed in contentment. He cocked his head towards the elementalist.

  “Need a hot beverage while we wait? I have more flavors you could try.”

  There was an awkward silence.

  “Um… No, thank you.” She replied.

  More awkward silence. Wilbur shrugged and nestled deeper into his recliner as it leaned back ever so slightly to accommodate him.

  They sat in silence for several long moments.

  Catherine watched the wizard as he simply smiled and took a sip every so often.

  “You’re not worried?” She said, finally breaking the peace.

  Wilbur opened his eyes and glanced over the rim of his mug. “About?”

  “The Demonlord,” she replied, nodding toward the doorway, “Or, honestly, any of this?”

  Wilbur considered the question as he took another sip. “Concerned?” he said slowly. “Maybe. Worried? No.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Catherine said. “He’s the Demonlord. He’s destroyed kingdoms. Killed thousands of people. He–”

  “And y’all are going to beat him.” Wilbur finished. “It’s not like this is new. Or he hasn’t been beaten before.”

  Catherine swallowed. “But he's… different from the stories. He’s stronger.”

  Wilbur laughed. “No, no, he’s not.” he shook his head. “Once you heroes get it in your head you can beat him, you will. I’m sure of that.”

  Catherine stared down at her hands. “Then why haven’t we even gotten close?”

  The question hung in the air. Steam continued its slow rise from Wilburs mug as he stared into it.

  “When you fight,” he finally answered. “What are you trying to do?”

  Catherine squinted at him. “Isn’t it obvious? We’re trying to defeat him.”

  “No,” Wilbur replied gently. “You’re not.” he gave her a small smile. “You and your friends are just trying to survive. You’re just hoping you can somehow win along the way.”

  Catherine frowned. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  Wilbur shook his head. “Not even close.”

  He set his mug in the air and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the armrest. “You block his spells because you’re afraid he will kill you or your friends. You’re too worried that your magic won’t be enough that you don’t see what's around you.”

  Catherine's grip on her staff tightened.

  “But that's the thing. Either your spell is strong enough, or it isn’t. Sure, there are techniques and methods to be stronger, but you can’t learn them right now. Not fast enough to make a difference here.”

  Wilbur leaned on his right elbow. “The thing is, you all fight like prey.” He shook his head. “Even though you’re strong.”

  Catherine’s jaw trembled. “We’ve watched entire cities burn. We’ve lost friends. Of course, we’re afraid.”

  “I have no doubt,” Wilbur said quietly. “I’ve seen what this resurrecting abomination can do.” He shrugged. “But that’s why I’m doing this. That’s why this works.”

  Catherine looked up sharply. “Why what works?”

  Wilbur grabbed his mug and took a sip. “This whole fight.” He gestured with his other hand to the hall. “All of this. You die, then you come back.” He met Catherine's gaze. “Over and over. Eventually, your instincts will stop screaming ‘Oh no don’t get hurt!’ and start asking what went wrong.”

  Catherine gripped her staff even tighter as she seemed to remember all of their attempts. She was silent as she seemed lost in her thoughts.

  Something delicious wafted into her nose and broke her from her thoughts. In front of her steaming mug floated. She glanced at Wilbur, who just smiled.

  “It’s called a latte. It’s really good, you should try it.” He said before leaning back again.

  Catherine hesitated, then lifted the mug with both hands. The warmth seeped into her fingers before she even tasted it.

  It was… sweet with a slight tang of bitterness.

  “... it's good. Better than what you gave us earlier.”

  Wilbur grinned. “Told you.”

  She stared into the swirling surface for a moment. “So we just… keep going?”

  Wilbur shrugged. “Yep.”

  “And you’re sure,” she said, voice barely above a whisper, “that eventually something will change?”

  “Uh… hopefully? I can’t do this forever, you know.” He shrugged.

  Catherine stared at him in disbelief. A small smile pulled at her lips, and she shook her head.

  “What?” Wilbur asked.

  “It’s just..” Catherine began, but then stopped as a distant pressure rolled through the hall.

  Wilbur’s gaze shifted toward the source.

  “Oh, there we go.”

  “What’s happening?” Catherine asked, her eyes darting around the room.

  “Gate’s forming,” Wilbur replied. “Messy one, too. He’s rushing it. Your friends must be giving him ‘hell’.” He chuckled at his own joke and looked toward Catherine.

  The elementalist did not look amused. “Is he… getting away?”

  Wilbur snorted. “Psh. No.”

  He lifted his mug and took another sip as the pressure deepened.

  “That’s just the feeling when the hells are forcefully connected.” He frowned. “Well, I guess technically he thinks he’s getting away. But don’t worry!”

  Wilbur raised his mug with a grin. “There’s still time to finish our drinks.”

  Catherine glanced at him. Then, she shrugged and took a long sip from her mug. A smile crept to her face as the sweet liquid warmed her.

  They finished their drinks in silence and thought.

  After a few minutes, the world shuddered as the pressure that had been building finally vanished.

  Wilbur rolled his eyes, then pulled himself from his recliner. Catherine mirrored him, and with a wave from Wilbur, both chairs vanished.

  “Well then, time to get back to work.” Wilbur said with a nod, “Ready?”

  “No,” Catherine replied, but gave a tight smile. “But I want to try.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Wilbur beamed and raised his hands.

  Clap. Clap.

  –—- ??? —---

  On the forty-second attempt, something finally changed.

  Fire flared from Catherine as she channeled her inner mana into roaring flame. The flickering ball shot across the hall and, for the countless time, splashed against the Demon’s barrier.

  However, the Elementalist's eyes went wide as she saw it.

  “Wait!” She gasped, her eyes locked onto the shifting patterns of the barrier.

  Unfortunately, it was that brief pause as she slowed her stride that was her downfall. A dark bolt rocketed past Jonathan’s guard and slammed into her. Her torso shattered in dark crackling light.

  Yet, her eyes did not falter nor show pain.

  They only gleamed as she smiled.

  Then died.

  –—- ??? —---

  –—- Authors Note -–—

  –—- -- -- -- - -- -- -- -–—