Ethan had no choice but to keep pouring energy out.
Wave after wave of lightning swept through the octagonal cage, erasing each new clone the moment it appeared.
Not until his energy sphere stopped doing real damage did the spreading white glow finally start to fade.
Ethan looked up.
White Cindaras filled everything.
Along the walls, in the air, on the ground—packed so tightly they were shoulder to shoulder, the same face repeated until it made his eyes go unfocused. Each one held the same longsword. He couldn't even see the end of the crowd.
He stared for a few seconds, blank.
Then raised his other hand and smacked the palm that had launched the blast.
"Why am I like this?" he muttered. "Why do I always have to get handsy?"
Individually, these white Cindaras didn't hit that hard.
The problem was the number of them—and the way they kept learning. Growing. Adjusting. Evolving.
The first batch of swords had only left shallow cuts.
The second batch could force him back.
