100\% Drop Rate: My Special Ability is Perfect Replication

The crowd parted for Faust and Drekar. People stared up at the seven-foot-tall beast of a man, but the sun ignited Faust’s red hair and started another conversation.

"That’s him."

"Red God. What’s he doing here?"

"That guy behind him, what’s with his eyes? He’s tall as hell."

Kev, the spiky-haired champion of this small fighting club, stepped forward and got in Faust’s face.

"Am I dreaming, or is rank one gracing us with his presence?"

Faust smiled in his face, far too unbothered by the aggressiveness. "We’d like to use your ring for a bit. We don’t mind waiting, though."

"No," Kev said bluntly. "You don’t get in if you can’t even respect us. You too good to fight us?"

’Yes, actually,’ Faust wanted to say at first. But he decided to just entertain the crowd. "So if I beat you, can I use your ring?"

"If," Kev emphasized, backing up. He had a wide, excited grin on his face. "Let’s see what you’ve got."

The crowd began to holler and cheer for their champ.

"You’ve got this, Kev!"

"Show that fraud what a real fighter looks like!"

"I’ve seen some of his fights. Red God is good with weapons but not hand-to-hand. All of the top ten are system babies anyway."

Faust passed his bag to Drekar and stepped into the ring. Stretching his shoulders, he watched Kev throw out a set of sharp jabs and dart back and forth. He had some training in boxing.

’The left jab is clunky. He’s not really following it up well.’

He raised his hands and stepped closer. Kev seemed to falter at how still and loose Faust was. It always throws off a fighter when they don’t know what to expect.

"Calm down, kid. We’ve barely started."

Kev snarled and snapped forward with a set of quick jabs. He always tried to stay on the offensive and be unpredictable.

But even in chaos, there was habit.

Each time he changed his approach, he threw a weak left jab to get some space.

Faust blocked and dodged most of the strikes almost effortlessly. He leaned back and let a punch pass just inches from his face, then sidestepped the follow-up straight kick. Nice move.

Kev was starting to get frustrated. Faust could smell the fear in his sweat. The crowd was roaring in their ears. Everyone seemed to think he was pushing back Faust, but he could probably feel it in his hands now.

Every punch he slammed into Faust’s guard was strong enough to push a car back. But all he got was a dull thud and the feeling that he had just punched a wall.

"I think it’s about time I close this," Faust said while casually turning a blow aside.

The deflected attack off-balanced Kev, but he quickly spun to face Faust again. His face was red from exhaustion and embarrassment.

"Shut up! They’re gonna wire that cocky mouth shut when I knock your teeth out!"

He rushed toward Faust, fist pulled back in the most telegraphed attack of all time.

But Faust was already stepping in, having expected the clumsy left jab. His open palm slammed into the boy’s chest. Force rippled through him. A sharp gasp escaped Kev as the air was forced out of his lungs.

He was lifted off his feet by the strike, flying out of the ring and crashing into the crowd.

Stunned silence followed the surprising end. Kev’s sweaty body was cradled by his friends as they rushed to heal him.

Faust turned to Drekar and motioned him in. A taunting gesture.

The assassin dropped Faust’s spatial bag and his cloak at the edge of the ring. People watched the items and edged away from them. They watched as Drekar straightened his back to his full height.

If Faust had to guess, Drekar was around seven feet and six inches. He wasn’t the broadest person Faust knew—Greg took that—but his frame was well filled out.

His wingspan was startling. Fighting someone with such physical advantages was daunting. Even the crowd formerly against him began to worry for Faust.

"That guy’s unreal..."

"Is there anywhere you could escape from someone that huge?"

Drekar ignored them and walked forward slowly. There was a gauging look in his huge dark eyes. His pale face was raised and condescending.

"How do you wish for me to spar, sir?"

"Do whatever you want," Faust answered with rolled eyes. "Aren’t you angry about the loss of your master?"

Drekar’s jaw tightened. "I felt her light fade."

"That does happen when I kill someone. They call me the off switch."

Half caught between anger and exasperation, Drekar just stared at him. "Is this a joke to you?"

"Yeah. One that’s getting pretty boring."

Drekar lashed at him.

There was no foreshadowing. He simply exploded into motion so quickly the crowd barely reacted to the sharp bang that followed.

Faust had blocked the attack barely. A mad grin lit up his face. Finally, someone that made him afraid. This would be fun.

The spectators blinked as they realized a clash had just happened.

"They’re so fast!"

"I saw him hit but didn’t even realize until now..."

"Red God blocked that??"

Faust dropped his raised guard. He had been pushed back a bit, feet digging deep burrows in the earth.

"You don’t know how much she suffered," Drekar said quietly. He flexed his wrist hard, feeling the impact from striking Faust. "You’re significantly stronger. But you’re still far from understanding what it means to be a player."

The tension in his body drove Faust to attack. He slid forward in a measured step and threw a probing combo. He struck at full speed, moving so fluidly between the strikes his moves were barely visible.

"Show me what it means, then!" he shouted.

But Drekar dodged them with startling ease. Faust was faster than him now. The assassin was capped at Level 8 and 900 combat power, while he was free to grow.

But the slight difference in speed didn’t bother Drekar. After all, you didn’t need to fully visually process an attack to dodge.

His counter was a lightning-fast palm strike that came out of nowhere. Faust blocked just in time, but it unbalanced him, allowing Drekar to follow up with a sharp kick that sent him flying back.

He spun midair and grabbed the earth to slow down, coming inches from being pushed out of the ring.

He grinned. Drekar was a better fighter than him without skills.

"Being a Player is a pitiless thing," Drekar muttered. "Even worse is to be given a Role. To be a Player is to dance and let fate toy with you. Until death grants you peace."