Getting onto the arena without visibly limping was no small task. To move my nearly numb, frozen left leg properly, I had to tense my whole body, and risk another spasm. But I tried. Sweating, clenching my teeth so hard they creaked, I forced myself to maintain a facade of calm.The pain was so intense, the darkness behind my eyes so frequent, that I no longer believed I’d make it to the fight.Who gets third place if both candidates are too injured to continue?The one whose match lasts longer.I couldn’t fight, but I could stall.Skoryk was visibly limping. If someone were watching us from the sidelines, they’d think she was the more injured one.That could work in my favour.We faced each other across the arena, a battlefield scattered with massive concrete blocks — a playground for Mad Monkey, if I were still capable of executing it.The judge gave the command, and Skoryk moved first, flinging her hands outward and launching six needles into the air.I started walking slowly toward her.The needles traced a wide arc, circled the arena, and aligned into a formation to strike my back. A sharp pulse of danger flared like a red-hot nail being hammered under my left shoulder blade.I had a defensive formation that projected a series of energy shields to intercept incoming attacks, but at my request, Alan had angled them not just to block, but to deflect blows. Each lower layer was offset slightly in the direction of the tilt, so enemy weapons would glance off, even if they tore through the upper layers.A clever solution against rapiers, spears, and Cinar’s pick. But it worked poorly against small, numerous projectiles.If the needles struck the same spot one after another, then after the third or fourth micro-shield, there’d be nothing left to stop them.Whether I wanted to or not, whether I could or not — I had to move.I Monkey-stepped left. I don’t think I could’ve (...)