A streak hurtled toward him. Atticus raised his arm, and a tiny fist crashed into his palm, sending out a blast that shattered the ground and sent tremors through the entire training room.
A petite girl appeared before him the next instant, her brow drawn tight at the blocked strike.
"You're still too slow."
"Hmph! Then what about this!"
She vanished, and her fists dissolved into a storm of strikes that swallowed Atticus' vision.
Yet his single arm moved in a blur, meeting each blow with precise deflections as they came.
Shockwaves rippled outward with every collision, but Atticus remained rooted in place, unmoved.
"Still slow… and weak."
The girl's brows knit at his unshaken composure as she shot backward. The space around her trembled, her ocean-blue eyes darkening into black.
"Alternate self!"
The air split, and in the next moment, four more versions of her stepped out from the fractures.
"Transform!"
