"The rules of the competition are incredibly simple," Razor announced, his deep voice carrying easily across the cavernous room. "Each side will send forward fifteen people to play. Every individual victory counts as one win for the team. The first team to reach a total of eight wins is the overall winner. We will decide the specific method of each game. If your team wins, you will be rewarded with the Plot of Beach card. How does that sound?"
Under the bright overhead lights of the gymnasium, the scattered groups of people who had been quietly exercising or milling about the venue slowly gathered around, forming a loose crowd behind Razor.
Liam scanned the new arrivals. Because the inmate he had controlled into leading the way had originally died in this exact spot half a month ago, the system had apparently refreshed the NPCs. There were several new, rough-looking faces glaring at them. Liam had no idea which high-security prison Razor had recruited this batch of death row inmates from.
"If you don't have any objections, we will begin," Razor continued smoothly, folding his massive arms across his chest. "The method of competition will be based on sports. My crew will challenge you in the specific events they are best at."
The moment he finished speaking, a burly man wearing a small blue knit hat stepped forward from the crowd behind him. He rolled his broad shoulders and cracked his neck.
"I'll take the first match," Blue Hat declared gruffly. "Let's compete in boxing."
His hands were already tightly wrapped in thick, stained bandages. It was obvious he was a man who loved the brutal intimacy of a boxing ring. He pointed a bandaged finger toward the raised, roped-off boxing ring sitting in the corner of the stadium.
Blue Hat glared down at Liam's group. "Which one of you is going to be my opponent?"
"Let me state one additional rule in advance," Razor added, his tone strictly professional. "Each person is only allowed to compete in one match. The same person cannot win multiple games for their team."
It was a standard, logical rule. It was put in place to prevent either side from simply sending out their single strongest fighter to sweep the board and win eight games in a row. If that were allowed, why would the rules require fifteen players in the first place? To act as a cheerleading squad? If someone just wanted cheerleaders, they should have brought at least eight people. Dragging along only one person would make for a pretty boring cheering section.
"I'm coming!" a voice shouted from the cluster of controlled players.
Mirror 1 pushed his way to the front.
Bisky looked up, watching the man jog over and nimbly vault over the ropes into the boxing ring.
"Can he actually do it?" Bisky asked Liam in a low whisper.
Of course, she could clearly see that the players designated Mirror 1 through Mirror 12 were entirely under Liam's direct control. For all intents and purposes, those 12 people were currently acting as Liam's personal avatars. However, at the end of the day, they were just random, low-tier players he had picked up off the side of the road. Their physical quality and aura reserves varied wildly. No matter how incredibly skilled Liam was at manipulating them, if the physical body and the aura pool he was controlling were simply too weak, there was only so much he could do. You couldn't cook a meal if you didn't have any rice.
"It should be no problem," Liam replied easily, his eyes tracking the movement in the ring.
The rest of the group gathered around the base of the elevated platform. Up above, Blue Hat and Mirror 1 were already standing face-to-face in the center of the mat.
"Ah," Shizuku murmured, her dark eyes widening slightly in surprise.
The floor of the arena was raised quite high off the ground. When she stood near the edge and lowered her gaze slightly, she could clearly see the surface of the mat beneath the fighters' feet. The entire floor was densely covered in intricate, pitch-black runes, woven together to form strange, geometric patterns.
"Those are divine script runes," Bisky whispered, her eyes narrowing as she studied the floor. "It seems Nen abilities are not prohibited during these competitions."
"That is exactly right," Razor said, turning his head to look down at her with a polite, knowing smile. "In all of our competitions, as long as a player does not directly violate the stated rules of the specific sport, the use of Nen is completely allowed. The same goes for any items or equipment created using Nen."
Bisky offered him a wide, perfectly harmless, childlike smile in return.
Up in the ring, the match was about to begin.
"Are you ready for this?" Mirror 1 asked his opponent. He was casually biting down on the leather strap of a boxing glove, pulling it tight over his wrist with his teeth.
"I'll give those exact words right back to you," Blue Hat sneered. He slammed his heavy, wrapped fists together, the leather gloves making a loud, satisfying smack. "Come on over here, rookie."
He didn't need to be a genius to tell by looking at his opponent's loose, awkward posture that the man had never boxed a day in his life.
"You're right, I have never actually boxed before," Mirror 1 replied calmly, adjusting his stance. "But I do happen to have a little bit of experience when it comes to fighting in a ring."
Through the puppet's mouth, Liam a former Floor Master of the Heavens Arena spoke the words, and then stepped forward to greet his opponent.
The fight had zero suspense. Mirror 1 secured the victory effortlessly.
With the Star Mark providing meticulous, flawless control over the man's physical body, the addition of a potent self-healing factor, and Liam's own massive wealth of combat experience gathered from fighting his way from the very bottom of the Heavens Arena all the way to the Floor Master suites... if he still couldn't completely dismantle a slow, predictable rookie who actually needed the assistance of divine script runes just to use his Nen properly, it would have been a genuine embarrassment.
Even though Mirror 1 possessed a pathetically small amount of aura, the final outcome remained exactly the same.
A few minutes later, Mirror 1 climbed awkwardly out of the ring, clutching his right shoulder. He walked over to the edge of the court and slid down the wall to sit on the floor. His collarbone was completely shattered, but it was a minor injury. He just needed to take a breather and let the Star Mark knit the bone back together.
"It seems you plan to win these matches one by one," Razor noted, his expression unreadable as he looked at Liam. "Very well. Let's move on to the second game."
"Let's compete in basketball," a lanky man wearing a small black hat called out. He jogged forward from the back of the crowd, casually bouncing a basketball. He stopped in front of Liam, flashing a cocky grin. "Let's play a simple one-on-one. First person to score ten baskets wins."
Liam glanced over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the twelve remaining clones. He pointed directly at Mirror 3, a massive, heavily muscled man who looked as broad and sturdy as a silverback gorilla.
"It's you," Liam ordered.
Mirror 3 grunted and stepped forward, rolling his thick neck.
"You can go first," Black Hat offered generously, tossing the basketball through the air.
"With muscles that heavy, your overall coordination must be absolute garbage, right?" Black Hat taunted.
Mirror 3 caught the heavy ball effortlessly with one massive hand. He spun it casually on his fingertips twice, his eyes locked onto the five-pointed star stamped onto the worn leather. He let out a low, rumbling chuckle.
"You must really be unhappy with your life, huh?" Mirror 3 said, his voice flat. "Just sit tight and wait for the score to hit to ten."
Black Hat scowled, immediately dropping his center of gravity. He spread his long arms wide, dropping into an aggressive defensive posture.
"Don't be so lacking in confidence, big guy," Black Hat laughed sharply. "You might get lucky and score at least one point. Tell you what, how about I do you a massive favor and just spot you two points to start?"
Mirror 3 didn't bother wasting any more words. He didn't dribble, he didn't move past the three-point line, and he didn't even bend his knees. He simply stood perfectly flat-footed and launched the ball toward the hoop with a stiff, awkward flick of his wrist.
"That shooting posture is incredibly ugly and completely messy," Black Hat sneered, resting his hands on his hips. "There is absolutely no way that's going in."
He turned his head lazily to watch the ball miss. The moment he did, his eyes went wide with shock.
The basketball was visibly flying completely off target, heading at least three feet to the left of the backboard. But halfway through its arc, the ball suddenly stopped descending. It seemed to float upward against gravity for a brief second, smoothly correcting its own trajectory mid-air. The entire crowd watched in stunned silence as the ball swooshed perfectly through the net with a completely unscientific, physically impossible flight path.
He controlled the ball? Razor thought, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Why are you staring at me with your eyes bugging out like that?" Mirror 3 asked, resting his hands on his hips in a mocking imitation of his opponent. "Didn't you just explicitly state that you don't prohibit the use of Nen?"
The Star Mark had always possessed the ability to manipulate physical objects. Liam's very first successful use of the ability had been controlling the late Fenrir by manipulating the hair. However, compared to controlling living humans and animals that could generate their own movement and momentum, dead, inanimate objects were just that—dead. It required a significantly larger output of aura to manually force them to move. Furthermore, the larger and heavier the object was, the more aura it continuously drained per second of control.
But expending a tiny burst of aura to slightly alter the physical trajectory of a lightweight basketball at the exact critical moment? That was incredibly easy.
Because of that, the second game completely lost any sense of suspense or tension. Mirror 3 easily secured the second victory for their side.
Game 3: Weightlifting.
A short, incredibly stocky man wearing a small yellow hat waddled out from the group of prisoners. He chuckled, a deep, wheezing sound. "The giant guy over there just won the basketball match, which means he is disqualified from playing again."
Liam nodded calmly. "You were careless."
Bisky tugged gently on Liam's sleeve. "How about I take this one?"
"If Aunt Bi decides to show her true strength, of course she could effortlessly crush any of them using just one hand..." Liam muttered, keeping his voice low.
He immediately received a sharp, painful punch to his cheek. He rubbed the red mark, leaning closer to her.
"Just look at Razor," Liam whispered. "He looks completely unhurried and entirely unbothered by losing. That guy is definitely going to step up and take over the heavy lifting eventually. Aunt Bi, you are our hidden ace. I absolutely cannot play you this early in the game."
"Hmph," Bisky scoffed, crossing her arms. "So, what, should we just forfeit this round then? Out of the few controlled puppets you have left, not a single one of them has the physical strength required to out-lift that stocky guy."
"Have you made your decision yet?" the stocky Yellow Hat called out impatiently. He was already standing directly in front of a massive barbell, glaring at Liam, who was still muttering to Bisky.
Liam raised a hand, signaling for Bisky to remain calm. Just then, Shizuku pointed toward the back of their group. Lumos, the massive moon-white tiger, had grown bored of standing still and was slowly padding his way to the front of the crowd.
When the prisoners saw the beast approaching, everyone on Razor's side—except for Razor himself—froze in shock.
"We will take the match," Liam declared, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the tiger. "He's our guy."
Lumos padded forward with slow, heavy, majestic steps, making his way calmly toward the designated weightlifting area. It was almost comical to look at. Even standing on all four paws, the giant tiger was significantly taller than the short, stocky Yellow Hat. The only reason the man was even remotely close to the tiger's height was because of the pointed tip of his ridiculous little hat.
The stocky Yellow Hat's face flushed bright red with indignation. "Hey! Are you kidding me? How can a giant, wild tiger possibly count as a player?"
Lumos ignored him. The tiger walked directly up to the barbell and smoothly reared up onto his powerful hind legs. A massive, imposing shadow fell over the short man. Lumos casually batted at the heavy iron bar with his massive front paws twice, shifted his footing to find a comfortable stance, gave a sharp, confident nod toward Liam, and then turned his head to stare down at the short Yellow Hat with an expression of deep, utter confusion.
The stocky man's knees gave out, and he collapsed, sitting hard on the floor.
"How is this allowed?"
"Can a literal tiger compete in a sports match?"
"Let's be completely fair here! If they blatantly violate the rules, the offending party should be strictly punished and instantly kicked out of the game!"
The prisoners in the pointed hats standing behind Razor erupted into an angry, shouting uproar.
"Quiet," Razor commanded, his voice not loud, but carrying enough heavy authority to instantly silence the crowd. "Since this creature, named Lumos, is currently wearing an official game ring on his paw, the system recognizes it as a registered player. Therefore, of course it is fully eligible to participate in the matches. Okay. If both players are finally ready, let the game begin."
And just like that, the third match, weightlifting, officially began.
And just like that, the third match ended incredibly quickly.
When the short, stocky Yellow Hat finally pushed himself to his absolute physical limit, his face turning an alarming shade of purple as he completely failed to lift the one-ton barbell off the floor, Lumos casually stepped up to the massive five-ton barbell. The tiger gripped the bar, heaved it upward, and lifted it high into the air exactly like a human weightlifter.
After Razor officially announced that Lumos had won the match, the tiger didn't drop the weights. Instead, he gently and carefully set the five-ton barbell back down onto the reinforced floor without making a sound. Then, Lumos threw his massive head back and let out a deafening, triumphant roar that shook the walls.
The short, stocky Yellow Hat immediately fainted dead away.
"Moving on. The following is the fourth match," Razor announced, not seeming to care in the slightest about his teammate's unconscious state.
Bisky narrowed her eyes, studying the tall man closely. He has lost three games in a row without putting up a fight, and yet he still maintains this completely unhurried, relaxed attitude.
Game 4: Arm wrestling.
Mirror 13 stepped confidently onto the stage. He didn't bother with any tricks or physical exertion. He simply walked up to his opponent, a heavily overweight man wearing a blue and black hat, and slapped a Star Mark directly onto the center of the man's sweaty palm. The fight ended instantly.
Game 5: Vault.
The tall, incredibly slender Mirror 7 took the stage. By relying entirely on the Star Mark's absolute physical override, Mirror 7 was able to push his body far beyond its natural limits without any fear of tearing muscles or breaking bones. He executed flawlessly complex, highly difficult technical flips and twists, completely unbothered by the risk of injury. With Liam's own consciousness constantly fine-tuning the puppet's mid-air posture via remote control, Mirror 7 easily secured their fifth consecutive victory without a single doubt.
Game 6: High jump.
Mirror 9 stepped up to the line. He channeled every single drop of aura he possessed directly into his legs, violently forcing the muscles in his lower limbs to contract and expand with explosive power. He didn't even bother taking a running start. He simply planted his feet, crouched low, and jumped straight up into the air from a complete standstill with a deafening boom.
He launched himself so high and with such terrifying speed that he almost nailed his head directly into the high ceiling of the stadium.
The prisoner from Razor's side, a man in a red hat who was supposed to be competing against him, just stood there, staring up at the ceiling with his jaw hanging open. He was completely stunned. He slowly shook his head, raised his hands in surrender, and immediately admitted defeat. There was absolutely no need to even try and compete against that. The guy was a complete lunatic.
Game 7: 50-meter sprint.
The crowd worked together to clear a wide, open space down the center of the gymnasium, using chalk to draw a perfectly straight fifty-meter track.
Razor's team sent out a tall, lean man wearing a purple hat who looked, at first glance, like a carbon copy of Usain Bolt.
Purple Hat bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, doing high knees and stretching his long legs to properly warm up. He grinned over at Liam's group, flashing a row of white teeth.
"It's a real shame that giant tiger isn't allowed to compete in two events," Purple Hat laughed, stretching his calves. "Otherwise, I really would have loved the chance to race against it!"
"We don't need the tiger for this one," Liam replied smoothly. "We will just let the little bird make do."
Liam reached casually behind Bisky's back. As it turned out, Jaku, the small gray rock bird, had been comfortably and lazily dozing in the folds of the fabric near Bisky's waist.
Purple Hat Bolt blinked, his confident grin faltering. "Wait. You guys are seriously sending a tiny bird to race against me in a ground sprint? Is that even allowed?"
Razor, however, seemed to have no objection whatsoever to the matchup.
The competitors from both sides moved to their respective positions behind the starting line. Jaku blinked its beady black eyes, looking around in utter confusion. Where am I? What am I supposed to be doing right now? Why are all these massive humans staring at me? And who is this tall, sweaty guy standing next to me?
"Get ready," Razor called out, his voice echoing loudly in the quiet gym.
Liam didn't hesitate. He immediately activated his direct control over the Star Mark etched into the bird's feathers. He forcefully triggered the half-finished wind Transmutation ability they had managed to extract earlier.
"Go!"
The instant the command left Razor's mouth, Bolt exploded off the starting line like a cheetah hunting its prey. He tore down the track, moving so fast he looked like a blur of dark wind.
He was incredibly fast, moving like the wind itself.
But the little rock bird had literally transformed into the wind.
The tiny gray bird snapped its wings open. The meager amount of aura surrounding its small body twisted and flared, morphing instantly into a concentrated burst of wind. It seemed to perfectly integrate with the natural air currents in the room in a bizarre, seamless way. As the bird flew just inches above the ground, the natural wind resistance that should have slowed it down vanished completely. Instead, the resistance became a powerful boost, actively pushing the small, condensed bullet of wind forward at a terrifying speed.
When Bolt gritted his teeth, pushed his body to its absolute limit, and finally crossed the fifty-meter finish line, he received some incredible news. He had successfully broken his own personal best record, crossing the line in under five seconds!
The incredibly bad news was that the tiny gray bird had crossed the finish line in exactly 3.5 seconds.
Bolt stopped running, his chest heaving as he stared at the bird. He slowly reached up, pulled his little purple hat off his head, and trudged back toward his group with a dark, deeply gloomy expression on his face. He let out a long, heavy sigh.
"Well, it looks like this side has already secured seven consecutive wins," Bisky noted, keeping her gaze locked firmly on Razor. "It is finally time for him to start trying for real. If I have guessed his strategy correctly, his ultimate plan is..."
Razor smiled slightly, a genuine, terrifying look of anticipation crossing his face. He stepped forward, gently pushing his way through the remaining prisoners until he stood at the front of the group.
He looked directly at Liam. "Okay. Now it is completely up to me. The event I have chosen for my competition is an eight-on-eight game of dodgeball."
"Both sides will field exactly eight players each. Based entirely on the final result of this single match, whichever team emerges victorious will be awarded eight wins," Razor stated, his voice completely calm and even. "I have already selected the players who will join me on my side of the court."
As he spoke the words, seven bizarre puppets suddenly materialized out of thin air, landing heavily on the wooden floor around him. They looked somewhat similar to the death row prisoners he had originally recruited, all wearing pointed hats and identical gray sportswear. But there were stark differences. These puppets possessed mouths filled with jagged, razor-sharp teeth, and their pointed hats were pulled down low, completely covering the upper halves of their faces. A large, distinct number was boldly printed on the front of each hat, as well as on the chest of their gray uniforms.
The numbers ran from 1 to 7, and they corresponded perfectly to the varying body types of the puppets. Some were incredibly fat, some were short and squat, and others were tall and uncomfortably thin.
Razor stood directly in the center of the formation, his large hands resting confidently on his hips. He looked exactly like a seasoned beach volleyball coach leading his star team onto the sand.
Sure enough, Bisky thought, a small, secret smile touching her lips. From the very beginning of this challenge, Razor had already decided that he was going to determine the outcome of the required eight wins entirely by himself. The rest of those prisoners were simply here to make up the numbers and stall for time.
Liam narrowed his eyes, studying the seven Nen beasts surrounding Razor. He analyzed their aura outputs, starting from the small dwarf marked with the number 1, all the way up to the towering, heavily muscled beast marked with the number 7.
It feels like the Nen beast marked with number 1 possesses roughly 1,000 aura capacity, Liam calculated mentally. And the massive number 7 is holding close to 7,000 aura?
In other words, simply by summoning these seven puppets, Razor had casually released a staggering total of 28,000 aura in a single, effortless move.
And yet, despite releasing that much energy, Razor's physical body still looked completely calm, composed, and entirely unaffected. The sheer volume of raw power perfectly suited his heavily muscled, macho aesthetic. It was an absolutely absurd amount of aura for one person to wield so casually.
"Wait, are Nen beasts officially allowed to participate as players?" Shizuku asked, her head tilted slightly in curiosity.
"Yes, they are," Razor confirmed simply.
"In that case," Liam said, a confident smile spreading across his face.
He took a deep breath and forcibly expelled a massive, dense ball of pure aura from his body. The glowing energy quickly condensed and solidified, taking the familiar form of his Nen beast. The ethereal Taoist nun floated beside him, clad in her flowing light blue robes, her wide sleeves fluttering slightly despite the lack of a breeze. Her face was hidden behind a smooth, featureless jade mask.
Even though Liam had released a massive amount of his own aura all at once to summon her, his breathing only hitched for a fraction of a second before returning to normal.
He is indeed very powerful, Razor noted internally, his eyes narrowing to sharp slits as he analyzed the floating Taoist nun.
With the teams decided, the players from both sides walked onto the court, splitting up and taking their respective positions on opposite halves of the polished wooden floor.
Razor's team consisted of himself and his seven numbered puppets.
Liam's team consisted of Liam, the Taoist nun Nen beast, Shizuku, Bisky, and four of the controlled puppets: Mirror 8, Mirror 9, Mirror 10, and Mirror 11.
"Before we begin, allow me to briefly explain the specific rules of our dodgeball match," Razor called out, standing tall on the opposite side of the dividing line. He spoke eloquently, his voice projecting clearly. "The game will take a specific format. One person from each team will remain entirely off the court to act as a designated substitute, while the remaining seven players will start on the court. The match continues until the number of active players on one side of the court is reduced to zero. When that happens, that team will be judged as the loser."
He continued to explain the finer details of the game, talking for quite a while. But the core rule was incredibly simple: if a player was hit by the ball and failed to securely catch it before it hit the ground, they were immediately out of the game and had to move to the sidelines.
However, there was a twist. A player could return to the active court even after being eliminated. But no matter how many players a team had sitting on the sidelines, only one person was allowed to step back onto the court and rejoin the battle at a time, and they had to loudly shout the word "Back!" before doing so.
Liam tuned out most of the minor details, waiting until Razor finally finished his explanation and pointed a thick finger toward the sidelines.
At some point during the speech, a short, stubby puppet with a large number 0 printed on its head had quietly appeared on the edge of the court. The puppet raised a hand and shouted to both teams, its voice surprisingly loud.
"Okay! The rules have been established, and the game will now officially begin. I am Number 0, and I will be in charge of refereeing this match. Please give me your guidance!"
That referee puppet possesses absolutely zero aura, Liam realized, staring at the strange little creature. Did Razor literally assign an aura value of zero to it? Is it just an empty, animated shell?
Before Liam could ponder the mechanics of the referee any further, Number 0 stepped forward and hurled a standard volleyball high into the air, perfectly centered over the dividing line of the court.
The two sides instantly surged forward to fight for possession of the ball.
Shizuku pushed off the ground, jumping lightly into the air. She extended her hand and snatched the volleyball out of the air with ease. It was only after her feet touched the floor that she realized the opposing player, Puppet Number 6, hadn't even attempted to jump or fight her for it. The puppet had remained perfectly still.
On the opposite side of the court, Razor and his seven puppets immediately dropped into low, defensive catching positions, their eyes locked onto Shizuku.
"You may take the first attack," Razor offered generously.
"..." Shizuku stood in place, her dark eyes tracking over the opposing team as she thoughtfully weighed the ball in her hands.
After a moment of silence, she shifted her stance, gripping the volleyball tightly in her left hand. Without any warning or windup, she violently smashed the ball directly toward the center of the opposing formation.
The volleyball tore through the air with a loud, sharp crack, rocketing straight toward Razor's face.
Razor didn't flinch. He casually raised one large hand and caught the incoming ball effortlessly. The sheer force of Shizuku's throw was so intense that the volleyball continued to spin rapidly against his palm for a full second, generating enough friction to send thin wisps of acrid green smoke curling up into the air.
"Oh?" Shizuku murmured, her eyebrows raising slightly in genuine surprise. She hadn't expected him to catch it so easily, and with only one hand.
Razor lowered his arm, his expression completely unchanged. "You chose to direct your very first attack straight at me. That was a bold choice, considering there are obviously several targets on this side of the court who would be significantly easier to knock out of the game."
He casually motioned his head toward the two puppets standing closest to him, Number 1 and Number 2, both of which were incredibly short and physically thin.
"It doesn't really matter," Shizuku replied smoothly, adjusting her glasses. "If I don't deal with you first, the final result will be exactly the same anyway."
"Well said," Razor chuckled, a dangerous, thrilling smile spreading across his face. "In that case, I suppose it is my turn."
He took a slow, deep breath, his massive chest expanding. He shifted his weight back, dropping seamlessly into the flawless, practiced posture of a professional baseball pitcher. With a sudden, explosive burst of power, he hurled the volleyball toward Liam's side of the court.
The ball didn't look like sports equipment anymore. It looked exactly like a blazing meteorite. The deafening sound of the ball breaking the sound barrier echoed through the gym. In the blink of an eye, the ball crossed the court and was inches away from the face of Mirror 11.
So, he preaches about sportsmanship, but immediately resorts to picking off the weakest targets first, huh? Liam thought bitterly.
"I am not just someone you can easily bully!" Mirror 11 roared, his face contorting in sudden rage.
The puppet desperately gathered every single meager drop of aura left in his weak body, flooding the energy into his hands. He thrust his palms forward, throwing his entire body weight into a desperate attempt to catch the incoming meteorite.
Suddenly, Mirror 11 felt an incredibly strange sensation. His hands felt completely weightless, and a sudden, wet warmth splashed across his chest and face.
Almost simultaneously, a sickening, wet crunch echoed through the room, followed immediately by the deafening sound of the heavy volleyball violently slamming into the concrete wall on the far side of the stadium.
Liam stood frozen in place. He stared blankly at the ragged, bloody stumps where Mirror 11's arms used to be. His eyes trailed down to the massive, gaping hole that had been blasted completely through the puppet's chest and abdomen.
Slowly, Liam turned his head to look behind the ruined puppet. A massive spray of fresh blood coated the polished wooden floor. The volleyball, now dyed a dark, slick crimson, was completely embedded deep into the solid concrete of the back wall, surrounded by a massive spiderweb of deep cracks.
Mirror 11 collapsed onto his knees, coughing up a mouthful of blood.
"Fuck you, Razor!" Liam gasped out, his voice bubbling. "If you had just told me you were going to throw it that hard, I would have canceled the Star Mark control and let the body die instantly!"