Mord was wiping the floor with me. I severely under-estimated how much speed I would lose with all the Mithril plating. I was not fast enough to execute the patterns and moves in the Way of the Void. After the third hour of my ass-beating, Mord called a halt. I began my walk of shame to the door.

  “Wait.” He called out

  I turned and walked back to him.

  “Much too slow. Not train after change?”

  “Not enough, apparently,” I said, frustrated with myself.

  “Other self said you have potion of regeneration?”

  “The dark green one? Yeah, I have it.”

  “Use. But only little sips. When I say” I was apprehensive to use such a resource, but over the years of abuse-disguised-as-training at his hands, I've come to trust him for things like this, implicitly. I pulled it out of my inventory and held it out.

  “Do I drink now?”

  “No! You do as I do. Stretch as far as you can, and then I stretch farther.” What followed was several hours of stretches and movements that were not humanly possible. I don't mean endurance or anything, I was talking bio-mechanics. I would stretch as far as I could go. I'd gotten pretty limber at this point, and then Mord would come and push or pull until something snapped or tore. He would then position the now useless part of me in a precise position and pour a tiny bit of the potion in my mouth. Having no other thing to do at the moment, I watched as my flesh was knit anew. After about the eighth time, tearing a muscle in my arm, the change became apparent. The muscle was healing back stronger. We would take breaks periodically from the torture, and he would have me practice katas that I had long since mastered. Katas that were all messed up because of my excess weight. It was only fifteen pounds of metal, but it felt like way more. Finally, after the potion was half gone, he returned to his fighting stance.

  Honestly, I felt way better. I was back moving at close to my previous speed, but I had way more power in everything. We were still hand-to-hand, so we kept the strikes to light touches or pokes and flicks. We broke apart after an intense exchange, and Mord came to a standing position. I mirrored his position to let him know I was ready for what’s next.

  “It's good that you understand the conduct of a duel. To go for poke and not break opponent.” He placed his hand where I had once stabbed him, and though there wasn't even a scar there, I hung my head in shame.

  “I am sorry about that.”

  “It is also good. Learn range and use it. But also stop when achieved victory. But now, important lesson, and then we do weapons when you return.”

  “Ok, hit me with the knowledge.” Something about my phrasing must have amused him as a giant grin stretched across his face.

  “I already hit you with this knowledge. Hit you over…and…over..and over. Now you hit me. I want you to hit me as hard as you can.” The grin turned smug as fuck.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  I was game for the fight club treatment, though I doubted he knew the reference. I put all the power I could behind a cross punch. The sound when I hit him was like a crowbar striking concrete. I felt my knuckles split, but I didn’t wince. I slowly pulled my hand back, disturbing the illusion covering the pillar of dungeon material that I’d struck. The regeneration potion still running through my body sealed my wounds with a minor sap to my stamina. It was a cheap and dirty trick, but I didn’t mind. I clearly saw the chip in the pillar before he could reform.

  “Very good! And you only get stronger from here. Now go, steal more from other self, he sad, he did not help you more.” I didn’t try to decipher what he said; I just bowed and reached for the door handle.

  I ran the stairs until my stamina bottomed out. I waited until it refiled and bottomed it out again. I ran the stairs until I found the perfect pace and ran them until I was tired and thirsty enough to move on. Mord’s adjustment let me be faster than ever.

  I felt good, but as I reflected at the top, I realized that I was in beyond human shape. It was miles of stairs, and I could sprint it without stop. I could fight with Mord for a solid day without stop. I threw a punch that cracked hardened stone, cracked the walls of a dungeon. Mord still wiped the floor with me, but he was a full two tiers above me. I could, at times, hold my own. I needed a better power reference. I pondered that as I lay my head back, waiting for a gray room.

  I got into a solid routine of stones, fighting, looting, and running. I looted the flasks first, taking as many as I could stomach each time I hit the room of recovery. I took them first so I could use their advantages for that crafting session. I increased my mana pool to match my stamina. Vitality didn’t agree with the health expansion flask, but it increased a good bit. The last of the flasks were buffs for all my attributes, which boosted my pools even further.

  After the flasks, I went after the potions, still leaving a few of each in the machine. I had a set of clothes, but still purchased the materials and cuts that looked appealing—letting Ink devour them, much to his delight, and a symphony of trills. I was tempted to start buying everything else, but I was apprehensive. I had an exploit, and there was a difference between a loot whore and a loot thief. Others had to brave the dungeon and would deserve some loot. The choice they made would be a big prize, but I’d heard Mord’s monologue about Orbols enough times to know they would think something was up if they had more money than the store had items.

  I took a second to browse what was left. I’d taken about half the items at this point. I only had a dozen or so potions at this point, all the rest were consumed by either me or my portable tailor. I made sure to leave the most expensive items, but earmarked a few that looked like they might have interesting enchantments to learn the runes of or rarer materials to try and learn.

  I had all I really wanted, so I set a more leisurely pace. I set Ink to the challenge of dressing me in the new materials and styles. He created a nice pair of pants that looked dressy but moved perfectly with me. We matched that with a loose toggled shirt that closed mid-forearm. He was a fan of the white, while I was a fan of the black. We both vetoed his purple because of obvious concerns. What it ended up being was a gray that matched the walls of the recovery room. The hardest part was completing the ensemble. I liked the shirt by itself or with a sash over the belt of my sheathes. Ink insisted on being a vest. No matter how many times I took it off, he just reformed it. He was the fashionista, so I left it. The last part was what we both agreed on. All fantasy heroes need a cape.

  I spent two straight hours extolling the virtues of famous capes from pop culture. From Batman and Spawn to Harry Potter and Doctor Strange. It was funny watching Ink trying to lift me. He literally could be attached to me at every point of my body and even turn into a rope. Still couldn’t lift me. We ended up with a mix between Spawn and Doctor Strange. The enhancement Ink received from absorbing Metaridium was his ability to not only control his color but also accurately mimic patterns. I could see myself from the outside, yet when we practiced camouflage against the walls of the recovery room, I wouldn't have known I was there.

  I was fully geared up and raring to go when I entered Mord’s Room.