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Summary
"But if it helps you feel better, from what I’m seeing,” she leaned in closer, mouth pushed up mere millimeters away from the blade, “you are my favorite Alfonse of the bunch. Probably the strongest, too.”
“Your favorite Alfonse,” he murmured, “of the bunch?”
Her smile widened in response. She pushed his blade up with a gentle finger; pressed a kiss to the underside; and then disappeared into the silence of the colosseum.
In her place now stood another copy of him.
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With the promise of Askr's protection on the line, Alfonse fights mirrors of himself — again, and again, and again.
