Harbinger clones stamina and hammer weapon

One stepped close, holding a ball-peen hammer in each hand. He closed on Golem, invading his personal space, until their noses were touching.

Golem tried to wrap the Harbinger in a bear-hug, felt only the faint drag of cloth against the metal of his gauntlets, empty air. His intended target had ducked low.

He drove a knee forward. Tight, contained movements, give them as little to work with as possible.

No contact. Of course.

He was rewarded with a swat of the hammer against his mask, shattering one lens. He'd thought he was out of reach, but the boy held only the very end of the hammer between index and middle finger. He tossed the hammer in the air, letting it spin head over end.

Golem struck at the flying hammer, but another strike of the hammer caught his arm. His fingertips fell short, and the handle of the weapon rolled over the back of his hand. The Harbinger caught it, then thrust it forward in the same motion, driving the top of the hammer against Golem's nose.

"Don't kill him," another Harbinger said.

"I know," was the reply.

They didn't even sound winded.

None of the others were doing demonstrably better.  The remaining D.T. officer was holding his own, but the others were being slowly, systematically beaten.

He’s dragging it out.  They’re making this into a game.

- Interlude 26a