The difference was shrinking.
Slowly. But it was shrinking.
Michael's comprehension had always been monstrous, and after everything that had happened to him recently, it had only become more ridiculous. Watching himself fight was almost like having the perfect instructor standing across the battlefield, one who couldn't lie, couldn't hide anything.
There was no need to wonder what he had done wrong. The answer was standing directly in front of him, spear in hand, waiting to punish him if he failed to fix it fast enough.
But comprehension didn't mean instant perfection. Knowing what to change and actually forcing the body to abandon ingrained habits were two very different things. Even Michael needed time to rebuild more than a year of accumulated instinct into something cleaner. And the reflected Michael wasn't going to give him that time for free.
The copy suddenly stepped in, closing the distance faster than the rhythm of the exchange between them.
Michael reacted. Too late.
