"HAHAHAHA!"
Damien's fiery orange mimic let out a shrill, manic laugh as his katana arced toward Jenna's throat, only for the Grey Monk to intercept, catching the blade with the shaft of his spear.
Steel met steel with a deafening clash.
The Monk slid backward from the force, crashing into Jenna. The two of them tumbled to the sand, grunting as dust exploded around them.
At that exact moment, Damien surged in from behind—silent, and swift, with a dagger raised to impale his double through the spine.
But the mimic twisted at the last second, launching a brutal spinning kick into Damien's chest.
Air ripped from his lungs as he slammed into the sand.
Damien's eyes snapped up just in time to see a glowing fiery foot descending toward his head. He rolled away, barely escaping as the strike cratered the ground beside him.
He raised his silver dagger on instinct, and it met the katana with a harsh clang.
The weight of the mimic's weapon was overwhelming, pressing his smaller blade toward his face, inch by inch. The blade was made of fire, along with the rest of the mimic, but strangely, Damien could not feel any heat from them.
He could only feel his overwhelming strength.
His muscles trembled as his copy stared down at him, its face and eyes staring back.
They were his cold, calculating, inhuman eyes.
'He's my copy. So why the hell is he stronger?' Damien thought, gritting his teeth. 'Why are his moves cleaner and sharper than my own? I can't even predict him.'
Heavy footsteps thudded behind them. The Grey Monk charged forward, spear aimed like a lance.
The mimic leapt backward, flipping over the Monk's attack with unnatural grace. As he soared, he flicked his katana downward, aiming straight for the Monk's exposed back.
Spinning, the Monk readied himself for the attack, but it was too late.
Steel tore across his stomach. Blood sprayed, and he dropped to one knee with a pained grunt, landing right beside Damien.
Jenna charged, dagger gripped tight, teeth clenched. There was no strategy in her movement—just raw instinct and burning urgency.
Damien saw it before she even closed the distance.
Too direct and open. It was obvious she had never received training.
The mimic didn't move at first. He simply watched her come, his expression unreadable, until the final second.
Then he stepped in.
His katana slashed across her thigh in a single, effortless sweep, opening flesh and dropping her mid-sprint.
She screamed as her legs buckled beneath her. The mimic caught her by the hair, yanking her upright,
and drove the katana into her gut.
The blade didn't stop until it tore out through her back.
Her scream fractured into a gasp, wet, stunned, and raw. Her arms trembled, dropping the dagger, then flailed weakly against him.
The mimic's lips curled into a grotesque expression.
Then he twisted the blade.
Her mouth opened in a soundless cry. Blood spilled down her chin as her skinny body jerked violently, impaled and convulsing.
He held her there, staring into her wide, panicked eyes, soaking it in.
So lost in his cruelty, he didn't hear the steps behind him.
Didn't feel the air shift.
Damien struck.
His silver dagger sliced through the air, inches from the mimic's neck.
'I envy you,' he thought, 'but I can't let you kill my shield just yet.'
But the mimic spun at the last instant. Damien's momentum betrayed him, sending him lunging past his target.
Then laughter, high and sharp, and a crushing kick sank into Damien's gut, launching him high into the air like a ragdoll.
Something cracked.
There was no sense of up or down, no air in his lungs, only pain.
And then in a flash, the orange katana came screaming toward him.
Damien raised his blade just in time. The clash echoed like a bell, jarring through his bones.
Below, the Monk had risen from the sand. Fury burned in his eyes as he hurled his spear with deadly precision.
For the first time, Damien saw something human in him.
Rage.
The katana, which had been airborne only moments before, vanished from sight and instantly reappeared in the mimic's hand.
Effortless.
He blocked the spear without flinching, then launched backward, skidding across the sand.
Both figures landed on opposite sides of the clearing. Jenna's bleeding body lay between them, unmoving on the now bloody sand.
Dust swirled. Blood soaked the oasis. Silence returned.
Damien twisted mid-air, contorting through pain, and hit the ground hard on both feet. The impact shot fire through his ribs, but he forced himself upright and leapt back toward the Monk.
They stood side by side, bloodied, breathing hard, and barely upright.
Damien clutched his ribs, sharp daggers of pain stabbing with every breath. The Monk pressed a hand to his abdomen, dark blood soaking through his robes in steady pulses. But neither looked away from the figure before them.
The mimic stood tall at the center of the dunes, cloaked in fire. Its flames lit the night like a twisted sun, casting long, jagged shadows over the sand. Its grin was wide—too wide. Its eyes gleamed with manic joy.
Then Damien doubled over as agony lanced through his side, blood spraying from his lips in a violent cough.
The mimic laughed.
A cruel, gleeful sound that bounced across the dunes like broken music.
Damien didn't laugh. His mouth filled with copper. His vision blurred. And inside, he boiled with rage.
'I'll kill you. I don't care if you're stronger. I don't care if you're faster. I don't care if your weapon's sharper. When you die… it will be your face burned into your eyes.'
Then the world shifted, as if it had heard his declaration.
The ground began to tremble, subtly at first, then more sharply and violently. Sand rolled underfoot in waves. The very air turned heavy, as if it were trying to crush them.
'An earthquake?'
Damien staggered, barely keeping his balance. He shot a look at his double and instantly understood.
The mimic's body had changed.
Glowing marks bloomed across his face like brands seared into flesh. One Damien recognized immediately—the serpent devouring its own tail. The same sigil Jenna had received. But others began to emerge, burning into view, too many to identify, their shapes fracturing in the shimmer of heat and ember.
They ran down the mimic's neck, curling over his chest, vanishing beneath his clothes. Damien knew without a doubt they marked his entire body.
The trembling subsided.
Then the world heaved again.
A violent, choking pressure crashed over the dunes like an invisible wave. Damien felt his knees almost give.
And then he saw it.
A crown.
Not gold, not gemmed, but a wreath of thorns, jagged and cruel, forged from charred roots and glowing ember. It rose slowly from the mimic's flames and settled atop his head like it belonged there.
Damien flicked his eyes to the Monk. The man hadn't moved. His gaze remained fixed on Jenna's crumpled body. His jaw was tight, and rage carved deep lines across his face.
But the mimic didn't wait.
It laughed, louder than before. And in a flash, it lunged.
Faster than it had ever moved.
A streak of orange flame was tearing across the sand, heading straight for them.