The sound of glass colliding split the Pane like thunder.
Ren's blade met the mirrored copy's weapon in a clash that sent shards scattering like sparks. But these weren't just shards—they were echoes, each one whispering a fragment of his own voice.
"You can't win."
"You'll break."
"You've already lost."
The hunger inside the copy spoke through every fragment, every swing. Its movements weren't just fast—they were familiar. It fought exactly like Ren. Same stances, same feints, same instinct to strike when the opponent breathed too loud.
But with one terrifying difference.
It held nothing back.
Ren stumbled as the copy pressed forward, blow after blow crashing against his guard. His arms shook with the weight of it, not just physically but mentally—every strike was an accusation, every parry a reminder of the weakness he tried to bury.
