He stood across from her, chest rising and falling in time with hers.
But something was… off.
Crimson veins pulsed under his skin, eyes glowing like hers, aura flaring.
Her mind screamed: What did they do to him?
"Looks like the maze doesn't let anyone leave unscathed," he said, voice low, teasing—but it carried a dangerous edge.
Akira flexed her fingers, aura swirling around her, crimson tendrils twitching. "You're… like me?"
He smirked. "Like you? No. Exactly you. Or at least, a version that won't hold back."
The tension snapped. They launched at each other simultaneously—fast, precise, chaotic. Every strike mirrored the other's, as if looking into a mirror made of steel and blood.
Akira's mind flashed to her last fight with the blood-drenched version—could she keep control? Could she stop herself from going berserk again?
He grinned mid-strike, leaning close enough that their breaths collided. "C'mon… show me who you really are."
Her aura flared, slicing through the air with her first fully controlled Rank 14 strike. He countered perfectly, blocking without effort.
She stumbled back, realizing the truth: this wasn't just a fight.
It was a test of herself.
Every strike burned, every dodge forced her to think, to control, to merge the lessons from her blood-drenched self with the Akira she wanted to be.
The crowd of shadows and versions of her watched silently, waiting, as the two crimson titans clashed—mirror against mirror, fire against fire, desire against discipline.
Then, for the first time, she smiled—not the teasing grin, not the bloodlust, but herself.
"Let's see which one survives," she whispered.
And the world trembled.