The arena groaned as if the stone itself resented what was happening.Copper veins throbbed with white-hot light, the suppressors shrieking at a pitch that made Kahn's molars ache. The air was so dense with charge it hurt to breathe—every inhale carried the taste of rust, every exhale came out sharp with static, leaving his lips dry and tingling as though sandpaper had scraped them raw.
The echoes staggered at the edges of the chamber, caught between two forces. One half-crumpled under Kahn's asymmetry, its skin twitching with impossible folds. The other jerked into rigid, mirrored posture, Symmetry's control pinning its broken joints into straight lines. The result was grotesque: half-bodies twitching in lockstep, screams doubled into discordant echoes that rattled the floor and made the copper seams buzz like wasps.
The smell was unbearable. Tar, mildew, scorched copper, sweat—layered into a nauseating cocktail that clung to the back of Kahn's throat. His stomach lurched, bile rising, the acidic sting coating his tongue. His skin prickled, damp with cold sweat that slid slowly down his ribs beneath the training uniform.
The rival moved forward. Perfectly.Every step landed with surgical precision, boots kissing the stone at exact intervals. His shadow matched him too cleanly—no distortion, no delay. Even the sweat dripping from his jawline fell in symmetrical beads, twin drops striking the floor with identical splashes that echoed like metronome clicks.
"Fracture," he said softly, though the word vibrated like thunder in Kahn's skull. "You're the weak link."
The fragment inside Kahn snapped awake at the provocation. It twisted like a blade beneath his skin, begging for release. The floor under him rippled again—his reflection splitting, warping, smearing like wet ink. One half laughed silently. The other screamed, the sound swallowed by the copper hum but vibrating in Kahn's bones.
Kahn's pulse thundered in his ears, louder than the suppressors. His skin prickled with cold sweat. The copper taste in his mouth thickened until he swore he was drinking blood, metallic and sour, coating the back of his teeth.
The rival lifted his hand. Shadows across the arena folded in unison, locking the echoes back into symmetrical form. Even the sound of their screams shifted, harmonizing into a single, balanced note that drilled through the skull like a dentist's drill. The stench seemed to stabilize, thinning into a sterile, hospital-clean scent that made the hair on Kahn's arms rise.
Too perfect. Too false.
Kahn staggered, head pounding. His fragment whispered, jagged and hungry:Break him. Break the lie.
He gave in.Not all the way—just enough.
The arena tilted. The mirrored floor fractured into angles, each reflection showing a different Kahn: one snarling, one weeping, one with eyes black as void. The suppressors screamed louder, their pitch cracking into a shrill keening that made recruits clap hands to ears until their palms went red. Sparks rained from copper seams, stinking of ozone and burnt insulation, each one landing hot enough to sting exposed skin.
The rival hissed, jaw tight, as cracks spider-webbed through his perfect lattice. For the first time, his symmetry faltered: one foot landed a fraction before the other, breath uneven. His control slipped, and the echoes convulsed free, their screams tearing apart the single note into a hundred dissonant shrieks that drilled into Kahn's skull. The air filled with the taste of chalk and rot, dry and suffocating as if he were swallowing dust.
Kahn's fragment surged, triumphant. The bloated echo ruptured into black sludge, spraying the floor with acid reek that burned his nostrils. The scaffolding one bent at three wrong angles, joints snapping like wet branches splintering underfoot. The paper-thin one folded into impossible origami before crumpling into dust, the flakes drifting into his hair and sticking to sweat-slick skin.
The rival lunged—straight at Kahn. No hesitation. His movements blurred into perfect rhythm, fists slicing the air with surgical force. Every strike left behind faint after-images of itself, as though reality wanted to keep the symmetry intact. The air displaced by each blow slapped Kahn's cheeks, carrying the sharp tang of sweat and copper.
Kahn dodged, barely. His shoulder grazed a fist, and fire shot up his arm, the pain so sharp it smelled like burnt hair and scorched cloth. His fragment snarled in reply, bending the air—distorting distance. The rival's next strike landed short, his hand snapping closed on nothing.
Their fragments collided.
The arena detonated in sensation:
Light shattered, flaring copper and white across every surface, searing his retinas.Sound collapsed into overlapping notes—harmonies breaking, splitting, fracturing until silence itself seemed broken.The air reeked of burning metal and sour sweat, thick enough to sting his eyes.Kahn's tongue filled with the taste of pennies and ash.His skin crawled as if insects ran beneath it, the pressure of symmetry and fracture trying to split him apart seam by seam.
For one breathless moment, Kahn saw it clearly. The Kernel's edge. A horizon of impossible geometry yawning open where their fragments touched, a space that smelled of dust and eternity, like stone left untouched for aeons. A place he knew he was never meant to see.
"Enough."
Selene's voice cracked across the arena like lightning.
The suppressor grid flared white, a searing light that burned afterimages into Kahn's eyes. The hum surged, then slammed downward like a weight, crushing every fragment into silence. The echoes collapsed into piles of ash and sludge. The copper veins dimmed to a dull, exhausted glow.
Kahn fell to one knee, chest heaving. His throat burned raw with copper. Sweat stung his eyes, dripping salt into the corners and making him blink furiously. His reflection beneath him twitched once, then re-aligned, smirking faintly before snapping back into obedience.
Across from him, the symmetrical recruit stood rigid, fists trembling at his sides, his face a perfect mask—except for the flicker of fury in his eyes.
Selene stepped into the center, obsidian gaze sweeping both of them. Her voice was calm, cold, final.
"Containment means survival. Rivalry means nothing if you collapse the field. Fail me again, and you won't make it to real combat."
The silence that followed stank of ash and sweat, thick as fog.
Kahn swallowed, tasting iron as it coated his throat. His fragment whispered softly, pleased:He is order. You are fracture. Only one survives.
And for the first time, Kahn knew the rivalry was not a possibility.It was inevitable.