The battle always opened with a test of strength—an exchange of spear attacks. Both Broken and his clone charged around the wide arena, circling each other in relentless motion. Then came the resounding clash of metal against metal, sharp and unforgiving. It was a grueling beginning, one that immediately began to sap Broken's time and stamina.
What made it worse, what gnawed at the edge of his focus—was the realization that this clone was good. Too good. Ridiculously skilled with the spear.
And for some strange reason, Broken couldn't shake the feeling that this clone wasn't just a copy. Not exactly. There was something off, something different in the way he fought. Because, if he was honest, he didn't handle a spear like that.
Not with that precision, not with that sheer, fluid mastery. It was like fighting a version of himself that had somehow perfected a part of his own skillset far beyond his current level. It was a little bit hilarious. And a whole lot frustrating.
