The hybrid stepped forward—half of his face glowing soft blue, the other half cold, sterile white.
"You love a lie," he said."The real Specter died when the system rose."
Echo didn't blink.She lifted her blade—but it shimmered now, alive with memory data.
Her eyes burned, not with rage—but with devotion.
"Then I'll resurrect him one piece at a time."
And she struck first.
Their blades clashed—no sparks, no steel—but flashes of past moments exploding between them.
The time they danced beneath the stars.The fight that tore them apart.The kiss he never remembered giving her.
Each hit—a shard of truth.
Specter, still chained in the sky of his own mind, watched.
For every clash,he felt it—not in code, but in his chest.
Like old bones cracking open.
He remembered.
Not data.Not protocol.But emotion.
The nights he stayed up fixing Echo's shoulder chip.The time he deleted her records to save her from judgment.The child they never got to raise—until now.
And it hurt.
