The air crackled between them, the pressure from their locked blades sending ripples through the atmosphere.
For a heartbeat, nothing moved, only the hum of tension, the silent anticipation of the next strike.
Anthony's eyes flickered briefly to 'Anthony' then back to their blades.
There was no sweat on his brow, no tightness in his chest.
His body was still as a mountain, poised, calm.
His katana remained as steady as a river's surface, reflecting the purity of his will.
But something had shifted.
As he studied the movements of his opponent, he began to notice the subtle but undeniable flaw.
'Anthony', this shadow of his battle prowess, was no longer adapting.
Its movements, while technically flawless, lacked the fluidity of a mind that continuously evolved in battle.
It fought in patterns, as though mimicking the memory of techniques once used, without progressing, without shifting or improving.
