'To lose to someone as weak as Max? You aren't even qualified to be called trash.'
A cold chill ran down Veylin's spine.
His breath hitched, and for the first time in his life, he felt something far worse than fear—uncertainty.
His fingers clenched tighter around his spear, his mind racing.
'Who?! Who are you?!'
He demanded an answer, but as the words left his thoughts, he felt an unexplainable coldness creep into his soul—a suffocating weight pressing down on his very existence.
And then, it hit him.
The voice was familiar.
Too familiar.
Because it was his own.
Just… distorted.
Twisted.
Dark and eerie, as if spoken by a version of himself that had crawled out from the depths of something sinister.
—
'Who am I?'
The voice sneered, sending an unsettling chill through Veylin's thoughts.
'I am you. Just… slightly better than you in every way.'
A dark chuckle followed.
'And slightly more ruthless, if I may.'
—
Veylin's brows furrowed, his grip on his spear unsteady.
