REALMS OF BLOODLINES

He's too fast.

The thought looped through Sid's mind like a curse.

He couldn't keep up.

Every movement, every blow — the replica was always one step ahead. Stronger. Smarter. Hungrier.

Sid's arms ached. His body screamed with each breath. Blood trickled from cuts he hadn't even registered. His blade felt heavier with every block.

I can't win this.

The thought clawed deeper.

Is this where it ends?

Am I gonna die here?

The fear came creeping in, no matter how hard he fought to bury it. His legs faltered. His stance cracked. His breathing grew ragged, shallow, broken.

All he could do was defend.

And endure.

The replica attacked again.

A vicious slash tore through the air. Sid barely deflected it, but the force sent him tumbling backward. His foot caught on fractured stone. He collapsed, coughing blood.

The replica advanced, casual again, like a cat toying with a broken mouse.

Sid tried to rise — was met with a kick to the ribs.

He folded inward, gasping. His hand fumbled for his sword. Another strike crashed down on his shoulder, knocking him flat.

More pain. More failure.

He felt it in his bones now — the helplessness. Like no matter how hard he fought, he was stuck inside his own defeat.

Is this all I am?

Another blow struck his leg. Then his side. Then his jaw.

His replica was laughing again, voice tinted with madness.

"You're not a warrior. You're a shadow. You only live because others sheltered you."

Sid coughed blood into the dirt.

Was it true? Had he been deluding himself this whole time?

He heard the replica's footsteps draw closer. Another swing.

This time, Sid didn't even block.

The blade carved into his arm. Hot, screaming pain.

He didn't cry out.

He was tired of crying out.

Everything blurred.

And somewhere in that blur — something cracked.

Not a bone.

His will.

And through that fracture...

Something else slipped in.

Fury.

Not at the replica.

At himself.

What the hell am I doing?

His eyes widened. His teeth clenched.

This entire fight — he'd been reacting. Running. Accepting.

That wasn't strength. That wasn't who he wanted to be.

I'm not here to survive.

I'm here to change.

And if I have to die to do that—

He grabbed his blade with both hands. Blood coated the hilt. His arms shook.

Then let's die on my terms.

The replica lunged again — another savage downward slash.

Sid didn't move to dodge.

Instead, he moved to strike.

The blow landed across his shoulder, tearing skin and slicing deep.

But at the same time —

Sid's blade drove upward.

A scream tore through the air.

The replica staggered back, clutching its chest — where Sid's blade had just torn a deep, red gash across it.

Sid stood. Bleeding. Yet despite the pain, he is smiling.

His lips curled into something raw and unfiltered.

A war-hungry grin.

His eyes burned with something new. Not clarity. Not control.

Just the need to end it.

"If I'm dying here..." he breathed, "you're coming with me."

The replica looked down at the wound.

Its face twisted. The grin was gone.

It raised its head slowly.

And now — it wasn't smiling.

It was furious.