The blood-drenched Akira tilted her head, grinning like she'd been waiting for this moment.
"You finally stopped pretending," she purred.
Akira's fingers twitched toward her own blade, but before she could draw it, the blood-soaked twin stepped forward—too close—pressing a crimson hand to her chest.
The air shifted.
A rush of heat, violence, and hunger surged through Akira's veins. Her vision bled red. Her pulse roared in her ears. Every ounce of restraint she'd ever built snapped.
She didn't just merge with her other self—she unleashed her.
The walls of the maze exploded outward from the force of her aura. Other versions of her staggered back, some shielding their eyes, others laughing manically like they'd been waiting for this.
Her body moved on its own—too fast for thought.
A cybernetic Akira lunged, but her head hit the floor before her body realized it was dead.
The royal Akira tried to plead, "Wait—"
Akira's fist shattered her jaw before she could finish.
She was enjoying it.
Somewhere far away, the real her screamed to stop. But the bloodthirsty version laughed inside her mind:
"You think you've been fighting to survive? No. You've been holding back your true nature."
Her blade sliced, tore, spun—a dance of carnage.
Allies who had been watching from outside the maze ran in to stop her—shouting her name—but the red fog didn't care about friend or foe.
A hand grabbed her shoulder. She spun to strike—only to see him.
The one person she swore never to hurt.
For a split second, her real self clawed back control.
But the blood-drenched side whispered, "One cut… and you'll never feel fear again."
Her blade was already moving.