STEP BROTHER DEAREST
But my own strings rose to meet them, cutting, tangling, weaving into knots of resistance.
Stepbrother’s double stood motionless at first, overlays a storm of cascading data. Then, suddenly, it moved—faster than the real Stepbrother, lines of light slicing outward like blades. The real one stepped forward, his overlays stabilizing, countering each cut with precise, calculated strikes of his own.
The battlefield became chaos. Shadows against shadows. Spears clashing. Light burning through glass. Strings cutting strings. Data colliding with data.
But none of us faltered. Without fear, every strike was clean, confident. Every movement was decisive.