The two Evas stood apart, breathing hard, the air between them still crackling from the clash of their last exchange.
Wrong Eva's smile was twisted, wrong, familiar. "Do you have a sister? Lily?"
Eva didn't answer. Her knuckles tightened until blood leaked between her fingers.
"Mine died." Wrong Eva's voice cracked. Blood tears rolled down her cheeks—real tears, red and wrong, mixing with the smile that wouldn't stay still. "I killed her myself. No—I ate her. She's inside me. STOP—"
Her hands flew to her head. Her face contorted—panic, pain, something that might have been grief.
"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up." Her voice rose to a scream. "BE QUIET."
Eva stood frozen. This wasn't a fight anymore. This was something else.
"I didn't kill Lily." Wrong Eva's voice dropped to a whisper, desperate, pleading. "I didn't do it."
"Yes you did." The twisted smile returned. The same mouth, the same voice, a different speaker. "Yes you did."
What the fuck. Eva's mind was racing. What is she doing?
Wrong Eva screamed.
Tentacles erupted from her back—long, fleshy, spiked, wet with blood. They tore through her shirt, through her skin, through whatever was left of the woman wearing Eva's face. She laughed through it, a maniac's laugh, while blood tears still ran down her cheeks.
"Just kill me," she said, her face shifting again—panic, pain, something that looked almost sad. "Just kill me."
Eva felt sick. Looking at her own face like this—twisted, broken, arguing with itself—was wrong in a way she couldn't name.
Wrong Eva charged. The tentacles hit Eva's leg, her thigh, her chest, her neck. Purple fire wrapped around Wrong Eva's fists, and she punched—Eva's lips split, blood sprayed, her head snapped back.
Eva lit Wrong Eva's face on fire.
The tentacles ripped free. Blood sprayed.
"Dominance Sphere."
Purple fire surrounded them, pressing in, absolute. Wrong Eva's hands went to her head again, her face crumpling.
"Let go of me. Stop it. Let me go." Panic. Real panic.
What the actual fuck is going on?
Wrong Eva charged.
Eva punched her in the gut. In the face. Wrong Eva tried to make a fireball—it dissolved. Eva made one. It grew, fed by the domain, swelling until it was the size of a car.
BOOM.
Both jumped back.
Eva's hands were covered in armor—scaly, dark, then Pulse, then purple fire. Wrong Eva did the same, but without Pulse. Her armor was just armor. Her fire was just fire.
Their fists met in the middle.
Eva landed hits—clean, powerful, devastating. Wrong Eva took them all.
Her head fell back. Her neck was exposed. Blood leaked from her mouth, dripped down her throat.
Then she moved.
A punch to Eva's gut. Six more—heavy, powerful, clean—to Eva's chest, over her heart. Eva felt her heart stutter, felt her body go numb for a second.
They exchanged punches. Left, right, left, right. Neither yielding.
Eva raised her finger. A small fireball formed at the tip—highly concentrated, dense, waiting. Wrong Eva did the same.
Beams met in the middle.
Eva's beam pushed through. The domain. The Pulse. She had both, and Wrong Eva had neither.
The beam cut through Wrong Eva's stomach—a long, clean line, abdomen to spine.
Wrong Eva fell to her knees.
"Kill me." Twisted smile. "Kill me." Panic face. "Please."
Eva closed her eyes.
She was ready.
The domain scattered.
Eva felt something behind her. A presence. Immense. Familiar in a way she couldn't place. Not hostile. Just... there.
She turned.
A woman stood at the edge of the clearing. Black clothes, simple. A cloth mask covered the lower half of her face. Her left arm was hidden beneath her cloak, held close to her body. She was more muscular than Eva, broader in the shoulders, thicker in the arms. Her left eye was closed, hidden behind a fall of dark hair.
Behind her, a boy stood—fourteen, maybe fifteen. His face was young, but his eyes were older. He watched everything, said nothing.
The woman moved her hand. Sign language. Eva didn't understand.
Something pricked Eva's neck. The world went soft at the edges.
She collapsed.
The woman caught her, lifted her onto her shoulder. Wrong Eva was already there, broken, bleeding, barely conscious. The boy moved to help, steadying her, keeping her upright.
They walked.
---
Wolfen kicked Leo lightly in the stomach. "Get up, nerd."
Leo groaned, rolled over, pushed himself up. A small smile tugged at his lips. "Fine. Fine."
They both felt it at the same time—a pressure, immense, stronger than any of them. It pressed against their chests, their lungs, their selves.
They turned.
The woman walked toward them, Eva on one shoulder, Wrong Eva on the other. The boy followed close behind, silent, watchful.
Wolfen's hands came up. Leo's fists sparked.
The boy stepped forward, hands raised, palms out. "Wait."
That was all he said. One word. Then he stepped back.
The woman set Eva down gently. Set Wrong Eva down beside her.
She looked at Wolfen. Her visible eye—the right one, dark and calm—held his gaze for a long moment. Then she looked at the others—at Leo, at Lena, at Jordan, at Maya.
She signed something. The boy didn't translate.
Wolfen stared at the woman. At the boy. At the two Evas lying on the ground—one broken, one unconscious, both bleeding.
"Who are you?" Leo's voice was quiet.
The woman didn't answer. She just stood there, watching them, waiting.
Behind her, more figures emerged from the trees. Lena, her daggers still drawn, her face wary. Jordan, his katana low, his body still thick from the transformation. Maya, scales still clinging to her skin, one eye black, one eye white.
They had followed her here. Not as prisoners. Not as enemies.
They just stood there, waiting.
The forest was quiet.
Wolfen looked at the woman—at her covered face, her hidden arm, her closed eye. At the boy who spoke only one word. At the two Evas bleeding on the ground.
No one spoke.
The fire crackled. The smoke rose. The world waited.