The battlefield had gone eerily silent.

Ren's breathing rasped in his throat, sweat sliding down his jaw, Thorn trembling in his grip. Across from him stood the figure—his perfect, unbroken self, gleaming like an untouchable truth. The frozen fragments cowered in the shadows, whispering as if even they feared the clash about to unfold.

For the first time, Ren felt it—not fear of dying, not even fear of losing—but fear of being erased.

The savior's shadow pointed his flawless Thorn at him, eyes calm yet merciless.

"You're nothing more than a mistake stretched too far," he said. "And mistakes… don't deserve to endure."

Ren spat blood to the side and forced a crooked grin. "Tch. Then I'll be the loudest damn mistake this world has ever seen."

The girl with silver hair staggered closer, her flames guttering but still alive. She raised her hand toward Ren, voice trembling. "Ren… don't fight him the way you fight the others. He's not like them. He—"

"I know," Ren cut her off, his gaze locked forward. "That's why I can't back down."

The savior's shadow tilted his head, almost pitying. "Stubborn. Just like I was. But Thorn doesn't belong to you. It was never meant to."

At that, Ren's grip faltered for the briefest second. Thorn pulsed in his hand—like a heart trying to decide which body to beat for. The silver cracks along its surface writhed, glowing brighter, as if listening.

The shadow's Thorn shone steady, radiant, whole.

"See?" the shadow said softly. "It remembers. It was forged for salvation. For me. You're only holding the broken remnant of its will."

Ren's eyes narrowed. He could feel it—Thorn wasn't just a weapon. It was a choice.

"Then…" he muttered under his breath, voice trembling with fury and resolve, "…let's see who it chooses."

The fragments began shrieking again, emboldened by the tension, clawing at the glass ground as if desperate to watch what came next. The Pane's deep voice reverberated like thunder rolling through the cracks:

"A BATTLE OF INHERITANCE. LET THE TRUE WIELDER BE DECIDED."

The shadow raised his Thorn, steady as the moon. Ren lifted his, shaky but defiant, veins bulging as ruin-light seeped from the cracks.

And then—

The two Thorns sang.

Not sound, but resonance—two heartbeats colliding, two wills grappling. The air shattered like a storm of glass shards, lightning sparking between the blades before they even touched.

Ren's knees buckled under the weight of it. His Thorn felt like it was being torn from his hand, desperate to leap toward the other. His teeth clenched, blood dribbling from his lip as he forced his fingers tighter.

"No… you're mine…" he growled, voice ragged. "You've been with me since the beginning. Don't you dare leave me now."

The shadow's eyes glowed, calm and unwavering. "It was never yours. Thorn only endures because it's waiting to return."

The clash was inevitable.

The savior's shadow lunged forward, pristine Thorn glowing like judgment itself. Ren roared back, every muscle screaming, silver cracks flaring like dying stars.

The blades met—

And the Mirror World screamed.

The impact wasn't just force—it was decision. Thorn itself howled, caught between two selves, two destinies.

The silver-haired girl shielded her eyes, tears leaking through her fingers. "Ren… hold on! Don't let it decide without you!"

Ren's vision blurred, his arms shaking violently, but he screamed back at the weapon itself, his voice raw and furious.

"I don't care if I'm broken! I don't care if I'm a mistake! You're mine because I made you mine!"

For a split second—just one heartbeat—Thorn pulsed in answer.

Not toward perfection. Not toward salvation.

But toward defiance.

Ren's ruin-light surged, lashing back against the shadow's pristine glow. The battlefield cracked wider, the Pane howling in outrage.

Ren's lips pulled into a wild grin, bloodied but alive. "Looks like it heard me."

The savior's shadow narrowed his eyes for the first time, his calm shaken. "Impossible…"

But Thorn had chosen—for now.

And it hadn't chosen perfection.

It had chosen Ren.

The clash of the two Thorns didn't just tear the battlefield apart—

It tore the Pane's silence.

Every strike split the mirror-skin world open in shatters of silver light, each echo ricocheting like thunder inside a hollow chest. The fragments around them wailed, their distorted faces stretched in awe and terror, as though watching two gods duel inside the body of a broken dream.

Ren's arms trembled violently, bones aching, skin burning where Thorn's ruin-light surged through his veins. Every second of contact against the savior's shadow felt like holding back a tidal wave with bare hands.

The shadow, by contrast, looked untouched. Calm. Each movement precise, like his body had been designed only for this. His Thorn glowed steady, radiant, uncracked—a symbol of order untouched by doubt.

"You're bleeding yourself into it," the shadow said coolly, blade locked against Ren's. "But Thorn wasn't meant to drink blood. It was meant to bring salvation."

Ren spat copper, eyes blazing. "Then guess what? It chose wrong. Because I'm not here to save anyone."

The shadow's calm cracked for an instant. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something like anger surfacing.

Ren pushed forward with a roar, Thorn erupting in violent pulses. Each strike he swung wasn't elegant—it was raw, jagged, desperate. His blows tore jagged fissures across the mirrored earth, silver vines snapping beneath his boots.

The shadow parried each strike with frustrating ease, his blade always in the perfect place, always a heartbeat ahead. His expression remained cold, his movements like flowing water.

"You fight like a wound," the shadow murmured. "Unrefined. Unequal. But wounds close. Flaws heal. You'll disappear."

Ren's grin sharpened, teeth bloody. "Then I'll tear myself open wider until nothing can close me."

He lunged again. Their blades collided, the resonance shaking so violently that even the eyes in the fractured sky winced shut.

The silver-haired girl clutched her chest, her reflection-flames flickering wildly. She felt it too—the decision wasn't made yet. Thorn was still being pulled, wavering between two extremes.

Ren's knees buckled as the shadow bore down on him, Thorn ringing like a bell about to split.

"Yield," the shadow whispered. His perfect blade pressed closer, grinding Ren's to the side. "You were never supposed to exist."

Ren's breath came ragged, but his eyes didn't waver. "Yeah… but I did."

And with a snarl, he slammed his forehead into the shadow's face.

The impact made the shadow stagger, just a fraction, but enough. Ren twisted his blade up, the ruin-light exploding in a jagged surge that cut across the shadow's pristine form.

For the first time—

The shadow bled.

A thin crack ran across his shoulder where Ren's Thorn had grazed him, silver bleeding like liquid moonlight.

The fragments shrieked in disbelief. The Pane trembled.

The shadow froze, staring at the glowing wound spreading across his flawless body. His calm faltered. His lips curled into something sharp.

"You would wound perfection?"

Ren smirked, panting heavily, blood dripping down his chin. "Damn right I would. Because I'm not trying to be perfect. I'm trying to be me."

Thorn pulsed in his grip, louder than ever—its ruinous heartbeat syncing with his own.

The girl whispered in awe, her voice shaking: "It's… choosing you again."

The shadow's face hardened, his aura shifting. For the first time, he raised his Thorn with both hands, the radiant light flaring until it drowned the battlefield in blinding brilliance.

"Then I'll erase not just you," he hissed, his calm cracking into fury, "but the choice itself."

Ren tightened his grip, ruin-light flaring jagged and wild. He didn't flinch. He didn't back down.

"Bring it, you flawless bastard."

And the battlefield split apart as Perfection and Defiance collided once more—

One steady, one wild.

One eternal, one fragile.

But in that fragile defiance, there was something the Pane couldn't understand—

Something strong enough to crack perfection.

The mirrored battlefield went silent after the blow.

For a heartbeat, it was as if time itself refused to believe what had happened.

Ren's blade still vibrated in his hands, ruin-light flickering unevenly, like a lantern running out of air. His chest heaved, sweat and blood dripping down his face. His knuckles were torn raw from gripping Thorn too tightly.

Across from him, the savior's shadow stood—no longer pristine. A crack of silver light bled from his shoulder, dripping down his flawless form like molten moonlight.

The fragments scattered around them gasped in eerie unison, their distorted mouths opening and closing in disbelief. Even the eyes in the sky, which had watched impassively before, widened ever so slightly.

The Pane itself quivered.

"You…" the shadow finally spoke, his calm fractured. His voice no longer carried the unshakable serenity of order—it was lower, trembling with something dangerous. "You dare wound perfection."

Ren smirked through his exhaustion, his teeth streaked red. "Guess perfection wasn't as untouchable as it thought."

The shadow's eyes narrowed. "Then I will show you what perfection does to the unworthy."

His aura exploded outward. Silver light cascaded like waterfalls from his form, drowning the battlefield in radiance. The fractured world trembled, cracks running across the ground, the sky, even the fragments themselves. They shrieked as they splintered apart, erased by the sheer force of his presence.

Ren staggered backward, nearly crushed under the weight of it. His knees buckled. Thorn shook violently in his grip, its ruin-light sputtering as if smothered by the flood of order.

The silver-haired girl clutched her chest, gasping, her flame-fingers flickering weakly. "He's… no longer holding back. This is the Pane's will… made flesh."

Ren's vision blurred, but he forced himself to steady. He could feel Thorn trembling—not just from the strain, but from something deeper. It was reacting.

The shadow raised his Thorn high, the blade gleaming like the core of a star. His voice thundered like judgment itself:

"You were a mistake, Ren. A flaw that never should have been allowed to exist. And flaws… must be erased."

Ren grit his teeth, raising his own cracked Thorn. His body screamed in protest, but he held firm. "Then I'll be the biggest mistake this world's ever seen."

The shadow descended like lightning. Their blades collided—

And this time, it wasn't just a clash.

The resonance ripped the battlefield apart. Entire sections of mirrored ground shattered into void. The fragments scattered like dust in a storm, their screams dissolving into static. The sky fractured again, its eyes bursting into shards.

Ren was driven to his knees, every muscle straining, every nerve burning. The shadow pressed down with impossible force, his blade crushing Ren's toward the ground.

"You cannot win," the shadow hissed, his voice breaking with fury. "You fight against inevitability. Against truth. You are nothing but noise."

Ren's hands shook violently. Thorn's ruin-light flickered dimmer, threatening to extinguish entirely. His breath came in ragged bursts.

But then—he felt it.

A pulse.

Not from him. Not from the shadow.

From Thorn itself.

The ruin-light surged, jagged and violent, pushing back against the suffocating radiance. Ren's eyes widened as he felt something flood through him—not order, not salvation, but raw defiance.

The silver-haired girl gasped, her flame suddenly flaring brighter. "It's awakening…! Thorn is no longer just bearing him—it's answering him."

The shadow's eyes widened. His perfect calm was gone, replaced with disbelief. "Impossible."

Ren roared, forcing his legs beneath him, pushing back against the weight of the shadow's strike. His entire body screamed, veins glowing with ruin-light, cracks running across his arms like burning scars.

"Maybe I am nothing but noise…" Ren growled, his voice raw. "But noise can still break glass."

With a surge of strength not his own, he shoved upward. Thorn's ruin-light exploded outward, jagged arcs ripping through the battlefield, tearing fissures into the very Pane.

The shadow staggered back, eyes wide, as Ren rose to his feet—his Thorn no longer cracked and faltering, but blazing violently, its ruin-light almost alive.

The fragments whispered in awe and terror:

"The Thorn has chosen…"

The shadow's lips curled in fury, his voice shaking. "No. It belongs to perfection—not you!"

Ren pointed Thorn at him, ruin-light roaring like a storm. His grin was sharp, bloodied, defiant.

"Too late. Looks like even your perfect little Pane likes me better broken."

The battlefield convulsed. The Pane shuddered. And for the first time—

Perfection looked afraid.