"You can't kill Xyloth, or Rin," the clone chuckled, his voice a chilling echo of Michael's own. "They're death incarnate. You can't kill what's already dead."
Michael laughed, a harsh, grating sound that echoed through the chamber.
"Last time I checked, the God of Death was well, Death, not Xyloth or Rin," he said, his voice dripping with a mocking amusement. "Enough of this shit. Let's end this."
He vanished, reappearing a heartbeat later beside the clone, a blur of motion, a flicker of shadow. The clone, anticipating the move, reacted instantly, his crimson swords raised, ready to parry.
But he hadn't anticipated Gaya.
"I'm ready," Gaya's voice echoed through Michael's earpiece, sharp and clear. "Just give the word."
Michael grinned, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Now, Gaya!"
As the clone focused on Michael, he clenched his fist. The whirring shield, a dark disc of razor-sharp edges, shot out from his wrist.
