A Chimaeric Demon's blade flashed. The sparks created by the blade colliding with those of one of his undead brethren.
The clone almost felt physical pain in his chest, but for sure, albeit there was no physical wound on him, his heart was bleeding, and that was just because of who he was fighting against.
Even though his brother was now under the third division commander's control, the clone could still see traces of how he had been before.
It felt wrong to be trying to kill him, even if he was under Monica's control, and every time their swords clashed, it felt like he was betraying their master's trust, as if he were going against him.
But he knew he had no choice. His brother wasn't really there anymore. In front of him was just a puppet, reanimated by whatever power the blackguards' third division commander had. An empty body, a shell, and nothing more.
