Frustration gnawed at him. His opponent, a perfect mirror of his own strength and agility, seemed to anticipate his every move. Every punch, every kick, Alex telegraphed with the slightest twitch of a muscle, the faintest hint of anticipation in his eyes. But his reflection, devoid of such tells, countered with a ruthless efficiency that bordered on precognition.
"Is that all you've got, God of Grinding? Seems your title doesn't quite live up to the hype," the reflection taunted, its voice dripping with mocking amusement. "
Fury surged through Alex, momentarily eclipsing the throbbing pain in his side. He wouldn't let this reflection, a mere manifestation of his own shortcomings, belittle him.
He gritted his teeth, channeling his rage into a renewed focus. He needed a new strategy, a way to counter his reflection's uncanny ability to predict his moves.
