Chapter 9: Inhuman-9

The clone noticed that Zen-Zero was hesitating. In that moment, he tried to pry free.

"How are you able to do this?" he exclaimed as he was partially successful in dodging but still got bruised on his cheek.

"It is not me who is doing this. It is us." Zen-Zero's voice was eerily calm, his movements fluid as he dodged another punch aimed at his face. It was no longer about skill or training. This was something else entirely. It was as if he could see through the younger clone's eyes, predict his every move before it happened.

He could feel the thoughts forming in his counterpart's mind, the shifting calculations, the growing frustration. And he knew his opponent felt it too.

A moment of realization hit the younger clone like a strike to the chest. His breathing grew ragged. His mind raced. How? How is this happening?

The answer was terrifyingly simple.

With a shared consciousness, both individuals had direct access to each other's thoughts, intentions, and strategies. The battle had transformed into something beyond physical combat....it was mental, existential, an endless loop of prediction and counter-prediction.

Every thought he had, Zen-Zero had already processed. Every strategy he attempted was immediately dismantled before it could even take shape. It was suffocating. It was inescapable.

I have to break the cycle. I have to do something unpredictable.

But how could he be unpredictable when his opponent was a reflection of his own mind?

The younger clone lunged forward, twisting at the last second, but the moment he thought of the feint, Zen-Zero was already moving. He barely dodged the incoming strike but felt the burn of knuckles grazing his ribs. The pain jolted through him, reminding him that this was real, that this wasn't some theoretical debate....it was survival.

A laugh, breathless and bitter, escaped him. "So, this is what it means to fight yourself," he muttered under his breath.

Zen-Zero didn't answer, but he felt the ripple of agreement in his thoughts.

The sterile room around them was silent except for their heavy breathing and the sharp impact of fists meeting flesh. The cold fluorescent lights hummed above them, casting harsh, unfeeling shadows across the blood-speckled floor.

The younger clone's heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to focus.

There had to be a way. There had to be something he could do. Think. Think.

If we share the same thoughts, then he knows I'm thinking this. If I try to deceive him, he will already know. If I try to outmaneuver him, he will already be adjusting.

Despair curled around his thoughts like a tightening noose.

But then, a different thought struck him.

What if I stop thinking?

It was ridiculous. It was absurd. But maybe, just maybe, it was the only way.

The younger clone took a deep breath, forcing his mind into quiet. He let go of the desperate calculations, the frantic search for an opening. He surrendered his strategy, his planning, his very need to win.

For a split second, nothing existed.

And in that moment of nothingness, he moved.

Zen-Zero faltered. Just a half-second. Just long enough.

The younger clone struck, his movements no longer premeditated but purely instinctual, driven by something deeper than conscious thought. He landed a hit,a solid one, his fist slamming into Zen-Zero's ribs. The older clone stumbled back, his breath hitching.

Pain. Real pain. Not an anticipated one, not a move he had prepared for. A wild, unexpected strike that shattered the perfect rhythm.

The younger clone's breath came fast, his body tense. I can do this. I just have to let go. Stop thinking. Let the body move.

But the moment stretched too long. His mind caught up. And as soon as thought returned, Zen-Zero recovered.

A fist met his jaw, sending him reeling. His vision blurred for a second, but he forced himself to stay upright, to fight through the pain. Blood dripped from his split lip, the taste of iron settling on his tongue.

Zen-Zero wiped the corner of his mouth, his gaze unreadable. But in their shared consciousness, he felt something shift. It wasn't just calculation. There was something else.

A flicker of doubt.

A sliver of hesitation.

He latched onto it. You didn't expect that, he thought, deliberately pushing the idea forward. You were surprised.

Zen-Zero's expression didn't change, but the younger clone felt the unspoken admission. Yes. He had been surprised.

So we can surprise each other. We can break the cycle.

And suddenly, the fight wasn't just about survival. It was about something else entirely. Something more terrifying than death.

Choice.

Zen-Zero could feel it. The hesitation. The doubt.

But hesitation wasn't victory. Doubt wasn't survival.

The fight wasn't over yet.

Zen-Zero took another deep breath, willing his aching body to keep going. If there was even the smallest chance to change this ending—to find a way out of this cycle—then he had to take it.

He lunged again, this time not just for his own survival, but for the chance of something neither of them had ever been given before.

A choice.

The younger clone realized it at the same time.

Their fists met mid-air, a collision of force and fate. The impact sent a shockwave through their bodies, but it wasn't just the pain that rattled them.

It was the understanding that this could never end, not with a clean victory, not with a definitive conclusion. Not while they shared the same mind.

Unless one of them let go.

The younger clone hesitated. And in that heartbeat of hesitation, Zen-Zero made his choice.

Instead of delivering the final blow, he stopped.

Breathing hard, he lowered his fists.

The younger clone froze, eyes wide, his own breath sharp and ragged. The weight of the moment pressed down on them both, heavier than any punch, more suffocating than any strike.

"This isn't survival anymore," Zen-Zero whispered. "This is something else."

The younger clone swallowed, his body still coiled for combat, but his mind spinning in a different direction now.

A direction neither of them had ever been allowed to consider.

A way out.

But what did that look like?

Neither of them had the answer.

Not yet.

And yet, it was gnawing at their minds...