The sound of shattering glass echoed endlessly through the pure white training room.
There was no visible exit.
No ceiling, no sky, no ground.
Only white.
An endless, depthless, unnatural white space where mirrors bloomed into existence from nothing, reflected one another in endless chains, and then burst apart into glittering shards. Fragments spun through the air like silver rain, catching distorted images of the two figures fighting between them. The sharp pieces drifted, clashed, and scattered under the force of movement, yet neither of the fighters seemed bothered by them. They slipped through the storm of broken glass with near-perfect precision, dodging, turning, and cutting past danger as if they had done this a hundred times before.
Which, obviously, they had.
***
This was far from our first match.
Both of us already knew the other's rhythm too well for it to be anything less than intense.
Mary moved first.
