Diego's breath was ragged as he stared at the twisted version of himself—his Other—a grotesque parody of everything he hated. With his jagged fangs and glowing red eyes, the Other Diego grinned like a demon that had just crawled up from the depths of Hell itself.
Other Diego: (mockingly) "How about I show you something, Diego? Something you've been running from your whole life."
Without warning, the Other Diego's body contorted and twisted, the sound of cracking bones echoing through the warped cityscape like gunfire. His limbs stretched grotesquely, his fingers extending into long, clawed appendages, and his face morphed into something unholy. His mouth split open wider than humanly possible, revealing rows upon rows of sharp, needle-like teeth that dripped with saliva. He looked like a nightmare come to life, a beast that had crawled out from the darkest recesses of Diego's mind.
Diego's heart pounded in his chest, but he held his ground, fists clenched, legs trembling beneath him. He was terrified, but he refused to show weakness. Not to him.
Diego: (screaming) "COME ON THEN! I'M NOT AFRAID OF YOU!"
The Other Diego lunged with a guttural roar, moving faster than human eyes could track. Diego barely had time to raise his arms in defense before the Other's claws slashed across his chest, tearing through his shirt and flesh like paper. Blood sprayed into the air, painting the twisted street red.
Other Diego: (cackling) "You're so pathetic! You're nothing without that damn machine of yours."
Before Diego could react, the Other Diego's clawed hand reached down and snatched the Gyro Sphere from his side. Diego's eyes widened in horror as his lifeline—the only thing that allowed him to stand, to move, to fight—was ripped from him in an instant. The Other Diego held it up with a cruel smile, squeezing it in his monstrous grip.
Diego: (panicking) "No! Don't!"
With a sickening crunch, the Other Diego crushed the Gyro Sphere, its pieces crumbling like fragile glass between his fingers. Diego felt his legs give out beneath him, the strength in his body vanishing as the disease—his curse—took hold once more. He collapsed to the ground, helpless, unable to move, his body betraying him at the most crucial moment.
Diego: (desperate, breathless) "Shit, shit, no. I can't..."
The Other Diego kicked him square in the face, sending him sprawling across the pavement. Pain exploded in Diego's skull as he tasted blood in his mouth. He lay there, staring at the dark, twisted sky, his vision swimming, his body useless. This was it. This was how it was going to end—helpless, beaten, and broken, just like his father had always predicted.
Other Diego: (snarling) "Look at you. You're nothing without that crutch. Nothing. You've spent your whole life trying to be something you're not. Trying to be strong when all you are is a weak little wolf pretending to be a deer."
Suddenly, Diego's mind was pulled into a memory—no, not a memory. A nightmare. A vision.
He saw himself as a child, running through the dense, foggy woods, chasing after something. The trees loomed over him like monstrous figures, their branches twisting into clawed hands. His legs were strong here, unburdened by disease. He felt alive and powerful, but the fear in his chest was overwhelming.
