The red lights flickered across the corridor in violent pulses.
One Dante.
Then five.
Then dozens.
Every figure standing motionless along the walls wore his face perfectly.
Same sharp jaw.
Same dark eyes.
Same cold expression.
But none of them felt human.
Camille's breathing slowed instinctively, not from calm but from shock. The corridor suddenly felt too small, too tight, too alive.
One of the copies smiled.
Dante didn't.
"That's new," he said flatly.
The fake Victor's voice echoed through the corridor again. "The system determined emotional replication produces stronger psychological destabilization."
Camille stared at the copies carefully.
They weren't identical anymore.
Some looked bruised.
Some bloodied.
One version of Dante had a split lip and dark blood staining his collar like he had crawled out of a war.
Another looked untouched and calm.
Another smiled faintly.
That one unsettled her most.
Because Dante rarely smiled.
