Alas, concentration and focus is spurring forth with unknown vigor akin to metal breakthroughs. Line of vision is covered in darkness tinged with light seeping through like a curtain. The wind is swaying the leafs and grass which creates a melody of calm and frigid nature, the smell is enticing. A single detail lay in the nothingness, a core of sorts, a foundation of what seems like a person. Starting with the heart which pounds vigorously, transitioning into the creation of a torso with 8 arms portruding from it. The torso and arms themselves were husky and completely black in color, which looked like a statue's. The two legs which are muscle bound and veiny came next, which make steel look maleable. Finally atop of this beast of a body, was a head, although far from natural. With several yellow eyes such as a spider, a mouth with jagged and sharpened teeth that are closer to blades, and long overflowing hair that looks as if it needs desperate cleaning.

Ezekiel: "Looks like it's done."

With an ambiguous remark, Ezekiel opens his eyes which were glued shut just moments before, and witnesses his creation before his very eyes. Oozing a sort of white aura surrounding it, the man spider creature was standing opposite of Ezekiel while growling and baring its hideously brown teeth at him. The abnormal line of sight which was an aberration of the world, a foreign entity which shouldn't exist, was brought to life by Ezekiel's imagination.

Ezekiel: "Although it really is ugly, maybe I should have made it more aesthetic."

Looking at his child's figure brought some disgust to Ezekiel as he saw drool dripping from the overly sized lips of the man spider. It was dying to be allowed to harvest upon its own father, the man whom created it. Having nothing more than animalistic instincts attached to it at the order of Ezekiel. No mind of its own, all that it has is a single word implemented upon itself, violence. Ezekiel was very thorough in making it as menacing as possible but immediately regrets that due to his own exotic taste. But it was too late to take anything back, what's been done is done.

Now standing at 16 years of age, more than double of what he was prior, was the boy wonder Ezekiel Malin. His features have further refined and chiseled themselves, his jawline straightened, his cheeks were sullen and rosy, his carmine eyes shined brighter then ever before. His hair was longer than prior but still not to the point where it went past the shoulders, it merely looks longer and more ruffled. Weirdly enough, the white strand of hair which was like a slightly dirty rope hanging between his eyes was now gleaming to a silky degree, having turned lighter. He was wearing a fit made for training, a basic yellow shirt with black and flexible pants made for running. His body was far more compact, muscles were etched all across it which stood out from the rest of his age, yet he was still skinny rather than muscular. The most noteable change was the shadowy ambience which covered Ezekiel entirely as if it were esteemed armor. Oozing from it was pride and confidence that a king would have, the overwhelming nature of wanting to win at all cost.

Ezekiel: "So, let's begin Tart, show your papa some love."

Tart: "RAWRRR!"

The figment of Ezekiel's imagination which isnt even a physical being flexed its calves which almost doubled in size and flew towards Ezekiel. This was a manner adapted by Ezekiel upon whims and creativity which flourished as time passed. A true genius whom moves at his own pace, along his own path, separated from the rest. A man whom can bring out his worst nightmares as mere sparring partners, thats who Ezekiel is. Even though they're just imaginairy, don't mistake that for being unable to hurt their creator.

With a swooshing sound, an enormous thud resounded in Ezekiel's head but not outwardly. The pain receptors on his forearm which he lifted to block the merciless downward swing of 4 different arms were ringing. His body was crumpling slightly upon the violent pressure and force of which Tart was enforcing. Ezekiel quickly swiveled on his heel as he redirected the force of the attack in an adjacent direction to avoid any further damage. Quickly, with demon eyes that were spread wide open as if trying to absorb more information of the surroundings then usual, Ezekiel struck. Channeling his strength into his right, back leg, Ezekiel clenched his fist and swung right into the back of Tart, which launched him 50 meters out.

Ezekiel: "As expected of you Tart, quite the tough body. I'm glad, wouldn't be fun if I broke my toy with a single hit, now show me some speed."

Standing up right near instantly, heeding his creator's command, Tart was nothing more than a lifeless doll. Though his body wasn't physical Ezekiel's mind has already processed that Tart is indeed a real, physical entity. So clashing and physical contact was now possible due to his own extraordinary insight. Although, the surrounding area is not effected by Tart, merely Ezekiel and what his own body causes due to Tart's attacks are real.

Tart flashing a menacing look at Ezekiel, tilted his head down ward and lept into action. At his master's orders, Tart showcased his absurd leg strength and speed. Running circles around Ezekiel, Tart was moving so fast he wouldn't be visible to the untrained eye. Had he been real, dust would be flying everywhere like a storm, grass would be pushed back due to extreme winds caused by the force of Tarts sprint.

To this, Ezekiel flashed his dimly white teeth in a smile that screams "I dare you". Standing in place, not being bothered or influenced by Tart's movements in the slightest, not even moving his head to keep track, Ezekiel stood. His eyes raced back and forth as Tart came into view from time to time, to his eye, Tart was fully visible regardless of the immense speed. Rather than waste energy chasing Tart around, he'll simply wait for his target to stop running. Which arrived sooner than later, from what was supposed to be a blind side, diagonally from the back left side, Tart closed in within a single step and was aiming for a sweeping kick.

Ezekiel: "Try harder Tart"

Tart: "!"

Almost like if Ezekiel had eyes in the back of his head, he reacted perfectly by hopping soundly over Tarts leg with minimal movement. In the same motion Ezekiel turned in mid air to face Tart face to face. Staring deep into Tart's multitude of bright yellow eyes, Ezekiel showed a calm expression with a wry smile plastered upon his face. Tart widened his own eyes, he had no consciousness, no personality, no thought process or iq, all he had was what his creator gave him, battle instincts. And every last one was screaming at Ezekiel's splendor of an attitude. Though it was useless entirely.

Ezekiel with haste, while still in the middle of the air, rose his hand and slapped Tart's face flat into the ground. He used so much force he kicked both his legs foward to establish full balance and dominion. The attack itself disoriented Tart to the point of dazing him for a few seconds, which proved to be fatal. Tart bounced and flopped on the floor like if he was an object dropped from a high area such as a tree. Ezekiel using his momentum caught one of Tart's arms and bent it backwards completely, breaking it in an excruciating manner

Tart: "UGWAHHHH!"

Ezekiel: "I told you to try harder right? Why can't I imagine you stronger then this yet, am I lacking insight or are you just a parents worst disappointment?"

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With words full of scorn and rebukement, Ezekiel pinched his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows with a bit of dejection. Battle strength was heavily dependent on how Ezekiel imagined his foe. Every little detail matters, from the muscles, to the frame, to the skill and techniques, from the raw power. All have to be along the lines of an opponent Ezeki has faced in the past. Yet if the opponent is too powerful Ezekiel won't be able to comprehend their strength correctly. If the opponent uses techniques Ezekiel doesnt fully understand then he can't replicate the fighting styles onto his creations either. This form of training is widely based around insight and attention to detail, hence Ezekiel is still inexperienced.

Tart shed a single tear of anguish at having one of its arms shattered via bending it backwards. His instincts and will to fight were starting to waver against the war power that is Ezekiel Malin. Despite being a mere illusion, due to Ezekiels profound understanding of pain, atleast that sensation was given to Tart. Staring at the floor while on all fours with the attempt to bore a hole in which he could escape was Tart. He was starting to lose face, the foreshadowing of even worse outcomes were beginning to crawl across his skin, even while Tart's instincts wavered.

In response, Ezekiel outstretched his hand to Tart's chin and lifted him to his feet in a flash. Looking up at his creation, Ezekiel was looking to provoke Tart into pushing past his limits. Rather, instead of provoking, Ezekiel intimidated the monstrous, muscle bound creature even further. Ezekiel's Carmine eyes looked like a flooded pool of blood that was darker and more morbid, in them was a hint of a demon, a type of look only a monster can make.

Ezekiel: "And I really thought you were the one."

Tart: "?"

Expressing his truest feelings, Ezekiel looked deep into Tart's eyes as he spoke a language he couldn't possibly understand. Ezekiel throughout trial and error, had grown too far in terms of combat ability for his imagination to keep up. His insight lacked into further understanding little details needed to further refine a warrior. Subtlties that go unnoticed, habits and quirks that become developed without thinking, these things hindered Ezekiel's mind.

He began walking away from Tart, strudding with ease, without so much as a drop of caution. His opponent whom he created and gave birth to was watching his small back as he continued to distance himself slowly. The strong little warrior had become disinterested with the toy he himself brought to life ironically enough. This was a wake up call, a slap in the face you can say even, Tart was starting to feel something he shouldn't be able to.

A sort of heat was starting to rise in his chest where his heart should be. It gradually heating, which turned to exponentially flaming within seconds, the feeling was frustration due to shame. His creator abandoned him because he was too weak, he couldn't satsify Ezekiel. This realization came not in words but feelings to Tart, he couldn't let it go.

Having a single arm taken away didnt immobilize the other 7 arms and 2 legs Tart was given by Ezekiel. He still had weapons left to use, strength left to give, and heart yet to stop. So long as the single spirit remained there was a will to win, to conquer, to become the real thing. To showcase what it means to bend reality, to establish ones own identity and imprint themselves upon the world. Hence, Tart flashed to Ezekiel in an instant, this time with an unknown sensation on hand.

Ezekiel: "You're still... I see."

Tart: "Guh! Argh!!!"

Leaning in and closing the distance with a lowered dash, Tart approached Ezekiel with a strike to the lower back. Ezekiel turned and met the attack head on with the intention of countering completely with a rough elbow into Tart's chin as he breaks his guard. The magnificent aspect was the total miscomprehension of the events that would unfold. Rather than striking, Tart unusually feinted instead, opting to lure Ezekiel into his overwhelming need to have an advantage. Within the narrow window given by Ezekiel's reaction, Tart lanced past Ezekiel, taking control of his rear once again after the sudden turn. Then the rampage begun.

Tart hammered on to Ezekiel with every arm over and over relentlessly with every fiber of his own being. Unsurprisingly enough to Tart, Ezekiel despite having his blind spot invaded expertly intercepted the combo and dodged without even looking. Feeling the wavelength of his own child in an unfair manner, Ezekiel instinctively felt the path of each blow. He began dancing around Tarts insane pursuit of blood and combat which involved an array of swings coming from seven different directions. Moving his head and feet as if seeing into the future, Ezekiel made sure not even a scratch was dealt to himself.

With the momentum of making his opponent miss, Ezekiel struck at the rib cage of Tart which cracked upon impact. Ezekiel's fist sunk into the rough and overwhelmingly solid torso of Tart's. In reflexiveness, Tart knelt foward and rasped his hoarse voice as he dropped blood from his mouth. Tart then crushed his molars together and flashed a viscous look at Ezekiel. To this, even Ezekiel widened his eyes a bit.

Ezekiel: "What a look... So does that mean you think winning is a possibility? He...Hahaha! Then, let's see who has the stronger will! Who will be the one to see their dreams, and who will only ever see their nightmares!"

Proclaming the conditions of the battle, Ezekiel decided to take it upon himself and respect Tart. Making the battle of of conflicting dreams, Ezekiel put it all on the table and gambled it for the fun of it. Blood started rushing into Tart's head, giving him the adrenaline needed to keep on pushing. He stood up as Ezekiel watched him with a renewed vigor and excitement twinkling in his eyes. How good it felt for Tart to see that interested face of Ezekiel's, to see the care of his parent. He didn't realize it, but Tart wanted his acceptance, he just wanted to fulfill the purpose he was set out to have. So he rose his fist once more.

Raining down like a million drops of rain during a tropical storm, Tarts fist looked like a half dome on the opposing side of Ezekiel. What started as a regular barrage, grew to a supreme barrage, into an unmatched ocean of fist flying at Ezekiel which covered the sun from view. Tart was brutally roaring as spittle flew from his mouth, his eyes knew no hesitation or fear. He was in a state of do or die, should this insane combination of deadly blows be rendered useless, he himself will be useless. A tool that can't even complete the task it was made for has no right to exist. So to prove his worth, his existence, Tart evolved beyond what Ezekiel could have imagined currently.

Ezekiel stood still. He didn't move a single inch. Every last punch which was thrown his way, all the effort and passion that was implemented with every move, was felt. He tasted Tart's resolve straight to the face, the body, the thighs, the knees, the shins. Ezekiel didn't shy away from it whatsoever, he understood Tart better than anyone after all, he is the creator. He felt the sadness behind every punch, the need to seek acceptance from Ezekiel, he allowed himself to get swept away by Tart's ghastly will. Standing firm with the intentions of completely destroying Tarts dreams and ambitions, that was the sole respect Ezekiel could give to Tart.

Ezekiel: "..."

Tart: "ARGHHHHHH!!!"

The view from a third party perspective was one of what look like Ezekiel fighting a ghost. His head was bobbing and flailing as if receiving lightning fast punches consistently over time. His arms and legs were twitching with pain and physical trauma. His body was being pushed back as his heels dragged upon the floor causing a trail to form on the emerald grass covered in sunshine. Ezekiel looked as if having a fight which was much more lethal than just a simple sparring session.

Ezekiel's heart had opened slightly unexpectedly, Tart was supposed to be a simple tool. He was supposed to be used and thrown away as nothing more than fantasy. Like a book with an interesting cover you picked at the library and observed in curiosity for a few seconds before putting it back. So why was Ezekiel unable to contain his raging spirit, his will to keep on exchanging blows, to keep the fun up just a little longer? Why was this book continuing to draw his attention, making him flip page after page in joy? How did this captivation start, and when will it come to an end? With so many questions on hand, Ezekiel smiled bitterly with blood starting to leek from his nose and lips. His whole life was a question mark, a riddle which even the greatest heros failed to solve. A sort of mystery which invites confusion and wrath, Ezekiel had no answers. So all he could do was move.

Ezekiel: "How's that feel Tart, you done now?"

Tart: "Urk!"

Asking with a mindset of only accepting a single answer, only one correct concept would suffice. As the judge, jury, and executioner upon the defendant Tart, Ezekiel let a haymaker fall right on Tarts jaw. Sinking into his teeth and causing the entire left row to simply fall out and gush blood, Tart's eyes flashed white. The pupils were starting to lose light, that punch was unlike anything Ezekiel had released until now. It seemed as if made to hurt, not to kill, not to defeat, but to simply damage beyond repair. Tart's body jolted with shocking electricity turning his form freezing cold. His life was fading just as fast as it was made. But not without a final goodbye to the one who stayed with Tart throughout his short lived life.

Accepting the punch to his jaw, Tart spun around and grabbed onto the very arm that was launched. He stiffended it straight and ducked under, taking control of Ezekiels inner motion completely leaving him with no escape. He grabbed onto Ezekiel's torso and hugged him with all his love and passion and leapt. High into the gleaming sun looking down from above at the graceful sight. The parent child conflict was coming to an end with one last move from tart. As he wrapped around Ezekiel tightly, Tart motioned their heads to turn towards the floor as if diving into it. Rotating both bodies enough to making a spinning top looking stagnant, Tarts final gesture was sent and received.

Ezekiel: "Even as you were losing consciousness, you wanted to give me one last present... I... love that Tart. You truly are something to be proud of. So this won't be the last."

Tart: "..."

Basically expecting it, lacking indignance, overunned by peace, Tart's life flickered off. The tallest trees have their limits, the highest mountains contain peaks, so Tart's existence also knew a bound. This bound was that was broken completely, due to a relationship, a kinship. Ezekiel quickly elbowed Tart in his gut as he poked out his eyes, having the release falter he pushed the arms off himself and angled himself upwards. He then grappled onto Tart's inversed body diving headfirst and smashed his head into the ground. It exploded on contact, the corpse left behind started sprinkling and fizzling white transparent light. Ezekiel stood on his feet and watched, not blinking or thinking about anything else. He sent his greatest soldier off with a bang, although he will definitely call upon Tart again.