The Towan copy was the first to move. With a burst of corrupted essence, it lunged toward the master, its speed mimicking the agility Towan displayed in their training. Its form blurred as it closed the distance, aiming a spinning kick at the master’s head.

The master didn’t flinch. His body shifted effortlessly, sidestepping the attack while raising his arm to deflect the follow-through. The corrupted figure’s movements were sharp, almost perfect—but they lacked the fluid adaptability of Towan's true form. Its attacks were a hollow mimicry, relying solely on brute replication of essence techniques.

“You’ve copied their flow,” the master said, his voice calm as he ducked under another kick. “But you don’t understand their intent.”

The Elliot copy moved next, its approach deliberate and precise. It raised a hand, summoning a tendril of corrupted essence that coiled like a serpent before striking. The master weaved through the attack, his movements a dance of evasion and counterbalance. His sharp kick shattered the tendril mid-air, dissipating it into wisps of dark mist.

He advanced toward the Elliot copy, watching its form adjust to his proximity. It threw a series of punches, its corrupted essence flaring with each strike. The master recognized the pattern immediately—Elliot's favored combination. But where Elliot’s strikes carried focus and determination, this copy's attacks were cold and empty, like a shadow performing a rehearsed play.

“This isn’t enough,” the master said, stepping into the copy’s range. With a swift motion, he delivered a precise kick to its midsection, sending it skidding backward into the shadows.

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The Towan copy rejoined the fray, attacking from the side in a synchronized assault with the Elliot mimic. The master anticipated their movements, his body flowing between them like water. He blocked a kick from the Towan copy with his forearm while twisting to avoid a strike from the Elliot figure. With a fluid sweep of his leg, he destabilized the Towan copy, causing it to stumble.

Their attacks intensified, the corrupted essence around them flaring wildly as they attempted to overwhelm him. The master remained calm, his movements deliberate and precise. He refused to use his own essence, relying solely on his skill and his intimate knowledge of his pupils' techniques.

“This is all you have?” he said, his tone almost dismissive. He stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and the Towan copy. With a powerful spinning kick, he struck its head, shattering the corrupted essence surrounding it. The figure disintegrated into dark wisps, fading into the air.

The Elliot copy hesitated, its empty gaze fixed on the master. He didn’t give it the chance to act. Moving with calculated speed, he evaded its final attack and delivered a swift, decisive blow to its chest. The corrupted essence within it unraveled, and the figure dissolved like its counterpart.

The chamber fell silent once more, save for the faint echoes of the battle. The master straightened, exhaling slowly as he surveyed the darkness ahead. He could feel the presence of something deeper within the ruin, something far more malevolent.

“These are just fragments,” he muttered, his voice echoing softly. “The real threat lies ahead.”

He adjusted his stance, his steps light as he ventured further into the depths. The air grew colder still, the corrupted essence thickening around him. The drawings on the walls now depicted more familiar shapes—figures resembling Rhys, Kade, and Eryndar.

The master’s eyes hardened. Whatever awaited him at the heart of this ruin, he knew it would challenge more than his skill.