The master exhaled, his posture relaxing slightly. But the moment of calm was short-lived. As he stepped deeper into the chamber, a low rumble echoed through the walls. From the jagged cracks in the stone, new forms began to emerge.

The corrupted essence congealed into two new figures, larger and more imposing. One stepped forward with a commanding stance, its movements bearing an uncanny resemblance to Rhys. The other lingered in the shadows, before stepping into the dim light. Its fluid grace and poised readiness mirrored Kade’s combat style. Both figures radiated a more refined menace, their corrupted essence swirling with an almost predatory intent.

The master froze, his sharp eyes assessing the new threat. Unlike the first pair, these figures moved with purpose and coordination, as if learning from the failure of their predecessors. The Rhys copy shifted slightly, its stance a clear prelude to an impending ambush. Meanwhile, the Kade copy held back, circling silently, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

A faint smirk crossed the master’s lips. "So, you’re adapting," he muttered. His body remained still, a calm amidst the storm, as he prepared for their attack.

The attack came swiftly. The Rhys copy lunged forward, its movements mirroring Rhys’s aggressive yet calculated strikes. Its fists and legs moved in a flurry, each blow aimed to overwhelm the master. At the same moment, the Kade copy darted from the shadows, its approach silent and precise. A sharp kick aimed at the master’s blind spot was countered effortlessly, the master twisting his body with fluid precision.

The master’s movements were a study in control. He ducked and weaved, his steps light and deliberate, avoiding the coordinated strikes with an almost effortless grace. The Rhys copy’s brute force met empty air, while the Kade copy’s agility was met with calm deflections. Every time they tried to corner him, he slipped through their grasp like water, turning their aggression into overcommitment.

"Impressive," the master murmured as he sidestepped a synchronized attack. "But not enough."

As the corrupted figures emerged, the master’s sharp eyes tracked their every motion. Their forms were unsettlingly familiar, shadows of warriors he knew well. Rhys's copy exuded raw aggression, while Kade's mirrored precision and calm. Yet, these were not his allies—they were hollow imitations, twisted by the corruption that permeated the ruins.

Why mimic them? he wondered, his mind racing even as his body remained perfectly still. Is this some test? A message? Or is it studying me? Watching how I react to those I’ve trained or fought beside?

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His focus shifted as the Rhys copy lunged forward. The brute force of its attacks felt almost genuine, but there was something missing—an essence of life, the spark of intent that made combat real. The Kade copy moved in next, its agility impressive but ultimately hollow.

These are fragments, he thought, sidestepping the coordinated ambush with a fluid pivot. They lack the instincts of the real Rhys and Kade, their ability to adapt, to think on the fly. They rely on mimicry and rote patterns—nothing more.

Even as he dismantled their attacks with ease, his thoughts lingered on the essence driving these figures. It was refined, more concentrated than the earlier copies of Towan and Elliot, yet it carried the same unsettling void. Why do these echoes draw so much from my pupils? What are they trying to achieve by imitating them?

The thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit. He had seen corrupted essence before—wild, chaotic, destructive. But this was different. This was calculated. It wasn’t just lashing out; it was trying to learn.

If I use my own essence, will it mimic me as well? The master dismissed the thought immediately. No. Not yet. Not unless I have no other choice.

As he continued to deflect and counter their attacks, he couldn’t help but admire the skill with which the essence mimicked Rhys's strength and Kade's grace. Even in corruption, their potential shines through. Perhaps that's a testament to their training—or to the corruption's understanding of them.

The master struck, his kicks swift and precise, disrupting the flow of corrupted essence within the figures. As the Rhys copy staggered back, its knee collapsing under a calculated strike, he pressed forward, his focus unwavering.

There’s more to this ruin than meets the eye. These puppets aren’t just obstacles—they’re clues. Each strike he landed, every movement he observed, brought him closer to understanding the force at work here. But with each revelation, more questions arose.

When the final blow dismantled the Kade copy, the master straightened, his breathing steady. The silence that followed felt heavier than before, as if the ruin itself were holding its breath. If this is the corruption’s way of testing me, it will need to do better than that.

He glanced toward the deeper shadows, where the faint pull of corrupted essence seemed stronger. Somewhere beyond this chamber lay the answers he sought—or perhaps something far more dangerous.

The master took another step forward, the air growing denser with every passing moment. As he turned a corner, the flickering glow of corrupted essence illuminated the chamber ahead. There, standing in the center of the room, was a figure draped in tattered robes, its face obscured by a hood. Unlike the corrupted copies, this being exuded an unnerving calm, as if it belonged here among the ruins.

"I wondered when you’d find me," the figure said, its voice low and rasping. The master’s eyes narrowed, his body instinctively shifting into a defensive stance.