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The Essence Flow
Chapter 22: Episode 6 (final of this chapter)

Chapter 22: Episode 6 (final of this chapter)

The master stood still for a brief moment, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath. The room around him was charged with corrupted essence, a chaotic, oppressive energy that made the air feel thick, but the master didn’t flinch. He had faced worse.

The corrupted Eryndar pressed forward, its movements an onslaught of calculated strikes, each one a mirror of the original Eryndar’s style. The force of the blows pushed the master backward, forcing him to react quickly—dodging, blocking, parrying—but there was a nagging feeling that he was losing ground. He could feel the strain building in his limbs, the rhythm of the battle threatening to overwhelm him.

A sharp kick landed against his side, knocking him off balance, but he quickly regained his posture, eyes flicking toward the corrupted Eryndar. That’s when it clicked.

He had been fighting reflexively—responding to each move without truly sensing the flow of the essence that surrounded them. The corrupted Eryndar was powerful, but it wasn’t entirely in control. The master closed his eyes for a split second, shutting out the noise of the world around him. He centered his focus, tuning into the subtle currents of the essence in the air.

Essence wasn’t just power; it was movement. It was the flow that governed every strike, every evasion, every breath.

He exhaled slowly, extending his senses. The flow of the corrupted essence around the Eryndar became clearer—turbulent, erratic, but still following a pattern. It mimicked the true Eryndar’s mastery, but there were gaps, small flickers in its movement, brief moments of imbalance where the corrupted version hesitated—where it had to adapt.

The master’s eyes opened, his expression calm and unyielding. The corrupted Eryndar attacked again, its foot slicing through the air in a perfect arc aimed at his head. But this time, the master was ready. He could see the flow of the essence building in its leg, feel the subtle shift in its stance before the kick was even launched.

With a smooth pivot, the master leaned back, avoiding the strike by a mere inch. As the corrupted Eryndar’s leg passed him, the master twisted his body and countered with a sharp elbow aimed at its exposed ribs. The blow landed with precision, and the corrupted version staggered back.

The corrupted Eryndar recovered quickly, but the master was no longer playing catch-up. His movements flowed effortlessly, an intricate dance of controlled force and evasion. He could feel the flow of essence around the corrupted Eryndar, each movement a ripple in the air that he could anticipate and counter. With each strike, he grew more confident, his body moving in perfect harmony with the essence around him.

As the corrupted Eryndar launched into another barrage of punches, the master leaned into the flow of essence, moving like water around a stone. He flowed with each punch, his body dodging with grace, and when an opening appeared, he struck. His fist moved with the same calculated precision, landing a clean blow to the corrupted Eryndar’s chest.

The impact sent the corrupted Eryndar staggering, but it quickly regained its footing. However, the master now had the upper hand. With his perception heightened, he saw through the corrupted version’s attacks before they even happened, reading the subtle shifts in its stance, feeling the flow of energy through each movement.

The corrupted Eryndar launched into a wild, spinning kick, its form a blur of dark essence. But the master was already there. He stepped into the spin, dodging with a grace that seemed almost effortless, and in one fluid motion, he struck. His leg swept low, connecting with the corrupted Eryndar’s, sending it off balance. The corrupted version staggered backward, but the master wasn’t finished.

With a sharp intake of breath, the master surged forward, his foot flashing out in a low sweep that took the corrupted Eryndar’s legs out from under it. As it tumbled to the ground, the master’s foot came down, pressing lightly on its chest to hold it in place.

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The corrupted Eryndar struggled, its movements frantic and panicked now. It hadn’t anticipated this shift in the flow. The master’s control over the essence had given him the ability to predict its movements—no longer was he simply reacting. He was in control.

The master stood over the corrupted version, his breath steady, his expression calm. “You’re not Eryndar,” he said quietly, watching as the corrupted Eryndar’s form flickered, the essence it was bound to beginning to lose its shape.

The corrupted Eryndar’s eyes flashed crimson again, and it tried to strike back, but its movements were sluggish now, no longer the perfect mimicry they once were. The master raised his hand, channeling a surge of his own essence, and with a single, decisive motion, he crushed the corrupted Eryndar’s attempt at a counterattack.

It was over.

The corrupted Eryndar collapses into a heap, its form disintegrating into wisps of black essence. As the last remnants vanish into the air, a faint glow catches the master’s eye—a small, obsidian-like shard left behind. Picking it up, he feels a pulse of energy, faint but unmistakably connected to the corrupted essence. It’s cold to the touch, but something about it feels alive, almost watching him.

He pockets the shard, resolving to study it later, but a nagging thought lingers: how could the cult have created something so precise? The mimic didn’t just copy Eryndar’s techniques—it fought with his essence, something only possible if they had access to Eryndar himself or someone who knew him intimately.

As this realization settles, the ground beneath the master trembles. The corrupted essence left behind by the mimic flows into the cracks of the ruins, illuminating strange inscriptions that begin to glow faintly. They twist and shift, forming a language the master doesn’t fully recognize, though fragments seem hauntingly familiar. A phrase stands out: "Essentia flows where the will commands, and shadows thrive where the light falters."

The master barely has time to process the inscriptions when a guttural noise echoes from deeper within the ruins. A figure steps into view—a shrouded cultist, its movements jerky and unnatural. The essence around it is warped, almost like a shroud, and as the master steps forward, the figure raises its head. Its eyes are voids of black, and when it speaks, its voice is layered with a sinister resonance:

“You who walk the path of light, you will never outrun the shadows. Your essence will serve the Reclamation.”

The cultist lunges, but its movements are clumsy, almost disjointed. The master dodges with ease, realizing quickly that this is no living opponent—it’s a corpse, possessed and controlled by corrupted essence. The battle is less of a struggle and more of a strategic dance as the master dismantles its attacks with precision.

As he lands a decisive blow, the cultist’s body crumbles into dust, leaving behind another shard similar to the one he found before. However, this one glows faintly, pulsating in rhythm with the shard in his pocket. It’s as if they’re connected, part of a larger puzzle.

"This is not the one i fought earlier. He must have escaped" said the master to himself

The master’s victory is hollow. The ruins fall silent, but the corrupted essence lingers in the air, a heavy reminder of the cult’s growing influence. He turns back to the inscriptions, now fading as the ruins settle once more. While most of the symbols are incomprehensible, a faint map-like carving catches his eye, marking what appears to be several other sites scattered across the region.

One of the marks stands out, glowing faintly like the shards he now carries. He memorizes its location, knowing it’s likely where the cult’s activities will next manifest. As he steps out of the ruins, the weight of the battle and the clues he’s uncovered press heavily on him.

The master returns to the boys at dawn, greeted by Towan and Elliot, who are clearly worried. Towan, always sharp, notices the faint bruises and torn fabric from the fight and asks, “What happened? You were gone all night.”

The master hesitates, debating how much to share. Finally, he says, “The ruins were not empty. The cult’s corruption runs deeper than I feared.” He pulls out the shards, showing them to the boys. “These... they’re a fragment of something larger. And the two of you need to be prepared. What I faced in there was a warning of what’s to come.”

Towan and Elliot exchange a glance, both nervous and curious. Elliot, quiet but perceptive, studies the shards and murmurs, “What kind of enemy can do this?”

The master doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looks toward the horizon, where the faint glow of the next marked site seems to beckon. “One that knows us better than we know ourselves.”