Elliot clenched his fists, his sharp gaze fixed on the writhing walls around him. “Not today,” he said under his breath, his voice steady and resolute.

Then, it all clicked. Elliot realized the sanctuary had been leaking corrupted essence intentionally, a calculated move to lure him deeper into its grasp. This wasn’t a coincidence—it was a trap, carefully orchestrated to bring him exactly where it wanted.

The air grew heavier as shadows coalesced along the walls. Figures began to emerge, their forms twisted and incomplete, as though they were remnants of something once whole. Their hollow eyes locked onto Elliot with a desperate intensity, like prisoners seeing their chance at freedom.

“They see me as their escape,” Elliot thought grimly, his jaw tightening. The pain and anguish etched into their distorted features were palpable, but there was no mistaking the danger they posed. These were not beings seeking salvation—they were puppets of the sanctuary, bound to its will.

The first figure lunged toward him, its movements erratic yet unnervingly swift. But Elliot was faster. He stepped to the side, his open hand slicing cleanly through its torso like a blade through air. The figure dissolved into corrupted essence, its fragmented energy dispersing into the room.

More followed, rushing at him in waves. Months ago, the sheer number might have overwhelmed him. Back then, his lack of precision and confidence would have made this a daunting challenge. But the current Elliot was different.

His training, his discipline, his sharpened instincts—all of it came together in perfect harmony. Each strike was precise, deliberate, and devastating. His open hand moved like a blade, cutting through the figures with ease. Not one attack landed against him.

“The sanctuary is getting weaker…” he muttered under his breath, his keen senses picking up on the subtle changes in the room. He could feel its energy thinning, stretched too far as it struggled to manifest these hollow figures.

“It’s using its own essence to form them,” he realized, his eyes narrowing. “To the point that it might destroy itself. Just how badly does it want me?”

The thought sent a chill down his spine, but Elliot didn’t falter. One hit for each figure was all it took. They disintegrated on contact, their corrupted energy dissipating into the air. Yet, with each defeat, Elliot noticed something strange.

The energy didn’t vanish entirely. It lingered, swirling in the room like a storm gathering strength. It seemed to flow toward a single point—concentrating at the center of the chamber.

Elliot’s gaze shifted, his sharp eyes locking onto the source. The patterns on the walls pulsed faintly, the corrupted energy coursing through them in chaotic waves. It all seemed to converge at one spot, as though the sanctuary was preparing something.

His breathing steadied as he took a step closer, his body tense but ready. Whatever was coming next, he had no intention of backing down.

As the figures dissolved into corrupted energy, Elliot stood still, his sharp gaze fixed on the swirling essence gathering in the center of the chamber. His breathing slowed, his body tense but steady, while his mind churned with a storm of thoughts.

“Why me?” he wondered, his fingers clenching into a fist. “Why is it so desperate for me? What does it want that I can give?”

The memories of his training with their master resurfaced, moments where they discussed essence in its purest form, its connection to life, and the dangers of corruption. Elliot had always been more inquisitive than Towan, asking questions the master sometimes hesitated to answer fully.

“Essence is a part of you,” the master had once said, “but corruption twists it into something foreign. And when you lose control of your essence, it loses control of you too.”

Elliot felt the truth of those words now, as he stood in the sanctuary. The walls seemed alive, pulsating with an erratic, almost frantic rhythm, like a living being struggling to survive. It was as though the sanctuary was alive—but corrupted, desperate, and clinging to whatever power it could muster.

He thought back to the black figure they had seen in the drawings. It stood tall and menacing, with an aura of corrupted essence that seemed endless. His master had later explained how such beings were rare, capable of wielding corrupted essence and even vital essence without apparent consequence.

“But there are always consequences,” Elliot whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the hum of the room. “Even if you don’t see them right away.”

That thought brought a mix of fear and determination. The sanctuary wasn’t just using corrupted essence—it was trying to use him. He felt it now, the pull on his own resonance, the subtle attempt to draw him in and make him a part of this place.

“Is that its goal?” Elliot thought, his mind racing. “Does it want me as a vessel? To channel whatever this… entity is?”

The idea was chilling, but Elliot forced himself to focus. Fear was there, yes, but he wouldn’t let it control him. Instead, he let it sharpen his resolve.

“I’ve come too far for that,” he thought, his steps firm as he moved closer to the center. “I know my capabilities. I’ve trained for this. This is within what I can resolve.”

Still, questions lingered. Why did this place resonate so strongly with him? Was it because of the corrupted essence? Or was there something deeper—a connection he hadn’t yet uncovered?

And then, an unsettling thought emerged, one he tried to push away but couldn’t ignore.

“What if it’s not just the sanctuary that wants me? What if I’m already tied to it in some way?”

The swirling energy in the center of the chamber seemed to grow stronger, pulsating with a rhythm that felt almost like a heartbeat. Elliot could feel it pulling at him, tempting him to step closer.

But instead of fear, there was now a spark of defiance in his chest. He would face whatever this was, and he would do it on his terms.

“Whatever you are,” he thought, his hand tightening into a blade-like form, “you won’t take me. Not today. Not ever.”

With that, he took another step forward, his eyes narrowing as he prepared for the sanctuary’s next move.

As Elliot stepped closer to the pulsating energy in the center, the chamber trembled violently, dust and debris raining from above. The corrupted essence swirled faster, becoming denser, more focused. Elliot instinctively stopped, bracing himself as he watched the energy begin to coalesce.

The lines of corrupted essence that had once spread across the walls and floor started retracting, drawn toward the center like rivers flowing to a single point. The walls of the sanctuary, once alive with pulsating energy, now dulled and cracked. The intricate patterns etched into them faded as though the place itself was unraveling.

“What’s happening?” Elliot muttered, his eyes narrowing.

The swirling energy began to take shape, elongating and stretching into something vaguely human. Limbs formed, though they were jagged and uneven, as if the figure were being sculpted from pure chaos. Its head tilted unnaturally to one side, and its body flickered, unstable and constantly shifting as though it couldn’t fully solidify.

Elliot’s breath caught as he took in the sight. The figure was humanoid, but its distorted proportions and flickering essence made it clear it was anything but human. Its surface shimmered like liquid, yet its movements carried a disjointed grace, as if it were testing its newfound form.

The sanctuary itself seemed to wither as the figure grew stronger. The once-vivid glow of the corrupted essence dimmed, and the walls began to crumble, fading into shadows. The vibrant patterns of corrupted energy etched into the ground vanished entirely, leaving behind only a barren, lifeless floor.

And then, with a final, resonating hum, the sanctuary faded into darkness.

Elliot blinked, his surroundings now pitch black. The only source of light came from the figure before him, its distorted body emanating a faint crimson glow that cast eerie shadows on the rocky walls of the cave.

“So, this is what it’s been building toward,” Elliot thought, his body tensing. He could feel the weight of the figure’s presence—it wasn’t just unstable; it was dangerous.

The figure’s head turned toward him, its movements slow and deliberate. No eyes were visible on its shifting surface, but Elliot could feel its gaze locking onto him. The pressure in the air grew heavier, and for the first time in years, Elliot felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

It took a step forward, the ground beneath it cracking slightly. Its movements were deliberate but unsteady, like it was still adjusting to this new form.

Elliot didn’t flinch. Instead, he raised his hand, preparing for whatever this being might do.

“You’ve drawn me here,” Elliot said aloud, his voice steady despite the tension. “If this is all you’ve got, it won’t be enough.”

The figure didn’t respond with words. Instead, its body shivered, and a low, guttural sound echoed through the cave—a noise that seemed to come from everywhere at once. It raised one of its elongated arms, and Elliot caught a glimpse of corrupted essence swirling within it, ready to strike.

Elliot’s eyes narrowed, his sharp instincts taking over. “Let’s see what you’ve got, then.”

With that, the figure lunged forward, and Elliot moved to meet it head-on.

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The figure lunged, its distorted arm stretching unnaturally as it slashed at Elliot with liquid-like precision. Elliot barely sidestepped the attack, feeling a rush of air and corrupted essence graze his shoulder. The ground where the strike landed hissed and smoked, as though it had been seared by sheer malevolence.

He pivoted, slamming his heel into the figure’s midsection with a sharp kick. His attack connected, sending ripples through its unstable form, but instead of staggering back, the figure absorbed the impact, its body bending unnaturally before snapping back into place.

Elliot’s eyes widened. “It doesn’t feel pain… it doesn’t even flinch.”

The figure retaliated instantly, its arm reforming into a jagged spike aimed at his chest. Elliot ducked, the spike narrowly missing him, and countered with a swift strike from his hand, sharpened by his honed essence control. His blow cleaved through the figure’s arm, severing it cleanly.

But what should have been a victory only made things worse. The severed arm fell to the ground, but instead of dissipating, it morphed into smaller tendrils that writhed and crawled toward him.

Elliot leaped back, slicing through the tendrils with precise, measured strikes. Yet, for every one he destroyed, two more seemed to form. “It’s not fighting to defeat me,” he realized, the thought sending a chill down his spine.

The figure advanced relentlessly, each step causing the cave to shake as corrupted essence bled into the air. Elliot felt his breathing grow heavier, his movements slightly slower as the toxic energy tried to seep into his own resonance.

“Stay focused,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. “It’s trying to wear me down.”

Then came the moment he dreaded. One of the tendrils lashed out and grazed his forearm. He hissed in pain as it left a burning trail behind, not from physical damage but from the corrupted essence trying to seep into his wound. He could feel it—a foreign, invasive force clawing at his essence, searching for a way in.

The figure paused, as if sensing the opening it had created. Its featureless head tilted, and its crimson glow pulsed brighter.

“No,” Elliot growled, gripping his forearm tightly. “You’re not getting in.”

The figure surged forward with renewed aggression, its form distorting and shifting wildly. Elliot dodged and countered, his strikes precise but increasingly desperate. He managed to slice through one of its legs, causing it to collapse momentarily, but the corrupted essence reformed it almost instantly.

The pressure mounted. The more he fought, the more wounds he sustained—small cuts and grazes that allowed the figure’s essence to inch closer to his core. He felt his body growing heavier, his thoughts clouding as the invasive energy fought to take root.

“I can’t let it win,” Elliot thought, his resolve hardening.

As the figure lunged again, Elliot feinted, allowing it to overextend. In a blur of motion, he spun and delivered a devastating roundhouse kick to its head, sending it crashing into the cavern wall. The impact caused a section of the wall to collapse, temporarily burying the figure under rubble.

Elliot didn’t waste the opportunity. He centered himself, focusing his essence into a protective barrier around his core. The invasive energy in his wounds recoiled slightly, unable to advance further.

But the reprieve was short-lived. The rubble exploded outward as the figure reemerged, more distorted than before. Its movements were erratic now, its form flickering as if it were struggling to maintain itself. Yet its attacks became even more ferocious, driven by desperation.

It lunged again, this time aiming not to strike but to envelop him. Its body stretched and twisted, surrounding Elliot like a shroud of corrupted essence. He could feel its energy pressing against his barrier, seeking any weakness to exploit.

“You’re not taking me,” Elliot snarled, his eyes blazing with determination.

With a surge of willpower, he unleashed a burst of his own essence, the sharp, focused energy slicing through the shroud and forcing the figure back. It screeched—a sound that resonated deep within the cave, filled with frustration and fury.

The figure staggered, its form flickering violently. Elliot seized the moment, dashing forward with all his strength. His hand, sharp and glowing with concentrated essence, struck the figure’s core with precision.

The figure staggered back, its distorted form barely holding together. Elliot panted, his breaths heavy, his body screaming from the strain. No matter how many precise strikes he landed, the creature refused to dissolve, its corrupted essence regenerating faster than he could destroy it.

“This isn’t working,” Elliot muttered, frustration building as the figure advanced once more.

He steadied himself, pushing past the pain. His master’s teachings echoed in his mind: Control, not power. Precision, not chaos. Use your essence wisely.

But this wasn’t the time for restraint. If he didn’t end this now, the figure would eventually overwhelm him. He clenched his fists, feeling his essence surge within him.

“All or nothing,” he whispered, focusing all his energy into a single point. The air around him seemed to shift as his body resonated with power, the flow of vital essence intensifying as he pushed himself to 60% of his full capacity, everything he had left—a technique he’d trained tirelessly to master but never used in battle

The figure paused, as if sensing the change in Elliot’s aura. It twisted unnaturally, preparing to lunge again, but Elliot was faster.

With a roar, he dashed forward, his hand glowing with a concentrated, razor-sharp blue aura of essence. Every ounce of his power was directed into this one punch, his entire body moving with precision and purpose.

The impact was deafening. His fist connected with the figure’s core, and a shockwave of raw energy erupted, shaking the entire cavern. The figure let out an unearthly shriek, its form collapsing inward as cracks of light spread across its body like shattered glass.

For a moment, Elliot thought he had won. But then, just as the figure’s body began to dissolve, it surged forward, bypassing his defenses entirely. It wasn’t aiming for his body—it was aiming for his mind.

“What?!” Elliot gasped, his vision blurring as the figure’s corrupted essence invaded him. He stumbled back, clutching his head as an unbearable pressure built within his mind.

The world around him faded, the sanctuary dissolving into darkness. The figure’s energy, its essence, its very presence, was no longer external—it was inside him, clawing at his thoughts, his memories, his very sense of self.

And then, silence.

Elliot stood motionless, suspended in the void, the weight of the invasion pressing down on him like an unrelenting storm.

Elliot’s body collapsed to the ground, his consciousness slipping away as exhaustion overtook him. He had spent every last drop of his essence to destroy the figure, leaving his body utterly depleted and unable to move. His breathing was shallow, and the faint glow of energy around him flickered and died, leaving only silence in the dark cavern.

But within him, something stirred.

Elliot opened his eyes, though he wasn’t awake. This wasn’t the physical world—this was something deeper, something internal. He found himself standing on a serene hill bathed in daylight, surrounded by swaying crops and vibrant flowers. A gentle breeze carried the soft hum of nature, a stark contrast to the battle he had just endured.

In front of him stood a familiar sight: the dojo where he had lived and trained alongside his master and Towan, the place that had been his home and sanctuary until their journey to the tournament began.

“This is… my inner world?” Elliot murmured, his gaze sweeping over the tranquil landscape. He took a hesitant step forward, the grass beneath his feet soft and warm. “I didn’t know I had something like this inside me…”

The scene felt both comforting and surreal, yet his mind couldn’t shake the events that had brought him here.

“Wait,” he muttered, his heart skipping a beat. “Where’s the corrupted essence?”

As the memory of the fight flooded back, a chill ran through him. He spun around, scanning the horizon, and then he saw it.

On the other side of the hill, the sky darkened, an oppressive storm looming over the land. The vibrant greens and yellows of the crops gave way to blackened, withered stalks, and the once-flourishing flowers shriveled into ash. The air grew heavy and cold, suffused with malice.

And there it was—the figure.

It moved toward him, its form a grotesque amalgamation of shadow and corruption. Every step it took drained the life from the ground beneath it, the vibrant world around Elliot decaying into desolation in its wake.

Elliot’s breath caught in his throat. This was no mere illusion. The corrupted essence hadn’t been destroyed—it had invaded his very mind, his inner sanctuary.

“No…” he whispered, his hands clenching into fists as he took a defensive stance. “This is my world. You don’t belong here.”

The figure didn’t respond with words—it didn’t need to. Its presence alone was enough to exude a hunger for domination, a relentless drive to consume.

Elliot braced himself, the peaceful hill now a battlefield as he prepared to face the invader within.

Elliot squared his shoulders, ready to fight. He could feel the tension building, the storm of corruption on the horizon looming ever closer. But then, the figure hesitated. Its form trembled and shuddered, not from anger or aggression, but from fear.

Elliot furrowed his brow, confused. The figure wasn’t looking at him anymore. Its focus had shifted, its shadowy head tilting slightly as though it sensed something behind him. Alarmed, Elliot turned around.

What he saw left him frozen in disbelief.

Emerging from the dojo was a figure Elliot knew better than anyone else. His master. The calm, composed man who had guided and trained him for as long as he could remember.

“Master?” Elliot’s voice cracked with astonishment. His jaw dropped as he took a step back, trying to process what he was seeing. “What are you doing here?”

But his master didn’t respond. He walked with steady purpose, his expression unreadable, his eyes fixed on the corrupted figure in the distance. It was as if Elliot wasn’t there at all, like he was invisible.

Before Elliot could say another word, the dojo door creaked open again. Another person stepped out, and Elliot’s confusion only deepened. This stranger wasn’t someone he recognized, yet an inexplicable sense of familiarity washed over him. It wasn’t just a passing feeling—it was profound, like a connection buried deep within his very essence.

Whoever this person was, they carried an air of quiet strength, their presence almost as commanding as his master’s. The stranger’s gaze wasn’t on Elliot either. Instead, they looked past him, their expression softening as they locked eyes with the corrupted figure.

“Tarchi?” the stranger said, their voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and sorrow.

Elliot’s mind raced, struggling to make sense of what was unfolding before him. The name hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Tarchi? Was that the name of the corrupted figure? How did this stranger know it?

He glanced back at the figure, which now stood motionless, as if paralyzed. Its trembling grew more violent, its form distorting further, as though the name alone had shaken it to its core.

Elliot turned his gaze back to the stranger and his master, his thoughts a whirlwind of questions.

What is going on? Why is Master here? Who is this person? How do they know the corrupted figure? And why… why does this all feel so familiar?

As the storm of emotions and confusion raged within him, Elliot could only watch, unable to do anything but bear witness to this impossible moment.

“Look what time has done to you…” the unknown man said, his voice heavy with sorrow as his eyes rested on Tarchi. There was no anger, no fear—just a deep, aching sadness that seemed to fill the air.

Elliot stood frozen, his mind racing to grasp the meaning of the words.

His master interrupted, and continued, his tone carrying a quiet reproach. “I told you, you should have left someone to take care of him. The corrupted essence was bound to surpass him eventually. And yet…” He trailed off, shaking his head as though the weight of regret was too much to bear. “I wonder how he even managed to get here.”

Elliot’s breath caught. He knows Tarchi? The realization hit him like a wave, but before he could process it, his master spoke.

“I should have taken your advice” the unknown man said, stepping forward. His voice was calm, yet there was an unmistakable edge of familiarity as he addressed the stranger. “We knew this would happen eventually. But now…” His gaze shifted toward Tarchi, a flicker of something unspoken passing through his eyes. “Now it’s too late to stop it.”

Elliot stared at his master in utter disbelief. “Master?” he blurted, his voice cracking with confusion. “You… you know him? Both of you?”

His master finally looked at him, his expression unreadable but solemn. “I’m sorry, Elliot,” he said softly, and the sincerity in his voice sent a shiver down Elliot’s spine. “You’re not ready to see this.”

“What do you mean, I’m not ready?” Elliot demanded, desperation rising in his voice. His master had always been the one with answers, the guiding light in the midst of chaos. But now, for the first time, Elliot felt like he was being shut out, left in the dark. “Master, tell me what’s going on!”

The stranger’s gaze shifted to Elliot, his eyes studying him with an intensity that made the boy’s skin prickle. “Now’s not the time,” the stranger said, his voice calm but resolute. He raised a hand, pointing directly at Elliot.

Before Elliot could say another word, the world around him seemed to collapse. The vivid colors of his inner mind—the hill, the dojo, even the corrupted storm—dissolved into nothingness. His chest tightened as if a massive weight pressed down on him, and then, with a gasp, he opened his eyes.

He was back in the real world.