Eryndar surged forward, his speed a blur beyond human comprehension. As he closed the distance, he shifted his essence seamlessly, flowing into the first pattern of his own design. “Fighting Style One,” he thought, his focus razor-sharp.
With a calculated twist of his body, he unleashed a devastating punch. His essence channeled perfectly, amplifying the force of the blow. The impact was explosive—Caleis’s face snapped to the side as he was hurled backward, crashing through the corrupted fog like a ragdoll.
Before the shockwave of the attack had even settled, Dravan was already in motion. His roundhouse kick cut through the air, aimed with lethal precision at Eryndar’s head.
Eryndar shifted instinctively, raising his forearm to block. The collision sent a shockwave through his body, but he absorbed it effortlessly, his stance solid as a fortress.
Without hesitation, Eryndar countered. Pivoting on his heel, he delivered a powerful kick aimed at Dravan’s ribs. The strike was swift and calculated, but Dravan’s reflexes matched the challenge. With a quick sidestep, he evaded the blow, the fog swirling in his wake.
The two stood locked in the deadly dance, their movements precise and fluid. Every strike, block, and evasion carried the weight of experience and the knowledge that one mistake could tip the balance.
The fog pulsed with corrupted energy as the clash continued, the air thick with tension. Eryndar shifted his stance, his sharp gaze darting between his opponents. Caleis recovered from the earlier blow, rising to his feet with a twisted grin. Dravan moved into position beside him, their synchronization unsettling, as if they shared a single, malevolent intent.
Eryndar’s muscles tensed as he felt the shift in their rhythm. They weren’t fighting individually now—they were moving as one.
Caleis lunged first, his corrupted essence flaring violently as he launched a flurry of punches, each aimed with ruthless precision. Dravan mirrored his movements, slipping in to strike at Eryndar’s blind spots with swift, sweeping kicks.
They’re good... too good, Eryndar thought, his mind racing as he deflected and dodged with precision. His forearm intercepted a punch from Caleis, while his knee rose to block Dravan’s kick. But the relentless assault was closing in, leaving him little room to counter.
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Realizing he couldn’t rely on pure offense, Eryndar drew a deep breath and shifted his essence flow. His body vibrated with a subtle hum as he transitioned into a defensive stance. “Fighting Style Two—Unbreakable Defense,” he thought, a calm focus settling over him.
The change was immediate. His essence condensed, fortifying his body and movements. Every block became an impenetrable wall, every shift in stance calculated to absorb the force of the attacks without yielding ground.
Caleis roared, driving a heavy punch toward Eryndar’s chest, but it was like hitting solid stone. The shockwave of the impact rippled through the fog, yet Eryndar stood unmoved. Dravan followed with a spinning heel kick aimed at Eryndar’s temple, but his raised forearm intercepted it with the sound of flesh meeting steel.
Their strikes came faster, more desperate, their movements perfectly synchronized. Caleis aimed low with a sweeping kick while Dravan struck high with a crushing overhead blow. Eryndar shifted fluidly, raising his arm to deflect Dravan’s strike while pivoting his body to neutralize Caleis’s low kick.
"You can’t keep this up forever!" Caleis sneered, his voice rising in frustration.
Eryndar’s expression remained calm, his voice steady despite the chaos. "I don’t need forever—just long enough."
The fog churned violently around them, as if responding to the intensity of the battle. Despite their overwhelming coordination, Eryndar’s unbreakable defense held firm, his movements a perfect harmony of control and resilience. But he knew this stalemate couldn’t last. He needed an opening, a moment to strike back.
His essence pulsed within him, ready to transition again when the time was right. Until then, he stood unwavering, the eye of the storm, weathering the onslaught with the confidence of a master who had trained his entire life for this moment.
Eryndar’s mind worked like a finely tuned machine, analyzing every movement, every strike from Caleis and Dravan. Their coordination was impressive, but it was also predictable. The patterns began to reveal themselves, their attacks forming a rhythm. He just needed the right moment—a crack in their seemingly impenetrable assault.
Dravan launched a low kick aimed at Eryndar’s knee while Caleis followed with a straight punch toward his chest. Eryndar deflected the punch with a sharp twist of his wrist, letting it slide past him. At the same time, he sidestepped Dravan’s kick, using the opening to pivot on his heel.
There it is.
Eryndar’s essence shifted in an instant, flowing like a river redirected by an unseen force. His body vibrated with energy as he transitioned to his third style. “Fighting Style Three—Explosive Blows.”