The Essence Flow

Chapter 37: Assimilation

The shortest figure lunged, hissing:

“Arrogance is a sin that must be punished.”

Its clawed hand whipped toward Towan’s face—

—and met air.

Towan ducked low, pivoted, and drove his boot upward in a tight arc. The kick cracked against the creature’s jaw, snapping its head back with a sickening crunch.

It staggered.

Didn’t fall.

Damn. Essentia's useless down here. Too corrupted to flow.

Guess it’s raw hands and grit, then.

Karn didn’t wait.

His greatsword screamed from its sheath—steel flashing as he surged forward, straight at the middle figure. No flair. No warning. Just violence done professionally.

He was older now. Slower than in his prime.

But he knew how to hurt things.

The creature threw a piston-straight punch aimed to pulp his ribs.

Karn twisted, let it graze his side—then brought his sword down in a brutal, two-handed chop.

The blade bit deep into the thing’s shoulder. Black ichor sprayed across the floor.

“Predicted that, you shiny shit,” Karn spat.

The figure didn’t scream. Didn’t blink.

It grabbed the embedded blade with both hands—

—and pulled, dragging Karn forward into a rising knee that slammed into his chest with the force of a warhammer.

Elliot's Silence

Elliot hadn’t moved.

His eyes flicked between their enemies, tracking every twitch, every feint.

(Fast. Strong. But… predictable.)

The tallest figure tilted its head. “You do not fight.”

“No,” Elliot said softly. “I learn.”

Somewhere deep in the facility, machinery groaned to life.

A low hum rose in the distance—slow, rising.

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And Elliot, for the first time in the fight, smiled.

Towan didn’t let up.

Strike after strike. Punch after punch. A flurry of kicks, too fast for most to react to. But the figure? She didn’t even flinch.

“Aren’t you tired of eating all of these?” Towan mocked, a grin tugging at his bloodied lips.

Her body felt like it was made of iron. No matter how much he hit, it barely seemed to register. The sound of his fists on her skin was like hitting a wall of stone. It stung his knuckles and his pride.

Damn. This isn’t working.

“Shut your mouth,” the figure hissed, her voice deep and distorted, almost mechanical as she swung again.

Towan barely dodged, and the force of her punch cracked the stone next to him. He stepped back quickly, his pulse rising. This isn’t just strength. It’s precision.

“Can’t dodge forever.” Towan’s words were more to convince himself than anything. His eyes darted to her movements—quick, coordinated.

He could feel it now. Every time she struck, it was like he’d been there before.

Memories, his

memories, flickered—flashbacks of movements, techniques, things he hadn’t learned. Things he hadn’t forgotten

Karn staggered to his feet, hand pressed to his ribs.

“You do

hit hard,” he coughed, dragging his blade back up. That knee had cracked something — maybe a rib, maybe his pride. Didn’t matter.

He roared and lunged again. His sword moved like a cleaver—no finesse, just survival.

This time, he dodged. Got in close. Managed a few shallow slices.

Black ichor leaked.

But not enough.

“How is his skin this thick?” he muttered. “What the hell are these things?”

The tallest figure loomed, watching. Studying.

Elliot didn't raise his fists. "What are you?"

"We are those who succeeded." Its voice hummed like a struck bell. "Who absorbed the most perfect energy to exist."

"That's not an answer." Elliot's eyes flicked to the walls—the veins of corruption pulsing in time with their Essentia. "It's marketing."

The figure tilted its head. "You are perceptive. You will make an excellent subject."

A click echoed through the chamber.

The doors sealed shut.

The tallest figure lowered its hands.

“Enough playtime.”

The tallest figure raised its hand—

And from its palm erupted a dark light.

Not a glow.

A void.

It sucked in the flickering torchlight, swallowing color and warmth like a starving god.

Towan's next punch—fast, clean—never landed.

The shortest figure jerked stiffly…

Then collapsed.

Her obsidian skin cracked like dried clay. Veins of molten Essentia burst free, spiraling like serpents toward the Tallest’s outstretched hand.

Across the chamber, the middle figure

began to choke.

It clawed at its chest, body convulsing, as gold-black energy ripped itself loose—streaming through the air in burning strands.

Karn stumbled back, boots sliding in black ichor.

“What the hell—?!”

The Tallest inhaled.

The swirling corruption vanished into him, his veins blazing brighter, his form stretching—refining.

His voice deepened, layered now with echoes that weren’t his own.

“Good. Good.”

He exhaled like it was sacred.

“So much… knowledge.”

Then—his head snapped toward Towan.

That movement.

Too smooth.

Too precise.

“Your footwork,” he said. “His instincts.”

A smile split across his face like a wound.

“All mine now.”