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Chapter 17 – The Imitation
The night air was heavy—thicker than before, like the forest itself was holding its breath.
A damp wind slid through the trees, carrying with it the smell of moss and rain-soaked earth. The moon hung low, a pale silver coin pressed against the ink-black sky, casting long shadows that stretched and twisted across the ground.
Eli and the man in black stood unmoving, yet every line of their bodies screamed readiness. The air between them pulsed with a taut, invisible thread of killing intent. A few dry leaves fluttered down from the canopy, swirling briefly before settling to the forest floor—only to be crushed under the weight of their stares.
The forest leaned in. The world seemed to still.
Then—
They moved.
Two streaks of motion ripped across the darkness. Their meeting was violent, instant—staff against dagger, wood against steel. The crack of the collision echoed through the woods, followed by the hiss of metal sliding against grain. Sparks burst and died in the night air, like tiny orange stars that winked out before they could fall.
Eli swept low, his staff blurring into a horizontal arc. The man sprang upward, twisting midair. the silver edge of his dagger gleamed like a shard of moonlight as it cut downward. Eli pivoted, the staff rising in a sharp jab aimed at the man's ribs.
The rhythm was relentless—strike, block, twist, counter, shift. Each impact rattled through the trunks around them, the sound of their battle folding into the restless whisper of the forest. The cold air stung Eli's lungs, but adrenaline burned hot in his veins.
Then—
A sharp, splintering crack.
The man's dagger slammed down with surgical precision, its edge biting deep into the middle of Eli's staff. Wood splintered like brittle bone, scattering it's fragments into the dirt.
The man's lips twisted into a grin, teeth catching the pale bmoonlight.
"It's over."
He surged forward, dagger angled for the heart. But Eli's hand lashed out, gripping the man's wrist in a vice-like twist that sent pain jolting up the man's arm. The blade clattered to the ground, its edge catching a dull gleam before Eli's boot came down hard, denting the metal.
Both now stood empty-handed.
The man took a measured step back, lowering into a stance. His right leg slid forward, the toes gripping the soil for balance. His torso turned slightly, right arm raised and curved like a predator's claw, left hand drawn back and open. His breathing slowed, deep and deliberate, as if he were grounding himself in the stillness before a storm.
When he spoke, his voice was low, almost reverent.
"Rending Claw."
Then he moved—swift, sudden, and without hesitation. The strike ripped through the night, his fingers curled into a talon aimed square at Eli's chest. The blow landed with a thud like a battering ram, forcing Eli's forearms up in a desperate cross-block. The force slammed into him like the weight of a falling tree, driving his heels into the dirt and carving twin trenches in the soil. Pain shot through his arms, dull at first, then sharp and stabbing. His ribs protested with every breath.
The man straightened, exhaling slowly. "He's still weak after all."
But then—
His pupils shrank.
Eli was still standing. Not slouched. Not trembling but Standing. His silhouette under the moonlight was different now—sharper, colder.
Eli moved his Right knee forward.his Right hand curled into a claw. And his Left hand drawn back his palm open.
Taking The exact same stance.
Moonlight caught his dark eyes, and for a moment, they were voids in which a faint, unblinking starlight shimmered—cold, infinite, unmoving. His expression gave away nothing.
The man's pulse kicked as his thoughts fell into turmoil.
Th-this presence… it's… it's almost like—
But the thought shattered as Eli moved.
The claw strike came fast, a perfect mirror of the man's own. It carried not just the shape but the weight, the timing, the predatory precision. When it landed, pain exploded in the man's ribs, forcing a grunt through his teeth.
Eli didn't wait. His hand shot down, scooping up the battered daggers. The moonlight caught the jagged dents in their edges as he spun them once—an elegant, practiced motion—and launched into another attack.
The man's realization was instant, chilling. Eli wasn't simply copying techniques—he was replicating his entire battle style. Every feint, every rhythm, every angle of attack was a reflection of himself.
For the first time tonight, the man found himself on the back foot. Each defense felt too slow, each counter intercepted before it could breathe.
A heel kick slammed into his side. A dagger's edge grazed his arm. A hook caught him in the ribs again, each blow stacking pressure against his guard.
He stumbled back, the bark of a thick tree biting into his shoulder.
Enough.
The air began to move differently—at first, a trembling whisper, then a sharp, spiraling current. His soul energy surged, a living cyclone that bent the night air to his will. Dust rose in swirling streams. Leaves were yanked from branches. The ground itself vibrated under the growing force.
A green light flared in his eyes, unnatural and cutting. The wind wrapped around him in a raging spiral, howling like a feral thing desperate to tear the world apart. Branches above snapped under the pressure, falling in jagged pieces.
He pulled that raging gale into his fist, the emerald glow brightening until it burned against the night like a miniature sun.
And then he dashed forward—an emerald comet in human form.
His punch struck Eli square in the stomach. The sound was like a thunderclap wrapped in the splintering of wood. Eli's body flew, smashing through trunk after trunk—one, two, three, four, five—before crashing into the ground hard enough to leave a crater rimmed with fractured roots and clumps of torn earth.
The man barely let his boots touch the ground before he was on the move again, streaking toward the crater.
Eli was pushing himself up, shoulders trembling.
Too slow.
The man slammed him against a tree, bark crunching under the impact. Their faces were inches apart, the man's breath hot and venomous.
"How about you copy that, huh?" he sneered.
But Eli's lips curled—not in pain, but in triumph.
His eyes—no longer void and stars—had returned to normal.
"hmph didn't have to," he murmured, each word deliberate, sliding into the air like a blade finding its mark.
The man's brows knit, confusion sharp and sudden—until his gaze fell to Eli's hands.
Empty.
His head snapped upward.
Two gleaming shapes dropped from the canopy, silver streaks against the black.
The daggers plunged into his shoulders with a wet, heavy thunk. His breath caught in a ragged gasp as pain buckled his knees.
Eli stepped forward, yanking one blade free, then buried it deep into the man's chest. The glow in his eyes dimmed as the strength drained from his frame. He slumped against the tree, sliding downward in a slow collapse until he was still.
The forest exhaled. Silence returned, broken only by Eli's steady breathing.
Above, balanced on a thick branch, Monroe leaned casually against the trunk. Moonlight painted his figure in pale silver, catching the faint curl of his smirk.
"Not bad… not bad at all," he murmured.
But the smirk died just as quickly as it came. His eyes narrowed, all trace of humor gone.
"That state earlier…" His voice was quiet, but the weight in it pressed into the night air. "Don't tell me… did he actually… No. He wouldn't do that. Anybody else might, but definitely not him."
Somewhere high in the canopy, the wind shifted.
And the forest, for a moment, felt darker still.
A/N: sorry for not updating these Past three days I've been quite busy and I couldn't keep up. but now that I'm back there'll be a mass release of at least 3 chapters today. so thank you for reading this book