The Essence Flow-Chapter 135: At Last

The Essence Flow-Chapter 135: At Last

The forest's twilight hush wrapped around Elliot as he adjusted his flags. "All right... I think the test is about to end..." His murmur dissolved into the evening air—just as his silver ring shuddered against his finger with a faint, warning hum.
(What the...)
Every hair on his arms stood erect before he even turned. There, haloed by the dying light, stood Jyn—posture coiled tight, eyes burning with the kind of hunger that had nothing to do with flags or exams. The very air crackled around him like a gathering storm.
"Hey... Lightning boy." Elliot’s grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. His fingers traced the dirt at his feet like a pianist checking keys. "Lost your way or just dying to be dramatic?" The joke fell flat between them.
(The test is about to end... there's no point in fighting now.)
Jyn's laughter rolled through the clearing—not mocking, but thrilled, the sound of a predator finally cornering elusive prey. "No. I’m exactly where I need to be." He began circling, like a storm tightening its spiral.. "I think I'm exactly where I want—"
—FLASH—
The world exploded in blue-white fury. Jyn's foot left the ground in a crackling arc, lightning surging from his soles as his tornado kick screamed toward Elliot's jaw.
(You fu—!)
Elliot's arms crossed just in time, the impact vibrating through his bones like a cathedral bell. Dirt sprayed behind him as he skidded backward, boots carving trenches in the earth.
"Hey hey... Chill out, dude." Elliot spat out a mouthful of dirt, holding up a placating hand. "The test is basically over. We don't need to—"
"You're right," Jyn interrupted, lightning dancing between his fingers like live wires. "But I can't let someone who pretends to use lightning walk around like that."
Elliot's eyes narrowed. The realization struck like the aftertaste of sour wine—this wasn't about flags or rankings. This was about the sacred pride crackling in every genuine lightning wielder's veins.
"Tsk."
Dust fell from Elliot's sleeves as he shifted his weight. Elliot inhaled—once, sharp—and shifted his weight. His stance flowed into Lytharos’ Thunder Strike: arms raised, spine loose, breath steady. A storm remembered, not inherited.
(Fine... If you want a fight... you'll have it.)
The air between them grew heavy, charged with the promise of violence, as two very different kinds of lightning prepared to clash.
-CLASH-
The impact resonated through the clearing like a thunderclap. Fists collided with the force of rival storms—knuckle against knuckle—sending shockwaves rippling through the air. Both combatants skidded backward, boots tearing furrows in the earth. Jyn slid slightly farther, his heels kicking up a spray of dirt and dead leaves.
He stared at his trembling hand, flexing fingers that still tingled with residual energy. "This feeling..." Lightning crackled uncertainly around his wrist. "It's like he's using lightning but—" His teeth bared in a feral grin. "He's not. Just a cheap copy."
Across the battlefield, Elliot's expression had transformed. No trace of his usual easygoing smile remained—only razor-focused eyes, pupils contracted to pinpricks. Every muscle coiled with calculated tension.
(He's fast. Natural lightning control. Years of training.)
Second Clash
Jyn became pure voltage. Light blue bolts erupted from his pores as he launched forward, his punch cutting through the air with a sizzling trail. Elliot caught the strike mid-arc—forearm against wrist—and instantly countered. Jyn twisted away, the retaliatory blow grazing his ribs.
A whipcrack kick followed. Elliot intercepted it with his shin.
-BOOM-
The collision detonated a web of electricity across the battlefield. Overhead, branches shuddered. Unripe fruit plummeted like artillery shells, exploding against the ground in bursts of pulp and juice. Leaves rained down, many singed at the edges, swirling in the charged air like embers from some invisible fire.
Fists became blurs, kicks sliced air with crackling energy - their battle rhythm never faltering, never slowing. Each collision sent shockwaves through the clearing, the very ground trembling beneath their feet.
(Why do his movements feel... familiar?)
Jyn's arms stung as he crossed them to absorb another devastating punch, his boots carving fresh trenches in the dirt as he skidded back.
(What's with the strength of his punches?!)
His teeth ground together as he forced his stance steady, tasting copper where he'd bitten his cheek.
Elliot stood poised across from him - no playful grin, no cocky remarks. Just cold, calculating focus that seemed to see straight through him.
(Damn it... None of my strikes are channeling Thunder properly.)
Elliot's mind raced even as his body moved.
(What am I missing? I've got the advantage... He relies on speed, and I'm matching him now. So why-)
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Another Clash
Electricity exploded across their collision point, casting the clearing in stark white for a heartbeat. Trees groaned. Fruit fell like cannonballs, rupturing against the dirt in pulpy bursts. Singed leaves rained around them—embers of a storm not yet over.
They clashed again.
And again.
And again.
Fists blurred. Kicks sliced the air. Impact after impact sang with kinetic symphony.
Every hit felt familiar—too familiar.
Jyn’s arms stung under the strain, each block growing heavier. His boots scraped against the dirt, unable to fully stop the push.
He gritted his teeth, swallowing copper from where he’d bitten the inside of his cheek.
Across from him, Elliot advanced like a ticking metronome. Every strike surgically placed. Every step a calculated invasion. No wasted movement. No excess power. Just clean, terrifying precision.
(No way...)
Jyn's eyes widened as another punch slipped through his guard.
(A copy can't be better than the original!)
With a snarl, Jyn disengaged, creating space between them.
(What's he-?)
Elliot's thought cut off as the air changed.
Lightning surged around him in erratic pulses.
His stance shifted—not toward refinement, but toward rawness. The composed forms of his lineage fell away. What remained was instinct—untamed and unshaped. Lightning didn’t hum now.
It howled.
The blue of his aura cracked upward into pure white—sheets of plasma tearing across his body, slashing the ground in arcs like wild serpents.
Elliot’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t need his ring to feel it—
the air itself had changed
.
Elliot's muscles tensed.
(Something has changed.)
The realization came with a primal chill - this was no longer a test of skill, but of survival.
Jyn became a streak of white lightning, his form blurring as he launched forward. His right fist shot toward Elliot's face with deceptive speed—a classic bait. Elliot's arms came up instinctively, muscles tensing for impact.
But the real strike came from below.
Jyn's left fist, crackling with concentrated voltage, drove upward into Elliot's solar plexus with the precision of a viper strike. The air exploded from Elliot's lungs in a pained
whoosh
as he was lifted clean off his feet. His body arched backward, skidding across the dirt like a stone skipping water before he managed to twist into a controlled roll.
Copper flooded his mouth. A thin trail of blood escaped his lips, spattering the dry earth beneath him. His free hand clutched at his abdomen, fingers pressing into what would surely become a spectacular bruise.
(That actually... hurt.)
The understatement of the century burned through his mind as he tasted iron on his tongue. Across the battlefield, Jyn's lightning burned brighter—whiter—than before, casting eerie shadows across his triumphant sneer.
(Towan... let me borrow your move for a second.)
Elliot's stance shifted subtly - shoulders rolling forward, knees bending to a familiar angle. For a fleeting moment, his silhouette mirrored his brother's brawler posture perfectly.
(Need to shatter his rhythm.)
Jyn surged forward, white lightning trailing from his fists like comet tails. Confidence radiated from every movement - he'd tasted blood, and now he hunted for the knockout.
Exchange of Blows
Fist met forearm. Shin blocked knee. But something had changed - where Jyn's strikes before carried crushing weight, now they glanced off Elliot's tighter guard. The power differential was evaporating with each passing second.
Then -
"SKYBREAKER!" Elliot's shout tore through the battlefield like a cannon shot.
Jyn’s eyes widened—a critical half-second dilation. (What kind of move name—?)
His lightning flickered uncertainly.
That was all Elliot needed.
His right leg arced upward in a perfect crescent, the heel connecting with Jyn's jaw with a sickening
crack
. Jyn's body lifted clean off the ground before crashing down, fingers clawing trenches in the dirt as he barely caught himself.
"Good..." Elliot exhaled, resetting into his original stance. Sweat stung his eyes as he analyzed the patterns burned into his memory.
(I've mapped his movements... Thunder Strike just needs three more seconds to charge.)
His muscles tensed.
(Now to survive until then.)
Across the battered clearing, Jyn staggered to his feet. He spat blood, flecks of crimson hitting the scorched ground.
“That bastard,” he growled, wiping his mouth. “Shouting like some street brawler...”
But his smile was back—twisted and wild.
“Enough playing around.”
The voltage surged.
The ground singed beneath his boots as he pushed off. Trees bent away from the force.
He wasn’t running anymore.
Jyn was lightning itself—
a divine spear aimed straight at Elliot’s chest.
Jyn became a storm incarnate—white lightning leaping from his skin in wild, hissing arcs as he launched forward. Each step scorched the ground. Each punch split the air like thunderclaps. No wasted movement. No hesitation. Just raw, honed fury aimed to kill.
And yet...
Elliot moved.
Not with panic.
Not with desperation.
But with a terrifying calm.
Like the eye of the storm walking through the chaos it refused to acknowledge.
His right hand remained at his waist, fingers curled, thumb brushing against skin. Thunder Strike was still charging—each second layering more force behind that one inevitable blow. He drifted between Jyn’s attacks with surgical precision. A shoulder turn. A neck tilt. A half-step that made a lightning punch pass by like it belonged to another timeline.
Dancing between death with nothing but instinct and patience.
“
HOW?!
”
Jyn’s scream tore from his throat—raw, cracked, disbelieving.
This wasn’t a fight anymore.
It was humiliation.
Not once, in all his battles, had anyone evaded him like this. Not even Sylra. His strikes were landing on
air
, his power burning nothing but shadows.
His lightning faltered.
Just for a moment.
(Come on...)
Elliot’s gaze never wavered.
(Show it to me.)
He was reading everything—shoulder tension, foot placement, the twitch before a strike. Every data point feeding into one perfect moment.
And Jyn gave it to him.
With a snarl, Jyn spun—a full-body tornado kick coiling his momentum into one devastating final strike. White-hot lightning spiraled down his leg like a divine punishment descending.
The instant it left his body...
There.
The opening flashed—clean, exact, undeniable.
-BOOM-
The air tore apart.
Elliot’s Thunder Strike ignited.
His fist shot forward—right into Jyn’s exposed ribs—just as Jyn’s kick connected with his cheekbone with the heat of a branding iron.
The double impact detonated through the clearing like a cannon shot. Both fighters were sent flying in opposite arcs—Elliot skidding across the dirt on his back, boots kicking up furrows as he braced himself. Jyn tumbled through the underbrush, limbs flailing until his spine slammed against an oak with a crack that echoed through the trees.
For a moment, the forest held its breath.
Smoke coiled from the twin impact points, rising in slow spirals like incense offered to forgotten gods.
The air reeked of ozone. Burnt earth. Singed skin. Power that had tasted its limits.
Above, birds fled the treetops—screeching into the darkening sky.
On the ground, Elliot exhaled—long, ragged, victorious.
Thunder Strike had landed.

Chapter 135: At Last