dance in the inner world

Dozens of stone pillars towered over the previously placid, endless ocean. Two figures moved swiftly between them. The taller one was striking from different directions, constantly shortening the distance and not giving the young man a second respite. 

Allen is constantly retreating, at times performing somersaults and acrobatic tricks, while blocking attacks. His mind was taut with tension, every fiber of his being bent toward survival, eyes flashing to catch the deadly blows and seize fleeting moments to counter.

On his second day within this strange inner world, Allen discovered an unsettling power: the ability to shape the space as he wished. It had been necessary, for survival's sake, to impose restrictions upon Satoru Gojo, his implacable opponent. No techniques, no free use of cursed energy, and most critically—no killing. He learned this lesson early, for death within the inner world banished him for hours, leaving his control over cursed energy in the real world perilously unstable. In those moments when Satoru might have killed him, the man only feigned the final blow, declaring Allen the loser before the sparring began anew. 

A fist now hovered inches from Allen's face—another second, and if not for his lightning reflexes, the savage blow might have cost him a tooth, or worse. As he jerked backward, narrowly avoiding the strike, more followed with terrifying precision. One almost found its mark. But Allen, in a moment of pure instinct, stopped and braced, blocking a vicious side kick aimed at his skull. He leaned sharply, dodging Satoru's next blow with mere inches to spare. 

A flicker of fire ignited in Allen's eyes—determination, raw and primal. He lunged forward, his right hand aiming squarely at Satoru's torso. But as soon as success seemed so near, a gloomy foreboding seized him. Satoru's hand was already descending, poised to entrap him. Alarm coursed through Allen's veins, and he leaped back, evading the grasp by a hair's breadth. Perhaps luck or something deeper had saved him from being trapped—and maybe from losing an arm.

"Shit," the thought struck like a bell tolling in his mind. His pulse thundered, each beat a reminder of how close defeat lingered. He stepped back once, then again. Allen knew all too well—up close, he stood no chance. His opponent's experience was a chasm he could not yet cross.

Then, the cold touch of stone met his back. Allen's heart lurched—he'd backed into one of the pillars. Panic flared. 

'Damn it! I forgot about that fucking column!' The thought whirled, but there was no time for reflection. Satoru was upon him, leg raised for a swift, decisive strike to the head. On pure instinct, Allen's body slackened, his head dropping just in time to evade the kick. Satoru's foot passed through the pillar like air, cleaving through the stone like a blade through paper.

Without hesitation, Allen rolled to the side and sprang to his feet, seizing a precious moment of respite. 

"Huh," he exhaled, a brief sigh of relief, though his body remained coiled like a spring.

He retreated, but Satoru closed in relentlessly—two wide strides forward, keeping Allen always within reach, the gap shrinking once more. In a heartbeat, they were again within striking distance. Their hands hovered, inches apart, foreshadowing the clash to come, the air thick with tension so palpable that Allen no longer dared to blink.

Suddenly, Allen's keen eye caught the subtle twitch of Satoru's lead arm. He shifted his weight backward, ready to retreat—but too late. A heavy pressure pinned his foot to the ground. Satoru, exploiting Allen's focus on their hands, had trapped him. Immobilized, Allen could only watch as Satoru delivered a powerful, straight punch. With a desperate twist, he barely dodged it, but Satoru was quicker still, seizing Allen's arm and pulling him violently back.

Out of the corner of his eye, Allen caught a strange gray spot—Satoru held a jagged stone, imbued with cursed energy. Realization dawned coldly upon him—there was no avoiding the strike. Allen channeled every ounce of his focus into bolstering his defenses, cursing under his breath. 

Satoru's fingers unclenched for a moment, then clenched, and his fist slammed into Allen's jaw with devastating force. The world seemed to distort and blur as the pain pierced his skull. Allen's legs gave out and his vision swam. For a few seconds, he sank into oblivion.

"You've lost," came Satoru's voice, calm and steady, though Allen was already well aware of his defeat. His mind churned bitterly—had that stone struck his temple, it could have ended far worse.

"Damn it!" - Allen muttered, his voice thick with frustration, the words bitter on his tongue as he slammed his fist into the water below. The sting of defeat gnawed at him, an unrelenting pain that haunted every moment of his time in this world. Each defeat was more unpleasant than the last, especially since he had spared no effort in each fight. 

But Allen did not linger in despair. Slowly, with resolve simmering in his blood, he pushed himself to his feet and resumed his stance.

"One more time," he growled, the fire in his veins burning hotter, brighter. Determination, now an inferno, urged him forward once again. 

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Hi,

You may have noticed that the pace of new chapters has slowed down recently. Unfortunately, I can't promise that things will improve right away. Unforeseen events have arisen beyond my control, and I'm unsure when everything will settle back to normal. However, I will do my best to release a new chapter every two to three days.

In the meantime, if you're enjoying the story, please consider adding it to your collection and supporting me with Power Stones. Your encouragement means the world to me.