Gorax the Cleanser tapped his third arm against the backrest of his chair. The integration was going smoothly so far. One of his nightmare candidates had died, which pissed him off. All of his assistants were avoiding him.

Except for Shneevol.

Despite their two species' storied history, which involved Gorax' kind devouring the squishy Ixians in the millions, Shneevol had grown more confident since their first meeting. It was better to work with people who did not cower in your presence.

As though summoned by thoughts of the assistant himself, Shneevol appeared in the doorway, carrying a tablet. He seemed conflicted.

"Is there a problem, Administrative Assistant Shneevol? I'm not in a good mood right now. That stupid fucking pointy-eared bitch died after I used some of my Administrative Rights to give her better rewards. What a waste!" Gorax began ranting before Shneevol could even explain his presence.

"Not a problem, Administrator. It's more like… a wrinkle. I have a solution, but I need your confirmation before putting it into action." Shneevol turned the tablet around while tapping on it a few times. A holographic projection appeared in the air above it, showing a human man.

"It's one of those pink fleshy creatures. What were they called again?"

"Humans."

"Right, humans. Why are you showing me one?" Gorax's tapping against the backrest grew quicker.

Shneevol's gaze flickered to the third arm briefly, its thorax pausing in its rhythmic bobbing for a brief moment. "An anomaly has appeared on Planet 2.48e11E. This man, Ronan Steele."

"Explain." Gorax had no patience for anomalies. Two had already appeared and almost caused him to dip below his main competitor in the rankings for best integration.

"The system originally flagged him as a noteworthy individual during the integration, because his base stats were far too high for the human race's average. However, that alone wasn't enough to gain our interest. Powerful individuals emerge all the time among humans. The damn pink fleshbags breed like ants, so one or two anomalies is standard fare. However, he then went on to obtain a legendary class at level 10, defeat the mini-boss in his sector in a single blow, then take down the sector boss and claim the pillar while reaching levels in the 90s. Currently Ronan Steele has hit level 100 and evolved his legendary class into a mythical one. All of this while completing the normal difficulty tutorial. It doesn't add up." Shneevol had an exasperated expression on his face by the time he finished his explanation. He hated humans; they always caused problems when one of their worlds was integrated.

"What are you going to do about it? I don't believe you would come to me without a solution in mind, Shneevol." Gorax's grip on the armrest of his chair tightened as he glared down at the assistant.

Unlike the first time they'd met, the Ixian did not shrink back from his fierce aura, instead standing tall. "Of course not, Administrator. My proposed solution is to offer three extra incursion slots into his region once the first phase ends in his local area. Assuming he survives his current encounter with the Vatronids.

"Those three incursion slots on top of the pressure from the other pillar claimants will put him under great strain. I also suggest raising the level cap on the incursions in his region to 150. Either he dies, or you will gain a promising candidate for the future, one who has truly been tested and is not a greenhouse flower."

"A solid plan. I have one suggestion. Make the level cap 199 and offer five incursion slots. I don't need half-assed heroes. I want to forge legends the likes of which no other Administrator has done before. If he can't survive the trial, he is no warrior," Gorax replied. His third fist clenched tightly in anticipation.

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He had been observing the nightmare candidates mostly, all of them having completed the tutorial and returned to the world. Most were up to his standards, but a few had grown lazy back on their home planet. This Ronan Steele might be a new opportunity to earn some favour, if he was as strong as his record indicated.

"Yes, Administrator. Excellent suggestions indeed. I will put the plan into action right away." Shneevol bowed and left the room so that he could begin making the necessary adjustments to the first phase of the integration.

Ronan had a wide grin on his face. The huge Vatronid abomination swung two fists at him, one aimed at his head and the other at his chest.

Being four arms at a disadvantage made the fight tough, and he loved it. Whatever strange magic this species used to merge their bodies and grow stronger was far more powerful than simply leveling up.

Every blow that he blocked with his sword knocked him a few steps backwards, arms trembling. He tried to use counter-parry as often as possible, but sometimes his powerful opponent blocked the skill's counter-attack. It was unbelievable, but it only made him throw himself into the battle with redoubled fervour.

That wasn't to say he was losing one-sidedly. Ronan had scored a dozen slashes against the towering Vatronid. They did not bleed, the creature's strange biology still unknown to him, but each strike whittled its health points down, bringing him closer to an opportunity to claim victory.

Ronan saw a gap between two of his enemy's arms. He lunged forward, stabbing into the opening with his shortsword. Right before his blade cut into the grey flesh, an invisible wave of force smashed into it.

He tumbled backwards, only catching his balance thanks to his absurdly high dexterity. The moment he had done so, he found four fists flying at him. He tried to shift his body to one side and parry the nearest punches, when a jolt of electricity arced through the air, striking his chest and momentarily paralysing him.

All four fists crashed into Ronan. He was barely able to activate magic money and tense himself for the impact. Two ribs cracked, his neck spasmed as it resisted being smashed to the side, and his body went flying.

A disc in his spine slipped out of place as Ronan smashed into the stone steps at the base of the rift gate. His head smacked into the stone arch. His vision went dark and he felt warm blood dripping through his hair and down his neck.

Fuck, that hurts. Right now Ronan was feeling the blow—both to his body and his confidence. He wiped the blood from his eyes as his vision returned. Clutching the stone steps for support, he pushed himself upright. The Vatronid had already crossed half the distance between them, gearing up for a second attack.

He was shocked that even with his colossal stats, his foe could still smash him around like a ragdoll. It meant that the multiverse was filled with more varied forms of power than he could have believed. He always felt the system was limiting, and now he had definitive proof.

Then again, their unique class seemed to be a part of the system, so perhaps it was just his humanity holding him back? A dark thought that he didn't wish to embrace right now.

The conjured shortsword he'd been holding had fallen apart as he was struck, his mind focusing on damage reduction rather than holding the skill construct together. A wise choice that he thanked his subconscious for.

Bringing a spear into his hands from his inventory, Ronan lowered his stance. The best way to take down a charging foe was to use its momentum against it. He knew all about momentum, having utilised it himself for long periods of time.

Planting the butt of the spear into the ground, he imagined himself as a towering tree with sturdy roots holding him firmly in position. He would not budge, no matter what powerful force struck him. A storm, a flood, or a charging beast; all would fail to bring him down.

Some of his skills weren't suited to this style of defence, but that was fine. He'd long since activated vital surge, but it wasn't enough.

Arcane piercing strike made the tip of his spear glow with mana, a razor's edge ready to break through the Vatronid's flesh.

Stone grip ensured his hands would keep the shaft steady, no matter how powerful its attack was.

Using calculation in the final moment before the Vatronid struck him, Ronan figured out the only path to victory. He unleashed gust, dust bomb, and ethereal slash. His strategy relied on its momentum to hurt it, but at the speed it was charging he would simply be blown away.

Those three skills slowed it slightly. His enemy's unnerving yellow eyes locked onto him as the Vatronid took its final step into him. It clapped six pairs of hands together, making a sonic boom that threatened to blow him off his feet. Then, the bastard smashed into the tip of his spear.

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