Ruvyn Vel'aeris

The viewing box had settled into uneasy quiet after Raiden's departure. Polite conversation resumed its gentle hum, though tension lurked beneath every exchanged glance and careful word.

I sat with one hand resting on the armrest, the other supporting my chin as I watched the arena below.

"He's more than I expected," I said, eyes following the curved stone walls.

Yrathea remained motionless beside me, her expression carved from marble.

"I like him."

The admission hung in the air between us. I turned, studying her profile. She stared straight ahead, refusing to meet my gaze. Her voice carried neither mockery nor calculation—only the stark honesty she reserved for moments that mattered.

"You like him," I repeated, testing the words.

"Motherhood teaches you to notice things others miss." Her tone carried something I rarely heard from her—vulnerability wrapped in steel. "Ten years since I last saw either of our daughters. Ten years of wondering if they'd forgive me for the choices I made. Yet when they walked into this box tonight..."

She paused, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.

"It wasn't my presence that eased their fears. It was his. He brought Ella back to herself—made her laugh instead of measuring every word for potential offense. Made her remember she's still my daughter, underneath all that careful distance."

"And Illya?"

Yrathea's mouth curved into something that might have been a smile on anyone else. "Illya only bothers teasing people who interest her. Truly interest her. Which should terrify me."

"Should it?"

"I don't want to like him, Ruvyn." She finally turned to face me, and I caught a glimpse of the woman I'd married—brilliant, ruthless, but capable of surprising tenderness. "This arrangement with the Brightmoors was meant to be clean. Strategic. A calculated elevation of our family's position."

Her fingers drummed once against her armrest. "Instead, I find myself questioning whether we need the Brightmoors at all."

I followed her gaze to the empty plate beside her chair. "You did finish every bite of that meal he prepared. Should I be concerned about competition from a younger man with superior culinary skills?"

She gave me a look that could have frozen wine. "If you possessed even half his talent in the kitchen, we'd have five more children by now."

"Perhaps I should request cooking lessons," I said, fighting back amusement.

This time her smile was genuine, if fleeting. The silence that followed felt contemplative rather than strained.

"You said it was irrelevant," I prompted, though we both knew where this led.

"Because he remains unawakened." Her voice regained its characteristic precision. "Eighteen years old and he's yet to cross the threshold. Talent means little in our world when it lacks the foundation of true power."

"My assessment exactly."

"Without Aura backing his instincts, he's simply another promising youth who'll crumble when real Ascendants focus their attention on him." Even as she spoke, I caught the hesitation flickering behind her eyes—the unspoken possibility that hung between us like smoke.

"We could offer him Illya," she continued, voice taking on a calculating edge. "She's clearly drawn to him. If that fails, there's Lydia—twenty-seven and already Blue Rank. Attractive enough, certainly accomplished." She tapped her fingers against the chair. "I've already extended the suggestion regarding Illya, but perhaps you could make a more formal—"

The world folded.

Not a ripple. Not a whisper. A metaphorical shockwave that hit like a storm breaking through sealed gates. The air inhaled wrong, then exhaled in a pressure wave that made chairs creak and shattered a glass down the row.

Pure, raw Aura.

My body stiffened before my mind caught up. Yrathea's fingers tightened on her armrest.

The other guests didn't all react, some blinked, glanced around confused. But those with enough strength, high enough rank, felt it. Their heads snapped toward the source. Postures shifted like soldiers hearing distant war horns.

I felt it. So did Yrathea. Even Illya looked in that direction, while Ella watched her sister with confusion.

This aura was unrefined, wild, violent. My aura sense screamed warnings. Chaotic yet clear. No pattern, no elegance, just raw, unrestrained presence.

Newborn.

"Someone awakened," Yrathea breathed.

"Not just someone." My heart picked up pace. "That's not average."

"It's explosive."

"And close." I gestured to Áine, who was already halfway to me. "Investigate. Discreetly. I want to know who. Now."

She bowed and left. I leaned back, pressure still lingering in my chest like held breath.

Yrathea didn't speak. We both knew—Vaelik was involved somehow.

Chronos Elior

Clunk. Clunk.

The sound of Anchors striking pavement echoed up from the arena floor far below. Even from this height atop the northern rooftop, the metallic impacts carried clearly through the night air.

The final constraints had fallen away.

I rolled the node between my fingers, smooth obsidian surface still radiating warmth from recent use. Such a small thing to carry the weight of mountains. I slipped it back into my coat pocket.

Far below, Raiden had transformed into something magnificent. Where before he'd moved with careful restraint, now he flowed like a river that had finally broken through its dam. Each strike carried lethal precision, each step held perfect balance. The laughter that spilled from him rang across the courtyard like music.

My lips curved upward. Pride, certainly, but also amusement at his obvious surprise. Even now, he couldn't quite believe how effortlessly his body responded.

"Look at him," I murmured to the darkness.

Behind me, a figure hung suspended three feet above the rooftop's edge. He maintained a perfect crouch, arms draped over his knees, head angled to watch the battle below, every muscle locked in the exact position he'd assumed when my power first seized him. Sweat beaded his forehead from the strain of fighting against invisible bonds that might as well have been forged from steel.

His eyes could still move, darting between me and the arena below. His chest rose and fell in the shallow rhythm I permitted. But speech, movement, even the ability to shift his weight, all belonged to me now.

"You feel it building, don't you?" I kept my voice conversational, never taking my eyes off Raiden's magnificent display. "That crushing weight in your chest. The way your thoughts move through honey. The certainty that you exist only because I allow it."

Twenty Ascendants decorated my rooftop like grotesque sculptures. The response team that had rushed here to investigate the disturbance now served as my captive audience.

To my left, a Green Ranked enforcer hung spread-eagle, her sword arm extended toward where I'd been standing when she arrived.

Her fingers remained curled around empty air, the blade having clattered uselessly to the stone when my aura claimed her. Her eyes bulged with the effort of trying to blink, blood vessels threading the whites with crimson.

An arena security chief floated near the center of the roof, his body contorted mid-stride as he'd charged toward the ledge. One foot hovered six inches off the ground, his jacket twisted around his torso from the sudden halt. His mouth hung open around a warning shout that would never emerge.

A veteran suppression warden, Red Ranked, scarred from countless battles, hung inverted like a broken marionette. He'd been leaping between rooftops when my power caught him, freezing him in a diving position with arms outstretched. Tears of frustration leaked from the corners of his eyes as he strained against bonds that had no substance yet proved absolutely unyielding.

Each of them existed in their own private struggle against paralysis, aware of everything yet powerless to affect anything. My aura didn't crush them, that would have been wasteful. Instead, it wove through their bodies with surgical precision, seizing control of every nerve, every muscle fiber, every movement except those I deemed necessary for survival.

"You came here with admirable intentions," I continued, beginning a slow circuit around my collection. "Felt the pulse of raw awakening and rushed to investigate. Commendable instincts, truly."

I paused beside a young woman whose green hair marked her as one of the newer academy graduates. She hung at eye level, suspended by forces she couldn't comprehend, her face frozen in an expression of dawning terror.

"But you're witnessing something beyond your authority to contain." I leaned closer, studying the fear etched in her features. "What unfolds below represents the culmination of years of training and preparation."

The air around us grew heavier as I allowed more of my presence to manifest. Reality seemed to bend inward, creating a zone of absolute control where my authority reigned supreme.

Several of the weaker Ascendants began trembling, or rather, their bodies attempted to tremble but could only manage the slightest vibrations I permitted.

"Do you comprehend what you're experiencing?" My voice dropped to a whisper that somehow reached every frozen ear. "This isn't simple suppression. This is the difference between a student and a master. Between those who follow... and those who lead."

Below us, stone cracked as Raiden's power continued building toward its crescendo.

"He's approaching the threshold now. Can you sense it? The way reality holds its breath around him?" I spread my arms wide, coat billowing in wind that seemed to originate from nowhere. "Four years I've invested in this moment. Four years of careful preparation, of sculpting the perfect circumstances."

My gaze found the Red Ranked warden again. Of all my captives, he alone had the experience to truly comprehend the magnitude of what he witnessed.

"You understand the significance, don't you?" I smiled, and several of the suspended figures actually whimpered the only sound I permitted them. "This isn't merely about raw power. It's about potential becoming reality."

The atmosphere trembled again as Raiden's aura built toward critical mass.

"Consider yourselves honored," I announced, my voice carrying across the rooftop with absolute authority. "You are witnessing the emergence of something extraordinary. The birth of The Apex."

I tucked my hands into my pockets, watching with the satisfied expression of a master craftsman whose years of work were finally bearing fruit.

"And I'll ensure nothing, and no one, interferes with his awakening."

Raiden Alaric

It's here.

It's here.

It's here!

It's here! It's here! It's here!

Finally.

Finally. Finally.

I can feel it.

I can awaken.

Every cell in my body burned with anticipation that had been building for months. The fire behind my eyes threatened to consume everything in its path. I threw my head back and released a sound that came from somewhere deeper than my lungs, raw, breathless laughter that seemed to tear itself free.

I began to speak the words—my revelation—and the air shivered with them.

"Strength is not a destination, but a horizon..."

Each syllable sent tremors through the ground beneath my feet. Dust spiraled upward as if drawn by invisible hands. The silence around me transformed into something alive—pregnant with expectation.

"To truly understand its depths..."

Light began flickering across my skin like captured starfire. My aura trembled at the edges of my consciousness, no longer wild and unfocused but gathering itself for transformation.

"I must forever chase it..."

The air itself seemed to hold its breath.

"...forever challenge the unyielding sky."

I raised my right hand toward the heavens, fingers stretching as if I could grasp the stars themselves and pull them down to earth.

And I declared—no, commanded:

"I chase the unyielding sky."

The moment the words left my mouth, everything broke. Chains shattered. The world twisted at the edges, like my presence had folded the air in on itself. I threw my arms out to my sides as if awaiting the sky's embrace.

My aura surged outward in thick, trembling waves, no longer loose and unrefined like before. It flowed, curved, breathed. It became alive.

A deep hum built from somewhere in my chest, rising through octaves until it resonated like a struck bell.

Then—

BOOM.

From the center of my chest, the aura exploded.

The shockwave hit like a thunderclap, rattling every surface within reach. Tiles cracked under my feet. Walls trembled. Lights flickered violently.

I stood still, at the eye of the storm. And everything around me moved.

My clothes fluttered as if caught in a breeze no one else could feel. My hair rose, swaying gently, like I was standing underwater. Objects nearby shifted, lifted slightly off the ground. Loose pebbles rolled, blades wavered, garments danced in a soft current.

It wasn't just power. It was presence. And for the first time in my life, I wasn't fighting gravity. I was making it move around me.

Before me, my attackers remained frozen with weapons raised and auras flaring. Their fists hammered against empty air. Their feet struck nothing but void. Every desperate blow met the invisible barrier of ambient aura that now radiated from my being like armor forged from will itself.

Chronos had explained this phenomenon: upon awakening, the world itself acknowledges your transformation by creating an impenetrable shield around the ascending soul. No force could reach me until this metamorphosis completed itself.

They could not touch me. They could not even approach me.

And I had never felt more gloriously alive.

Pure aura flowed through every fiber of my existence—no longer an abstract concept or theoretical force, but an extension of my very being. It coursed through my veins like lightning given substance, wild and endless and utterly mine.

This sensation defied comparison to mere adrenaline or excitement. This was evolution itself, the fundamental restructuring of everything I had been into something greater.

The feeling carried hints of familiarity, echoes of that first real fight when discovery and danger had merged into transcendent thrill. But where that had been a spark, this was an inferno that consumed and recreated simultaneously.

Complete control flowed through me like water finding its natural course. I could sense the potential to sculpt air itself, to mold the earth beneath my feet, to bend reality according to my will.

The atmosphere around me crackled and hummed, rising in pitch until it vibrated in harmony with my heartbeat. My aura began its final transformation, shifting from dull pale white through a spectrum of intermediate shades before igniting into brilliant azure blue—pure and radiant and fierce as the sky at its most magnificent.

With my arms stretched wide and my head thrown back in exultation, laughter poured from me again. This time it carried no madness, only the pure joy of absolute freedom. The knowledge that for the first time since childhood, I had broken through to a place where my potential matched my ambition.

They're not stronger than me.

Not anymore.

Not only is power overflowing into me. It's sharpening everything. Every sense. Every breath. With every tick of time.

The world slows, not from any mystical effect, but because my body has finally caught up to something, the world wasn't ready for.

Time itself feels like it's struggling to keep pace with the whirlwind inside me.

I glance at one of my lovely attackers, Lucas, the high elf with the short sword and steady hands. I decided to name him just now, yes. His hands aren't steady anymore. I can see it. Not just the tremble. But the way the individual muscles fire beneath his skin. Micro-movements. Twitch. Release. Tighten. Reset.

I see them all.

I hear the chirp of birds somewhere above the arena, far, far above, but it's no longer just background noise. It's a symphony. Each chirp a distinct note, a different instrument, and in my mind, they paint color. Each pitch drips a different hue across my perception, like a living canvas.

Even the scent of the earth, which I'd long ignored, explodes into a complex world. The bland smell of dirt was now a landscape.

I smell the metallic tang of my own blood from the head wound someone gave me before this awakening.

But underneath it there's more.

The faint sweetness of wildflowers, desperately growing through the cracked pavement at the edge of the arena.

And under that was rain. Not falling yet, but close. The scent is heavy in the air. Damp. Lingering. Carried on the wind like a promise.

And further still was exhaust fumes. Not fresh. Old. Evaporated. But traceable. From a vehicle long gone. A memory of motion, still clinging to the broken stone.

And then, beneath it all, one scent rises strongest:

Fear.

Not mine.

Theirs.

It clings to them. Sours the air like rot under perfume. Their bodies might still be ready to fight, but their instincts?

They know. Even the wind has changed. Every gust feels like a voice whispering across my skin, subtle shifts in temperature, the heat from their bodies carried to me.

I can smell cooking fires from some distant food vendor down the street. And over that, the sharp sting of steel. Sweat. Tension.

I'm drowning in it. Every detail, every signal, every breath and twitch and heartbeat, mine to process.

It's too much. Too fast. Too rich.

The sensory flood threatened to drown me in its intensity. Panic clawed at the edges of my consciousness as information crashed over me in waves too massive to process. But I refused to surrender to the chaos.

This is my world now and I see everything.

It's overwhelming. Every breath, every flicker of movement, every scent is a wave crashing over me, again and again, until I can't tell if I'm breathing or drowning in it. My heart hammers like a war drum. My body shakes with too much energy, too much sensation. Panic flutters, just beneath the surface. A wild, animal instinct that screams you weren't meant for this.

I almost listen, but then I breathe in deep and slow.

And with that breath comes clarity. Nothing about this felt peaceful. The stillness was too exact, like the kind you get right before everything goes sideways. It's like tuning a blurry image into perfect focus, one layer at a time.

I force my thoughts inward, gripping them tight like they're trying to slip free.

I remember, Chronos. His voice. His glare. His brutal, relentless repetition.

"After every advancement," he'd bark, "comes adaptation. And it will be the hardest part. You think getting stronger is a reward? No. It's a test. One you either pass, or choke on."

He told me awakening in battle was reckless.

"You do it, you better be ready to drown in your own mind."

Guess I nailed that part. With my jaw clenched tight, I push back against the noise, willing the flood of sensation to pull away. It's like trying to dam a raging river with my bare hands. But I do it anyway.

Because he taught me how.

I drew breath. Held it. Released it slowly.

Like focusing a blurred lens, the overwhelming cascade of sensation gradually sharpened into clarity. I was not drowning, I was learning to swim in an ocean of possibility.

Following Chronos's teachings, I forced my awareness inward and established boundaries. A ten-foot sphere of perfect perception, beyond which the world faded into manageable background impressions.

Within that sphere, everything became mine to know completely

No more birdsong. No more scraping stone. Just a low, distant thrum, as if something muffled the world. Even the scent of blood, my own, blurs into an echo. The iron edge softens, lost behind the veil.

All that remains now is this space. This clarity.

My battlefield.

The pressure builds. A dull ache blooms behind my eyes like a storm trying to break through my skull. Chronos warned me about this. The edge. The place where control frays. Where the mind either adapts or tears itself apart trying.

But I push through it. Because when the storm inside me starts to narrow, when the sensory flood shrinks into something almost manageable, I don't see an enemy in front of me.

I see them. The ones who disappointed me. Ones who settled. Who said "good enough" and meant it. They stand there like phantoms in the blur, memories sharpened into silhouettes. I see Auren, a training partner from the Skyhaven sect who flinched every time a real fight got close.

Selwyn, the over-hyped heir who talked about discipline and legacy but crumbled under pressure at a fighting tournament.

And most of all I see Herbert. Smiling when he didn't understand. Pretending his mediocrity was a choice. Pretending he was above me. He stands there, imaginary or not, posture lazy, chin tilted slightly like he's about to offer me a deal that I couldn't refuse.

The sight alone sharpens me and it's that image that fuels me. That keeps me grounded.

Then it happens. A subtle pop in my mind, like a bubble finally giving way. The chaos doesn't vanish, it contracts. The world shrinks. The flood of color, sound, smell, it all collapses into a single dull hum, a soft thrum like white noise beneath a ceiling fan.

Everything except Herbert fades into blur. He's the only thing perfectly outlined in the fog. The epicenter in my ten-foot world.

I exhale slowly. It's a gamble. I've sacrificed peripheral awareness for laser-sharp precision, a controlled storm inside the eye of a hurricane.

And for the first time since this all started I don't want to throw up. The overload doesn't drown me anymore. It moves with me. Now I know exactly how far that sensory wall is.

Ten feet.

A perfect sphere of control. I can tell the exact spot where the blur begins, where my awareness ends. Where my mind said, "No more," and my will said, "Good enough."

I can even feel the way the information fades past it. Well shit. I can accurately measure the distance I'm ignoring.

That's cool as fuck.

But it gets better. My attention snaps inward, and the real revelation starts.

The aura inside me isn't formless anymore. It's not wild, not raw, it's structured chaos.

A swirling vortex surging through my core, pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat. Every flow through my arms, every current in my legs, I feel it. Like the circuitry of a living machine finally lighting up.

It guides me.

Sharpens me.

Elevates me.

It was exhilarating, yet terrifying. It was… utterly intoxicating. This wasn't just aura settling. The weight behind my steps, the way my breathing lined up with movement, it all matched. Like my body had finally stopped second-guessing itself.

The ground didn't feel like ground anymore. It felt like feedback. I could feel the tension in the air, the weight behind each step I took.

Everything I looked at started making more sense. The spacing, the movement, even the air felt easier to read.

A faint warmth flickers from the man in front, Herbert. His aura burns orange, a nervous flame barely holding shape.

It's dancing across his skin like a warning.

The others were pale blue, cold and hard. A mix of confusion, calculation, and that tight rage people wear when they don't know if they're losing.

It all wraps around them like smoke. That's Aura. The life force in all things. The emotion in motion.

And for the first time I see it like I see breath in the winter air. A new layer peeled open like the world was hiding it just to see if I'd earn the right to know.

The possibilities are endless, and I'm ready to choke the sky with both hands if I have to.

My gaze settles on one of them, the one who, just moments ago, had a smug little sneer carved into his face like he was proud to be the footnote in someone else's legacy.

Now the only thing left… was fear.

Raw, ugly fear flickers in his eyes as he scrambles at his bind, voice rising in panic.

"Take them off!" he barks, tearing at the bind around his wrist. "Now—remove them! All of you!"

Ah, there it is. I can see it all now.

Every move, every twitch, they paint futures for me. Before, I had to rely on instinct. Education. Inference. A puzzle of momentum and habit.

Now I see it.

The apparitions, faint silhouettes of their potential actions, flash around each person I focus on, with every shift of weight, every breath. Possibilities fracture and reform with every flicker of motion. It's like watching their next move before they even know they'll make it.

None of them are ready for this. Only Nico… he's the wild card. Still unreadable. Still holding back. But the rest are open books I already finished reading. And now that the awakening is complete, I feel it.

My aura no longer bursts uncontrollably outward. It settles, flowing through my core like a smooth current.

Calm.

Guided.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Mine.

The ambient pressure around me begins to fade and with it the barrier. No more untouchable shield. But it doesn't matter. I don't need it anymore.

I lower my arms slowly, eyes locking onto the group of high elves, my fellow Ascendants.

A large grin spreads across my face as one of them takes the bait.

Bold.

Reckless.

Predictable.

He charges the second his bind clatters to the floor.

Yeah he's 100% a Lucas. Hair pulled back into tight braids. Heavy on the arms, light on the feet. No balance. A guy who thinks brute force is a substitute for insight.

He explodes forward, aura flaring, face twisted in something halfway between rage and desperation. I keep my arms wide open, still relaxed, like I'm inviting a hug.

He steps in. His posture shifts. I see it.

A right straight.

Textbook. Overcommitted. Poor angle.

Just for the hell of it? I let him throw it. His fist rockets toward my face, a blur of Aura and intent.

And then, inches away, I tilt my head. Just a little. Just enough. His punch glides past with a whisper of wind, brushing the edge of my cheek.

I smile.

My aura surges through me in perfect rhythm now, no hesitation, no resistance. Every limb feels tuned to the moment.

I let the grin widen and then I make my move.

There's my opening.

Lucas's momentum kept carrying him forward, and I stepped into it.

I slid in, right arm snapping over his shoulder and wrapping around his torso. My fingers found the fabric just between his shoulder blades, gripping hard. I pulled and I spun to the right.

He came with me like a leaf caught in a gust.

The bind he'd just torn off was still cooling on the ground. That meant his aura, like the others', was still recovering, slow, sluggish, like trying to sprint with numb legs.

Chronos drilled this in my head: "Exploit the delay. Reduce their options. Cull their numbers."

So that's exactly what I did.

Don't think I'll hold back just for you.~

As I turned, I caught movement closing in from my right. Another one, taller, arms wide, already stepping into a punch.

Too slow.

He looked like a Rob, but that didn't suit him. No... "Vaenric." Yeah. That fit. Vaenric, the overly eager type.

I used the momentum of my spin to drive my leg out, sharp and low, a rising thrust that cut through the air like a blade. My foot slammed into his chest. I felt his ribs give under the rubber of my shoe, like splintering wood. His whole body folded midair, breath lost before he could even scream.

He crashed backward, right into the third one who had been trailing behind him, trying to flank me.

That one has mismatched eyes while holding an arrogant stance.

Definitely a "Saul" type. It needs some elvish flair though… "Thalrian." Yeah. That was him.

Vaenric's body bowled straight into Thalrian, and the two collapsed in a heap.

Perfect.

I released Lucas mid-spin, his body careening sideways, and he slammed into the stone wall with a meaty crack, crumpling like a tossed ragdoll.

Three down. Four if they stay smart and don't get up. I pushed forward without missing a beat.

The final three remained, Nico, and two more I hadn't yet labeled.

One had silver-blonde hair braided down his back, his aura rippling with a high, unstable frequency. He was watching carefully, trying to find my blind spot.

That one had the look of someone who prided himself on just looking. I'll call him "Weltair."

And the last tight shoulders, constantly shifting. Waiting to run, or to strike, I couldn't tell which. He practically whispered John.

But that wouldn't do. Let's make it Elven: "Jevan."

There we go, Nico, Weltair, and Jevan. I walked toward them, slow and deliberate. Their auras had only recovered halfway, yet Nico was fully capable of using his. He didn't have a bind to begin with.

I could see it.

Each of them surrounded by half-formed bands of color, blue flame mixed with pale gold and fractured tension. They pulsed with uneven rhythm, the signatures of Ascendants trying to force their energy back into a stable state.

Not enough. Not nearly.

And now I understood what Chronos meant when he spoke about aura like a second skin. It wasn't just energy. It was emotion.

Intent.

Vulnerability.

A tell and I could read it. Every flicker. Every weakness. Every chance to end this.

I can't wait to see Chronos' aura.

It's a random thought, ridiculous, considering I'm surrounded by Ascendants in varying states of panic and recovery, but it lodges in my head anyway. If seeing these guys' signatures is this clear... his must look like a god draped in lightning.

I refocus. The first one I reach is Nico. I stop just for a second, feel his gaze. It's measured and ready. I grin, then move past him. I want to save that one.

Save the real fun for last.

Instead, I shift course and dash toward the two lesser distractions, Weltair and Jevan. They flinched the second I passed Nico, clearly startled I'd ignore the strongest in the room.

That's what I wanted.

Weltair and Jevan moved ‌like a synchronized miscalculation. Their fists rose, legs shifted, and Aura flared. Their stances were solid. Execution was clean and disciplined.

I was on a different tempo a different rhythm.

Mine.

Weltair came in high, a spinning hook with his left leg arcing in from the side, sharp, elegant, probably enough to rattle someone less aware.

Jevan dashed in with a low lunge punch aimed at my ribs. Their timing was good. Mine was perfect.

I stepped inward at the moment their arcs overlapped, both attacks meeting in the space I used to occupy. Left arm shot up, forearm catching Weltair's shin just before it connected with my head. Right hand dropped low, palm slapping the inside of Jevan's wrist and redirecting his punch past my torso.

Two blocks all in one motion.

My turn.

Weltair's foot hadn't even hit the ground when I struck. I twisted, sending my left elbow crashing into the inside of his thigh while it was still raised, a fast, brutal shockwave directly to his balance.

His body faltered. I didn't wait.

I launched a heel stomp back into Jevan's advancing leg, catching his knee mid-step, disrupting his charge before it even landed.

Now the space was mine again. I pivoted into it like I was born there. Both hands rose. Jevan brought up a desperate guard, high and tight, but his footwork was trash now. He was trying to plant on a leg I'd just wrecked.

I opened with a jab feint, he flinched.

Poor guy.

I slipped low and to the side, caught his outer elbow with my left hand and yanked it just enough to open him up.

My right hand snapped forward—

Boom.

Straight to the gut. Not a fist. An open palm strike. All power, zero grace. He folded with a noise I don't even have the word for.

Weltair recovered, barely. His leg came down and he rushed, trying to use the forward momentum to close distance. I welcomed it. Switched stance mid-step, shifting my weight to my back foot and bringing my left knee up, pivoting and hit him with a shin sweep from hell.

Right across the front of his thigh, same spot. Exact angle.

CRACK.

I felt it. He screamed as his leg buckled like a snapped branch. His foot dragged behind him now, momentum yanking his body out of its own symmetry. Giving him a cursive leg was the least I could do.

I didn't break stride. I spun on my heel, dropped my center of gravity, and stepped back toward Jevan. The dude was still upright. I could respect it. But I could see it in his eyes. That cartoon panic. That "oh crap he's still coming" look.

He threw his arms up, mimicry of a boxer's guard, fists trembling. It was like watching a toddler reenact a fight scene from a show he shouldn't be watching.

I sighed.

I had genuine pity just for a second. Then I blitzed forward. A blur of pressure and sharp precision.

First strike—

BAM. Forearm slap. Split his guard wide open.

Second—

BOOM. Hook to the ribs. Felt the cartilage buckle under the weight.

Third—

CRACK. Uppercut under the chin. Sharp, surgical. His feet left the ground.

Fourth—

Rising hammerfist straight to the sternum. He flew backward like a bowling pin blasted off its lane, slammed into the wall. Stone cracked. Dust burst in a plume like someone dropped a chalk bomb in a dojo. He was halfway slumped when I closed the distance. I wasn't done. Not even close.

I stepped in, planted my back foot, and unleashed.

THWACK. THWACK. THWACK.

Left-right-left. Each punch sharper than the last.

CRUNCH.

One to the jaw, forcing his head to twist with the sound of something popping.

WHUMP.

Another to the gut. Dust burst around my fist as his back pressed deeper into the crumbling wall.

WHAM. WHAM. WHAM.

A rapid volley, six punches in a single breath, slamming him deeper, until the surrounding wall gave way, forming a rough crater in the stone like someone had pressed a sculpture halfway in.

His aura flickered and twitched. Then died completely, snuffed out like someone blew the last breath out of a candle. The ember is still hot and present, only no flame. His body slumped forward, barely still conscious, only upright because the wall was holding him like a casket.

I stepped back, breath steady, heartbeat calm. I cracked my knuckles with one hand, the other still warm from the last punch.

"...Stay down," I said flatly. "One of you was supposed to say that, yes?"

If he got up after that, I'd actually be impressed.

I exhaled, slow, steady. My aura coiled smoothly under my skin, like a quiet storm just waiting for the next beat to drop.

Then there was a chill. Someone's aura just snapped fully back into place. No, not just aura.

Killing intent!

I turned on instinct, no thought, just motion. Spinning back kick.

Full twist. No hold back.

WHAM.

My heel smashed into a face I recognized mid-spin, Lucas. His head slammed into the wall again, concrete collapsing around it like a cratered moon.

I stood there for a moment, foot still pressed against his cheek. His body was limp as his shortsword slowly slipped from his hand clattering onto the ground. My foot came back, but his head didn't. Just… hung there. Stuck. Like someone glued him in.

I blinked, then chuckled.

"…Such a Looney Tunes way to go out," I muttered, shaking off the dust. "Somebody cue the birds and swirly stars."

Still it is odd. The others that pulled weapons didn't have. Even the slightest amount of killing intent. Perhaps it was just for theatrics? This one actually intended on killing me. Oh well.

I turned to the last man standing. Well, technically two, but the second one was crawling. Dragging a groaning heap of broken ribs and disappointment across the floor like he was escaping a battlefield instead of just a beat down.

Good job, Thalrian. You're a good friend. Really loyal. Be sure to bring some backup when you come back. Maybe a medic… and a priest.

Nico hadn't moved. Just watched me with that same sharp glint in his eye. Now it wasn't amusement. It was recognition.

"You…" he finally said, voice low. "You intentionally passed by me."

I clasped my hands behind my back and started pacing in a slow circle around him, relaxed, casual, like this was just an evening stroll and not a prelude to violence.

"Yep."

"Why?"

"How else would I get a good fight?" I said, tilting my head like the answer was obvious.

His eyes narrowed. "Crazy bastard."

I smiled. "You know, I've been getting that a lot lately. Starting to question it myself."

Steps echoed against fractured stone as Thalrian vanished down a side hall with Vaenric still wheezing like a broken accordion.

I glanced at the exit, then stopped before Nico and gave a half-bow.

"So while your friend gets help... shall we?"

Before Nico could answer, another voice cut through the air: "You're enjoying this far too much."

Herbert. Still lurking at the chaos's edge, trying to wear that composed, superior expression like it wasn't fraying at the seams. I could see the tells now, fingers too tight across his arms, that slight twitch in his cheek every time I moved near Nico.

Fear. Of what I'd become rather than what I'd done.

"You're still here," I said, turning slightly. "Cute."

Herbert's nostrils flared. "Is this what you wanted? To humiliate yourself? To parade around like some savage—"

"You call this humiliation?" I gestured to the carnage around us. "But I'm the one winning here. And you? Standing by while everyone else does the work."

His jaw clenched.

"I've been wondering when you'd speak up. It really has been your show, hasn't it? You're the reason this happened."

Herbert blinked, confused.

"Don't act surprised. You think Ella was the prize?" I laughed softly. "You were. From the beginning."

I turned more fully toward him, letting the weight of every word settle.

"I needed pressure. Real pressure. That warehouse ambush almost worked, almost pushed me to awakening. But Chronos stepped in and ruined my shot. So I had to get creative."

I stepped closer to Nico without breaking eye contact with Herbert.

"I needed someone to blow the fuse. Someone so prideful, so easy to manipulate, that he'd build the perfect stage for me."

Herbert's face twisted as realization hit, something breaking behind his eyes.

"Good boy. You let your pride script this whole thing. All I had to do was flirt a little with your fiancée, make you feel small. Let the rumors do the rest."

"You're afraid now," I continued, watching him crumble. "Good. But I have zero interest in you now."

I turned back to Nico, who hadn't moved throughout the entire exchange.

"Apologies," I said, brushing imaginary dust off my shirt. "Had to clear some emotional clutter."

Nico shifted forward into a stance that made something twist deep in my gut. His feet settled wide, dominant leg positioned behind, center of gravity dropped low. His right hand lifted with palm open, fingers locked with deliberate tension.

Every movement spoke of lethal efficiency. Pure structure built for devastating purpose.

The memory hit like a freight train, from pain rather than footage. A warehouse. Cold floor. The sound of my own legs snapping. That crushing pressure that had cracked more than bones.

Delvan's stance. Identical positioning, identical threat.

Silat.

Every technique in that devastating art was designed to crush space, break rhythm, and punish openings before they existed. Delvan had used it to overwhelm me completely. I remembered trying to adapt, clawing my way toward awakening until the seals yanked me back into weakness.

Back then, I'd barely survived. Now I knew exactly what I was facing.

But this time was different. This time, I had the power to match the technique.

I eased into motion, letting muscle memory guide me as I mirrored his stance. Right hand raised, shoulder angle dropped, balance settling into that same dangerous equilibrium. I remembered the pivots, the weight shifts, the deceptive looseness that hid explosive power.

Something clicked into place.

"This again, huh..." I murmured, feeling the grin form without permission. "Seems we have some unfinished business."

It wasn't Delvan standing across from me, but that fight had never truly ended. The echoes still lived in my bones.

I let the grin stretch wider, the kind that lived somewhere between anticipation and violence.

"Don't disappoint me now."

A flicker of surprise cracked through Nico's composed mask. Brief, but I caught it.

All I needed.

I surged forward, leading with an angled elbow strike aimed down like a blade toward his front knee. He moved with liquid grace, leg snapping up to catch and redirect my strike with expert timing.

But I hadn't committed fully to the elbow. It was a feint with enough weight behind it to sell the deception.

My body twisted with the follow-through, generating torque through my core as my right leg came around in a vicious arc toward his ribs.

He braced with both arms, managing to catch the blow, but I felt the impact ripple through his frame and force him back half a step.

Something made my heart race with excitement as I landed lightly on the balls of my feet. I could see his aura now, beyond the typical glow or flare that most fighters displayed. Slow compression building at his hips. Energy flowing like tethers through his shoulders and knees. Lines of pressure coiled tight as wire within muscle and bone.

He'd been controlling it with surgical precision during our opening exchange. His aura condensed and focused, channeling exactly where needed and nowhere else.

My pulse thundered with recognition and hunger.

I want to learn that.

I shifted my weight slightly, mirroring his stance while letting my own aura curl inward. The moment I attempted the technique, Nico's eyes sharpened with deeper surprise.

He was watching me adapt his methods in real time.

I compressed my aura into my right shoulder the way I'd observed him do. The compression felt awkward at first, but I could sense the potential coiled within it.

I stepped in to test my new technique, a quick jab followed by a probing knee strike. He responded immediately.

Nico's foot slid forward with mechanical efficiency, bringing him into striking range.

Then came his punch. Zero wind-up. Zero telegraph. Zero warning.

A flash of controlled violence as his fist rocketed toward my chest like a bolt shot from a crossbow.

I managed to get both arms into position, snapping them into a cross guard and bracing for impact.

The blow rattled through my entire skeletal structure.

My arms screamed as the force tore through my hastily constructed defense. My aura flared wildly, unrefined and desperate as it fought to contain the devastating impact. My footing slid a full step backward, heels grinding against stone as I struggled to maintain balance.

For a terrifying moment, I thought my forearms might simply snap under the pressure.

Then my smile grew wider than ever before.

Because through the haze of pain and shock, I could see the flow of his technique clearly. His aura funneled with perfect efficiency from his core, traveling up his spine, through his shoulder, and into his fist like a perfectly tuned engine delivering every ounce of available force into one devastating motion.

Elegant in its simplicity. Brutal in its effectiveness. Completely learnable.

My hands trembled slightly as I lowered my guard, but from pure exhilaration rather than fear or pain.

"Heh..." I chuckled under my breath, blood trickling from the corner of my mouth. "Okay, Nico..."

I rolled my shoulders, feeling my aura already pulling back inward and reshaping itself around my joints.

"Show me more."

We traded enhanced strikes for several exchanges, his technique polished and precise, mine crude but rapidly improving. I could feel myself adapting with each clash, stealing fragments of his method and incorporating them into my own chaotic style.

Then he shifted tactics. I came in with a sharp jab followed by a rising elbow strike, but Nico had been studying my patterns.

He blocked my jab, slipped inside my guard, and deflected my elbow with elegant efficiency.

Then his hand shot out like a striking snake, fingers clenching the fabric of my collar with an iron grip.

Before I could break his hold, he twisted at the waist with explosive force and hurled me through the air.

My back slammed into the stone wall with devastating impact. The concrete wall groaned behind me as all the air was driven from my lungs in a single violent exhale. I staggered forward, vision sharpening with pain-fueled adrenaline.

But Nico was already closing the distance.

His first punch missed by millimeters as I managed to dip my head low at the last second. His second strike came immediately after, I twisted my body in a desperate backward lean, feeling the force of his blow slam into the wall beside my head.

CRACK.

Chunks of concrete exploded from the impact site. Dust burst outward in a gray cloud that painted the air with debris.

He'd put enough raw force into solid stone to reduce it to rubble. Twice. And both times, I'd dodged by the narrowest possible margins.

My grin returned, sharper and more feral than before.

The moment Nico's fist embedded itself in the wall, I exploded into motion. My foot launched upward in a rising hook kick aimed at his ribs while he was still recovering his balance.

He spun with fluid grace, catching my leg and redirecting the force, but I used that momentum to drop low and sweep at his feet. He jumped clear, giving me the opening to surge upward with a vertical axe kick.

This time he caught my attack with both arms, grunting under the impact.

I was hitting much harder than before. My awakened strength was still growing, and I was learning to channel it more effectively with each exchange.

We separated, both breathing harder now. I could see something had shifted in Nico's eyes, a flicker of confusion mixed with his cold calculation.

Because I was using his techniques. Absorbing them, twisting them, rebuilding them into something that was recognizably his art, but ‌changed by my own chaotic approach.

Then I noticed something that made my pulse spike with anticipation.

Nico's right foot had slid back almost imperceptibly. His weight was settling differently, more deliberately. His aura was gathering around his back leg, drawing inward with the focused intensity of a coiled spring under maximum tension.

The instant he began to move, the air around us snapped with displaced force.

He launched forward with speed that transcended normal foot-based combat. Sudden, refined, and absolutely clean in its execution. Zero visible buildup, zero telegraphed intention.

The ground beneath his feet trembled from the explosive force of his departure.

One moment he was in position, the next he was directly in front of me with his palm already flying toward my chest with devastating intent.

I managed to catch his strike, but barely. The impact drove me backward with such force that my heel ground deep grooves in the stone beneath my feet.

I exhaled slowly, then smiled with genuine appreciation.

"So that's how you're doing it."

I adjusted my footing carefully, mirroring his stance with deliberate precision. Left foot slightly forward, right foot pulled back and firmly anchored. I drew my aura inward, compressing it into my back leg with the same focused intensity I'd observed in him.

It didn't feel entirely natural yet. My control was still rough around the edges, the technique slightly overcharged compared to his elegant efficiency, but it was close enough to be functional.

My turn to test the technique.

The ground didn't just tremble beneath my feet; it cracked audibly from the explosive force of my departure. Stone fragments scattered as I launched forward in direct response to his demonstration.

My execution lacked his polished control, my aura management was still crude in comparison, but the raw power behind it was devastating.

I reached him faster than he'd anticipated. His stance faltered as my unexpected speed disrupted his defensive positioning. His block came up a fraction too late.

Our forearms crashed together with bone-jarring force, and I saw the shift in his expression, that flicker of genuine surprise as he realized I'd turned his own technique around and used it against him.

"That worked better than I expected," I said, laughing through the adrenaline surge coursing through my system. "Though I might need to work on the subtlety."

I glanced back at the spider web of cracks my launch had left in the stone.

Nico reset his stance with professional efficiency, but sweat was beginning to roll down his jaw. I could tell with absolute certainty that he understood what was happening now.

I was stealing his techniques, learning them, and making them my own in real time.

Then I watched his stance shift, and something ‌different occurred.

A barely perceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth. Then his aura pulled tight around his body and completely vanished from my enhanced perception.

Zero signature. Zero pressure. Zero presence at all.

When he moved again, I could see his physical form but I couldn't feel him anymore. My awakened senses suddenly found nothing to grasp onto.

He struck with devastating speed.

His palm slammed into my shoulder with enough force to stagger my entire frame. A sweeping leg technique followed immediately, connecting with my ribs before I could properly defend.

My enhanced body wasn't reading his movements anymore. Zero tells, zero energy signatures to track.

Raw motion that bypassed all my newly awakened capabilities.

"What the hell..." I muttered, struggling to maintain pace with an opponent I could no longer properly sense.

Is this… his Origin?

He hadn't actually disappeared. Instead, he'd learned to fold his aura so completely that it fell beneath the threshold of detection, even for an awakened fighter like me.

I began fighting on pure reaction, blocking late and defending with instinct rather than conscious awareness. He was winning the tempo again, pressing his advantage ruthlessly.

His fist struck my ribs hard enough to knock most of the wind out of my lungs. Another blow landed at the base of my neck with surgical precision. Then came a devastating knee to my midsection that lifted me slightly off the ground before I crashed back down.

I rolled with the impact and came up spitting blood, but still grinning.

Because something crucial was happening during this apparent beatdown.

With each blow he landed, I could feel his technique more clearly. Through something more fundamental than aura sight, the deep understanding of violence that had been bred into my bones.

And then, like a puzzle piece clicking into place, I saw it.

His leg tensed slightly before he moved. A tiny flex of muscle that had everything to do with biomechanics and nothing to do with aura.

He launched another low kick with his signature invisible approach. This time I met it head-on with my shin, matching force with force.

The impact connected solidly, but I didn't flinch or retreat.

Blood continued to trail down my lip as my grin stretched wider than ever.

"I'm getting it," I whispered, loud enough for him to hear. "Really getting it now."

Another attack came, a blur of motion that my aura sense couldn't track. But I didn't try to block or evade this time.

I turned with it instead of against it, letting his strikes graze rather than land with full force.

I'm reading… intent.

Then I saw it again, clearer this time, more defined.

A transparent echo. A ghostly silhouette of Nico that flickered into existence for just a heartbeat, showing me his intended motion before his body followed through.

My mind had finally caught up to the pattern of his attacks, recognizing the rhythm beneath his technique.

This must be part of my own Origin.

He closed distance again, palm strike aimed with lethal precision at my throat. But I was already turning before the attack fully developed, moving in response to the phantom image rather than his physical form.

I ducked low and slid under the arc of his strike, reading the opening in his defense before it fully materialized.

His shoulder dropped as his guard shifted. Too early, too wide. I twisted into the gap with surgical timing and drove my elbow upward with devastating accuracy.

The blow struck beneath his ribs with a solid crack that echoed through my arm.

Nico's entire body jolted from the impact. He staggered backward several steps, genuine surprise replacing his previous confidence.

"I understand it now," I said, voice barely above a whisper but carrying absolute certainty.

His invisibility technique was pure compression, wrapping his aura so tightly around his limbs that it fell beneath most fighters' ability to perceive.

But I had cracked the code. And now I wanted to try it myself.

I inhaled deeply, focusing my enhanced awareness inward, and began pulling my own aura into a tighter configuration.

The energy fought against this unnatural shaping at first, resisting the strange compression I was attempting to impose. But I forced it into compliance, coiling it around my legs and torso.

The technique was unbalanced and crude compared to his elegant mastery, but I didn't need perfection.

I needed surprise.

Nico's gaze drifted left and right, confusion creasing his features for the first time in our entire engagement. I had vanished from his enhanced senses as completely as he'd disappeared from mine.

I launched forward with explosive force, my dominant leg driving off the cracked stone with tremendous power.

The surface beneath my foot fractured completely as I shot toward him like a missile. My shoulder collided with his chest before he could react, lifting his entire body clean off the ground.

I twisted in mid-motion, redirecting his upward momentum, and hurled him skyward with every ounce of awakened strength I possessed.

His limbs flailed as he spun uncontrolled through the air, climbing higher above the courtyard.

While he was still ascending, I took off.

Two bounding steps brought me to the base of the nearest wall. My feet struck the vertical stone surface without hesitation, enhanced muscles and reinforced tendons easily supporting what should have been impossible.

I pushed off with maximum force, my launch creating a spider web of cracks in the ancient stonework.

I shot upward like an arrow released from a drawn bow, my body twisting into a tight spiral as momentum carried me higher.

Far below, Nico had reached the peak of his arc and begun falling back toward earth. He was completely weightless, tumbling in slow descent with his chest exposed.

I adjusted my trajectory in midair, spine arching as I positioned myself directly above his descending form.

My aura coiled around my leg like a blade wrapped in hurricane wind, trailing visible distortions through the air.

I angled my heel downward with mechanical precision and let gravity become my weapon.

When we met in midair, the collision was absolute.

My heel slammed into his chest with the full velocity of my fall concentrated into a single devastating point of impact. The shock wave of transferred energy raced through his entire frame.

His body was driven earthward with catastrophic momentum.

He struck the courtyard floor like a comet impact. The stone shattered beneath him, fractures radiating outward in a massive starburst pattern that sent debris and dust flying in all directions.

The sound echoed off the surrounding walls like thunder, followed by the musical chiming of falling stone fragments.

I landed moments later with purpose and satisfaction.

One foot touched down on fractured stone, then the other. I straightened slowly, rolling my shoulders as my chest rose and fell with controlled breathing.

Blood still stained my teeth and various cuts decorated my skin, but my aura flowed through my core like a calm river, guided and completely under my control.

Nico twitched once in the crater I'd created. His aura sputtered like dying embers. I looked down at him, and the ghostly apparitions that had flickered around him throughout our fight finally faded completely.

He couldn't continue. The fight was over.

I had seen his rhythm, understood his flow, and reshaped it into something entirely mine.

I stood over him, body battered and bloodied, but filled with a satisfaction that went deeper than simple victory.

For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, I had faced an opponent who could match my hunger for combat and push me to evolve in real time.

My hands unclenched. My aura, still wild, still raw, whipped around me like an untamed storm. But I wasn't afraid of it. I didn't need to control it yet. Not now. I could just let it be. For this moment, I didn't need to prove anything to anyone.

Not to Chronos. Not to Ella. Not to the Brightmoors. Not to my past self. I had made it. I had clawed my way into a world that was never meant to be mine.

Now it was, it was mine.

I turned my head slightly, casting one final glance at Nico, still groaning in the crater.

"You're not bad," I said, voice low and steady. "But I needed this more than you did."

With that, I took a step forward. And another. The dust swirled around my legs, pulled along by the low hum of aura still radiating from my core. Every footfall was heavier than it had been an hour ago, but it felt easier.

I wasn't walking away as the same person who started this fight. That person had been chasing the horizon. Now, I had caught it, and I was ready to chase it all over again.

I looked around and see that our little friend who ran off isn't planning on returning with back up.

That's a shame…

I walked past Nico. He wasn't getting up anytime soon so he was done. The fight was over. I got what I wanted. Then there he was, the man of the hour, Herbert.

Still standing there at the edge of the chaos, jaw slack like he'd swallowed the wrong ending. He looked like he was about to speak. To reclaim control. To make it mean something.

I didn't give him the chance. My eyes didn't meet his. Maintained pace. A breath never even neared him. He didn't move. Not because he couldn't. He just didn't know what to do now. He'd lost control, not just of the room, or the situation. Of me.

I passed him like he was a cracked tile on the floor. Not worth stepping over, just part of the scenery. I was done with him. He had served his purpose.

But just before the hallway swallowed me whole, I stopped and turned.

He blinked, like he was waking up from a dream that had gone sideways. Maybe thought he was about to get the last word.

"Actually…" I turned fully to face him. Gave him the first real look I'd spared him all night.

"I mean this," I said, placing a hand lightly over my chest. "From the bottom of my heart, thank you, Vaelik."

His brow creased. "W—what?"

I stepped closer, just enough to let him feel the shift in air pressure. My aura hummed beneath my skin like a lit fuse waiting for breath.

"All this time, I've been searching for a trigger. A real one. Something that would push me past the edge. I've been struggling to Awaken you see."

I gestured casually to the ruin behind me. The fallen bodies. The fractured stone. The still-humming fire in my limbs.

"And you… You were perfect. Arrogant. Petty. Predictable. You applied just the right amount of pressure."

His face twisted. "Y—you're a fucking psychopath."

"Maybe," I said with a smirk. "But I'm Awakened now. So if I'm crazy, I'd call it a worthwhile trade."

I turned again. Walked toward the hallway, body aching, blood drying on my skin.

All of a sudden I felt it. That flicker of tension. That subtle shift in the air behind me. His aura sparked, weak but present. A tremble of defiance. A pulse of bruised pride.

The sound of his foot scraping against stone as he took a step forward.

There we go.

Before Herbert could even lift his hand, I was already turning. A full pivot that brought me face to face with him in the span of a heartbeat.

He froze mid-motion, arm half-raised, whatever pathetic attack he'd been planning dying on his lips. Because suddenly I was there. Inches from his face. Close enough that he could see every fleck of blood on my skin, every spark of violent anticipation dancing in my eyes.

My grin spread wide and hungry.

"Please," I whispered, voice barely audible but carrying the weight of a promise. "Please give me a reason."

The words dripped with such eager malevolence that Herbert's entire body began to shake. His half-formed attack crumbled as his arm fell limp to his side. The defiance drained from his face like water from a broken cup, replaced by the kind of primal terror that bypassed rational thought.

His aura didn't just falter, it cowered. Like a candle flame trying to hide from a hurricane.

"I'm begging you," I continued, leaning just slightly closer. "Make one move. Give me the excuse I'm dying for."

Herbert's legs gave out. He stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet in his desperate attempt to put distance between us. His back hit the wall with a dull thud, and he pressed against it like he was trying to phase through the stone itself.

I straightened slowly, disappointment bleeding into my expression.

"Tsk." The sound echoed in the sudden silence like a judge's gavel. "And here I thought you might actually have some backbone left."

I shook my head, genuinely let down by his cowardice. After all that posturing, all that arrogance, he couldn't even commit to a single swing when it mattered.

"Pathetic."

I turned my back on him again, this time with the absolute certainty that he wouldn't move. Not now. Not ever. The fight had been completely drained out of him.

Let him remember what it felt like to realize he was prey pretending to be a predator.

I was done with him.

Now I wondered, what kind of looks will I get when everyone sees I awakened.

I can't wait~

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