Raiden Alaric

???? (Attempts: 20,114)

???? materialized before me, and I could feel the difference immediately. That single moment of contact, actually landing a hit, had cracked something open in my understanding.

His stance looked identical to the twenty thousand times before, but now I could read the smaller details. The way his weight favored his left foot by maybe ten percent. How his right shoulder sat a fraction higher than his left. The slight forward lean in his posture.

The opening sequence began with his signature three-strike combination. His weight shifted to his back foot, the tell I'd missed twenty thousand times. I leaned back just as his jab snapped forward, the knuckles passing close enough to feel the air displacement across my nose.

The cross came immediately behind it, his hips rotating to put his full body weight into the punch. I could see how he set it up. The way his lead foot pivoted to create the angle. I stepped off the centerline, his fist whistling past my left ear.

The hook followed in the same rhythm, his elbow whipping around in a tight arc aimed at my temple. I slipped inside the punch, letting his forearm pass over my shoulder as I drove my own right hand toward his exposed ribs.

My knuckles connected just below his floating rib. Not hard enough to do real damage, but solid contact that lasted three full heartbeats before his counter sent me into darkness.

Progress.

—

???? (Attempts: 20,127)

I was beginning to understand his rhythm. The opening combination was designed to test range, timing, and defensive instincts all at once. Each punch flowed into the next with mechanical precision.

This time when the hook came around, I caught his wrist with my left hand while driving my right elbow toward his solar plexus. ???? twisted away from the elbow strike, but my grip on his wrist kept him from completely escaping. For half a second, we were locked together in a clinch.

I felt the shift in his weight as he prepared to break the clinch with a knee strike. Instead of trying to hold on, I used his momentum against him. Pulling on his captured wrist while stepping to the side, sending him stumbling forward off-balance.

My left hook caught him on the side of the head as he recovered. The impact sent shock waves up my arm, like punching a steel post wrapped in leather. But he actually took a step to reset his footing.

I made him react to me~

—

???? (Attempts: 20,203)

This striking phase was where everything changed.

???? shifted his stance, dropping lower with his hands positioned in a way I'd never seen before. I could read the setup now. His grip, the angle of his wrists, the way his elbows tucked close to his body before each combination.

The first combination came in rapid succession five strikes that moved faster than I could consciously track. I dropped into a deep crouch. The strikes passing inches over my head. Before he could reset, I shot forward in a double-leg takedown, my shoulder driving into his thighs.

???? sprawled backward, his hands posting on the ground to maintain balance while his knee came up in a defensive strike aimed at my ribs. I rolled left, avoiding the knee as I scrambled back to my feet.

As I came up from the roll, I grabbed his extended leg with both hands and drove my knee toward his thigh. He twisted with the attack, using the momentum to spin into a backfist with his free hand that caught me across the jaw.

Pain burst through my skull, my vision flashing white for a moment. I bit down hard on my tongue from the impact, but I held onto his leg. Still standing. Still fighting.

A thin wisp of gray mist curled from where his knuckles had split my lip, not blood, but something like smoke that dissipated quickly in this realm. I'd never noticed it before since I usually died too fast to see any injuries form.

"Finally!" I spat and grinned at him. "You actually have to work for it now!"

—

???? (Attempts: 20,394)

I was starting to win exchanges.

When he threw the jab-cross-hook combination, I slipped the jab, caught the cross on my right forearm, and ducked under the hook to drive an uppercut toward his chin. My knuckles grazed his head as he leaned back.

His counter was a straight kick aimed at my midsection. I caught his ankle with both hands and twisted, forcing him to hop on his standing leg. While he was off balance, I drove my shoulder into his hip, sending him tumbling backward.

He rolled with the fall, coming up in a combat crouch. For the first time since this all began, I was the one applying pressure.

I pressed forward with a combination, jab to set up distance, cross to the body, then a hook aimed at his temple as he bent to protect his ribs. The hook connected, snapping his head to the side.

Real contact. Real damage.

My laughter was pure music as electricity shot through my system.

—

???? (Attempts: 20,681)

The grappling exchanges became puzzles of leverage and timing.

When ???? shifted into advanced grappling positions. His left hand reaching for my throat while simultaneously attempting to hook my ankle with his foot. I had learned to read his attack patterns. The throat grab came first, telegraphed by a subtle shift in his weight. I ducked under it while catching his wrist and using it as an anchor to step away from his ankle hook.

The momentum carried me into a spinning back elbow that caught him in the ribs. The impact felt like hitting a heavy bag, solid and satisfying.

He immediately transitioned to more complex grappling combinations, attempting to control multiple points simultaneously through rapid transitions. Each position was designed to cut off my escape routes from the previous attacks.

I flowed between his attempts using every grappling art I'd absorbed. An Aikido blend to redirect his arm while avoiding his leg sweep. A wrestling sprawl to avoid his takedown while setting up my own counter. Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu guard work when I ended up on my back, turning a disadvantageous position into an attack.

When I finally slipped an arm around his neck in a rear naked choke, he actually went still for three seconds before breaking the hold with a technical escape I'd never seen before.

But those three seconds were enough. I'd controlled him. Actually controlled something that had been untouchable for twenty thousand attempts.

—

???? (Attempts: 20,999)

The next exchange began with ???? throwing a feint. A jab that pulled short to mask the real attack, a looping overhand right that came down like a sledgehammer. I saw through the setup and leaned back just enough to let the overhand graze my forehead while driving my own right hand up in a tight uppercut.

My fist connected with his head at the exact moment his punch passed over my head. The timing was precise. His head was already moving backward from the overhand's momentum, which amplified the impact of my uppercut.

His head snapped back, and for a moment I thought I'd actually hurt him. But he flowed with the motion, turning the backward momentum into a spinning backfist that came around like a whip.

I ducked under the backfist and grabbed his extended arm, using his own spin to throw him in a clean Judo hip toss. He hit the ground hard but rolled immediately, sweeping my legs as he came up.

I jumped over the sweep and landed in a crouch, driving a straight punch toward his solar plexus as he rose. He caught my wrist and pulled me into a clinch, his knee driving toward my ribs.

I turned my hip to take the knee on my thigh while driving my own knee toward his liver. He shifted to block with his elbow, which opened up his head. My headbutt caught him directly in the center of his skull.

The impact sent shock waves through my skull, stars bursting across my vision. I felt the satisfying impact against his head.

We separated, both breathing hard, both grinning.

This is it. This is what I've been craving.

—

???? (Attempts: 21,156)

The fight that followed lasted seventeen minutes and thirty-four seconds.

We opened with a fierce exchange in the pocket. Tight hooks and uppercuts thrown at close range where defense was nearly impossible. His left hook crashed into my ribs, sending sharp pain through my torso while my right uppercut dug into his liver. His right cross caught me hard on the mouth as my left hook rattled his skull.

We broke apart, reset, and immediately crashed back together.

???? shot for a takedown, diving for my legs. I sprawled hard, posting my hands on his shoulders to drive my weight down while threading my right arm under his chin for a guillotine choke.

He stood up in the choke, lifting me clear off the ground. I squeezed harder, my forearm cutting across his throat as he carried me across the space. But he suddenly dropped backward, slamming me into the ground with enough force to break the choke.

Pain shot through my back as I rolled away, but I immediately shot under his guard with a double-leg takedown of my own. This time I got him down, landing in his guard with my hands posted on his chest.

He threw up his legs for an armbar attempt, catching my right arm between his thighs. I rolled with the submission, using the momentum to pass his guard and end up in side control.

From there it became a chess match of position and submission attempts. He tried to buck me off while setting up a kimura on my arm. I dropped my weight to maintain control while working for a neck crank.

We rolled, scrambled, fought for every inch of advantage. Neither of us could hold a dominant position for more than a few seconds before the other would escape or reverse.

When we finally separated and got back to our feet, both of us were breathing hard. Pain radiated from a dozen impact points, but we were both still smiling.

"More," I gasped, working my jaw where his punch had caught me. "Give me more!"

—

???? (Attempts: 21,247)

The final exchange was everything I'd been building toward.

???? came forward with a combination that showcased twenty-one thousand attempts worth of evolution. A jab to establish range, a cross to the body to lower my guard, then a shovel hook to the liver that made me grunt with pain.

But I was ready for the follow-up. As his right hand came back up in a hook aimed at my head, I leaned back just enough to let it pass while driving my own right hand straight down the middle.

My punch split his guard cleanly, catching him square in the head. His head snapped back with satisfying force. But instead of resetting, he used the backward momentum to load up a powerful overhand right.

I saw it coming and knew I couldn't avoid it completely. So I did something crazy instead.

I stepped into the punch.

His knuckles caught me high on the forehead, the hardest part of my skull. Agony shot through my head, but it also took most of the power out of his punch. And stepping forward put me in the right position for my counter.

My left uppercut came up from my shoes, every muscle in my body contributing to the punch. It caught him right under his jaw as he was extended and off-balance from the overhand.

The impact lifted him clear off his feet.

For one moment, I watched his form flicker as consciousness fled him. He was hurt. Actually, seriously hurt.

But as he came back down, his survival instincts kicked in. His right hand shot forward in a desperate counter-punch, aiming to end the fight before I could capitalize.

I tried to lean back, but I was too committed to my own attack. His fist drove forward like a piston, punching straight through my solar plexus with devastating force.

Agony beyond description shot through my chest. I felt ribs crack like dry wood, felt something vital rupture deep inside me. Felt his knuckles punch completely through my torso in this realm of pure sensation.

But I didn't fall.

Wild laughter bubbled up from my ruined chest as I grabbed his extended arm with both hands, my fingers digging into his forearm with desperate strength.

"Not yet," I gasped, pulling myself closer along the length of his arm, driving his fist deeper into my chest cavity. Pain flooded my senses, but my grin only widened as I dragged myself face-to-face with the being that had killed me over twenty-one thousand times.

My voice dropped to a whisper that somehow carried more weight than any shout. "I'm not done with you yet~"

His form flickered, actual uncertainty at my refusal to simply die. His free hand moved toward my throat to finish me, but darkness was already creeping in from the edges of my vision.

I kept laughing until everything went black.

—

???? (Attempts: 21,248)

This time I lasted forty-three seconds before a spinning heel kick caved in my skull.

???? (Attempts: 21,249)

Fifty-seven seconds. A knee to the solar plexus that folded me in half.

???? (Attempts: 21,250)

One minute, twelve seconds. I actually managed to land three solid hits before an uppercut snapped my neck.

???? (Attempts: 21,253)

The deaths blurred together, but each one taught me something new. How he shifted his weight before a takedown. The way his shoulders telegraphed which hand would throw the next punch. The small pauses between his combinations where he read my reactions.

???? (Attempts: 21,350)

I caught his jab with a clean parry, redirected his cross, and slipped under his hook. For eight seconds, I was untouchable. Then he adapted, and darkness claimed me again.

???? (Attempts: 21,467)

This time I lasted nearly four minutes. We traded blow for blow, grappled for position, tested each other's limits. When the end came, it was through a technique so subtle I barely saw it happening.

???? (Attempts: 21,734)

Six minutes and seventeen seconds. I forced him to use techniques I'd never seen before. When I finally fell, mist curled from a dozen impact points across my body.

???? (Attempts: 21,889)

The attempts became a rhythm. Fight, adapt, repeat. Each cycle bringing me closer to something I couldn't quite name but could feel approaching like a tide.

???? (Attempts: 21,912)

I survived his opening combination, countered his weapon phase, and lasted through twelve minutes of grappling. When he finally ended it with a throw that slammed me into the ground, I was laughing even as consciousness faded.

???? (Attempts: 22,000)

???? materialized before me, settling into that familiar stance. But this time, I didn't immediately drop into my fighting position. I stood there for a moment, studying him with new eyes.

I could see it all now. Every subtle tell, every setup, every transition. The entire framework of his incredible skill laid bare before me like a map I'd finally learned to read.

Without a word, I took a single step forward.

His response was immediate, that same opening jab that had killed me instantly for twenty-two thousand attempts. Lightning fast, precisely timed, aimed with surgical precision at the exact spot where my head would be.

My hand moved without conscious thought.

My fingers closed around his fist, stopping the punch cold just inches from my face. The impact sent vibrations up my arm, but I held firm. His knuckles sat motionless in my grip, contained and controlled.

For the first time in twenty-two thousand attempts, the strike that had always meant instant death was nothing more than an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.

I smiled.

"I understand it now."

????'s form shifted slightly, hesitation maybe, or something close to it. His free hand moved toward me, but I was already in motion.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

I twisted his captured fist, using the leverage to spin him into a hip throw that sent him crashing to the ground. Before he could recover, I was on him, driving a knee toward his ribs as he rolled.

He caught my leg and used it to sweep me, but I'd anticipated the counter. I rolled with the momentum, coming up behind him as he rose. My elbow strike caught him between the shoulder blades, sending him stumbling forward.

For the first time in twenty-two thousand attempts, I was dictating the pace.

???? spun to face me, and I could see him processing what had just happened. His stance shifted, becoming more aggressive, more focused. He was taking me seriously now.

The exchange that followed was everything I'd been building toward. We moved like dancers who'd rehearsed this routine twenty-two thousand times. His attacks flowing into my defenses, my counters setting up his responses.

But now I could see the framework beneath it all. When he threw a combination, I read not just the individual strikes but the entire sequence he was building toward. When he feinted with his jab, I saw through to the real attack hidden behind it.

I slipped his cross and drove my own straight punch toward his solar plexus. He tried to deflect, but my timing was precise. The blow landed clean, doubling him over.

My follow-up was immediate. A knee strike aimed at his lowered head. But he wasn't where I expected him to be. He'd flowed with my punch, turning the impact into momentum for a spinning backfist that caught me across the temple.

Stars burst across my vision, but I rolled with the strike, using the rotation to throw an elbow that grazed his ribs. We separated, reset, and immediately crashed back together.

For eight minutes, we fought at a level that redefined everything I thought I knew about combat. I landed strikes that would have been impossible weeks ago. Defended against combinations that had killed me thousands of times. Forced him to use techniques I'd never seen before.

But as the fight continued, I began to notice something troubling.

My attacks were becoming predictable. When I threw my favorite combination---jab, cross, hook---I was telegraphing the sequence. My defensive patterns had become habits that could be exploited.

I was winning exchanges, but I was also hitting the same walls over and over.

When I caught his kick and went for the same hip throw I'd used at the beginning, the technique felt stale, repetitive.

When his next combination came, a feint into an overhand right, I read it perfectly. I could have slipped the punch, countered with an uppercut, maybe even ended it.

Instead, I stepped directly into the path of his fist.

His knuckles crashed into my temple with crushing force, and the world burst into stars and darkness.

—

???? (Attempts: 22,001)

I materialized in front of him, but this time I didn't immediately fall into a fighting stance. Something had changed during that last exchange. Not just in my understanding of combat, but in my relationship with this impossible opponent.

He had been teaching me. For twenty-two thousand attempts, he had been pushing me, testing me, showing me new levels of skill with each death. Combat had become education.

I stepped forward and pressed my right fist into my left palm, bowing deeply.

"Proelium," I said quietly.

For a moment, ???? stood motionless. Then, to my surprise, he pressed his own fists together and returned the bow.

He said nothing, but somehow that silence carried more weight than any words could have.

We straightened simultaneously, and without a word, dropped into identical fighting stances. Left foot forward, weight balanced on the balls of our feet, hands raised in mirror images of each other. The stance I'd developed through twenty-two thousand deaths, refined and polished, and somehow, he knew it as well as I did.

For one heartbeat, we stood completely still.

We burst forward.

The clash was instantaneous, inevitable. Our fists met in the exact center of the space between us, knuckle against knuckle, the impact reverberating through my arm.

We pushed against each other for a split second, testing strength and balance, then simultaneously broke apart and reset.

???? threw the first real strike. A straight right aimed at my sternum. I rotated my torso clockwise, letting the punch graze my ribs while my own left hand shot forward in a palm strike toward his head. He tilted his head back just enough to let my hand pass beneath him, then drove his knee toward my exposed ribs.

I dropped my elbow to intercept the knee, the impact jarring up my arm, while my right hand came around in a tight hook aimed at his temple. He ducked under it and swept his leg toward my standing foot. I lifted my foot just as his shin passed beneath it, then brought my heel down toward his extended thigh.

He rolled backward out of range, coming up in a crouch as I pursued. My overhead punch aimed at his head met his crossed forearms, but I didn't stop there. I twisted my trapped fist into a corkscrew motion, boring through his guard to catch him on the forehead with my knuckles.

His head snapped back, but he used the momentum to launch himself upward, his rising uppercut aimed at my chin. I leaned back, feeling his knuckles brush my jaw, while my own hand shot down to grab his extended wrist.

Got it.

I yanked him forward off-balance while driving my knee toward his solar plexus. But ???? planted his free hand on my thigh and vaulted over my knee strike, his foot lashing out to catch me across the side of the head.

Pain burst through my skull as his heel connected, sending me staggering sideways. Gray mist curled from where his foot had struck, but I stayed conscious, stayed standing.

I turned my stagger into a spinning backfist that came around like a whip. ???? leaned back to avoid it, but I was already following up. My spinning momentum carried me into a technique I'd developed by merging the flowing movements of several different forms. A continuous rotation that turned defense into offense without pause.

My elbow came around as the backfist missed, catching him in the ribs. He grunted and grabbed my arm, trying to use my momentum against me, but I'd anticipated it. I let him pull me forward while driving my opposite shoulder into his chest.

We crashed to the ground together, immediately scrambling for position. ???? tried to wrap his arm around my neck from behind, but I tucked my chin and rolled, ending up on top with my knees pinning his shoulders.

He bucked hard, nearly throwing me off, then managed to get his legs up and around my waist. Before he could lock in the body triangle, I posted my hands on his chest and drove my weight down while twisting to escape his legs.

We rolled across the ground, each of us fighting for the dominant position. Neither could hold an advantage for more than a few seconds before the other would escape or reverse.

Finally, we separated and got back to our feet, both breathing hard.

???? immediately pressed forward with a combination that showcased his immense skill. Jab, cross, hook, each punch flowing into the next with precise timing. I wove between them, my head movement creating a pattern that took me just outside the range of each strike.

But he continued his attack. The fourth punch was a shovel hook to my liver that I barely blocked with my elbow. The impact sent pain shooting through my torso, but I absorbed it and fired back with my own combination.

I'd developed this sequence by combining elements from multiple disciplines. A series of strikes that could be thrown from unconventional angles while maintaining balance. My first punch came from below, angled upward to slip past conventional defenses. ???? managed to deflect it, but the deflection put his guard out of position for my second strike.

My elbow came across horizontally, catching him on the side of the head. He rolled with the impact, but I was already moving into the third part of the sequence. A knee strike that targeted the space where his movement would take him.

He saw it coming and managed to get his hands down to block, but the force of the impact lifted him off his feet. Before he could land, I grabbed his shoulders and drove another knee toward his midsection.

This one connected clean. ???? doubled over, gray mist curling from the impact point, but he immediately wrapped his arms around my leg and drove his shoulder into my hip.

The takedown sent us both crashing to the ground again, but this time I managed to land on top. I immediately went to work, trying to advance my position while he fought to escape or submit me.

For three minutes, we grappled with intensity that made the air itself seem to vibrate. Every grip, every transition, every attempt at a submission was met with a counter. We were so evenly matched that neither could gain a decisive advantage.

When we finally broke apart and stood up again, we were both marked with the gray mist of impacts. My ribs ached from his strikes, my head throbbed from his kicks, but I was still conscious.

????'s stance shifted, becoming more aggressive. He came forward with a flurry of strikes that pushed my defensive abilities to their absolute limit. Punches, elbows, knees, kicks, all thrown with incredible speed and precision.

I defended with everything I'd absorbed over twenty-two thousand attempts, but it wasn't enough to completely avoid damage. His punches slipped through my guard to tag my body. His kicks found openings in my defense to strike my legs and ribs.

But I didn't fall. I absorbed the punishment and kept fighting, kept adapting, kept looking for my own openings.

When I finally found one, a gap in his defense that lasted barely a heartbeat. I struck with a technique born from desperate innovation. A strike that combined the precision of a blade with the power of a hammer, targeting the exact point where his defense created its own vulnerability.

My fist drove through the opening and connected with his solar plexus. The impact folded him in half, gray mist rising from the point of contact. But instead of pressing my advantage, I stepped back.

???? straightened slowly, his form flickering slightly. For the first time since this all began, I had genuinely hurt him. Really hurt him.

We stood there for a moment, both breathing hard, both marked with the evidence of our exchange. The silence stretched between us, heavy with mutual recognition of what had just occurred.

Then ???? did something I'd never seen before. He nodded once, a small, barely perceptible acknowledgment that carried more weight than any words could have.

I couldn't help it. Laughter bubbled up from my chest, pure joy. This was everything I'd been seeking. An opponent who could push me to my absolute limits without killing me instantly.

"Again," I said, grinning as I dropped back into my stance.

???? mirrored my movement, and we launched into another exchange.

This time I fought with pure enjoyment, exploring every technique I'd developed. When his counter caught me across the ribs, I laughed and spun the impact into a new attack. When his kick swept my legs, I used the fall to launch myself at him from an unexpected angle.

The exchange stretched on, both of us pushing harder than before. Gray mist began to curl from multiple impact points across my body. My jaw where his hook had landed; my shoulder where his elbow had struck; my thigh where his knee had connected. My vision blurred from the accumulating damage, but I kept fighting.

???? was marked too, wisps of mist rising from half a dozen places where my strikes had found their mark. But as the fight continued, I began to notice something changing.

My combinations were landing more frequently. His blocks were arriving a fraction of a second later than before. When I threw a feint followed by a real attack, he was falling for the setup more often.

During one exchange, I caught his jab with a clean parry, redirected his cross with my forearm, and drove my elbow into his ribs before he could reset his guard. The impact sent him stumbling backward, more mist rising from the point of contact.

I pressed my advantage, moving with footwork that had evolved beyond anything I'd used before. My steps came in rapid bursts, aura channeling into my legs to create quick directional changes that left faint afterimages trailing behind me. I'd unconsciously absorbed the technique from watching his fluid movements, but now it felt natural, instinctive.

My left hook caught him on the temple as he tried to recover his balance. My right uppercut found the gap in his defense as he reeled from the first strike. As he doubled over from the uppercut, my knee drove into his solar plexus.

For the first time in twenty-two thousand attempts, I was winning a sustained exchange. Landing individual hits while dominating the flow of combat.

???? tried to counter, launching a desperate combination that showcased his speed. But I was reading his infinitesimal movements. The subtle shoulder twitch before his jab, the hip rotation that telegraphed his cross. I slipped his haymaker and drove my fist into his ribs. I ducked under his follow-up elbow and caught him with an uppercut that snapped his head back.

Gray mist was pouring from my own wounds, my body a map of accumulated damage, but I felt stronger than ever. Each hit I'd taken had taught me something new about absorbing impact, about fighting through pain, about finding strength in adversity.

???? reset his stance, preparing for another assault. But I could see the fatigue in his movements now, the slight delay in his reactions. This was my moment.

I burst forward with the enhanced footwork, channeling aura into my legs for rapid bursts that left afterimages trailing behind me as I closed the distance. My first strike, a jab enhanced with high-frequency aura vibration, slipped past his guard to catch him on the head. Before he could counter, I was already moving, aura flowing into my legs to carry me to a new angle.

My left hook crashed into his ribs, aura compressed around my knuckles to amplify the impact. My right uppercut, reinforced with aura, snapped his head back. Enhanced with dense aura, my knee drove into his solar plexus as he tried to reset. Each strike flowed into the next with relentless precision, twenty-two thousand deaths worth of accumulated knowledge guiding every movement.

???? tried to mount a defense, but I was overwhelming him completely. Every counter he attempted, I read before it fully formed. Every defensive position he took, I had already seen the openings. My strikes came from angles he couldn't predict, enhanced by aura techniques I'd stolen from his own arsenal.

I drove an elbow into his temple, aura reinforcing the strike to increase the force, sending him staggering. His head, ribs, and solar plexus absorbed the force of my three rapid aura-enhanced punches, delivered in a blur. Gray mist burst from each impact point as his form flickered under the assault.

For thirty seconds, I was unstoppable. Every technique I'd absorbed, every lesson learned through death and resurrection, all channeled into a display of combat mastery that left ???? reeling. My aura enhanced every aspect of my assault. He couldn't keep up anymore. Couldn't adapt fast enough to counter the evolution I'd undergone.

Then I saw his opening.

His desperation had created a gap in his defense. A wild haymaker thrown with everything he had left, aimed at taking my head off. I could have dodged it easily, slipped under it and continued my assault.

Instead, I abandoned my own attack mid-swing.

Time seemed to slow as I pulled back my right fist, every muscle in my body coiling like a spring. I drew my aura inward, compressing it around my fist until the pressure felt immense. Twenty-two thousand attempts. Twenty-two thousand deaths. Twenty-two thousand lessons carved into my soul through pain and perseverance.

All of it led to this moment.

A roar tore from my throat as I drove my fist forward with every ounce of strength I possessed, my compressed aura releasing outward at the moment of impact. The sound echoed through the aether realm, raw and primal, the culmination of everything I'd become.

My knuckles drove straight through the center of his guard, bypassing his desperate strike entirely. I felt his form part around my fist as my hand punched completely through his chest, the concentrated aura tearing through him and emerging from his back.

The impact reverberated through my entire body. I stayed there, frozen in place, my fist buried to the wrist in his torso. My chest heaved as I breathed heavily, the aura around my hand slowly dissipating.

A smile spread across my face, not manic or desperate, but genuine. Complete.

I had done it.

Then I looked up.

???? stood motionless, my fist piercing through his center. Where his face should have been, dark smoke writhed and shifted, but somehow I could sense something emanating from him. Not pain or surprise, but what felt almost like... satisfaction.

He didn't speak. Didn't move. Just stood there with that writhing darkness where his head should be, radiating a presence I couldn't quite understand.

Then, slowly, his form began to fade.

Starting from the edges, his body dissolved into wisps of gray mist that curled away into nothingness. My hand passed through empty air as he evaporated around my fist. Within moments, there was nothing left but the echo of his presence and the memory of that final, knowing stare.

Seraphina

I knelt in front of Raiden, my position unchanged from when I'd first settled here to wait for his return. The meditation chamber had grown quiet around us, filled only with the soft hum of climate control and the distant sounds of the city beyond the estate's walls.

It had been three days. Nearly four now.

Three days of maintaining this vigil, of watching him sit in stillness while whatever consumed him in his aether realm pushed his abilities to new heights. Three days of coordinating shifts among the maids, ensuring someone was always present to monitor his condition.

This is pushing dangerous territory for a Green Rank.

I understood the mechanics well enough. Once someone awakened and had aura flowing through their channels, the energy could sustain basic bodily functions for extended periods. Food and water became less immediate necessities when aura supplemented the body's natural processes. But there were limits, hard limits that even enhanced physiology couldn't ignore forever.

Green Ranks like Raiden hadn't undergone the fundamental physical evolution that came with reaching Blue Rank. His body was still essentially human, just enhanced. Aura could postpone the need for sustenance, but it couldn't replace it indefinitely. After three days without food or water, even with aura circulation maintaining his vital functions, dehydration and malnutrition would begin setting in soon.

That's why Dr. Hartwell had been checking on him every two hours, monitoring his pulse, breathing, and the subtle signs of physical decline that even aura enhancement couldn't mask. Her last assessment an hour ago had shown concerning trends. Slightly elevated heart rate, the beginning of what might be dehydration stress.

Chronos sat cross-legged near the far wall, his back straight and his breathing steady. He'd been sitting there meditating himself, not moving an inch since he arrived. His presence was both reassuring and unsettling. Reassuring because he clearly wasn't concerned about Raiden's condition, unsettling because his calm suggested he knew something the rest of us didn't.

But even he has limits. He'll have to intervene soon if Raiden doesn't surface on his own.

I glanced around the chamber, taking in the other figures scattered throughout the space. Elena sat near the door, exhaustion evident in every line of her posture after days of worry. Lyralei occupied her usual chair by the window, her tablet long since forgotten as she watched Raiden with the same concern we all shared.

Celia had claimed a spot on the floor near Elena, her typically unflappable composure showing real cracks after three days of uncertainty. Marina leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, her blunt demeanor softened by genuine worry. Dr. Hartwell maintained her position where she could quickly assess Raiden's condition, her medical bag within easy reach.

The other maids rotated through in shifts, Sarah, Tessa, Vera, Naia, Kira, and Zara among them. None of us wanted to leave him alone, not when he'd been under for this long and approaching the limits of what his rank could safely sustain.

Raiden remained still in his meditation posture, the training node resting peacefully in his hands. But his aura had been evolving constantly over these three days. More intense. More refined. Denser.

I found myself studying his face for any sign of change, any indication that he might be preparing to surface. His expressions had been shifting throughout the days, slight movements that suggested intense focus, frustration, breakthrough, and what increasingly looked like... satisfaction?

What could you possibly be facing in there that's worth pushing your body to these limits?

A soft chuckle broke the silence.

I turned to see Chronos rising from his position against the wall, a knowing smile playing across his features as he walked toward us. His casual amusement was at odds with the tension that had been building in the chamber. We'd all been on edge for hours.

"What---" I started, confusion clear in my voice.

Before I could finish the question, Raiden's aura flared outward.

The wave of energy was powerful and intense. Dense and controlled, refined in a way that made my Violet Rank power take serious notice. The pressure pressed against everything in the chamber, and I felt several of the maids gasp behind me.

Raiden's eyes snapped open.

"Water," Celia said quickly, moving forward with a glass she'd prepared for this moment. "You need water right now."

"And food," Elena added, lifting a covered tray from nearby. The smell of carefully prepared broth wafted from beneath the cloth. Easily digestible foods waited underneath. "I've had this ready for hours. Light foods to start---your stomach will need time to adjust."

"Let me check your pulse first," Dr. Hartwell said, her medical bag open as she knelt beside him.

Within seconds, Raiden was surrounded by concerned maids. All of them tried to tend to him at once. Marina procured a damp cloth for his forehead. Lyralei adjusted pillows behind him. Sarah muttered about getting him more substantial nutrition from the kitchen once his stomach could handle it.

The care was instinctive. Completely overwhelming for someone who had just emerged from three days of intensive meditation.

Through all the fussing, I heard Raiden start to chuckle. The sound was hoarse from days without speaking, but unmistakably amused. He looked down at the training node still resting in his hands, then tossed it gently toward me.

I caught it reflexively, confusion clear on my face as I stared at the small device. Why was he giving it back? He'd never voluntarily surrendered the node before, not even when our agreements specified he should.

He turned his head toward me, his eyes finding mine across the small crowd of worried maids.

My heart was still racing with concern. Three days. Three days of watching him push his body to its limits, of coordinating medical checks, of wondering if we'd have to force him out of meditation to save his health.

"I broke the deal, huh?" he said, his voice rough but carrying that familiar hint of sheepish humor.

Despite everything... the worry, the exhaustion, the relief, I found myself laughing. The sound bubbled up from my chest, releasing three days worth of tension in a single moment. Here he was, barely conscious after nearly four days of intensive training, surrounded by maids trying to force-feed him and check his vital signs, and his first concern was acknowledging that he'd violated our agreement.

"Just a little," I managed between laughs, shaking my head at his priorities.

—

An hour later, we were in Raiden's bedroom, watching as he sat on the edge of his bed looking more like himself again. Dr. Hartwell's examination had pronounced him dehydrated but stable, and Elena's carefully portioned meal had brought some color back to his face. The room felt peaceful after the intensity of the meditation chamber.

Chronos leaned against the wall by the door, his arms crossed and a familiar knowing smile playing across his features. I occupied the chair near the window, still processing the relief of having Raiden conscious and speaking again.

"So," Chronos said, breaking the comfortable silence. "How was it?"

Raiden's face lit up with an enthusiasm I hadn't seen in weeks. "Amazing. Absolutely outstanding." The words tumbled out in a rush, impossible to contain. "The training modules were tremendously comprehensive. Combat Techniques, Aura Manipulation, Defensive Arts, Movement and Positioning, each one had hundreds of different styles and methods."

He paused, his expression shifting slightly. "Though I did notice something. All the techniques seemed to be focused solely on Earth-based martial arts and aura techniques. Everything was designed around human physiology and Earth combat traditions. Nothing from other realms or non-human fighting styles."

Chronos nodded approvingly. "Very observant. That node was designed specifically for humans on Earth, with Green Rank capabilities taken into account. If a Blue Rank had used it, they would have blown through the entire curriculum in a matter of hours. Child's play, really."

"That makes sense," Raiden said, seeming satisfied with the explanation. "The difficulty scaling felt right for my level. Challenging but not impossible." His excitement returned. "I managed to achieve 100% mastery in all four modules I attempted."

His enthusiasm dimmed slightly as his eyes found mine. "But I'm sorry, Seraphina. Really sorry. I know I broke our deal, and I know how worried you must have been."

I studied his face, seeing genuine remorse alongside the lingering excitement. The apology was heartfelt, but I could also see that whatever he'd experienced had been worth it to him. That intensity, that satisfaction I'd observed during his meditation, it made sense now.

"What was it?" I asked quietly. "What could possibly have kept you so obsessed for three days that you'd push your body to the breaking point?"

Raiden nodded, understanding my need to know. After everything, the vigil, the coordination, the medical monitoring. I deserved an explanation.

"There was this opponent," he began, settling back against his pillows. "In the training node. There was something that I don't think was there by default..."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.