(Kaelith's POV: 3 days later)
I sat cross-legged on the rocky terrain, my arms resting against my knees, fingers twitching as I focused on suppressing my Ki. The air was still, save for the occasional gust of wind kicking up dust around me. My tail flicked behind me in agitation. I had been at this for hours—no, days—and I was still failing at something every single Earthling martial artist seemed to do effortlessly.
Suppressing Ki was one of the most basic techniques. Basic. Yet, for some reason, my body refused to cooperate.
I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes. Again.
This time, I tried to visualize it. Ki was an ocean—one that raged within me, surging through every muscle, vein, and nerve. But I needed to control it, to force it down into something smaller, something undetectable.
I concentrated, feeling the vast power coursing through me, and imagined constructing a door, a barrier that could hold back the tide. I forced the energy downward, compressed it, tried to lock it away—
CRACK.
A spark of power slipped through the cracks in my mental door, and the whole thing shattered like brittle glass. My energy surged outward in an uncontrollable wave, rattling the ground beneath me.
I exhaled sharply and opened my eyes, glaring at the landscape in front of me. Still too much. Still too much power.
I curled my hands into fists, nails digging into my palms.
This should not be this difficult.
The Z Fighters made it look so simple. Goku, Gohan, Krillin—hell, even Yamcha could suppress his Ki. And it wasn't just them; every seasoned warrior in this world could do it without even thinking. But me? I was struggling like a new-born trying to walk.
My tail lashed behind me in frustration, kicking up a small storm.
'Why is this so gods-damned hard?' I thought, scowling.
I had mastered so many other techniques effortlessly. Martial arts, combat strategy—I picked them up like they were second nature. And the basic Ki Manipulation abilities. But this? This was proving to be a hurdle.
I clenched my teeth and tried again.
Eyes closed. Focused. I envisioned the door once more, carefully constructing it in my mind's eye. I forced my energy down, condensing it, willing it to shrink and diminish.
The ocean within me churned violently, resisting my efforts. It pushed against the door, slamming against it like an unrelenting tide. I pushed back.
The pressure built. I could feel sweat beading on my brow. My arms trembled slightly from the sheer force of my own power fighting against me. It was like trying to shove an entire hurricane into a bottle and keep the lid on.
For a moment, I thought I had it.
Then, BOOM.
Another pulse of energy erupted from my body as my Energy exploded outwards.
I replayed my attempts in my mind. Every time, I'd imagined blocking my power, creating a barrier, holding it back forcibly. But every time, the result was the same—the door shattered, and the energy burst free.
Maybe… that was the problem.
I wasn't supposed to force it down. I wasn't supposed to bottle it up and hope it didn't explode. That was the wrong approach entirely.
I wasn't supposed to fight the ocean.
I was supposed to redirect the flow.
I sat back down, inhaled deeply, and closed my eyes again.
This time, I didn't try to create a door. Instead, I focused on my Ki's movement within me—the way it flowed, surged, expanded. Instead of stopping it, I let it slow. Like a river shifting to a gentle stream.
I didn't fight it. I didn't cage it. I simply let it settle.
The effect was immediate. My energy, once turbulent, mellowed. The intensity dulled, and for the first time, I felt my presence… fade.
A notification appeared in the corner of my vision.
[Ki Manipulation (A+) has reached LVL 3/5: You can now suppress your Power.]
I opened my eyes, blinking in disbelief.
That was it.
I had been overcomplicating the process. Suppression wasn't about restraining power. It was about understanding it, redirecting it, mastering the flow instead of trying to dam it up.
I exhaled sharply and let out a dry chuckle.
A week of struggle, all because I hadn't attempted to do it this way.
"God damn it."
With those words, I sat up and with my new ability I began to lower my power.
With this, I settled the ocean, to a sea, then a river, and finally a mere puddle on the ground.
I had suppressed 80% of my full power.
Still that was too much power.
And so, I settled the energy further.
Down to what could be around a PL of 30 taking the suppression to a whole nother level.
Around Mach 1, I assumed.
To test that, I ran forwards, and almost immediately I felt the effects.
I was much, much slower.
The moment my foot left the ground, I knew.
It was agonizingly slow.
As I took off running, the difference was immediate—and honestly, kind of hilarious.
The moment my foot touched the ground, I knew something was… different.
I pushed off, expecting the familiar boom of a supersonic leap, the rush of air slamming against my body as I blurred across the landscape. Instead—
Whoosh.
That was it. A single gust of wind, like a car cruising down a highway. Not a thunderous detonation of speed. Not an instant shift from point A to point B. Just… movement.
I bolted forward, watching the scenery actually move past me instead of instantly vanishing in a blur of distorted light. Trees, rocks, hills—they didn't warp in my vision, didn't feel like background noise in a high-speed chase. I could see individual details, feel the difference in terrain under my boots as I adjusted my footing.
And the air?
It didn't rip past me like an unrelenting tidal wave. Instead, I felt resistance. A push. A force slowing me down, like nature itself reminding me that I was playing by different rules now.
I could hear the rhythm of my steps. Each impact against the ground wasn't a barely registered instant—it was a beat, a sound, a tangible movement. My muscles had to actually work for the acceleration, my balance had to adjust rather than just instinctively knowing how to handle absurd speeds.
It was… fascinating.
I wasn't annoyed by it—far from it. This was deliberate. This was what I wanted.
To actually have my power be suppressed massively.
I was no longer a lightning bolt streaking across the land.
I was a breeze.
I pushed forward, testing how my body handled Mach 1. The wind resistance was noticeable, but nowhere near the crushing pressure I was used to at light-speed. My muscles didn't have to endure the sheer G-forces of acceleration beyond reason. It was manageable. I could understand how people fought like this—how battles didn't just end in an instant from sheer speed alone.
After a few minutes, I slowed to a stop.
Breath steady. Heartbeat controlled. Energy perfectly settled.
Interesting.
Now for the air.
I bent my knees slightly and pushed off the ground, letting Ki lift me as I ascended into the sky.
The sensation was… oddly peaceful. At my usual speeds, flight was an afterthought—a method of getting somewhere instantly, a means to manoeuvre faster than anyone could react. But here? At this speed?
I could feel the air.
The way it moved around me. The way it pushed back ever so slightly as I adjusted my angle.
No force fields of energy shielding me from the crushing power of hypersonic travel. No blinding flashes of light as I ripped through the atmosphere. Just… a controlled, gliding motion.
I stretched my arms out slightly, tilting my weight forward, and felt my movement shift in response. It was subtle, like adjusting the rudder of a ship rather than forcing a high-speed course correction.
For the first time in a long while, I was flying, not just moving through the air.
I let out a small laugh, the sound getting carried away by the wind.
This was good.
This was right.
I adjusted my course, aiming toward Arcadia, and let myself settle into the rhythm of the wind, the sensation of speed that wasn't instantaneous.
I stopped mid air, and bent my knees, using the air like a makeshift platform as my power was rising. I was adjusting it minutely and suddenly–when I felt it was enough–I broke the sound barrier as I took off at Mach 5.
BOOOOM!
A sound akin to a thunderclap boomed loudly behind me as I launched forwards at breakneck speeds.
It was all about making minute, minuscule adjustments mid way through.
I adjusted my power down as I neared the city gates, my boots touching the dirt road with a near-silent thud. My heartbeat had slowed, my breathing even. Every motion, every step—it was all perfectly measured now.
The streets of Arcadia bustled with life, filled with merchants shouting over one another, peddling everything from weapons to overpriced street food. The air smelled of roasted meat, something spiced and savoury, the scent lingering as I wove through the crowd. I kept my power suppressed—not that anyone here would've noticed the difference. At this level, I was just another face in the crowd.
It was strangely grounding, moving through the city at a normal speed. No blurs of colour, no instant arrivals. Just walking. Feeling the solid press of dirt beneath my boots, the shifting weight of my body as I navigated the uneven roads. It wasn't as if I'd forgotten what it was like to move at this pace, but experiencing it intentionally was… novel.
I pulled up my status screen as I walked, letting the familiar blue boxes overlay my vision.
[Name: Kaelith]
[Age: 16]
[Race: Saiyan]
[LVL: 80]
[EXP: 956,25/280,600 EXP]
[HP: 22,000]
[MP: 155,000]
[Faith Energy: 450]
[Strength: 120]
[Agility: 150]
[Vigor: 110]
[Intelligence: 1,550]
[Wisdom: 780]
[Luck: 30]
[Faith: 45]
[Stat Points: 800]
[Affiliations: None]
[Occupations: None]
[Drawbacks: If your tail is cut off, you lose half of your stats and ? becomes extremely strenuous to use.]
I hummed. Not bad. Still had a ludicrous amount of stat points just sitting there, waiting to be allocated. It was deliberate—dumping points in recklessly was a rookie mistake. Limit Breaker let me train to increase my Stats massively. It won't slow down in fact, probably.
For now, though, I had a more immediate goal.
Acquiring a phone.
Or, as the people here so insistently called it, a Scroll.
I scoffed just thinking about it. It was a damn phone. A PDA at best. Just because it was an advanced holographic pad, that was similar to a phone, didn't make it special. It was still a screen, still had buttons still made calls, played music, and sent texts.
It wasn't a Scroll.
Scrolls were ancient texts. Scrolls were paper. Scrolls were what a pretentious wizard used when they wanted to make reading look like a magical event instead of just picking up a damn book.
This? This was not a scroll.
It was a phone.
And yet, everyone in this world had unanimously agreed to call it something ridiculous. Because of course they did.
The shop I was looking for wasn't hard to find—one of the bigger tech vendors in Arcadia, nestled between a dust supply store and what looked like a pawn shop. I stepped inside, the air instantly cooler than the sun-baked streets.
Rows of devices lined the shelves, all sleek, modern, and far more advanced than they had any right to be for a society that still fought with swords. The sheer inconsistency of this world's technology made my head hurt sometimes.
A clerk noticed me lingering near the display and perked up. "Looking for something specific?"
"Yeah," I said. "I need a phone."
The guy blinked. "A… Scroll?"
I stared at him. He stared back.
I inhaled through my nose, exhaled sharply, and let it go. "Yeah. A Scroll. Whatever."
He nodded, oblivious to my internal suffering, and gestured to a row of devices. "These are our latest models. The standard Scrolls come with—"
I tuned him out. It didn't matter. All I needed was basic functionality. Calls, messages, internet access, maybe a map. Anything beyond that was excessive.
I grabbed a mid-range model, something not too flashy but still effective, and handed it to the clerk. A quick transaction later, and I had my phone in hand.
Progress. I stepped outside, stretching slightly as I took in the city once more. Then, as I was about to test the device, a hushed conversation caught my attention.
"Did you hear?"
"Hear what?"
"The Great Ape of Vale."
I subtly started eavesdropping on them using my new scroll.
"I swear, people keep making up names," one guy muttered. "First the Arcadian Phantom, now this?"
"No, this one's real," the other insisted. "Some kind of giant monster attacked a huntsman squadron last week, they say it was unstoppable, took out a whole battalion before vanishing into the woods."
I didn't feel anything much about that.
In all honesty, when Faith energy started accumulating I realised that somebody saw me. And I knew I killed 50 huntsman when I was learning to control my Oozaru form.
And Qrow visiting me gave me the hints that I needed to know that Ozpin knew because the Oozaru had become a Legend in Arcadia, which made it back to Vale proper, which in turn meant me, becoming one as well.
The Great Ape of Vale.
At least I wasn't being called Bigfoot.
As for the lives lost?
They didn't matter. They were just some poor, nameless fools that were caught in a raging apes attacks.
Salem more than likely knew too.
Getting the Mafuba has suddenly become a priority, huh?
With that thought, I made my way towards an Inn I spotted before the Arcadia Tournament.
The streets of Arcadia were always alive, pulsing with the rhythm of countless voices, footsteps, and the ever-present hum of trade. Merchants hollered about fresh produce and high-quality weapons, street performers juggled knives for loose change, and pickpockets wove through the crowd like rats through a maze.
I walked through it all, my boots pressing firm into the dirt-packed roads, my Ki carefully pressed down to a whisper. It wasn't perfect suppression—more like turning the volume dial down instead of cutting the power completely—but it was enough to keep the civilians from instinctively shrinking away like prey sensing a predator.
Still, eyes followed me.
It was subtle, at first. Just lingering glances. A few sideways looks. People stopping mid-sentence when they noticed me passing. Then, slowly, the murmurs started.
"Hey, isn't that—"
"Yeah, that's her. The one from the tournament."
"The one that one-punched everyone? That's Kaelith, right?"
I kept walking, pretending not to hear.
They weren't wrong. The Arcadia Tournament had been… eventful. An entire competition of supposed warriors, all reduced to footnotes in the span of a single hit. I hadn't needed anything more than that. No drawn-out fights, no flashy techniques—just the overwhelming reality of my strength.
And Sun was the only one to see a Ki blast.
"I heard she didn't even use her full strength in the tournament."
"Of course she didn't! If she went all out, she'd probably blow up the whole damn arena!"
"You think she could take on one of the Veteran Huntsman?"
A pause.
"I mean… yeah. Probably."
Correct.
I weaved through the market, catching snippets of conversation wherever I went. Some were about me. Some were about the "Great Ape of Vale."
"Did you see what she did to that Faunus who could clone himself? One hit from her Semblance and all his clones were gone, but he was also out cold."
"Yeah, yeah, but what about the Great Ape of Vale of Vale? You think she's actually connected?"
"Eh, no."
I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes. Observant, these people were not.
I wore the same armour after all. And yet none of them ever figured it out.
Finishing my skewer, I tossed the stick into a nearby trash bin and kept moving.
A smithy caught my eye as I passed—a burly man hammering away at a glowing-hot blade, sparks flying with each strike. A few young mercenaries stood outside, debating over a selection of weapons.
"She doesn't even use weapons."
"I know, right? Just fists. And she's still the strongest fighter we've ever seen."
"Maybe we're doing this wrong. Maybe we should start training without weapons."
A beat of silence.
"…You gonna punch a Deathstalker to death?"
"…Okay, fair point."
I smirked. At least some people still had common sense.
A little further down the road, a group of armored guards were having a heated discussion near the steps of a large government building.
"That beast wiped out an entire battalion!" one of them hissed.
"No way a single Grimm could do that. I'm telling you, that wasn't some mindless monster. It was something else."
"Some say it's a demon. Others say it's a Faunus with some kind of Grimm mutation."
"A few say it's a woman."
Silence.
Then, almost hesitantly: "What if it's her?"
I didn't stop walking.
I had no reason to care what they thought. Whether they feared me, respected me, or wanted me dead, it didn't change the reality of my power. And if they did come after me?
Well.
They'd learn the same lesson the tournament fighters did.
I cut through a quieter street, the chatter fading into the distance, replaced by the softer sounds of daily life. A mother scolding her child for running too far ahead. The rhythmic sweeping of a shopkeeper's broom against the cobblestone. The distant strumming of a musician playing for a handful of bored-looking onlookers.
For all its chaos, Arcadia had its peaceful moments.
A group of children played in a small clearing near a fountain, their laughter carrying through the air. One of them—a boy no older than ten—noticed me and nudged his friend.
"Look! It's her!"
The second boy's eyes widened. "No way!"
"She's real! And she's right there!"
They stared at me, awestruck. Not with fear, like the adults. Not with suspicion, like the guards. Just pure, unfiltered amazement.
I met their eyes, smirked, and raised a hand in a casual wave.
They damn near exploded.
"She waved at us!"
"She saw us!"
"She's so cool!"
I kept walking, shaking my head in amusement.
Predictable tools.
Finally, I reached an Inn.
The inn stood at the edge of the marketplace, a sturdy two-story building of dark wood and stone, its façade worn by time but still standing strong. A large, hand-carved sign swung gently above the entrance, emblazoned with the name The Hollow Hearth in bold, looping script. Beneath it, a simple but effective carving of a fire burning within a hollowed-out tree gave the place a rustic charm—one that contrasted with the roughness of Arcadia's streets.
Lanterns lined the entrance, casting a warm glow against the deepening dusk, their flickering light catching on the polished iron fixtures that framed the heavy wooden doors. The scent of roasting meat and freshly baked bread wafted from within, mingling with the faint, ever-present tinge of ale. A tell-tale sign of a proper inn—where travellers and mercenaries gathered, not just for shelter, but for a strong drink and a hot meal after a long day of whatever trouble they'd been stirring up.
Outside, a handful of patrons loitered near the entrance. A few leaned against the walls, exchanging quiet words over mugs of beer, while others sat on a bench beneath one of the lanterns, sharpening blades or adjusting armour straps. From their gear, they weren't Huntsmen. Too ragged. Too mixed-matched. Likely mercenaries or adventurers—people who fought for coin rather than cause.
As I approached, a grizzled-looking man with a thick beard glanced up from his seat. His eyes lingered on me for a fraction too long. Recognition flickered across his face before he turned back to his drink, muttering something to the woman beside him.
I ignored it.
Pushing open the doors, I stepped inside.
The scent of firewood hit first—dry, smoky, comforting. The inn's namesake, a massive stone hearth, dominated the far wall, its roaring fire casting flickering shadows across the wooden beams of the ceiling. Tables filled the space, each one occupied by a mix of weary travellers, armour-clad warriors, and cloaked figures hunched over steaming bowls of stew. The clatter of plates, the murmur of voices, the occasional burst of laughter—it was the kind of atmosphere that thrived in places like this. A middle ground between the lawless and the lawful.
The floor was solid, well-worn but not rotting, with thick rugs placed strategically near the entrance to catch the dust and grime of the streets. The bar stretched along the right-hand side, polished oak lined with an impressive collection of bottles, their amber and crimson contents glinting in the firelight. A stocky man with greying hair and a scar running down his left cheek stood behind the counter, wiping down a mug with a practiced ease.
A few heads turned in my direction as I stepped forward.
Some were brief glances, dismissive or indifferent. Others lingered. A few whispers spread through the room, hushed but noticeable.
I strode toward the counter, weaving through the tables without hesitation, and leaned against the polished wood.
The barkeep barely glanced up as he set the mug aside. "You drinking or staying?"
"Staying."
After paying for the 3 weeks I'd be staying here for, I went into my room. I decided it was time to do some more training.
Meditation style.