As the scarlet explosion erupted around him, time slowed for Ethan.
To everyone else, it was cataclysm—a furious, blinding shockwave consuming everything.
But to him, inside the eye of the storm, his senses exploded into overdrive.
Every nerve was lit with electricity, every instinct honed like a predator on the edge of death.
Ever since returning from the Sanctum, nothing had made his blood boil like this.
No opponent, no Trial, no thrill had come close to the raw exhilaration he felt now.
This was it this was the edge.
The feeling of being overwhelmed—of facing a foe stronger, of standing before impossible odds—and still daring to win.
"God, I missed this…" he thought, grinning like a madman, eyes gleaming with fire.
But he had only one chance and he intended to utilize that chance well.
As the burning wave crept toward him, a realization clicked like puzzle pieces snapping into place.
Force Drain.
Its purpose was to reduce incoming force, yes—but energy, as every law of physics stated, could not be destroyed.
so the force had to go somewhere.
And now, with his instincts beyond their limit, he found it.
A space—imaginary, boundless, hidden.
Not physical, not magical—just real in the most primal way possible.
His body trembled. His core opened. And from it, a wellspring burst forth.
[Force Store].
Tucked inside that conceptual reservoir was every ounce of force he'd drained since awakening this power.
Stored like ammunition. Waiting.
And Ethan wasn't going to be a miser.
With no hesitation, he pulled.
And pulled harder.
He pulled everything.
The raw kinetic pressure, the trembling weight of a thousand blows, the stored agony of every clash—
And then he poured Force Might into it, amplifying it like fuel doused in oil.
To him, the explosion around him moved like molten honey—the embers dragging through the air in slow, fiery arcs, the expanding pressure folding like ripples in water.
And in that moment, as the burning tide threatened to swallow him—
He punched.
BOOOOOM!!!
A single fist, glowing white-hot with condensed force, met the explosion—and repelled it.
The impact cracked the very air, forming a concussive barrier that held the inferno back.
Shockwaves tore through the den, upending stone and air alike.
Through the haze, the beast let out a deep exhale, its grotesque body continuing to evolve, morphing, adapting.
It believed the vermin that challenged it was finally gone.
Until it heard a sound.
"Zzzmmm-KAWW!!"
A whip-crack of wind being cleaved at high velocity
Its eyes shot upward.
And there he was—Ethan.
Torn armor. Bloodied body. And a smile like he was born to kill.
Hovering midair, his eyes narrowed, and his voice rang with ruthless intent.
"Let's see how you like the taste of your own medicine."
He activated the newly awakened form of his ability—[King of Force].
Everything in Force Store, every ounce of force from the Guardian's explosion, was pulled into his body.
Then he Amplified and Multiplied it.
His veins surged with power. His skin glowed like molten gold cracked by white lightning.
And he struck.
His fist came down with divine wrath, slamming into the Guardian's skull with a sound like a star collapsing.
CRRRRRK-THROOOM!!!
The force didn't just hit—it flooded.
It erupted downward, shattering bone, rupturing flesh, and spreading through the creature's entire body in violent ripples.
Its limbs spasmed, its core twisted. The red aura shattered like glass.
The entire Guardian exploded from the inside out, torn apart by the overwhelming power it had once wielded.
Chunks of the beast scattered through the den. A final, choking roar was lost in the shockwave.
And above the wreckage, Ethan's body floated for just a second longer before gravity reclaimed him.
He plummeted, all strength spent, and crashed onto the den's floor with a solid thud, landing on his back, chest heaving, vision blurred—but alive.
He'd won.
****
As the Guardian released the cataclysmic explosion, a blinding red flare swallowed the heart of the den.
From a distance, Striker and his unit stood on high alert, their instincts screaming as the shockwave rushed toward them like a tidal wave of death.
But unlike Ethan, who was at the very epicenter, Striker had time.
A heartbeat of opportunity—just enough.
"Activate—Titan Veil."
Golden energy surged from his core, coiling and expanding in an instant.
It erupted outward, manifesting into a massive, glowing construct: a towering golden avatar, shaped in his image but cloaked in ancient armor, its form radiating divine-like brilliance.
The Titan Veil loomed protectively over the unit, its arms crossed in front as the explosion collided with it.
BOOOOOOM!
Dust, fire, and debris washed over them like a flood, but the avatar stood firm—cracks appearing on its glowing arms, its golden form flickering—but it held.
It held long enough.
When the storm finally subsided, the avatar faded into motes of light, and Striker stood there—his cloak billowing in the fading heat.
He looked forward, eyes scanning the ruins.
The battlefield was annihilated.
Charred stone. Shattered earth. Scorch marks webbing the ground like an apocalyptic mosaic.
Striker's brows furrowed.
"It can't be... Such a young Talent... lost like that?"
But he clenched his jaw, pushing down the grief. There wasn't time.
The Guardian was evolving, and that wasn't normal.
This wasn't a creature adapting to survive—it was something planned.
But any investigations could wait.
Right now, they needed backup—because whatever came out of that metamorphosis, will be beyond their current ability to contain.
He turned, opening his comm to call for reinforcements—
And then he stopped.
His eyes wide.
Above the dust and ruin, a silhouette hovered—tattered, bloody, broken… but undeniably alive.
Ethan.
Striker whispered, almost disbelieving,
"He's alive...? How... is he...?"
Before the question even finished, Ethan's fist came down like a meteor, slamming into the Guardian's skull with earth-splitting force.
The blow rippled through the battlefield, obliterating the dust, shattering the evolved monster in a single, resounding impact.
The Guardian didn't even have time to scream.
BOOOOOOOM!!!
Striker was stunned silent.
This boy... this young Talent... kept shattering everything he thought he knew.
The raw power, the unrelenting will, the timing, the instincts—it was all far beyond what someone at this stage should have.
And then a thought crept into his mind:
"Can our clan… even nurture this kind of talent?"
As Ethan's body fell from the air, all strength spent, Striker's focus returned.
"Recovery pill, now!" he snapped.
A hero behind him tossed a small vial forward, and Striker caught it mid-sprint, racing toward Ethan's unconscious form.
But then—a hush.
A soundless, unnatural stillness like the world was holding its breath.
"No… it can't be."
Strikers instincts screamed.
A dark wave shot toward him without warning.
Striker spun on instinct, activating Titan Veil again.
The golden avatar erupted in front of him, shielding him just as the shadowy energy collided with the barrier, shaking the air like thunder.
And then—a figure emerged from the smoke.
Mireveil.
The robed figure from the Blackwood Forest.
The orchestrator.
Striker narrowed his eyes, fists clenched.
"Who are you?"
But Mireveil didn't answer.
He was muttering—talking to himself, pacing erratically.
"The plan… it was foolproof. It should've succeeded. The duality phase… the Abyss Dread... It can't fail. No… no, no, no… this can't be true."
Striker stood cautious, watching the robed villain unravel in real time.
But then Mireveil's gaze fell upon Ethan.
His voice dropped into a venomous growl.
"You. This is all your fault. Now… you have to die."
A violent violet glow surged in his hand as he stepped forward, rushing toward the unconscious hero.
Striker snarled.
"You can ignore me. You can even attack me by surprise… but I won't let you lay a hand on that boy!"
The Titan Veil's golden hand slammed down between them, cutting off Mireveil's path.
The robed figure's tone turned cold, eyes narrowing.
"Do not stand in my way."
Striker didn't blink.
"Make me."
Mireveil's head snapped up dramatically.
And then they vanished.
Striker's eyes widened.
"Wha—?!"
Too fast.
Mireveil appeared inches from him, hand glowing with dark violet force, already swinging as his cloak rippled in the aftershock.
"Tch—!"
The last thing Striker saw was Mireveil's eyes—wild, hateful, and burning with madness.
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A/N will release an extra chapter if I get 50 power stones or 25 Golden tickets.
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