Raiden Alaric

The interface floated before me in my aether realm, displaying the comprehensive list that had consumed my every waking moment for the past month and a half. Each entry glowed with the same satisfying confirmation:

• Combat Techniques - 100% Mastery Achieved

• Aura Manipulation - 100% Mastery Achieved

• Defensive Arts - 100% Mastery Achieved

• Movement and Positioning - 100% Mastery Achieved

Four training modules. Every technique. Every application and variation the instruction node contained for these core disciplines. All of it learned, practiced, drilled into muscle memory through countless hours of obsessive repetition.

Well, almost everything. I'd deliberately skipped Weapon Mastery. It had only ever used hand-to-hand combat, so I'd seen no point in wasting time on swords or staffs when I needed to focus on the challenge in front of me.

All except one.

???? (Attempts: 8,347)

I stared at the counter, remembering the journey that had led to this moment. It had started with that first session a month ago. 43 attempts of pure frustration, dying instantly to an opponent I couldn't even begin to comprehend. That's when the real obsession had begun.

Attempts: 43... 100... 200...

Those early attempts after my initial failure had been slightly more informed but still pathetic. I'd thrown myself at the apparition with basic techniques, thinking brute force and determination would eventually yield results. Every single time, I'd died before I could even register movement. The thing killed me instantly, utterly and completely.

Attempts: 500... 1,000... 1,500...

Frustration had driven me to the other training modules. If direct combat wasn't working, maybe I needed better fundamentals. I'd started with Combat Techniques, devouring every martial art the system offered. Boxing, Muay Thai, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, etc. My Origin consumed each discipline with maximum efficiency, burning perfect technique into my muscle memory through endless repetition.

When I'd returned to the apparition with a foundation of hundreds of fighting styles, I'd lasted maybe a tenth of a second longer. Progress, but laughably insufficient.

Attempts: 2,000... 3,000... 4,000...

That's when I'd discovered Movement and Positioning. The module had opened up entirely new possibilities. Footwork patterns from dancers, evasion techniques from assassins, spatial awareness exercises that taught me to read the battlefield like a three-dimensional map. I devoured all of it, integrating every movement principle into a flowing, adaptive system.

Back to the apparition. This time, I could almost see the beginning of its attack. Almost. The kill came a fraction of a second later, but that fraction felt like a lifetime of progress.

Attempts: 5,000... 6,000... 7,000...

Defensive Arts had been the next breakthrough. Not just blocking and parrying, but the philosophy of protection. How to read incoming attacks, how to position your body to minimize damage, how to flow with force instead of opposing it. Each technique my Origin absorbed made the impossible attacks slightly less impossible to perceive.

I'd started seeing shadows of movement. Hints of intention. The apparition's casual stance had begun to reveal micro-tells that preceded devastation.

Attempts: 8,000... 8,200... 8,300...

By the time I'd mastered Aura Manipulation, something fundamental had changed. Each return to the mysterious opponent revealed new layers of perception. I could see the preparatory tension in muscles that didn't seem to exist. I could read the shift in weight that came before attacks that defied physics. I could feel the disturbance in space that preceded my annihilation.

The apparition was still utterly beyond me. Still killed me within moments. But those moments had become rich with information, dense with understanding that grew with each perfect technique my Origin consumed.

Attempt 8,347.

My last visit. The one where I'd finally seen it, just for an instant, more of what I was facing. Something incredibly fast and skilled, moving in ways I couldn't understand, fighting with techniques I'd never seen before.

And in that moment of understanding, I'd realized something that made my blood sing with anticipation: it wasn't impossible to beat. It was just operating on principles I hadn't learned yet.

I'm so close. So damn close.

Every fiber of my being screamed to select that entry again, to throw myself once more against the mystery that had become my obsession.

But I'd forced myself to step away, to surface, to think. The need to return and face it again was almost unbearable, like an itch I couldn't scratch, a hunger that consumed every quiet moment.

I let my consciousness rise from the aether realm, feeling the familiar sensation of returning to my physical body. My eyes opened slowly, and I began the careful process of standing.

As I rose to my feet, I became aware of the unusual number of people in the meditation chamber. Seraphina stood near the door, but she wasn't alone. Elena, Lyralei, Celia, Mira, Marina, Sarah, Tessa, Vera, Naia, Kira, and Zara. Every single maid in the household was arranged around the room, all watching me with expressions of concern and... something else. Determination?

The sight of all of them gathered like this was so unusual that it cut through my usual post-training routine entirely.

"What's going on here?" I asked, my voice carrying a note of confusion despite its flat tone.

Seraphina stepped forward, her posture formal but her eyes filled with unmistakable worry. "Master Alaric, we need to talk."

"About what?" I moved to begin my usual stretching routine, but found my path blocked by Marina and Sarah. They weren't being aggressive, but they weren't moving either.

"About you," Elena said softly from across the room. "About what you've become."

I paused, looking around at the circle of concerned faces. "I'm training. I can't stop n—"

"Stop for what?" Seraphina interrupted. "You've barely spoken to anyone in a month. You sleep on the floor. You eat mechanically."

"I don't need—"

"When was the last time you called your family?" Celia asked quietly.

The question stopped me cold. I couldn't remember. Had it been days? A week? The training had consumed everything, every moment outside the aether realm feeling like wasted time.

"Master Alaric," Lyralei said, her voice gentle but insistent, "we're worried about you."

I looked around at their faces, genuine concern etched in every expression. For a moment, I felt a flicker of... something. Recognition that these people cared. But then the itch returned, that gnawing need to get back to the training, to face the apparition again.

"I need to get back to training," I said simply.

"This isn't training," Seraphina said, her voice carrying the authority I'd rarely heard her use. "This is obsession."

I looked at her directly for the first time in weeks, my expression flat. "I'm going back in. And this time, I won't be coming out until I finish something."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Several of the maids exchanged worried glances.

"Master Alaric—" Celia started.

"Don't interrupt me," I said simply. "I can't be brought back this time. Not until it's—"

Seraphina's aura exploded outward.

The pressure hit me like a physical wall, dense and crushing and utterly overwhelming. My vision blurred as waves of nausea crashed over me. The air itself felt thick, heavy, pressing down on me from all directions. Every instinct screamed at me to collapse, to submit, to acknowledge the vast gulf in power between us.

I felt like I was about to vomit. My legs shook under the immense weight of her Violet rank aura unleashed.

But even as my body trembled under the impossible pressure, my heart pounded with that wild, hungry thrill. This was a challenge, a real challenge. A grin spread across my face, wild and almost manic, as that familiar battle-drunk euphoria surged through me. Part of me wanted to rise and meet it head-on, consequences be damned.

Seraphina's aura pulsed, steady and controlled, keeping me pinned but not crushing me completely. Her glowing magenta eyes blazed with authority and something deeper, genuine care mixed with iron determination.

I could tell she was holding back significantly, not wanting to actually hurt me. I pushed back against the crushing weight, forcing myself to remain standing through sheer will and the techniques I'd absorbed. My own aura flared in response, dense and refined from weeks of obsessive training, slowly adapting to the pressure.

Seraphina's eyes widened slightly at my resistance, then narrowed with what looked almost like annoyance. The pressure intensified dramatically.

This time, there was no resisting it. My knee hit the floor with enough force to crack the stone beneath, spider web fractures spreading outward from the point of impact. The sound echoed through the suddenly silent chamber.

Even pinned to the floor, part of me was still grinning at the raw display of power. But as I looked up at the concerned faces around me, guilt started creeping in.

That's when Celia stepped forward.

"Raiden," she said, her voice carrying that same warmth I'd come to associate with her guidance through the estate's maze-like halls.

Hearing my name from her lips shocked me. Celia, who had always called me Master Alaric despite my repeated requests, had finally used my name. Not in a moment of joy or casual conversation, but here, now, when it mattered most.

"You used to get lost in these corridors, remember? I'd find you wandering, completely turned around, and you'd laugh about it. Call the estate a labyrinth."

The memory hit me like a physical blow. Her patient voice guiding me through unfamiliar passages, my sheepish grin as she showed me shortcuts I'd forget by the next day. The comfortable routine we'd developed during those walks.

When did I...

"I'm scared you're lost now," she continued, her eyes soft but piercing. "Lost in a way I can't guide you out of."

Elena moved closer, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. When she spoke, her voice trembled with emotion. "We used to cook together, Raiden. You'd tease me about my spice combinations, and we'd make such a mess laughing. I still make your meals every day, but it's not the same without you in the kitchen. It hurts."

Her words stung worse than Seraphina's aura. I could see it clearly, flour on our hands, her warm laughter filling the kitchen as we experimented with new recipes. The way she'd hover protectively over certain utensils until I'd threaten to dock her wages just to use the good whisk. Her mock indignation when I'd commandeer the stove, claiming she was supposed to be the one cooking. The easy camaraderie we'd built over shared meals and cooking disasters.

She still makes my meals…

"I have to keep going," I muttered, my voice cracking. "I can't stop."

Lyralei stepped forward, her manager's composure intact but her tone pleading. "You actually talk to us, joke with us, treat us like people instead of furniture. It makes this place better to work at, Raiden. But you've been locked away in that chamber for weeks, and we've missed you."

Her words carried the weight of the entire household, but more than that... she'd called me Raiden. They all had. For months I'd asked them to drop the formality, and they'd held onto "Master Alaric" like a shield. Now, in this moment of crisis, they were finally letting me in.

They're calling me by my name. Finally…

Then the elf maids stepped forward as one, Marina, Tessa, Sarah, and the others forming a semicircle around me. Their voices rose in a chorus of concern and pain.

"You raised our wages, Raiden," Marina said, her usually blunt tone softer than usual.

"Actually listen when we talk," Tessa added quietly.

"You don't treat us like we're invisible," Sarah said. "Makes this feel like a decent place to work."

"But you've been shut away for weeks," another voice joined. "We've barely seen you, barely been able to talk to you."

Each use of my name was like a blade in my chest. These were maids who had served the Brightmoors, who had stayed when the estate transferred to me, and I had chosen to treat them better. Now they were using my name, not because I'd asked, but because they were choosing to see me as someone they could consider more than an employer.

Friends…

Their concern was twisting the blade set in my chest. These elf maids, once wary and distant, had become friends because of the changes I'd made. My hands trembled as memories flooded back. Their grateful nods when I'd announced the wage increases. The way their eyes had lit up when I'd insisted on proper breaks and humane treatment.

They chose to stay when the estate transferred to me. And I chose to treat them better.

"I have to keep going," I repeated, but my voice was hollow now, uncertain.

Seraphina's aura intensified slightly, her eyes blazing with protective fury. "What is this thing that's consuming you, Raiden? You improved all our lives when you didn't have to, better wages, respect, dignity. We deserve to know what's happening to you. Let us help, or I take the training node."

The node. The thought of losing it was unthinkable. 8,347 attempts, so close to understanding, to breakthrough. But their concern, their pain, their desperate desire to help rather than punish...

I can't share this… wall. It's mine to face. But I can't lose them either.

And looking at their faces, genuine worry, care, the clear desire to help rather than hurt. I realized I didn't want to lose this. This connection, this feeling of being part of something bigger than just my own obsession.

I forced myself to stand, legs shaking under the dual weight of Seraphina's aura and my own guilt. My aura flared in response, sharp and dense from weeks of obsessive training, but it was nothing compared to her power.

"I'll make a deal," I said, my voice raw.

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Seraphina's eyes narrowed, but she listened. The maids leaned in, their expressions hopeful rather than tense.

"It's a wall," I said, meeting her blazing gaze directly. "A wall I have to break alone. I can't explain, not yet. I'll take two days off completely, then I come out once every day for an hour, meals, water, a call to my mother or Sol. You watch me, make sure I hold to it. If I don't overcome it by the time the entrance exams start, I'll give you the node until they're over. But when I win, when I break through, I'll tell you everything. I swear it."

Her aura pulsed, testing my resolve. "You won't explain what's happening to you? After all the trust we've placed in you?"

I shook my head, jaw tight with determination. "It's mine to face. No one else can help with this."

The maids murmured among themselves, but their expressions were encouraging now. Celia's hopeful smile, Elena's supportive nod, Marina's understanding expression. I took a shaky breath, my voice softening as I looked at each of them.

"I'm sorry, Seraphina. All of you. You've made this place home, your smiles, your trust, your care. I've hurt you all, and I hate myself for it. I swear on everything I am, I'll never shut you out again. Not you, not anyone." I paused, my voice thick with emotion as I took in their warm, forgiving expressions. "Thank you... for finally calling me by my name. It means more than you know."

Seraphina studied me for a long moment, her eyes softening even as her authority remained absolute. The maids' expressions had shifted completely. Relief, hope, and genuine happiness at the prospect of having me back in their lives, even if just for short periods.

"Two days off, then daily check-ins," she said finally. "We monitor every step. Break this agreement, and the node is mine permanently. Keep your promise, Raiden."

Her continued use of my name felt like an anchor. Not just trust restored, but a bond deepened. Her aura withdrew like a receding tide, and I nearly collapsed from the sudden relief. The gesture was one of trust, hard-earned and precious.

Relief crashed over me, immediately followed by crushing pressure. I had to stay away for two full days. But looking at their faces, hope, concern, forgiveness, I could bear it. I nodded, meaning every word.

Two days without the node. I can handle that. Maybe…

The maids began to disperse, but they moved slowly, reluctantly, clearly not wanting this moment of connection to end. Elena and Celia lingered nearby, their faces bright with hope.

Seraphina approached, holding out her hand. "The node, Raiden."

For a moment, I hesitated. Every instinct screamed against giving it up, even temporarily. My fingers tightened around the cool surface. The fight was waiting. The challenge I'd been craving.

"Two days," she said quietly. "You gave your word."

Reluctantly, I placed the training node in her palm. She tucked it away somewhere in her uniform, and its absence hit me immediately.

Seraphina handed me my phone, her tone gentle but unyielding. "Call your mother. Now." It was more of a desperate demand rather than a request.

When did I last call her? A week? Two weeks?

"Rai? You sound exhausted. Are you taking care of yourself?"

For the first time in weeks, I smiled, and this time, it felt real. "Yeah, Mom. I'm doing fine, the maids are taking good care of me."

As I talked to her, Elena quietly brought me a proper meal. Not the mechanical sustenance I'd been consuming, but something made with care. When I looked up to thank her, her face showed quiet satisfaction at being able to care for me again.

When I finally hung up, the maids had mostly dispersed, but their presence lingered.

I stepped outside into the night air, sharp and clean against my skin. The stars were brilliant overhead, and for a moment, I let myself just breathe.

Two days. Then I could get back to the fight that mattered.

—

The next day Elena's kitchen smelled of cumin and warmth, but every fiber of my being screamed to return to the meditation chamber. The training node sat locked away in Seraphina's possession, and the fight waiting inside felt impossibly distant.

"You're twitching," Elena said, handing me a wooden spoon. "Like a caged animal."

I tried to focus on stirring the sauce, but my hands moved restlessly, fingers unconsciously reaching for a node that wasn't there.

"And don't you dare threaten to dock my wages when I tell you you're adding too much paprika," she added with a teasing smile.

"Wouldn't dream of it," I said, managing a small smirk despite everything. "Though I make no promises about the cardamom situation."

Elena's laugh filled the kitchen, warm and genuine. "I've missed this, Raiden. Having you here while we cook... it feels right again."

???? is waiting. Every second here is wasted time.

But seeing her smile, the contentment in her expression, made something warm settle in my chest despite the obsession clawing at my mind.

I found myself in the gardens later, mindlessly pulling weeds, anything to keep my hands busy. Sarah appeared beside me with proper tools.

"You're going to destroy the root system doing it that way," she said, not unkindly.

She showed me the technique, our hands working the soil together. Quiet companionship and the satisfaction of useful work.

"Better?" I asked after following her method.

"Much." She smiled,small, genuine. "It's good to have help."

I can't afford distractions.

But there was something grounding about the earth under my fingernails, the simple rhythm of the work.

"You keep staring at the house," Marina said bluntly, blocking my path as I paced the courtyard.

"I'm not staring—"

"You are. Every few minutes, like you're planning something."

I bristled. "So what if I am?"

"You don't need to be so wound up. Doesn't mean it's not obvious."

Her directness cut through my defensiveness better than any emotional plea could have. I found myself actually considering her point instead of dismissing it.

"Maybe you're right," I admitted reluctantly.

Marina's expression softened slightly. "Course I'm right. I'm always right."

Despite everything, that made me smile.

I was on the phone with my mom. She had told me about how Dad had finally started utilizing his workshop in the garage. While I was laughing at her telling me how Iris is helping him out, my mom said nothing, just listened. "You sound better," she said, and I could hear the relief in her voice over the phone. "More like yourself."

"I'm trying to be," I said honestly. "Tell me about Dad's workshop project again?"

The joy in her voice as she launched into the story of how he's trying to hide the fact he bought a welding torch.

—

The following day I found Celia in the library, quietly reorganizing books that had been left scattered on tables. She looked up when I entered, surprise flickering across her face.

"Oh, Raiden. I wasn't expecting to see you."

"What are you doing?" I asked, noting the careful way she was arranging everything.

"Just tidying up. Some of the maids have been using this space to study during their breaks. I wanted to make sure it was properly organized for them."

She's been taking care of everyone, making sure they have nice spaces to relax. And I haven't even noticed.

"That's... thoughtful of you," I said. "I should have been paying more attention to things like this."

Lyralei found me reviewing some of the estate documents she'd left on my desk, something I hadn't touched in weeks.

"You don't have to do that," she said, but there was relief in her voice.

"I should know what's happening in my own home," I said, scanning the maintenance reports. "When did the heating system in the east wing start acting up?"

"Two weeks ago. I've been handling it."

Two weeks huh.

Then again, even if I wasn't training, I wouldn't have known about it. She usually took care of these things.

"Thank you," I said, meaning it. "For keeping everything running."

Her smile was quiet but genuine. "That's what I'm here for. But it's good to have you back."

When Seraphina finally appeared in the evening, violet eyes reading my state, I felt something different than desperate relief. I felt ready, but also reluctant to leave the warmth I'd rediscovered.

"Two days," she said simply. "You honored the agreement."

She reached into her uniform and withdrew the training node, but instead of simple relief, I felt a complex mix of eagerness and reluctance. Eagerness for the challenge that waited, but reluctance to leave behind the warmth and connection I'd taken for granted.

Her free hand found mine, warm and steady, while the other held the node just out of reach.

"Raiden," she said, her voice carrying all the authority of her rank but tempered with genuine care. "Look at me."

I forced myself to meet her violet eyes, even though part of me wanted to look at the node.

"These people care about you," she said quietly. "They care about Raiden, the young man who treats them decently. Please don't lose him completely."

Her hand squeezed mine, grounding me in a way I hadn't felt in weeks.

"Promise me you'll come back tomorrow. Promise me you'll remember who you are outside of this obsession."

The weight of her words, the warmth of her touch, the concern in her eyes. For a moment, the obsession quieted to a whisper. I thought of Elena's smile, Lyralei's relief, the way the maids had opened up to me during the intervention.

I don't want to hurt them.

"I promise," I said, and meant it. "I'll keep my word."

She studied my face for a long moment, searching for something. Whatever she found must have satisfied her, because she finally placed the node in my other hand.

"One hour a day," she reminded me. "You promised to be out for at least an hour."

I nodded, unable to speak past the sudden tightness in my throat.

How had I not realized how much I was hurting them?

The meditation chamber felt like coming home after exile. The training node warmed in my hands as my consciousness sank into my Aether realm.

Finally.

???? (Attempts: 8,347)

I stood before the figure… if figure was even the right word for what existed in this space. It had a human-like form, solid and muscular, but where its head should be, dark smoke writhed and shifted constantly. The smoke never settled into any recognizable shape, making it impossible to read expressions or predict where it might be looking.

After 8,347 attempts, I knew its movement patterns better than my own heartbeat, but I still couldn't tell what it was thinking.

The past weeks of training rushed through my mind. Combat Techniques had given me the foundation, hundreds of fighting styles compressed into instinct. Movement and Positioning taught me to read space like a three-dimensional map. Defensive Arts showed me how to flow with force instead of opposing it.

But more than the systematic training, I remembered the moments. The flashes. The tiny instances where I'd actually seen something.

Attempt 2,847: A fractional shift in weight that preceded the killing blow. So brief I'd dismissed it as imagination.

Attempt 4,293: The faintest telegraph of intent, like watching lightning gather before the strike. I'd died before I could process what I'd seen.

Attempt 6,156: A shadow of movement, there and gone, but real enough that I'd almost moved to counter it. Almost.

Attempt 7,892: The closest I'd come to understanding. For a split second, I'd felt the rhythm of its attacks, the cadence that governed this impossible entity. Then darkness.

Each glimpse had been a piece of information I was finally starting to understand. The figure wasn't truly formless. It had patterns, timing, a fighting style that was faster and more complex than anything I'd seen but still followed some kind of system.

Every technique I've mastered. Every principle I've absorbed. It all leads to this moment.

The figure's presence pressed against my awareness, patient and waiting.

I took a deep breath. Then another. My heart hammered against my ribs, but not with fear, with anticipation. With hunger.

I didn't take a stance. Not yet. Instead, I let my mind race through everything I'd learned. Every failed attempt, every glimpse of understanding, every technique that had been drilled into muscle memory. Combat techniques ran through my thoughts, boxing combinations, Muay Thai clinches, jujitsu transitions, grappling sequences that linked different fighting styles.

The figure remained motionless, or what passed for motionless in this space where everything felt different from normal sparring.

Movement and Positioning. Read the space. Feel the flow.

Defensive Arts. Don't oppose force, flow with it.

All those moments. All those fragments.

I took a risk.

Instead of preparing to attack, instead of falling into any of the thousand combat stances I'd mastered, I simply watched. I opened every sense I possessed. I drew on every principle I'd absorbed and waited.

The figure's presence shifted. Not visually, there was nothing to see in any conventional sense. But something changed in my aether realm, a disturbance so subtle it barely registered.

Weight distribution. Attempt 2,847.

I felt it this time. The infinitesimal shift that preceded annihilation.

In an instant, I leaned back.

The apparition materialized before me, semi-translucent, ghostly, but unmistakably real. A fist hung suspended inches above my face, the killing blow that had ended me 8,347 times frozen in perfect clarity.

My grin spread across my face like wildfire.

I see it~

Not just the attack itself, but the intent behind it. The timing. The way force moved through this impossible entity. For the first time in thousands of attempts, I was reading the fight.

The euphoria hit me like a drug. This was what I'd been chasing. Finally getting somewhere instead of dying instantly every time.

More.

I shifted my weight, muscles coiling to strike ba—

Darkness.

I gasped back into awareness in my aether realm, the interface glowing before me:

???? (Attempts: 8,348)

My heart began pounding like a war drum. Instead of frustration or disappointment, I felt pure, manic excitement. I'd seen it. I'd actually seen the attack, read the intent, predicted the unpredictable.

Laughter bubbled up from my chest, wild and uncontrolled. The sound echoed through the ethereal space, carrying all the hunger and thrill that had been building for weeks.

Again.

Without hesitation, I dove back in.

???? (Attempts: 8,349)

This time I was ready from the first instant. The figure's presence registered, and I felt the shift. Leaned back. Saw the apparition's fist. Tried to slip left—

Darkness.

The follow-up had come faster.

Back in the realm. Heart hammering. Grin widening.

Again.

???? (Attempts: 8,350)

Lean back. Duck right. The ghost of a knee materialized where my ribs had been. I twisted away, reading the flow, feeling the rhythm—

Another strike from an impossible angle. Darkness.

Again.

???? (Attempts: 8,351)

I flowed like water now, each movement born from thousands of hours of training. Boxing footwork to evade the first strike. Muay Thai positioning to avoid the second. Capoeira flow to escape the third—

Darkness.

But I was learning. With every death, every reset, I read more of the pattern. It was incredibly skilled, chaining attacks in combinations that were perfectly timed but followed patterns I could start to recognize.

???? (Attempts: 8,360)

I ducked, weaved, avoided strikes that came faster than I could consciously process. Every technique I'd mastered working together.

Still no openings to strike back. This wasn't about offense yet. It was about survival. About learning to keep up with something that fast and skilled.

???? (Attempts: 8,375)

I was lasting longer now, reading chains of attacks, flowing through sequences that would have been incomprehensible weeks ago. The figure's assault was relentless, perfect, beautiful in its impossible complexity.

And I was keeping up.

My grin never faded. If anything, it grew wilder with each reset, each new understanding, each moment I managed to exist alongside this impossibility.

This is what I've been searching for.

???? (Attempts: 8,390)

I was getting better. The figure's attacks came in rapid combinations, but I was starting to read them like choreography. Duck under the first punch. Twist away from the knee strike. Roll past the follow-up that came from an unexpected angle.

My body moved with liquid precision, every martial art I'd absorbed, becoming part of a greater whole. Aikido's redirecting principles. Wing Chun's centerline theory. Systema's natural movement. They all worked together into something that felt bigger than their individual parts.

I was lasting longer each time, reading deeper into the figure's patterns. The attacks weren't random. They followed laws that physics couldn't explain but combat intuition could feel.

???? (Attempts: 8,435)

I ducked a punch that would have taken my head off, spun past a kick that came with incredible force, and for one moment, I felt completely in sync with the fight. The figure's attacks, my evasions, the timing between us. It all clicked into place.

The euphoria was intoxicating. Each death only fed the hunger. Each reset brought new understanding. I was addicted to this dance with impossibility.

My movements had become fluid, precise. I dodged strikes that came from multiple angles, avoided combinations that chained together impossibly fast, read the subtle shifts that telegraphed each attack. While I have yet to find an opening, I wanted to see more.

More. Always more.

???? (Attempts: 8,487)

"Raiden."

The voice cut through the aether realm like a blade. Seraphina's presence pressed against my consciousness, patient but firm.

"Time for your break."

Already? I've barely gotten started.

I hesitated, my awareness split between the figure waiting in my aether realm and Seraphina's call. The figure remained motionless, ready to continue our fight the moment I returned.

Just a few more attempts. I'm finally getting somewhere.

"Raiden," Seraphina's voice carried the weight of authority and concern. "One hour out. That was the deal."

My consciousness clung to the aether realm, every instinct screaming to stay, to push further, to chase the understanding that felt just within reach.

The deal. I gave my word.

Reluctantly, fighting against every fiber of my being, I let my awareness rise from my aether realm. The figure faded, along with the intense focus of our fight.

One hour. Then I can go back.

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