The dummy slammed into the far wall, its frame sparking as it crumpled on impact.
I didn't move.
Didn't need to.
Storm Veindelivered the charge. Devourer's Touch multiplied it.
Biofeedback Regulation balanced the output across my body like pressure valves releasing in sync. Peripheral Perception told me exactly when to strike—and exactly when the steel armature gave way before it did.
There was no lag. No hesitation. No misfire.
This wasn't instinct anymore.
This was execution.
Lorne watched from behind the glass.
He didn't flinch when the dummy hit the ground. He didn't even blink when its head snapped clean off mid-tumble.
Instead, he tapped the edge of his tablet slowly, eyes fixed on me like he was watching the birth of something he couldn't explain yet.
"You've crossed a threshold," he finally said. His voice was steady, but tight around the edges. "You're no longer using abilities. You're orchestrating them."
I rolled my shoulder, flexing the tingling remnants of the power pulse through my wrist. "Because I'm not reacting anymore."
He tilted his head slightly. "You're programming."
"Exactly."
_________________________________________________________________________________
Back in the lab, he projected a holographic sequence onto the main wall.
Five ability chains, each stacked with conflicting energy outputs, incompatible effects, and fatal strain thresholds. Simulated muscle and nerve systems failed instantly in all five. Dead within seconds.
"I've already run three," I said, arms folded.
"I know," he replied, still watching the failure models. "But not like this."
The models were designed around brute application. Stack powers. Force output. Hope you survive.
I didn't force them.
I sequenced them.
That was the difference.
"You're running them like algorithms," Lorne murmured. "Not overlapping. Not fusing. Just… timing."
"Layered functions,"I said. "One opens the door. The next walks through it."
He stared at me.
_________________________________________________________________________________
The next day, I requested full simulation access.
No restrictions. No safety parameters. No failsafes.
Lorne hesitated.
"You do realize if something goes wrong—"
"It won't."
He looked at me, then at the reinforced observation wall.
He said nothing more.
The chamber was rebuilt for real-world combat stress—steel-reinforced panels, automated turrets, environmental hazards. The walls shifted as I entered. Gravity plates activated. Pressure sensors lit the floor in dull pulses of red.
"Start when ready," Lorne's voice said over the comm.
I closed my eyes.
Everything inside me hummed.
Storm Vein activated—controlled arcs running up my spine. Biofeedback adjusted flow rate, keeping the charge localized.
Devourer's Touch layered beneath, drawing ambient motion from my footsteps. Peripheral Perception lit up the space like a wireframe world—pressure shifts, spatial tugs, the breath of motion in all directions.
I moved.
The first barrier dropped—massive steel pillars slamming from the ceiling.
I slipped through a gap that hadn't opened yet.
A turret fired from above—high-velocity shock rounds.
I twisted, letting Peripheral Perception track the air displacement before the shot fired. I didn't dodge. I predicted.
I spun and launched a short-range pulse—electricity threaded with kinetic discharge.
The shot struck the barrel's mouth mid-fire.
The entire upper rig shorted out.
Two more turrets spun up.
This time, I didn't move.
I compressed my density. Let the rounds strike me.
Then funneled that force through Devourer's Touch, looped it through Biofeedback, and unleashed it into the floor with a burst.
The shockwave snapped tiles. The wall ahead bowed outward.
Still standing.
Still in control.
I didn't speak once.
Just ran it again.
And again.
Each round faster. Cleaner.
Each ability no longer a weapon—but a part.
Lorne watched everything in silence, only occasionally tapping notes into his datapad with a trembling hand.
After the fourth round, the system failed.
Not me.
The walls cracked. The automated limbs sparked out. Heat sensors overloaded.
I stood at the center of it all.
Breathing slow. Focus absolute.
This wasn't power.
This was system integrity.
_________________________________________________________________________________
That night, I didn't rest.
I sat in the core chamber—lights off, air still, only the pulsing energy from the generator filling the silence.
I felt every ability resting beneath my skin.
Not screaming for attention like before. Not clashing.
Just waiting.
Like tools already in position. Like soldiers at attention.
Not pieces. Not fragments.
Modules.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Lorne came to me hours later.
He looked like he hadn't slept in days. His eyes were sunken. His hands twitched as he clutched a sealed data chip.
"This came through the old Reclamation frequency," he said.
I turned slightly.
"That channel's been offline since the collapse,"I said.
"I know," he replied. "But someone activated a ping on it—dead signature reactivated, bounced through six ghost nodes, then dumped this into a cache tied to your name."
He slid the chip into the console.
A single line of text appeared on screen:
We know he's building something. We're coming.
No sender. No metadata. No trace.
Just that.
Lorne stood frozen beside me.
"Could be government," he muttered. "Could be old Reclamation assets. Could be something else entirely."
"Doesn't matter."
His voice tightened. "It does if they know where we are."
"They don't,"I said. "Not yet."
I stood.
Walked to the center of the chamber.
Looked at my reflection in the reinforced glass—hair white under the flickering light, eyes red with quiet calculation.
I ran a hand along the console and called up my ability registry.
Each one shimmered with soft light, data trailing off like threads.
But this wasn't just a list anymore.
It was a blueprint.
And soon, I'd start writing into it.
Not just powers stolen.
Powers customized.
Refined. Rewritten.
I wasn't becoming a god.
I was becoming a design.
Let them come.
Let them try to contain what they still don't understand.
Because I stopped being a threat the moment I became predictable.
Now?
I'm scalable.
I'm evolving.
I'm system-born.
And this time…
I'll be the one initiating the next protocol.
Ascension continues.