In the void, space twisted, a swirling vortex of violet and silver pulsing with energy. A figure stumbled out, collapsing onto the ground.
Alex, barely 20, stood shakily, fear still etched on his face. His skin tingled from the vortex's pull, but as he scanned the unfamiliar surroundings, he let out a shaky breath, relief washing over him.
"I crossed worlds again," he thought, quietly thrilled.
Moments ago, he'd faced death against the peak second-level violent bear. Its thunderous roars and crushing paws had nearly ended him. Only the vortex had saved his life.
Back in the forest, when the bear chased his team, Claire, Max, and Evan had shielded him, their kindness unwavering despite his weakness. Hiding in the cave, with the beast closing in, Alex had stepped up to lead it away.
He owed them—Claire's spear, Max's gunfire, Evan's fireballs. But he'd also taken a bold risk.
After a month in Greenridge's world, the computer pattern on his palm had completed, its lines glowing faintly. He'd bet on it triggering another jump. If he hadn't acted, the bear would've stormed the cave, slaughtering his injured team. He'd have faced it alone anyway. So, he ran, taunting the beast, hoping the tattoo would save him.
It did. Mid-chase, his palm burned, the vortex erupting and swallowing him whole.
Now, senses sharp, Alex stood on a dusty, winding trail, flanked by rolling hills and sparse trees. The air was warm, carrying the scent of dry grass and distant woodsmoke. Was this the world of the X-Men? He wasn't sure.
He started down the trail. A path meant people, right? Soon, a rhythmic thunder of hoofbeats echoed behind him. Alex turned, spotting two riders charging his way. Their fitted leather gear clung to muscled frames, swords glinting at their waists. Their rough, menacing faces screamed trouble.
"A new world? Ancient, maybe?" Alex muttered, stepping aside. He gripped two fine steel short knives, their weight steady in his hands.
Caution was key in an unknown world.
Alex locked eyes with the approaching horsemen, their rough, scarred faces impossible to miss on the cramped dirt trail. Dust swirled under their horses' hooves, the air thick with the scent of leather and sweat. Alex's short hair and modern, out-of-place clothes—tattered from the apocalypse—stood out starkly against the ancient backdrop, drawing their gaze.
"Who's this? Not one of our Sun Moon Sect. A spy for the Five Mountains Sword Sect?" one horseman barked, yanking his blade free. Without warning, he slashed straight at Alex's head.
The sudden attack startled Alex, but he was ready. His powers surged, seizing the steel blade mid-swing. It veered sideways, grazing his shoulder. A month of apocalyptic training—honing his second-level strength to 10 crystal points—let him control up to 100 kilograms of metal. His short knife hummed through the air, piercing the man's heart.
The blade had barely missed Alex, but his counter was ruthless. This killer, attacking a stranger, was no saint. Neither was Alex, forged in Greenridge's brutal end-times. If someone wanted his life, they'd pay.
"Zhao!" the second horseman shouted, leaping from his mount. He stared at the knife in his companion's chest, then at Alex, eyes narrowing with caution. This young stranger's skill was deadly.
"Who are you? How dare you strike my ally? Are you with the Five Mountains Sword Sect?" the man, in his thirties, demanded, gripping a long sword.
Alex sneered. "You attack me, and I can't fight back? Five Mountains Sword Sect? Never heard of them." He opened his palm, and the bloodied knife flew back to his hand, glinting under the sun.
The man's pupils shrank. Levitating blades? That's the skill of a sect leader!
"Five Mountains Sword Sect? Sun Moon Sect?"
Alex thought, heart racing. "Could this world be...!"
"What's your name, young warrior?" the man asked, saluting with a fist, his tone shifting to respect. "Such skill at your age is remarkable."
"I'm Alex. You're from the Sun Moon Sect?" Alex replied, probing. His modern look and brutal efficiency seemed to align with their ways.
"I'm Liu Yang, of the Sect," the man said, eyes gleaming. "No sect ties you, Alex? The Sun Moon Sect leads the martial arts world. Join us at Blackwood Cliff. I'll show you our ways."
Alex nodded. "Thank you, Liu Yang." He glanced at Zhao's body. "Sorry for the mess. Got carried away."
Liu Yang waved it off.
"Zhao was weak. He died for it. The martial arts world spares no fools. Come, you'll fit with the Sect."
Zhao's horse became Alex's ride, and they set off toward Blackwood Cliff. Liu Yang chuckled at Alex's clumsy horsemanship, confirming his rookie status. Yet, Alex's ruthlessness felt kindred to the Sect's code. Both saw profit—Alex in intel, Liu Yang in recruiting a skilled fighter.
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The horse galloped for barely half an hour before towering peaks loomed ahead—Blackwood Cliff, a fortress carved into jagged cliffs, its banners fluttering against the sky.
Alex marveled at its grandeur, a stronghold easy to defend, nigh impossible to breach. He'd landed close, sparing him the need to copy Liu Yang's riding skills, a task his clumsy horsemanship would've demanded.
Liu Yang, clearly a core disciple of the Sun Moon Sect, led the way with authority. His status smoothed their entry past guarded gates, where disciples in sleek martial robes eyed Alex curiously.
The cliff's winding paths and training courtyards buzzed with the clash of steel and shouts of practice.
Without Claire's crystal device Alex couldn't measure the disciples' strength in crystal points. He could only guess their power from their swift, disciplined moves.
Liu Yang proved a gracious host. He handed Alex a set of sleek martial robes to replace his tattered, modern clothes, blending him into the sect's ranks.
Then, he guided Alex through Blackwood Cliff's heart—weapon racks gleaming, halls echoing with chants—touting the sect's rising power.
Speaking casually, Liu Yang said, "Brother Alex, your cultivation's impressive. Join us, and you'll make your mark."
Alex nodded, unsurprised. Liu Yang's invitation at the trail had hinted at recruitment. "The Sun Moon Sect's strength fascinates me," he replied. "Staying here would suit me well."
Their mutual understanding sealed the deal. Beaming, Liu Yang led Alex to Tong Baixiong, leader of the Wind and Thunder Hall, one of Blackwood Cliff's four hall masters.
"Oh? You'd join our Sect?" Tong Baixiong's eyes gleamed with interest at Liu Yang's introduction of Alex as a master. "What martial arts do you wield?"
Martial arts? Alex had none, only his powers. But he'd prepared for this.
"Hidden weapons," he said confidently, his metal-controlled knives in mind.
"Hidden weapons?" Tong Baixiong's brow furrowed, his voice laced with doubt.
In the martial arts world, hidden weapons were lesser techniques, often used in stealth. The Sun Moon Sect embraced such methods, but to specialize in them? Tong Baixiong shot Liu Yang a sharp glance, his skepticism clear.
Alex's claim surprised Liu Yang, but he'd seen Alex's skill on the trail. Clearing his throat, he vouched, "His technique's unmatched, Hall Master. You'll see."
Tong Baixiong's interest waned, but he nodded. "Very well. Show me your skills."
"Uh…" Alex hesitated, scratching his neck. "I don't have any hidden weapons on me. Could someone lend me some?"
Tong Baixiong's mouth twitched. A hidden weapons master without tools? Was this outsider reliable? Liu Yang stifled a chuckle but stepped forward. "I've got six Black Blood Needles. Can you use them?"
"Any hidden weapon works," Alex replied, his confidence unshaken, though his earlier clumsiness on horseback undermined the effect.
The Black Blood Needles, glinting with a faint, sinister sheen, were the Sun Moon Sect's signature, perhaps tied to Dongfang Bubai's mastery of needle arts. Disciples often carried them, ready for any challenge.
Alex took the six needles, their weight familiar in his palm. In the stone-walled hall, lit by flickering torches, he faced a wooden chair across the chamber. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled all six needles, his metal control guiding their path.
A sharp clatter of metal echoed, too fast to follow. The needles seemed to collide mid-air, a chaotic dance. Then, silence.
Tong Baixiong and Liu Yang stared at the chair. Three Black Blood Needles pierced the backrest, aligned as if measured by a master, their spacing perfect.
"Only three?" Tong Baixiong said, his tone flat. "Did the others miss?"
Six needles, but only three hit? He glared at Liu Yang, ready to dismiss Alex.
"No," Alex said, shaking his head. "All six hit. Take a closer look."
Liu Yang darted to the chair, gasping. Tong Baixiong followed, his breath catching. Beyond the three visible needles, another pierced the backrest's far side, unseen from Alex's angle. A fifth needle embedded in the seat's underside, and—flipping the chair—the sixth needle gleamed on the opposite underside, perfectly placed.
"How did you do this?" Tong Baixiong's eyes widened, all contempt gone. Such precision, striking invisible targets, was indefensible.
Liu Yang stammered, "You… how?"
"It's incredible," Tong Baixiong muttered, awestruck. "Truly incredible."
Six needles, three visible, three hidden—such a technique was unlike any known in the martial arts world.
"It's simple, really," Alex said, spinning a tale. "When objects collide, they shift direction. With practice, you master the angle, timing, and force to hit unseen targets."
Tong Baixiong and Liu Yang exchanged bewildered glances. The explanation sounded profound, yet baffling. This world's martial ways were strange, but Alex would play along.
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