Part 2: Limitless
The next morning, he returned.
He always did.
But something felt different.
His body no longer ached like it used to. The soreness dulled faster. The bruises from overtraining faded overnight. The fog in his mind was lifting. The sluggishness, the internal drag he'd felt since waking up in this world—it was gone.
He knew why.
The sedatives. The suppressants. Whatever Hydra had pumped into him over the years—they were finally gone.
His system had flushed it all out. Or adapted. Maybe both.
He began tracking the changes.
Push harder? Heal faster. Strain further? React quicker. Every rep, every strike, every time he hit the floor and forced himself to stand again — something improved.
He wasn't just getting stronger. He was outgrowing limits.
His balance had refined. Footwork that was once stiff now flowed. His strength no longer surged uncontrollably but responded with uncanny precision. And his thoughts—his mind felt… sharp. Too sharp.
He could recall details with ease. Patterns. Words people said days ago. The way Tony rubbed the bridge of his nose when deep in thought. How Steve's left arm always dropped an inch lower after training. It all stuck.
And then there was the other thing.
Telekinesis.
He stood before the ball again. But this time, he didn't reach for rage.
He didn't scream in his mind, didn't summon memories of blood or pain.
He breathed.
He channeled the anger — not as fire, but as fuel. Not chaos, but current.
The ball lifted off the ground. An inch. Then two.
It hovered.
Riven opened his eyes. A slow, shaky breath escaped his lungs.
It stayed up.
And then, with a twitch of his fingers, he sent it drifting gently through the air before lowering it to the ground.
The cameras recorded everything. Steve leaned forward. Tony's eyes narrowed.
Inside the room, Riven stared at the now-still ball.
He smiled.
Not out of pride. Not out of joy.
Out of certainty.