Victor lay flat on his bed, feeling numb. The sun was at its peak, sipping into the room through a small window on the fourth wall. He raised an arm into the air, spreading and constricting his fingers repeatedly to see if they were under his control.
'It seems to be wearing off. I still don't quite understand that ability—acting like an active poison that targets the nervous system to immobilize whoever it's directed at.'
He hadn't been fully conscious when the ability was used on him, so he had no idea how it worked. Was it through direct contact? Or could Samuel activate it on anyone within a certain area?
'I have to figure out a way to counter such abilities in the future... but the only way I can think of is not having a pulse—which means being dead.'
If there were no pulse, the ability wouldn't have a way to paralyze him, since there'd be nothing to disrupt or hijack.
'Other than that, I just need to get stronger—strong enough to surpass the effects of the ability altogether. So... where should I start?'
"...Yeah. Combat."
From all the knowledge in his past—though it was fuzzy due to the fusion of two people's memories in one human brain, which could easily lead to madness—it was clear that no matter how powerful one's abilities were, how they were used mattered most.
Even someone skilled only in physical combat could give a powerful ability user serious trouble. If timed right, a fighter could outlast the ability user until they were exhausted, and once close enough, the fight could easily shift in the non-ability user's favor.
And if that same fighter did awaken an ability that supported their physical techniques—whether it was weaker or not—the advantage could be completely overturned.
An ability user could only channel as much Lumina energy as their body could contain. Trying to forcefully exceed that limit might lead to unpredictable, uncoordinated backlash.
"Meh. I'm so bored. Maybe training would help?"
He pushed himself up from the bed, releasing the stale air trapped in his lungs. Swinging his legs over, he let them touch the hard floor. As Victor stood, the bed creaked in what sounded like relief.
"I wonder if this floor can handle it. Oh well—we won't know unless we try," he muttered, suddenly taking a stance.
The posture resembled that of MMA at a glance, but the way his arms launched forward and his feet moved in rhythm revealed it wasn't MMA at all.
His arms were bent at ninety degrees from his shoulders, raised high enough to hover protectively in front of his face like a living shield.
His abdomen curved inward slightly, almost forming a C-shape, while his legs constantly bounced, keeping his knees as focal points each time they rose.
This stance was known as Muay Boran, more commonly referred to today as Muay Thai.
In an instant, he kicked forward so fast that the air flattened in resistance to the speed at which his leg flew. Even after the kick was performed, a combustion of hot air in the shape of an arc smoothly cut through the atmosphere, striking and damaging the wall.
Before him, the wall had caved in, shaped like an abyssal line.
"So this is Draconium energy. I knew there was something familiar about this."
Sixty years ago, while fighting a group of Draks that invaded the most populated city of refugees at the time, he had encountered a particular Drak that used a power not commonly known—only vaguely labeled as a theory by researchers.
It was thoroughly confirmed that day when a five-bladed Drak used this power to enhance its physical capabilities and abilities beyond anything the human race had seen—in just five minutes.
In that short span, the Drak had endured brutal damage that should have meant certain death. With seven three-inch holes through its chest, any creature should have been down permanently.
However, limitations were broken. At the last minute, it stood up—its eyes white like milk and with the same expression as a suicide bomber.
Well, suicide bomber was a fitting term, as the Drak detonated itself moments after rising. The city, which stretched dozens of miles and housed around five million people, was more than half-destroyed in just six seconds.
Victor was lucky to be one of the survivors. He had used a special type of nano-shield, but even then, luck was heavily on his side—five other soldiers, also protected and even positioned meters ahead of him, were obliterated by the blast.
Still, he was sure: right before the Drak exploded, the same energy—Draconium energy—had surged from it. He could now clearly see that same energy emitting from his leg, the same energy that flared out whenever his form changed.
"Hm… although… the energy is far weaker than when I'm in my beast form. But... this way, I can use my extraordinary strength without transforming."
That sounded good to him. As long as he could hide his ability and only use it in critical situations, he was fine. He didn't know what kind of trouble this power could bring him, so for now, it was best to limit its use.
Stretching out his palm, his katana materialized within his grip. Clenching it tightly, he slashed the air.
'I also have my weapon—the one that came with me through transmigration. With the skills I honed in my past life and the experience I carry, as long as I wield this katana, I stay far from being considered weak.'
'I shall train myself to sharpen my skills once more.'
Just as he said, he spent hours practicing his moves—reducing the stiffness in his new body, aligning each difficult maneuver with his instincts, and figuring out ways to integrate Draconium energy into his attacks to make them more lethal.
Time passed. Noon became evening. The sky dimmed as darkness infected the expanse.
Victor sat on his bed, recovering. His breathing was heavy, his face filled with rage.
"I can't be trapped here like a dog!"
Without a second thought, he jumped through the window of his room.
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