The moment Joren lunged, the air cracked.
His body blurred forward, a storm wrapped in muscle and speed. My enhanced senses screamed before thought could even form, and instinct dragged me sideways. His fist tore past my cheek like a cannonball. The force it carried stung my skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.
Before I could draw breath, his knee speared toward my ribs. I dropped low, palms brushing the ground as the reinforced floor shuddered under the weight of his missed strike. Tiny fragments of tile scattered across the training hall.
I kicked off, flipping backward, desperate to create distance.
Three-Step Flash, my mind raced. First step: speed… second step: misdirection… third—
But before my foot even landed, Joren was already there. His frame cut the distance as though space itself bent to his will. His shadow fell over me, his fist descending like a hammer meant to shatter the earth.
I crossed my forearms in desperation. The impact was an explosion inside my bones. My body lifted clean off the floor and shot across the hall until my spine slammed into the far wall. The breath tore from my lungs in a violent spray.
Joren rolled his shoulders casually, a predator at ease. This wasn't a hunt. It was a lesson.
"Not bad," he said flatly. "But evasion is the strategy of prey. And you weren't born to be prey."
I staggered to my feet, ribs burning. He advanced with terrifying calm. I darted forward, feinting left. For a fraction of a second, I saw it—a gap under his ribs, a perfect target for the First Form of Heavenbreaker Fist.
I struck.
He didn't even dodge. His elbow snapped down, intercepting my fist with surgical precision. Pain shot up my arm like lightning. My knuckles felt as though they had collided with a mountain. My mind had seen the path—but my body couldn't walk it.
Then he countered.
A storm of fists and kicks rained down. My world narrowed to fragments of motion—the tightening of his shoulders, the shift of his hips, the twitch before each strike. I could see everything, predict everything, and do nothing.
Sweat blurred my vision. I pivoted low, sweeping at his ankle. For a heartbeat, his balance tilted—only for him to spin with the motion, his heel flashing toward my temple.
I ducked just in time, the wind of his kick cutting so sharp I swore it split my skull.
I leapt back, flipping away to buy space. My feet barely touched the ground before Joren's presence swallowed me whole again. He closed the distance effortlessly, his fists blurring into afterimages.
I raised my arms, blocking one strike—then another—then a third. Each landed like a drumbeat against my bones, rattling through my entire frame. My muscles screamed. My body lagged behind the clarity of my mind.
"You're fast," Joren said, his voice calm amidst the chaos. His fist slammed into my guard, forcing me back. "But speed without force is just running away."
I ground my teeth. I lunged, aiming a counterpunch. His knee came up, colliding with my ribs before my fist could land. Pain bloomed, white-hot.
I staggered, gasping for air.
Joren didn't press. He simply straightened, his stance loose, almost bored.
"The warm-up," he said, "is over."
A chill rippled down my spine.
He moved again, and this time it wasn't just speed—it was control. His body shifted with fluid precision, every strike angled with impossible sharpness. Punches curved and dipped, twisting mid-flight as if guided by a will stronger than physics itself.
I tried the swaying, chaotic rhythm of drunken boxing, weaving unpredictably. For a moment, it worked. His fist brushed past my nose.
But he adjusted mid-strike. His elbow caught my sternum dead center. The world inverted. I landed hard, coughing blood. My ribs screamed in protest.
He didn't give me space. His presence bore down like a collapsing sky. His fists blurred, faster than thought, faster than breath.
Desperation clawed at me. I lashed out wildly, my knuckles grazing his cheek. He didn't flinch. He twisted, redirected my strike, and slammed his shoulder into mine. My vision flashed white. My body nearly buckled.
Still, I forced myself upright. My legs trembled, but I stood.
Stand. Just stand.
Joren's eyes locked onto mine. "Do you feel the difference, Zander?"
My chest heaved. "Feel… what?"
"This," he said, driving a punch forward.
It stopped an inch from my chest. But the shockwave slammed into me, compressing my lungs.
I choked, clutching my ribs.
"This is what it means to be a Martial Master." His voice rumbled low. "My body and my will are one. No wasted movement. No wasted energy. When I strike—" he stepped closer, his fist hovering near my heart, "—the world agrees with the motion."
Then his punch landed.
Agony exploded in my gut. My knees gave out, but his hand grabbed my collar, keeping me upright. His face was inches from mine.
"This is seventy percent," he whispered. "Just my body alone."
Seventy percent. And I could barely survive it.
He shoved me back. I collapsed onto the tiles, clutching my stomach, fighting for breath.
But Joren wasn't finished.
The air around him shimmered. His arms flushed crimson, veins glowing beneath the skin. Heat radiated off him in suffocating waves. Wisps of steam hissed upward, curling into the air.
My heart hammered.
"And this…" Joren said, raising his glowing fists, "…is my ace."
The oppressive aura pressed against me like a tidal wave. My skin prickled, sweat evaporating instantly in the heat radiating from him.
I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe.
He flexed, steam spiraling around his body like a living shroud. His arms glowed hotter, each vein lit like molten iron.
"This is what awaits you, if you dare climb," Joren said, his voice steady, absolute. He lowered his arms, the heat simmering but not vanishing. "Awakening. The force that makes us more than human."
He turned, walking toward the door. His silhouette blurred in the rising steam.
At the threshold, he paused, tilting his head slightly.
"Hurry up, Zander," he said without looking back. "I won't wait for you forever. The current you… is no challenge."
Then he stepped through, vanishing into the corridor. The sound of his footsteps faded, leaving only silence and the echo of my ragged breathing.
I knelt there, every muscle screaming, my pride in tatters. Yet beneath the pain, something stubborn burned.
If this is the summit… then I will climb.
Because one day, I wouldn't just see the openings. I would be the storm that broke through them.