- One Year and Four Months Later - 1995 -
Sixteen months slipped by in the blink of an eye.
Two full years had passed since Erik first entered the Ten Rings.
In that time, his life had become a crucible. From the first light of dawn until the darkness of night, his world was nothing but training and combat. The instructors poured into him every technique they knew—every strike, every throw, every subtle way to break bone or take a life. Theirs was an education built on centuries of blood.
But Erik never stopped there.
Where others collapsed onto their mats during breaks, he kept moving. Where his peers sat in the shade to rest.. Erik hammered his fists into wood and stone, ran drills until sweat blinded his eyes or tested the edge of his bioelectricity until his head rang with exhaustion. His body was a machine that refused to break. Thanks to his spider-gifts, he could push far past human limits, and a single night of sleep left him fully restored—no aches, no lingering fatigue, just hunger for more.
At first, the instructors warned him. They muttered about overtraining, about how he'd burn himself out or cripple his growth. But warnings turned to silence as days turned to months, and soon they no longer questioned it. They accepted him for what he was—a maniac, a boy possessed by obsession.
All day, every day. When he wasn't training, it was fighting, sparring. Every moment was a struggle. Failure led to a beating. Victory led to the next fighting style, the next lesson.
And the results spoke for themselves.
In two years, Erik had carved skills into his bones. He became proficient in countless martial arts: The flowing grace of Shaolin-style and Tai Chi, the explosive force of Bajiquan, the sharp precision of Wing Chun, the acrobatics of Wushu. He layered them with the hard edges of Taekwondo, Muay Thai, and Silat. The raw clinches of Wrestling. The ruthless pragmatism of Krav Maga. The fluid locks and throws of Jujutsu and the direct brutality of Boxing.
Weapons too, became extensions of his hands. Sword, staff, knives, rope dart.. Anything with an edge, weight, or reach, he forced into his arsenal.
He wasn't yet a master of any discipline, but his progress was extraordinary, sharpened by the memories of a past life, tempered by experience and accelerated by a body built to endure.
Only in Chi did he find his pace slower, his progress halting. Hours of meditation, katas and breath work left him steady but unsatisfied. That power, elusive and subtle, demanded patience—and patience was the one thing Erik never truly had.
But he continued to persevere, because there was another power—another opportunity—he intended to seize in the future. And that path demanded mastery of chi. So he endured, grinding through the slow progress with the same relentlessness he gave everything else.
Those two years were also filled with challenges and rising tensions inside the Ten Rings.
When Erik had first joined, he had been somewhat guided by Gao Lei, a sixteen years old who was already carving a name for himself.
Gao Lei was lean and wiry, not particularly handsome, but undeniably capable. His boxing and grappling skills made him one of the best among the younger members.
His position as a bridge between youth and older recruits also gave him influence that others lacked.
He saw opportunity in Erik, Li, Feng, and Midnight. At first, it was purely strategic. By guiding and supporting them like he had done with others, Gao Lei hoped to bind them to him, planting the seeds for a future where they would stand beneath his banner.
But time changed things.
Erik and Li were far from average. Feng and Midnight, quickly rose beyond expectations too. Their progress was shocking, even to the seasoned instructors. Their skill, their instincts, their growth… It was extraordinary. And Gao Lei, for all his talent, couldn't keep pace.
The difference between what he had been at their age and what they were now was undeniable. It wasn't just talent. It was something greater—something that could not be replicated.
Admiration soured into jealousy. Jealousy curdled into anger.
Every time they impressed the elders, every time Xu Wenwu's attention lingered just a little longer on Erik, Gao Lei felt the sting.
Each success chipped away at his pride, each nod of approval toward them was a shadow cast over him.
Frustration pushed him into covert action. Quietly, he ordered his own circle to harass them—petty schemes, rigged challenges, subtle sabotage meant to humble them. But every attempt backfired. The conflict spilled out in small scuffles across the months.
Erik never cared when the heat was on him, but the moment Li, Feng, or Midnight were targeted, he stepped in. That protective streak became clear quickly, and it only made Li cling to him more—something Erik found equal parts amusing and exasperating.
The little group, always standing back-to-back, not only survived these ordeals but thrived. Their bond grew, their strength sharpened, and instead of tarnishing their reputation, the trials only elevated it.
Worse still, Xu Wenwu's interest in Erik deepened. The boy was no longer just another recruit.. He was becoming something else. Something more. And that realization only fanned Gao Lei's bitterness into a hidden fire.
By the end of the second year, the line was drawn. Gao Lei had set himself against them, even if he wore the mask of camaraderie.
And Erik, understood it perfectly.
Unbeknownst to the younger members of the Ten Rings, there was one individual who was keenly aware of the undercurrents within the organization.
Ever observant and calculating, Xu Wenwu knew of the dynamics among his recruits and the tensions simmering just beneath the surface.
Sitting in his opulent office, the man rose from his seat with a sense of purpose.
The room, adorned with ancient artifacts and decorated in rich, dark tones, seemed to reflect his formidable presence.
His gaze was steely as he addressed Ling, his trusted advisor who stood by his side.
"Gather all the members below twenty-one years of age in the courtyard." Xu Wenwu commanded, his voice carrying a weight of authority that brooked no argument.
Ling, accustomed to Xu Wenwu's orders, inclined his head respectfully. "Right away, sir." He responded before swiftly exiting the office to carry out the directive.