Kael Veyne knew his first battlefield would not be the cemetery, but himself. The disappointing struggle against the three Fodder Shades was a glaring indication of his weaknesses: poor stamina, worse control, and a complete lack of tactical discipline.
The next morning, before the sun had fully rise on the horizon, Kael was already moving. His body ached, a reminder of his failure, but he used the pain as fuel. This was the start of the Batman inspired Protocol—a two-hour daily grind designed to trained his body worthy of the power it contained. He pushed through a grueling routine: long-distance running to build endurance, followed by bodyweight exercises in his soon-to-be gym—push-ups, pull-ups, squats, and sit-ups until his muscles screamed and trembled. It was brutal, monotonous, and exactly what he needed. He wasn't just building strength; he was forging discipline. Power is useless without control.
At school, his new life continued. His 8th-grade core courses—Pre-Algebra, English, General Science, Social Studies—were trivial for the educated him in the past life. He maintained his cover perfectly: the quiet, polite, slightly withdrawn new student who always had the right answer in science but never stood up unless called upon.
That afternoon, he went to Master Feng's Academy. It was located between a bakery and a bookstore, its front decorated with simple, elegant calligraphy. Inside, the air smelled of faint sweat, and discipline. The dojo was a wide, open space with mirrored walls and worn tatami mats. Students of various ages moved with a focused grace, their sharp sound punctuating the silence as they practiced. Master Feng himself was a man of few words with an intense presence, his movements economical and precise. He watched Kael with dark, assessing eyes. Kael signed up for sessions three afternoons a week. The first lesson was not about kicking, but about stance, balance, and breath—the same foundational control he was seeking in his ghost powers. It was perfect.
In the other four days, his focus would be shifted from physical to intellectual. He visited the Elmerton library, a quiet haven of old books and older knowledge. He didn't ask about ghosts; instead, he requested historical town records, old newspapers, and books on local geology and folklore. He cross-referenced dates of strange occurrences, unexplained "vandalism," and old folk tales. He was populating his Spectral Database, his first surveillance tool crafted from information, not ectoplasm. The compiled data showed a clear picture: the town was a natural beacon for weak spectral activity.
His mind, however, was working on a larger canvas. Lying in bed each night, he didn't just see the mindless shades; he saw the future. His biggest of the series woud be Vlad Plasmius. The man's influence was a web of money, politics, and reputation. Kael couldn't compete with that, not yet. But he could start working on the anti-Vlad playbook.
In his notebook, he began drafting his three-month technological roadmap. It was simple and precise:
Plan 1: Containment (0-4 weeks): Reverse-engineer the Fenton Thermos to build a smaller, more efficient prototype. Top priority.
Plan 2: Detection & Analysis (1-8 weeks): Design a handheld Ecto-Scanner with a HUD to classify entity type and power level.
Plan 3: Automated Defense (8-12 weeks): Blueprint a stationary "Sentry Node" to secure a perimeter against low-tier threats.
The deeper, more ambitious ideas were goals for a future when his resources and knowledge weren't so meager
His ghost power training, meanwhile, became an exercise in brutal efficiency. In the evening, he would transform. No more wild blasts. He practiced holding his intangibility while moving through a complex obstacle course of tree branches. He focused on making his invisibility last not for seconds, but for a full five minutes of absolute stillness. He hovered in the air maintaining perfect equilibrium, until the effort made his head spin. Every session was about minimizing the energy cost of every action, stretching his precious stamina second by second.
Within a week, the spare room by the garage was transformed. It held a squat rack, a set of weights, a punching bag, and mats. It was a Spartan, functional space—a personal base for the weapon he was determined to become.
Two weeks after his disastrous first fight, Kael stood by the window at midnight, looking toward Amity Park. He was stronger, faster, and more controlled. But he was still unprepared for the cemetery. It was time to re-arm.
Transforming into a streak of blue and silver, he shot into the sky, the wind whipping past him. This time, his flight was steady, his course straight. He was not fleeing in panic. He was executing a supply run. He was going home to get the tools he needed to begin. The thought filled him not with nostalgia, but with a cold, determined purpose. The hunter was finally preparing for the hunt.