The 25x gravity field was a realm of pure, unadulterated agony. It was a domain where existence itself was a battle. Lying flat in his crib, Astra felt as if a mountain had been gently placed upon his chest. Each breath was a ragged, shuddering victory, drawing air through lungs that felt like crushed paper. The familiar groan of the crib's metal was now a continuous, alarming shriek of stress. He had to be careful; if the crib fully buckled, the noise would attract attention he couldn't afford.
This was no longer training. This was a siege against his own limitations.
He began his routine within the crushing field. The simple act of pushing himself up onto his hands and knees was a Herculean effort that took ten full minutes, his muscles trembling violently, his Ki flaring in desperate protest. He held the position until his arms gave way, collapsing face-first into the padded mat. The impact, amplified by the immense gravity, felt like a solid punch.
[Minor Fracture Detected: Nasal Bone.]
[Zenkai Boost Activated. Limit-Breaker Efficiency: 200%.]
[Power Level: 105 -> 107]
He ignored the sharp, bright pain, channeling a trickle of mana into the [Heal] spell. The familiar warmth knitted the bone back together, the process slower and more mana-intensive under the heavy field. This was perfect. It was forcing an efficiency upon his magic he had never achieved in the forest.
He repeated the process. Push up. Hold. Collapse. Zenkai. Heal.
Push up.Hold. Collapse. Zenkai. Heal.
It was a brutal, monotonous cycle of self-destruction and regeneration. His body was a piece of metal, and he was the smith, hammering it against the anvil of impossible gravity, folding it, strengthening it with every blow. His [Energy Harmonization] skill was the fire, ensuring the Ki and Mana worked in concert to reinforce his being rather than tear it apart.
After what felt like an eternity, his body could take no more. He deactivated the regulator, the sudden release from the pressure so profound it was disorienting. He floated in a sea of painful relief, his Power Level now reading a solid 115. A gain of ten levels in a single, brutal session. The progress was intoxicating, but the cost was written in the deep, systemic ache that permeated his entire being.
This was his life now. A double existence. By day, the weak Ghost, whispering solutions, his power level a carefully maintained fiction. By night, a prisoner in a self-made hell, forging a body that could one day challenge gods.
But ambition was a hungry beast. 25x gravity was immense, but he knew the legends. He knew of the 100x gravity of the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, the even greater intensities Goku would later endure. 25x was a milestone, not the destination. And his [Stellar Forge] whispered of possibilities. The regulator could be better. More efficient. Stronger.
He needed more materials. Rarer materials. The scrap left by the warriors was sufficient for basic upgrades, but for a leap to 50x or 100x, he needed military-grade components, the kind used in the warships of the Planet Trade Organization itself.
His opportunity came in the form of Borg, the warrior whose scanner he had first fixed. Borg was in a heated argument with a technician over a malfunctioning energy capacitor—a vital component for capital ship weaponry. The technician insisted it was a total loss, its internal crystalline matrix shattered.
"The harmonic stabilizer is fractured," Astra's voice, thin and precise, cut through Borg's frustration. "But the primary lattice is intact. It can be recalibrated to function at 92% efficiency if you bypass the secondary dampener and inject a controlled surge of energy to re-fuse the matrix."
Both Borg and the technician stared at him. The technical jargon was beyond standard Saiyan comprehension, but the certainty in the infant's mental voice was undeniable.
"How do you know that?" the technician asked, his voice a mixture of suspicion and awe.
Astra met his gaze, his own eyes unnervingly calm. "I see the breaks in things."
Following Astra's precise, step-by-step instructions, the technician managed to get the capacitor to hum back to life, its power output reading just as the infant had predicted.
Borg looked from the functioning capacitor to Astra, a new, calculating glint in his eyes. The Ghost wasn't just for fixing scout ships and armor. This was another level.
"What do you want?" Borg asked bluntly, the unspoken agreement shifting. This was no longer a simple trade for minor favors.
Astra's response was immediate, a list he had prepared in his mind. "A vial of liquid duranium. A functioning, Class-2 energy core. A kilogram of neutron-star alloy shavings."
The requests were absurdly specific and dangerously high-grade. This was material used in the heart of Frieza's dreadnoughts. Possessing it was borderline treason.
Borg's face tightened. "Why?"
"The gravity," Astra replied, his mental voice devoid of emotion. "I must become stronger. The machine that helps me… requires better parts. I can make things for you in return. Better things."
He was no longer just offering repairs. He was offering innovation. He was dangling the promise of superior technology in front of a warrior whose culture valued power above all.
Borg was silent for a long moment, the hum of the capacitor filling the air. The risk was monumental. The reward… could be the edge he needed to rise through the ranks.
"Fine," Borg grunted, his voice low. "But if this backfires, you were never born. Understood, Ghost?"
Astra gave a slow, deliberate nod.
As Borg strode away, Astra lay back in his crib, the phantom weight of 25x gravity already calling to him. He had just crossed a new line, gambling with forces far more dangerous than any Fang Wolf or Rock Lizard. He was now conspiring with a Saiyan warrior to steal from the Planet Trade Organization.
The path to power was paved not just with pain, but with perilous alliances. The weight of gravity was nothing compared to the weight of his own escalating ambition.