(Robotic dimension)
The lab was alive even in silence—screens blinking, machines humming, data flowing like blood through artificial veins.
A lone figure moved through the corridor.
Her head was covered with a dark scarf, pulled low, hiding most of her face. From afar, she looked like a junior researcher—quiet, unnoticeable. That was exactly the intention. In a place where everyone belonged to protocols, anonymity was the most dangerous weapon.
She paused at the security panel.
Her fingers moved fast.
Too fast for a human.
The scanner blinked green.
The door slid open.
Inside, the lab expanded like a cathedral of science. Tall transparent chambers stood in rows, some empty, some filled with faintly glowing fluids. Holographic displays floated mid-air, projecting formulas that rewrote the rules of physics. Robotic arms rested like sleeping predators, waiting for commands.
Her eyes scanned everything.
Not randomly.
Purposefully.
She wasn't searching blindly—she already knew what she wanted. She moved past experiment tables, past quantum cores, past sealed weapon prototypes. Her gaze finally stopped at a corner desk.
A thin black folder.
Stamped in bold red letters:
CONFIDENTIAL
She reached out.
The moment her fingers touched the folder, something slipped.
Clink.
A small metallic sound hit the floor.
Her body froze.
For a split second, her scarf shifted, revealing part of her cheek—smooth, human-like. She bent down quickly, retrieving the fallen object.
It was part of her hand.
Not skin.
Metal.
She adjusted it back into place seamlessly, like it was second nature. No panic. No hesitation.
She tucked the confidential document under her arm and turned.
The lab cameras rotated slightly.
She stopped again.
Then—nothing happened.
Either the cameras didn't register her… or someone wanted her to succeed.
She walked out, the doors sealing behind her as if she had never been there.
(Modern dimension)
The underground arena never slept.
Even though the city above it pretended nothing existed beneath its polished streets, deep below the concrete and steel, breath, sweat, blood, and money moved endlessly. The air was thick—heavy with the smell of metal, oil, and bodies pressed too close together. Rings were arranged like islands, each surrounded by shouting crowds, flashing screens, and bookmakers whispering numbers faster than bullets.
Erika stood at the edge of one such ring.
She rolled her shoulders once, slowly, grounding herself. The loose outer clothes hid the fitted layer beneath—fabric tight enough not to restrict movement, yet strong enough to absorb impact. Her hair was tied back cleanly, not for appearance, but for war. Old habits never left her.
Scott stood beside her, trying very hard to look calm.
Inside, he was anything but.
"You okay?" he asked, forcing a casual tone.
Erika didn't look at him. Her eyes were already on the ring.
"This place," she said softly, "it smells like a battlefield."
Scott blinked.
The announcer's voice boomed through the speakers, distorted yet powerful, introducing the fighters. Erika stepped forward as her name echoed—mispronounced, stretched, but loud enough for the crowd to grab onto.
Across the ring stood her opponent.
Sherlin.
Lean. Light. But deceptively strong. Her posture was relaxed, confident, the kind that came only from someone who had won enough fights to trust her instincts. Her eyes were sharp, measuring, calm.
They were called to the center.
The referee raised a hand. "Shake hands."
Erika froze.
She looked Sherlin up and down—not in arrogance, but in confusion. In her world, before a fight, there was no greeting. Only silence… and steel.
Sherlin noticed the hesitation and smiled slightly, extending her hand again. "It's respect," she said.
Understanding flickered.
Erika nodded once and clasped Sherlin's hand briefly. The contact was firm, respectful. Then they stepped back.
The bell rang.
For a fraction of a second, Erika didn't move.
Her mind slipped.
Not here—
Not now—
But back.
The first war.
She remembered the weight of her armor, heavier than her fear. Screams around her. Steel clashing. Blood splattering the dirt beneath her feet. She had stood frozen once, sword trembling in her grip, watching others fight and fall.
Then someone had attacked her.
She had defended.
Another came.
She had struck back.
And in that moment—fear had burned away, replaced by something hotter, sharper. Rage. Purpose. Survival.
That memory cost her.
Sherlin struck twice—fast, clean punches snapping against Erika's guard. A third blow sent Erika stumbling back. She hit the ground hard.
Blood touched her lips.
The referee's voice cut through the noise.
"One!"
The crowd roared.
"Two!"
Erika's vision swam.
"Three!"
She smiled.
She pushed herself up before the count reached nine, wiping the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. Then she stood.
And shifted.
Her stance changed completely.
Feet grounded. Body angled. One arm raised as if holding a shield, the other poised like a sword grip. Empty hands—but the posture was unmistakable.
A warrior's stance.
The crowd went quiet, confused.
Sherlin frowned. This wasn't boxing. This wasn't kickboxing. This was something else—something old.
Sherlin attacked again, aiming straight for Erika's nose.
Erika moved.
She didn't block.
She redirected.
Sherlin's punch slid past, Erika striking her elbow in the same motion. A sharp crack echoed. Sherlin staggered, shocked.
Erika followed—one clean strike to the face.
Blood appeared on Sherlin's lips now.
Sherlin smiled.
They clashed again and again, faster, fiercer. Sherlin attacked aggressively, but Erika didn't rush. She observed. Measured. Waited.
On the fifth exchange, Erika saw the opening.
She stepped in and kicked—hard.
Sherlin went down.
The count began.
She didn't rise.
"Ten!"
The bell rang.
The crowd exploded.
Erika walked to Sherlin and knelt beside her, speaking quietly, so only she could hear.
"Don't always make the first move," Erika said. "Observe. Understand. Then strike. Power without patience will always fail."
Sherlin said nothing.
But she listened.
Scott was screaming.
"ERIKA! I told you! I BET 700 COINS ON YOU!"
Erika turned, confused. "Coins?"
Scott laughed breathlessly. "Money! I bet 700 coins! Honestly, I should've bet 7000. I'd be rich by now!"
Erika blinked. "You gamble… on fights?"
"Underground fights," he corrected proudly. "Illegal. Profitable."
She shook her head. "Strange world."
Scott asked about her experience in this fight. Erika replied that she expected someone more stronger.
Someone from behind heard her convo with scott
As they exited the arena, people chanted her name. Erika found it irritating. Victory was not meant to be worshipped.
Then Scott froze.
Joel.
She stood near the exit.
Short, straight hair tied neatly back. A watch on one wrist, a bracelet on the other. Her nose had a soft pinkish hue, and tiny pimples dotted her skin—not flaws, but details that made her real. Beautiful.
Scott ran to her without thinking.
"Joel! It's been a week! Where've you been?"
Erika noticed something else.
Someone was taking pictures.
She memorized the face—but said nothing.
Joel glanced past Scott. "Who's that?"
Scott turned. "Oh! That's my uncle's daughter. My sister."
Something warm stirred in Erika's chest.
She stepped forward. "Yes," she said dryly, "I'm this idiot's sister."
Joel laughed. "Nice to meet you."
Later that night, Scott lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, smiling to himself like a mental.
Erika went to Jimmy's lab.
"How long?" she asked.
Jimmy sighed. "The top surface is repaired. But the watch reset. Some features are gone. You'll need time to learn it."
"I will," Erika said calmly.
Jimmy looked her over. "After you bathe."
She scoffed. "In war, I went ten days without bathing. Sometimes three days without food."
Jimmy recoiled. "Bath. Now."
(Historic dimension)
William Moke entered Victor's kingdom.
Not as a conqueror.
As a guest.
Victor welcomed him.
William requested privacy.
Jaccob's heart raced.
Hope. Fear. Excitement.
Inside the chamber—
No one heard what was said.
(Robotic dimension )
A massive circular screen flickered to life in the center of the chamber.
All the scientists stopped what they were doing and turned toward it.
The head scientist appeared on the screen—not physically present, but projected, his image sharp and authoritative. His voice echoed evenly through the hall.
"We have already finalized the plan," he said. "As discussed earlier, we will construct a teleportation machine on the moon. This machine will be directly connected to our world."
The scientists exchanged glances but remained silent.
"The purpose," he continued, "is to transport the strongest known titanium alloy—Ti-TiO titanium metal—from our dimension to the moon. Using this metal, we will build a research facility there."
He paused for emphasis.
"The moon lab will allow us to conduct high-risk experiments without endangering our world. More importantly, it will serve as a defensive outpost—to protect that region from hostile alien species."
A low murmur spread across the room.
The head scientist's gaze hardened.
"Bring me the confidential document."
He turned slightly. "You. Go to the archive and retrieve it."
One scientist immediately stepped forward and bowed slightly. "Yes."
He left the chamber quickly and entered the document storage room. Rows of metallic cabinets lined the walls, each marked with security codes and encrypted labels. He moved straight to the section reserved for restricted files.
His hand paused.
The slot was empty.
He searched again—faster this time. Checked nearby sections. Re-scanned the system.
Nothing.
The document labeled CONFIDENTIAL was missing.
A thin layer of fear crept into his expression.
Something had already gone wrong.
(Historic dimension)
After having a long discussion king william came out from the room and crossed the Alexander with a smile.
Alexander ran fast to check victor. Jaccob felt something great by seeing william 's smile. Alexander entered the room. His voice echoed the room "My Lord...."