Ren's hand closed around the Storm-Worn Bracer on his wrist. He took one final, steadying breath, sealing himself within his room and his own resolve.
"The path of the schemer ends here, boy," Zephyrion's voice was a low, hungry growl. "Schemes are for the weak. We are Raijin. Our truth is power. Our argument is the thunder. Do not fear the storm. Become it. Now!"
Ren obeyed. He obliterated the dam of his will.
The full, unrestrained power of his Spirit Soul erupted, a cataclysmic tsunami of pure, chaotic energy. Agony, white-hot and absolute, seared through every nerve. His vision vanished, replaced by a blinding, internal sun of azure light. His spiritual channels, which he had so painfully expanded, now groaned and stretched to the breaking point.
The Storm-Worn Bracer flared to life. The ancient metal blazed, its runes igniting as it absorbed the fatal excess of Aether, acting as a metaphysical lightning rod that prevented Ren's body from turning to ash. It did not lessen the pain, but it contained the explosion.
"Yes! This is it!" Zephyrion roared in triumph. "This is the true nature of our blood! This pain is your birthright! Embrace it!"
Ren grit his teeth, blood streaming from his nose and eyes. He embraced it. His Aetheric Capacity expanded violently, blasting past Rank 6, 7, 8, and 9. He slammed into the final wall of his tier: Rank 10, the absolute peak of an Aether Initiate. It was a barrier of solid diamond.
"The mortal ceiling!" Zephyrion bellowed. "A normal cultivator would now require a high-grade Aether Core. They need a pure, external power source to safely fuel their Aetheric Tribulation and coax their soul into a new state of being. But you, boy, you are different. A Raijin does not need an external spark to start a fire. You are the fire! The bracer will be your catalyst, and your own soul will be the tribulation! Shatter the barrier with your own might!"
Ren gathered his will and the full, raging force of the storm within him. He did not ask. He did not persuade. He commanded. With a final, silent scream that was pure power, he threw everything he was against the Rank 10 barrier.
A soundless, perfect CRACK echoed through his soul. The ceiling of the Aether Initiate realm was annihilated.
A new, vast, and empty space opened up within him. His Aetheric Capacity flooded into it, expanding exponentially before settling at a new, stable plateau. Rank 11. Aether Apprentice.
The raging storm within him did not vanish. It calmed, settling into a deep, powerful, circulating river. The pain subsided, replaced by an intoxicating feeling of pure, undeniable power.
He opened his eyes. The air in his room was thick with ozone. He slowly raised his hand, and as he did, the knowledge of his first true Soul Skill bloomed in his mind—an instinctual art, the first proper expression of his Raijin blood. He channeled the Aether from his new, profound reserves, and a bolt of solid, silent, azure lightning, as thick as his wrist, materialized in his palm. It did not crackle or hiss. It was perfectly contained, a solid object of pure, weaponized power.
He had a name for it. It was the echo of the thunder he had used before, now given its true form. He called it "Thunder's Needle."
"Good," Zephyrion's voice was a low, satisfied hum. "The first foundation is laid. Now, you possess might. And in this world, might is the only argument that truly matters."