Four months had passed.
The Ten Rings headquarters was quiet, the corridors cloaked in the darkness of the night. Erik moved like a shadow, slipping silently from the shared quarters he had been assigned, careful not to wake anyone.
His footsteps made no sound, his breathing controlled. With a thought, the cloaking ability shimmered to life around him, bending light, dissolving his outline into the air.
Invisible and unheard, he drifted through the compound, each step deliberate, avoiding the watchful eyes of sentries and the faint glow of lanterns.
He knew the rhythm of the patrols now, the blind spots in the walls, the places where no one looked twice.
The headquarter slowly fell away behind him.
Erik slipped deeper into the mountain slopes until the stone gave way to scattered trees.
Their tall trunks stood like silent guardians, branches weaving together overhead to break the wind.
The ground here was filled with grass, and the air carried only the faint rustle of leaves.
He found a clearing tucked away between the trees, hidden from the paths below and sheltered from view by the forest's embrace.
Quiet, still, and far from prying eyes—it was the perfect place to disappear.
The weather had softened. The air still carried a chill, crisp enough to sting the lungs, but it was no longer the merciless cold that once cut to the bone.
The snow had melted away, patches of earth and stone exposed where white drifts had once ruled.
The mountains were still stern and unforgiving, but now they breathed with a quieter, more moderate cold.
Erik stood in the clearing, surrounded by tall, dark trees. The air smelled faintly of earth and pine.
At night, the place was never completely silent. He could hear the wind whispering through the branches, the creak of the trees as they swayed.
Small animals rustled in the underbrush, and insects buzzed quietly in the dark.
It was simple, steady noise. The sounds of the forest keeping him company.
Erik feet planted firmly, eyes closed. He drew in a deep breath, letting the air fill him like a tide, then released it slowly, until all noise in his mind had dissolved.
His arms began to trace wide arcs, palms open, guiding an unseen current around him. Each movement seemed to weigh the air, as if his hands were shaping something fluid and alive.
Then, with careful precision, he drew his hands back toward his abdomen, gathering his breath into that hidden point the teachers called his center.
He shifted seamlessly into strikes, slow yet deliberate. A fist shot forward, then retracted, his hips turning, his stance gliding back into place.
His body breathed discipline, each motion measured, each gesture bound to the rhythm of his lungs.
Gradually, his focus narrowed to his right hand. He lifted it before him, fingers spread, then curled them into a fist, slowly, deliberately.
Muscles tightened, veins surfaced and a faint warmth pulsed beneath his skin. Though his eyes remained closed, his entire being seemed attuned to that inner beat.
The rhythm of his breathing matched the rhythm of his movements, steady and focused. With every strike, every turn, he felt his body and mind drawing closer together, realigning.
The tension in his muscles eased, his thoughts sharpening as if his inner chaos was burning away.
After ten minutes he opened his eyes and drew in a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as the last of his movements stilled.
He lowered his arms slowly, gaze dropping to his hands. They were steady, strong, but… Empty. He felt nothing particular there.. No warmth, no flow of chi he could recognize.
Just his own skin and bone.
His instructors had spoken often in these last two months about the many ways to restore one's chi.
For exemple..
Meditation and breath control, to re-center the energy flow, almost like refilling an inner reservoir
Martial arts discipline, Practicing katas, forms or sparring to realign the body and spirit, recharging chi through movement and focus.
Rest and healing, allowing time, nourishment and recovery to restore it.
There were paths, all of them taught to him with patience and precision.
Four months was little more than the first step. He knew that.
He wasn't frustrated, not yet.
Rome wasn't built in a day.. He reminded himself, the old saying giving weight to his patience.
A faint crackle then broke the silence.
On his palms, tiny sparks flared to life. Yellow arcs of electricity snapping and dancing across his skin. The sharp hiss of static filled the clearing, the smell of ozone cutting through the cool mountain air.
"That's another thing…" Erik muttered, watching the current coil and flicker between his fingers. This ability.. It was called The Venom Blast.
In the last four months, he had tested its limits, learning piece by piece how it responded to his will.
He knew what Miles Morales had managed with it.
Infusing his fists or whole body in bio-electricity.. Even shaping constructs from it… Saber, Energy-Threads, things born of pure energy.
But none of that was here yet. Not for him.
He clenched his hand into a fist, willing the sparks to hold. They crawled up his knuckles, wrapping his skin in a shimmering coat of yellow light. For a few seconds, it looked like he had it—a Venom Punch ready to strike.
Then his head swam. A heavy fuzz settled in behind his eyes, his thoughts blurring. The glow on his hand sputtered, arcs thinning.
Erik sucked in a breath, shaking out his fist.
Only a few seconds, he thought grimly. That's all I've got in me right now.
He sat back on his heels, flexing his fingers as faint wisps of static still danced across his skin before fading completely.
His breathing steadied, but his head still carried that faint, numbing fuzz.
It's like a reservoir, he thought, picturing it in his mind.
But the problem ain't how much is in there.. I've got plenty stored.
The problem is control.
Instead of letting out only what he needed, the flow came surging all at once, spilling over like water bursting through a cracked dam.
Every time he tried to hold the current on his fist, it was as if the flood roared straight through his system, emptying the well far too fast.
Yeah control.. That was what he lacked.
And until he figured out how to steady the stream, his reservoir would always drain faster than it should.
Erik exhaled through his nose, then tightened his fist.
In an instant, the air snapped with a violent crackle. Small Yellow arcs erupted across his knuckles, weaving wildly around his hand.
The glow intensified until his fist shone like a lantern wrapped in lightning, each spark leaping and hissing with energy. The sound was sharp and alive, like a nest of angry hornets wrapped in static.
Without hesitation, Erik pivoted on his heel and drove his fist into the mountain wall.
BOOM! ZZZZZT!
The impact shook the air. Rock split under the strike, cracks spiderwebbing out in every direction. Stone fragments burst free, spraying across the ground as a section of the cliff face caved inward. He struck again, another thunderous blow. The mixture of his Spider raw strength and the explosive surge of the Venom Punch tore gouges from the mountainside, each hit leaving behind a crater of fractured stone and charred edges where the electricity had passed through.
Dust rained down around him, the wall groaning from the abuse, until finally he stopped. His fist dimmed, the light flickering out with a sharp pop.
Erik staggered back, the fuzz returning to his head in heavy waves. His breath came hard, chest rising and falling as he dropped down to sit in the grass.
He pressed his palms against his thighs, steadying himself, staring at the cracked stone in front of him.
His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing as determination cut through the haze of exhaustion.
- Three Hours Later -
Erik sat again cross-legged on the ground, his breathing steady, his body still.
His hands rested on his knees, knuckles raw and dripping with blood, crusting against the cold air.
Behind him, the crater in the mountain wall had grown wider and deeper, the stone shattered by countless strikes.
Dust clung to his clothes and skin, his body humming faintly from exertion.
His gaze fell on his fists, bruised and scarred from repetition, and his thoughts drifted inward.
This Bio-electricity… I wonder how it really works? He pondered silently.
Every human body carried electricity. It was how the brain fired signals to the muscles, how nerves carried commands faster than thought. Tiny sparks running along fragile wiring.
"These signals come from Ions, moving across cell membranes. But Human cells aren't built to store large amounts of charge." Erik muttered looking at the grass. "Not only that, but if a normal human somehow tried to build it up and release it.. His tissues would just fry resulting in fatal injuries."
That's why, like electric Eels.. I probably have special cells in my muscles and nervous system. He thought silently. Those cells can probably store Ion's on a much bigger scale than normal humans.
"That's not it tho'…" He muttered shaking his head.
He was different.
Eels could only release electricity in big bursts.. While He, with his Spider-enhanced physiology was able to control it. He wasn't limited to instinctive charges. He could absorb, shape, refine, control, weaponize. He thought, flexing his bloodied knuckles slowly, the ache sharp, grounding him in the present.
His mind flicked through the things he'd studied in his previous life for several long minutes. Possibilities, theories, all spinning in circles. At last, he let out a heavy sigh and pushed himself to his feet.
"I can't know fo' sure." He muttered under his breath. "At this point, I can only speculate."
Brushing at his clothes, he wiped away the dust and grit clinging to the fabric, forcing the thoughts out of his head.
He turned from the shattered crater in the rock and made his way down the slope, toward a small pond tucked among the trees.
The water's surface rippled faintly in the breeze as he knelt beside it.
He plunged his hands into the cold pond, hissing softly as the sting of cold water met his split knuckles. He then scrubbed away the dried blood, watching it cloud into the water before drifting off.
Once clean, he stood turning his steps back toward the Ten Rings headquarters. The stone walls loomed closer with every step.
Finally, he slipped through the gates and into the quiet halls, heading for the room he shared with three other kids.
Once inside, he sank down onto the narrow bed, its frame creaking beneath him. He pulled the thin blanket over himself, staring up at the wooden beams above.
Around him, the quiet breaths of the others filled the room, steady and unbroken.
His eyes slipped shut, and little by little, the weight of the training dragged him under.
And just like that, he slowly drifted into sleep.