[ March 18th, 2087 (Tuesday, Late Evening) | Underground Secret Room > Maison Bella Cafe > Sector 13-05 > Mega Ark-City 01: Radiant City > Earth ]
Mom activated her D-Blockade.
The small underground concrete room morphed—
Then space folded outward like a breath being exhaled.
Walls stretched.
Ceiling rose.
The basement expanded into a wide dojo-like chamber lined with reinforced flooring and neatly arranged weapon racks along the sides. Practice blades. Staves. Weighted chains.
Aunt Alura stood off to the side, arms crossed, observing.
Niero stepped into the center, going into his MMA stance once again.
Mom faced him as well in her CQC stance.
No apron.
No softness.
Only controlled stillness in her sports bra and yoga pants.
"Begin," she said.
They moved at the same time.
Forearms collided with a sharp crack.
Impact reverberated up his bones—
But it didn't overwhelm him.
They pushed off each other and slid back across the mat.
Alura's brow lifted slightly.
Already different.
Mom stepped in again.
Fast.
Her CQC strikes came with the same precision and power as Round One two days ago—the same calibrated force that had knocked him unconscious.
A straight palm to the sternum.
Niero pivoted.
Dodged by inches.
A low sweep.
He hopped back, heel grazing air instead of his ankle.
A follow-up elbow—
He blocked.
Forearm to forearm again.
Impact.
This time—
He didn't buckle.
Mom's eyes sharpened.
She increased tempo.
A three-hit combination.
Left jab.
Right hook.
Knee feint into a rising strike.
Niero read it.
Not perfectly—
—but enough.
He slipped inside her guard and countered with a short body shot before retreating.
Clean contact.
Alura uncrossed her arms.
"…Oh?"
Mom's expression didn't change.
But her stance shifted.
More serious.
They clashed again.
Strike. Block. Counter.
Footwork scraped across the mat in tight arcs.
Two days ago, he had barely been able to close distance.
Now—
He was there.
Matching rhythm.
Matching speed.
Not overpowering her—
—but not being overwhelmed either.
A spinning backfist came from Mom.
He ducked.
Too slow.
Her knuckles grazed his temple.
Pain sparked—
But not enough to rattle him.
He used the rotation to step in and hook behind her leg.
She slipped out of it smoothly.
They separated again.
Breathing steady.
Eyes locked.
Alura gave a low whistle.
"He's almost going toe to toe."
Mom exhaled softly through her nose.
"Yeah. He sure did."
Not praise.
Recognition.
Niero rolled his shoulders once.
He could feel it.
The difference.
The stat increases.
The adaptation.
The week inside Ego-Space dissecting her movement patterns.
It wasn't guesswork anymore.
It was analysis in motion.
Mom lunged again—
Faster this time.
Testing.
He blocked high—
She shifted mid-strike—
He adjusted.
Countered.
Their forearms slammed together once more.
But this time—
He didn't get pushed back.
They stood locked for a brief second.
Equal pressure.
Mom's eyes flickered with something new.
Not surprise.
Approval.
As their forearms locked—
Pressure against pressure—
And in that suspended second, memory surged.
=
[One week earlier. The War Room (Niero's Ego-Space)]
Inside the War Room of his Ego-Space.
Mat-like floor.
Cool air.
No distractions except the holographic footage of various martial arts.
Only the combat dummy on the center.
It stood motionless at first.
Then Vuldyr's voice echoed:
> ["Initializing Codex Simulation: Emmilia Ripley (Phase 01) - Ver.1.0"]
> ["Mode No.01: Technical Demonstration".]
The dummy moved slowly.
Deliberately.
Mom's CQC style unfolded like a diagram brought to life.
Foot placement.
Hip rotation.
Guard transitions.
Weight shifts that looked subtle—but carried lethal intent.
Niero circled it, watching.
Every pivot.
Every torque in the shoulders.
The way her rear heel barely lifted before a power strike.
> ["Observe the anchor points,"] Vuldyr instructed.
He did.
The centerline control.
The compact guard that baited overcommitment.
The deceptive half-steps that set up explosive bursts.
Then—
> ["Mode No.02: Combat Tempo."]
The dummy sped up.
Now it wasn't demonstrating.
It was engaging.
He lasted nine seconds.
The first clean elbow strike sent him skidding across the War Room floor.
Pain feedback flared through his neural perception.
Not fatal.
But convincing.
He stood again.
Again.
Again.
Over the course of that simulated week, he endured:
Brutal beatdowns.
Perfectly timed counters.
Sweeps that punished sloppy footing.
Close-range combinations that tested his reaction ceiling.
He never won.
Not once.
The dummy was a flawless execution of Mom's recorded combat matrix, at least for version one that models her physical combat feats.
It exploited every mistake without mercy.
But something changed.
By Day Three, he began recognizing the rhythm.
By Day Five, he could anticipate the hip rotation before the strike launched.
By Day Six, he identified micro-windows—
Mom's style was relentless, yes—
—but not invincible.
Every technique had a recovery frame.
Every rotation created a fractional gap.
A narrow vulnerability after a full-power extension.
Small.
Dangerous to exploit.
But real.
> ["You are no longer just reacting,"] Vuldyr had observed on the final day. ["You're predicting through analysis."]
He still lost.
But the losses became narrower.
The beatdowns shorter.
The dummy had to work harder.
And by the end of the week—
He understood.
Not just the motions.
But the philosophy.
Mom's CQC wasn't about brute strength.
It was about controlled aggression.
Maintaining pressure.
Denying space.
Forcing the opponent to think defensively until they collapsed under tempo.
To fight her—
He couldn't simply endure.
He had to disrupt rhythm.
[Flashback Ends]
=
The memory snapped away.
Back to the underground dojo.
Forearms still locked.
Mom's muscles flexed subtly—
There.
The hip rotation.
The micro-shift in weight.
The same tell he had studied a hundred times.
Niero moved first.
He disengaged half a second earlier than she expected—
Slid to her blind angle—
And countered into the recovery window with a strong punch to her side of her left ribs.
Not perfectly.
Not decisively.
But clean.
They separated again.
Alura's eyes narrowed, impressed.
Mom's lips curved faintly.
He hadn't beaten the simulation.
He hadn't mastered her style.
But he understood it now.
And that understanding—
Was why he could stand here,
Nearly toe to toe,
Instead of on the floor.
=
They circled each other once again.
Breathing steady.
Measured.
Mom stepped in—
No feint this time.
A clean, direct right hook aimed straight for his jaw.
Fast.
Precise.
Niero saw it.
He could have dodged.
He could have blocked.
Instead—
He planted his feet.
The punch connected.
Crack.
His head snapped to the side.
Pain burst across his cheekbone.
But in the same instant—
His torso twisted.
He drove his fist forward into her right ribs.
Not wild.
Not desperate.
Calculated.
He redirected the rotational force from her punch—
Channeling it through his hips—
Converting impact into counter-impact.
A trade.
A deliberate opening.
His knuckles dug in with a solid thud.
Mom's body shifted from the force.
Her feet skidded half a step across the mat before she stabilized.
They separated.
Silence filled the expanded dojo.
Alura blinked.
"…damn. He baited that."
Niero straightened slowly.
His cheek was already reddening.
But he didn't stagger.
Didn't wobble.
Mom studied him carefully.
"You took it on purpose."
He wiped a bit of blood from the corner of his lip.
"…Yeah."
"That was reckless."
"Yet I knew I could take it."
A small pause.
Her eyes flickered—evaluating not just confidence, but durability.
Two days ago, that same punch had folded him.
Now?
He absorbed it.
Redirected it.
Returned it.
A faint smile tugged at her lips.
"You've improved since the last time we fought."
Simple.
Direct.
But genuine.
Niero felt something warm rise in his chest.
Not pride.
Acknowledgment.
She stepped forward again, resetting her stance.
"However," she added calmly, "don't mistake tolerance for invincibility."
He grinned faintly, raising his guard.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Across the room, Alura smirked.
"Kid's growing fangs."
Mom's smile sharpened just slightly.
"Good."
Then she moved again—
But she vanished.
No warning.
Just a blur of motion—
—and then she was in front of him.
Her fist drew back.
Purple lightning crackled across her knuckles.
[Mana Art: Wrath of Raijin - Third Form: Storming Barrage]
Held back.
Controlled.
But still terrifying.
The air snapped as she unleashed a barrage.
Not one punch.
Not two.
A storm.
Each strike carried compressed force and crackling arcs of stun-charged mana that split the air with violent purple flares.
"Stay focused!" she barked—
—and the first blow landed.
BOOM.
His guard caught it—
But electricity surged through his forearms.
Muscles spasmed.
Fingers twitched uncontrollably.
His teeth clenched as the stun effect raced up his nerves.
Second strike.
Third.
Fourth.
Each impact detonated against his defense like thunderclaps in rapid succession.
His heels skidded backward across the mat.
Two days ago—
This would have ended him.
This would have shattered his guard.
But not now.
He forced his stance lower.
Rooted.
Centered.
"Adapt…" he breathed.
Deep inside—
A spark answered.
Blue light flickered across his palms.
Thin at first—
Then brighter.
Plasma-like currents coiled around his hands and forearms, humming with restrained intensity.
A trace of Nova-Spark energy.
Not enough to expose his true nature.
Just enough to reinforce.
To amplify.
Mom's eyes sharpened.
Psionic manifestation, she assumed.
Purple lightning met blue plasma.
The next punch struck—
—and this time—
He didn't just block.
He redirected.
His wrist rotated.
Her force slid past his centerline.
He stepped in.
Wing Chun's tight economy of motion guided his hands—compact, efficient deflections.
Pencak Silat footwork flowed beneath him—angled pivots, sharp lateral shifts, traps and sweeps woven into counters.
Palm strike to her bicep.
Short punch to the sternum.
Elbow redirect—
Backfist—
Low sweeping kick.
Each counter carried a faint blue flare on impact.
Not explosive.
But sharp.
Focused.
Mom's lightning flared brighter in response as she pressed harder.
Her fists became streaks of violet arcs.
The dojo filled with crackling thunder and sizzling plasma.
She tested him.
Increased tempo.
Tried to overwhelm his rhythm—
But he was inside it now.
Reading micro-movements.
Intercepting before full extension.
Redirecting before impact matured.
A punch grazed his shoulder—
He rotated with it—
Redirected—
Countered to her ribs again.
This time harder.
She slid back a full step.
Alura's eyes widened.
"He's pushing her—"
Niero's heart pounded.
Adrenaline burned in his veins.
For the first time—
He didn't feel like he was surviving.
He felt—
Competitive.
His guard was steady.
His muscles, though tingling from residual stun, responded cleanly under the Nova-Spark reinforcement.
He stepped forward.
Initiated.
A flurry of chain punches.
Palm-heel strike.
Low oblique kick.
He forced her to defend.
Forced her to adjust.
Confidence swelled in his chest.
I can win.
Just for a second—
He believed it.
Across from him—
Mom felt it too.
The growth.
The resilience.
The courage to stand in front of her lightning and not retreat.
A small, unmistakable smile touched her lips.
Not mockery.
Not restraint.
Pride.
Her baby badger—
Was biting back.
Purple lightning surged brighter around her fists.
"Good," she said softly.
And the storm intensified.
Yet suddenly the storm paused.
Not ended—
Paused.
Purple lightning faded to faint crackles around Mom's fists.
Blue plasma dimmed but did not vanish from Niero's forearms.
They circled.
Slow.
Measured.
Footsteps whispering across the mat.
Each looking for the smallest opening.
Mom's eyes never left him.
"You've grown stronger," she said at last.
Not casually.
Factually.
Niero's breath was steady, though his pulse still thundered from the exchange.
"…I had good training."
A faint smirk touched her lips.
"You always did."
They shifted again.
Left foot forward.
Right shoulder angled.
Mom continued, voice calm despite the charged air between them.
"Your natural talent isn't just physical."
He frowned slightly.
"It's your reactive adaptaion and combat analysis."
That made him blink.
"You break things down. Patterns. Rhythm. Structure."
She feinted a step—he reacted instantly.
Her eyes sharpened.
"You copy moves and incorporated them."
His guard tightened a fraction.
"You've been studying more than just me."
He hesitated for half a second.
That was enough.
She saw it.
"Not suprising. I saw the security footage," she continued.
His eyes widened.
"From McWeston."
Ah.
So she knew.
"Back when you were at McWeston All-Boys Junior High."
Before the academic acceleration course.
Before they graduated him early.
Before things got… complicated.
"I wanted to understand," she said evenly. "Why my son kept coming home with bruised knuckles."
Alura let out a quiet hum from the sidelines.
Niero swallowed.
Mom went on.
"Your base is MMA. But you mix-match constantly."
She began listing them like she was reciting ingredients.
"Karate's linear explosiveness. Taekwondo's kicks. Wing Chun's centerline pressure. Pencak Silat's angular footwork. Wrestling entries. Even Capoeira spins. As well as Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Krav Maga, Muay Thai, Jeet Kune Do, Karate, Kung Fu, Judo..."
His eyes widened more with each word.
"You—"
"Ark.net isn't subtle," she said dryly. "Your search history was not difficult to piece together. Besides those...risqué Japanese cartoons."
He flushed slightly.
"And you weren't just watching."
Her gaze sharpened.
"You were practicing."
The memory flashed—
Grainy security footage.
A ring of delinquent boys.
Shouting.
Mocking.
Then—
Niero stepping forward.
Compact guard.
Efficient movement.
No wasted motion.
One by one—
They fell.
Not brutally.
Not excessively.
Just decisively.
"Yet you wasted your talents on a pack of hooligans with fragile pride and ego," Mom said calmly.
Alura snorted softly.
"They challenged you."
Niero lifted his chin slightly.
"They picked the fights."
His voice wasn't defensive.
Just honest.
"I just ended them."
Silence stretched between them.
Mom studied him.
Not angry.
Not disappointed.
Measuring.
"You never escalated," she said finally. "You neutralized."
He didn't respond.
Because that was exactly what he did.
End it fast.
No prolonged ego battles.
No unnecessary cruelty.
Just enough.
Mom's lightning flickered faintly again.
"You've always had talent," she said.
Her stance lowered slightly.
"But talent without discipline collapses under pressure."
Blue plasma brightened across his arms again.
They broke apart again.
Both breathing heavier now.
The dojo floor bore faint scorch marks—purple and blue etchings where mana and Nova-Spark had kissed reinforced concrete.
Mom rolled her shoulders once.
Then narrowed her eyes.
"You're getting cocky, boy."
Niero blinked.
"I'm confident."
"There's a big difference."
She tapped the small object tied at her waist.
The dragon jade talisman.
The objective.
The win condition.
Half an hour into Round Two—
And he hadn't touched it.
"You're still empty-handed," she said calmly. "All this momentum means nothing if you don't complete the objective."
He exhaled through his nose.
"It's not a matter of if."
He shifted his stance.
"It's when."
Aunt Alura let out a low whistle at that tone.
Mom's gaze sharpened.
"You're forgetting something."
She stepped forward.
"If you lose Round Two."
Another step.
"And Round Three."
Her voice hardened.
"You drop the idea of becoming an off-city mercenary Marauder."
The word Marauder carried weight.
Danger.
Death.
Beyond the shielded walls of Mega Ark-City 01.
Hollow creatures.
Orkoids.
Things worse than both.
Silence stretched.
Niero held her gaze.
Then—
Grinned.
"Well," he said lightly, "Even if I loose, I could always find a sugar mommy."
Alura choked on her soda.
Mom did not move.
"You know," he continued casually, "-like that rich Shellwalker lady. That affluent Ms. Winston who came to the café the other day to buy croissant just because her date bails on her. I'm sure she'd sponsor my Marauder career."
He even gave a playful shrug.
"I've got decent stats. Marketable face. Could negotiate. That way you don't have to worry about me nor the family's money issues anymore."
Silence.
Total.
Absolute.
Mom stopped walking.
Head tilted downward.
Face hidden.
The crackle of lightning around her fists vanished.
The entire dojo felt… still.
Too still.
Niero blinked.
"…Mom?"
No response.
Alura slowly raised a hand to her mouth.
"Oooooooh," she breathed. "You did not just say that."
Niero frowned slightly.
"Say what?"
Alura stepped back instinctively.
"You did not just tell your own mother you're looking for a sugar mommy."
Yet, before he can ask, the temperature in the room dropped.
Not literally.
But spiritually.
Mom's shoulders rose once.
Then fell.
When she lifted her head—
Her smile was no longer proud.
No longer amused.
It was serene.
Dangerously serene.
"Sugar... mommy...?" she repeated softly.
Purple lightning flickered back to life.
But this time—
It wasn't restrained crackles.
It was dense.
Violent.
Arcs snapping loudly against the air like coiled serpents ready to strike.
Niero swallowed.
Aunt Alura slowly sidestepped further away from the center of the dojo.
"Oh boy! Crank up containment level to level 3!!!," she shouted to the dojo's system.
The dojo exploded into a surreal storm.
Sirens blared, echoing against walls that weren't walls anymore—only black cubes etched with pulsating red lines, stretching infinitely in every direction. The simple training room had morphed into an abstract crucible of energy, a labyrinthine void of shifting geometry and impossible perspective.
Niero froze. Every instinct screamed wrong.
"Mom…?" he whispered, his voice swallowed by the alarm and the crackling chaos.
Vuldyr's voice, crisp and anxious, pierced his mind.
> ["Niero… that surge—it's coming from her. The Mana output… it's unprecedented. The lightning… it's wrapping around her like living serpents."]
He could feel it before he saw it: the air itself convulsing, purple arcs of electricity coiling and snapping like whip-thin snakes around his mother. Each spark hissed and spat raw energy, vibrating the very floor beneath him.
Niero's chest tightened. The dread wasn't just fear. It was pure comprehension of danger, the same crushing, cold-knuckle terror he'd felt in Round One… only magnified. His limbs stiffened. His mind raced.
The storm of Mana wasn't just power—it was authority, weight, and intent. It pressed down on him, a psychic force heavier than gravity. He could almost hear Vuldyr whisper again, tighter this time:
> ["This… is not her holding back anymore. Brace yourself… Niero."]
Lightning coiled higher, arcs slicing the dark cube-space. The dojo was gone. All that remained was the maw of raw, coiling power, and the human-sized storm at its center: his mother.
And Niero realized, with a chill running spine-deep, that Round Two had just become something far worse than Round One.
The energy in the dojo snapped tighter, crackling like a live wire stretched across Niero's nerves.
His mother's face came into focus, and it wasn't just the usual sharp, commanding glare—this was pure, unrestrained fury, the kind of anger Niero had never seen before. Her eyes burned violet, pupils like shards of lightning, and the purple arcs of Mana coiled around her like sentient serpents, hissing and snapping at the air. Every breath she drew seemed to electrify the black-red void of the extended dojo.
Mom stepped forward.
Each footstep echoed.
"Let me clarify something for you."
Lightning surged around her arms, brighter than before.
"If you are strong enough to rely on a 'sugar mommy' to fund your life outside the walls—"
She disappeared.
Reappeared in front of him.
Close.
Too close.
"—then you are strong enough to take responsibility for your own choices."
Her fist drew back.
Purple arcs screaming around it.
Niero's stomach flipped. "M-Mom! JOKING! I WAS JOKING IT'S A JOKE!! IT'S A JO-!!!" he shouted, hands raised, heart hammering, trying desperately to calm her down. His voice was almost lost in the roar of crackling Mana.
But his words were futile. With a guttural shout, she launched her fist, a blazing conduit of thunder and raw Mana energy. The air itself shattered under its force. Niero barely had time to react before the punch struck the space near him, sending him rocketing backward across the infinite expanse of black cubes and red lines.
The wind of her strike tore at his clothes and hair, and the residual electrical charge tingled painfully across his skin. The dojo had become a storm-wracked battlefield, and Niero realized, with a mix of awe and dread, that this was no longer sparring—this was survival against a force that could obliterate him in aheartbeat.
The world became lightning.
Niero didn't even see the punch land—
He felt it.
A blinding detonation of thunder slammed into him and the next instant the ground vanished beneath his feet.
He was airborne.
Spinning.
The expanded dojo—now an endless abyss of black cubes veined with red lines—blurred into streaks of darkness and crimson.
His right cheek burned—
No.
It didn't burn.
It was numb.
Completely numb.
The electricity had overloaded the nerves. His vision flickered white at the edges as adrenaline flooded his bloodstream.
What just—
He hit something.
A wall.
Except there was no visible wall—just an invisible boundary at the far edge of the expanded space.
The impact crushed the air from his lungs.
And then—
He bounced.
Like a high-velocity rubber ball.
Fired back across the void.
He smashed into another boundary—
Then ricocheted downward—
Then sideways—
Each collision cracking the black cubic surface beneath him, red lines flashing violently with every impact.
His body cartwheeled uncontrollably, limbs flailing.
Another slam.
Another rebound.
Until finally—
BOOM.
He crashed into the ground hard enough to crater it.
The black cube floor caved inward beneath him, red-lined fragments launching upward like shrapnel before dissolving into energy.
Silence swallowed the space.
Niero lay at the center of the impact.
Disoriented.
Vision doubled.
Hearing reduced to a high, piercing ring.
He tried to inhale—
His chest spasmed painfully before air finally returned in a ragged gasp.
Vuldyr's voice cut through the ringing—shaken for the first time since he had known her.
That strike depleted approximately sixty percent of your total HP.
A translucent window flickered in his blurred vision:
-
> [ Status ]
> [ Critical Status: -Heavy Bruising, -Electric Stun, -Minor Hairline Fracture ]
> [HP: 150 → 60]
-
His eyes widened weakly.
Sixty percent.
In one punch.
> ["This damage output exceeds Round One parameters,"] Vuldyr continued, urgency threading through her usually composed tone. ["Structural integrity compromised. Neurological shock detected. Muscular disruption severe."]
His fingers twitched.
Slow.
Unresponsive.
His right side still felt like it didn't belong to him.
He coughed—and tasted iron.
"W-Worse…" he muttered hoarsely.
> ["Yes."]
Worse than Round One.
Worse than the beatdown that had knocked him unconscious two days ago.
Far worse.
The air shrieked.
Niero's blurred vision snapped upward just in time to see her—
Already airborne.
Silhouetted against the endless black-red expanse.
Lightning spiraled around her like a crown of violent serpents.
She was coming down.
Fast.
> ["MOVE!"] Vuldyr shouted inside his mind.
Instinct took over.
Pain screamed through his ribs—
His muscles protested—
But he forced everything into his legs.
And leapt.
The ground beneath him exploded a split-second later.
BOOOOOOM!!!!!!!!!
Mom crashed down like a falling thunderbolt.
The impact was apocalyptic.
A pillar of purple lightning erupted outward, arcing in every direction like a hydra of crackling heads, each branch tearing through the cubic terrain.
The crater she created was twice the size of his.
Deeper.
Wider.
More violent.
The shockwave hit him mid-air and sent him skidding across the black floor, boots scraping, sparks flying as he forced himself to stabilize.
He slid—
Stopped by both his knee and fingers digging into the ground—
Breathing hard.
Heart pounding against his ribs like it wanted to escape.
He looked back.
And dread filled his chest.
The crater smoked.
Purple electricity writhed inside it.
Then—
A silhouette moved.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Mom rose from the center of the destruction.
Lightning crawled over her shoulders.
Wrapped her arms.
Snapped between her fingers.
Her eyes—
Glowing.
Crackling.
Alive with Raijin's wrath.
The air around her warped from the sheer density of Mana output.
She stepped out of the crater.
Each step left faint lightning scars on the ground.
Niero swallowed.
> {'Perhaps,"] Vuldyr said dryly despite the tension, ["it was an incredibly poor strategic decision to joke about acquiring a 'sugar mommy.'']
He didn't take his eyes off her.
"…Yeah," he muttered.
Understatement of the century.
He inhaled slowly.
Forced the dread down.
Let the fear sharpen instead of paralyze.
His feet shifted.
One forward.
One back.
Hands raised.
Elbows tucked.
Chin lowered.
His signature MMA stance.
Compact.
Balanced.
Ready to sprawl, strike, or shoot.
However, in the blink of an eye,—
—Mom vanished in a pulse of violet light.
Her afterimage hung in the air for half a heartbeat—then snapped apart like a severed lightning arc.
The air cracked—not with sound, but with pressure.
Electrostatic charge scorched Niero's skin like a thousand invisible needles.
His vision fractured with every impact.
> ["She's accelerating,"] Vuldyr warned inside his mind, voice strained.
> ["Her mana output is rising."]
The warning had barely finished—
> ["ON YOUR SIX!!!!"]
—when Niero's danger sense detonated through his chest like ice water flooding his veins. Every hair on his body stood rigid as the dojo filled with crushing static.
He moved on instinct.
His right arm came up—
Too late.
His mother materialized at his flank, heel crashing into his ribs with a crack like splitting timber. The shockwave tore through the dojo, splintering wood panels and blasting dust into the air. He hadn't even finished skidding across the floor before she vanished again—leaving only a fading afterimage and the hiss of electricity ripping through space.
A strike from behind.
Niero twisted—
Too slow.
A thunder-charged elbow smashed into his shoulder blades and launched him forward. The world smeared into streaks of light. Iron flooded his tongue. He hit the ground and bounced, limbs numb, muscles convulsing as static writhed beneath his skin.
His right arm barely answered him now.
Purple lightning carved jagged veins across the dojo floor as she reappeared in violent bursts—each arrival heralded by a thunderclap and retina-searing flash.
She wasn't fighting with measured discipline anymore.
She was hunting.
She was overwhelming him.
Strike.
Ribs rattled.
Strike.
Jaw snapped sideways.
Strike.
The air itself screamed.
Niero forced himself upright on shaking legs, blood trailing from his nose. His signature MMA stance wavered, fists raised but trembling. His breath came in ragged pulls, chest tightening from both fear and oxygen deprivation.
Another blink—
She was in front of him.
Eyes glowing. Lightning crackling from her irises like living serpents. The air around her warped from the sheer density of mana.
Her fist drew back.
>["BLOCK—!"] Vuldyr shouted.
Niero raised both arms.
The punch landed.
It wasn't just impact—it was detonation.
Thunder exploded outward in a violent sphere, tearing apart what remained of the dojo's far wall. The force launched him across the extended training grounds, carving a trench before he slammed into the earth. Soil and stone erupted around him as he rolled and finally skidded to a halt.
His body refused to move.
Static crawled through every nerve ending. His muscles locked and spasmed uncontrollably. His hearing faded into a high, endless ringing.
Through blurred vision, he saw her silhouette descending slowly from the storm she had created—floating, almost divine, wrapped in writhing arcs of purple lightning that licked the ground and split it open.
She touched down.
Each step toward him left a scorched footprint.
Niero tried to push himself up.
His arms buckled.
His nosebleed dripped steadily onto the cracked earth beneath him.
> ["She's not holding back anymore,"] Vuldyr murmured, no longer teasing—only concerned. ["You've crossed from sparring into survival."]
His mother stopped a few meters away.
The storm around her intensified.
Lightning coiled up her arms, gathering into her clenched fist. The air pressure dropped so sharply that Niero's ears popped. Even the dust seemed to freeze midair, charged and suspended.
Niero's danger sense screamed—but his body could barely respond.
His consciousness flickered.
Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision.
> ["MOVE NOOOWWWWW!!!!"]
Vuldyr's psychic scream cut through the ringing in Niero's skull.
Consciousness snapped back into place.
Mom was already mid-strike — lightning condensed into a blade along her forearm, space distorting from the voltage.
No time to dodge.
No time to block.
Something in his chest ignited.
Not adrenaline.
Not fear.
The core.
The Nova-Spark.
It pulsed once — violent and star-hot — like a newborn sun demanding to exist.
He can feel it, like its clawing it way out from his chest.
Then he roared.
Not strategically.
Not gracefully.
Primal.
He forced both hands outward and released.
A blue plasma-like shockwave detonated from his body in a perfect sphere — incandescent, roaring like a stellar flare. The dojo floor vaporized outward in a ring. Black cubes with red seams lifted and scattered as if gravity had briefly resigned.
Mom's lightning blade collided with the expanding Nova-Spark wave—
—and she was blasted backward.
Not overpowered.
But displaced.
For the first time this round.
Breathing room.
The recoil hurled Niero upward.
Instinctively, he channeled more of the burning energy through his limbs—
And jets of blue plasma erupted from his palms and the soles of his feet.
He didn't fall.
He hovered.
Stabilized.
Jet-like trails of Nova-Spark energy spiraled beneath him, keeping him suspended.
There was a long, stunned silence.
> ["…Are we—"] Vuldyr began.
"We're flying," Niero said, wide-eyed.
He tilted slightly.
Corrected with a small burst from his left hand.
Then another from his right foot.
His body adjusted.
Balanced.
"Holy shit!," he breathed.
Then he laughed.
Not manic.
Not defiant.
Just pure, childlike amazement.
"I can actually fly!"
Vuldyr's voice carried equal disbelief.
> ["You are converting the Nova-Spark output into vectorized propulsion. That is— that is not something we trained—"]
"I know!"
Below him, dust settled.
Mom rose slowly from the cracked ground.
Purple lightning crawled along her shoulders, arcing into the air around her. The violent thunder hydra still writhed across the crater, but her attention was no longer on the destruction.
She was looking up.
At him.
For the first time since this round began—
She looked surprised.
Not furious.
Not offended.
Genuinely surprised.
Aunt Alura was suppressed as well that her jaws agape that even the popcorn she ate dropped from her mouth.
"Hot damn. The boy can fly." She said.
Niero hovered higher, blue plasma hissing from his hands and feet in steady streams.
The air around him shimmered with heat distortion.
His fear didn't vanish.
But it changed.
Because the battlefield had just shifted dimensions.
Mom flexed her fingers.
The lightning around her intensified.
"Well," she said calmly, eyes glowing brighter, "if you're taking it to the sky…"
Thunder cracked upward.
Purple energy began spiraling around her feet.
"…don't assume I can't follow."
The storm thickened beneath her.
And the next phase of Round Two began.
The storm didn't hesitate.
Mom dissolved into a spear of violet lightning—
—and reappeared directly in front of Niero mid-air.
No windup.
No tell.
Just glowing eyes and a thunder-wrapped fist already descending.
>["FRONT—!"]Vuldyr shouted.
Niero reacted on instinct.
He crossed both palms forward and overcharged the propulsion—
BOOM.
A concentrated Nova-Spark burst erupted from his hands like a plasma cannon.
The collision between blue stellar force and condensed lightning split the air open. The shockwave rippled outward in spiraling rings. Mom was blasted backward—
—but so was Niero.
He cartwheeled in the sky, disoriented for half a second as the recoil spun him.
>["Stabilize, stabilize— vector adjust!"] Vuldyr barked.
Jets fired from his left foot, then right hand.
He corrected.
Balanced.
Hover regained.
A laugh almost escaped him—
—and that's when Mom reappeared again, heel crackling inches from his ribs.
He didn't block.
He moved.
A sharp propulsion burst from both feet launched him diagonally upward. The lightning kick carved through the space he had occupied a split second earlier, leaving ionized air screaming in its wake.
> ["She's adapting,"] Vuldyr warned. ["Her speed intervals are shortening."]
"Yeah, I noticed!"
Another blink—
Strike—
Dodge—
Flash—
Counterburst—
The sky above the dojo turned into a lattice of blue and purple detonations.
Then something deeper stirred inside him.
Not panic.
Not desperation.
Wrath.
Not blind rage—
But something ancient. Predatory. Star-born.
He did not lose himself to it.
He reached for it.
And let it answer.
[Trait (Origin) – Wrath of the Star Ravager]
The Nova-Spark in his chest did not simply flare—
It detonated.
Light burst from him in a violent pillar, cracking the air with a thunderclap that rippled across the battlefield. The ground beneath his feet spiderwebbed and collapsed under the pressure.
His aura ignited—white-gold at its core, streaked with violent crimson—roaring upward like a stellar inferno. Wind howled outward in concentric shockwaves, tearing debris from the earth and hurling it skyward.
His hair lifted, trembling in the gravity-distorting surge of power. Sparks of condensed starlight crawled across his skin like living constellations.
The Nova-Spark didn't just burn within him—
It expanded.
Through bone. Through nerve. Through blood.
His muscles tightened, refined and reforged by stellar energy. Every fiber condensed into something denser—harder—beyond mortal limitation.
His heartbeat became a pulsar.
His perception sharpened violently. Time seemed to fracture into crystalline frames.
Mom's lightning displacement—
Once instantaneous—
Now left faint afterimages hanging in the air like torn strips of reality.
He could see the path.
He could feel the distortion before she moved.
The wrath within him was no longer emotion.
It was a state of being.
A star, on the verge of collapse—
Choosing instead to burn brighter.
> ["Careful,"] Vuldyr murmured. ["That Trait amplifies instinct. Do not let it override judgment."]
"Not planning to." Niero craked a cocky grin.
Mom appeared again.
This time—
He met her.
Fist to fist.
Blue plasma collided with purple thunder.
The impact cracked like a collapsing star.
They didn't separate.
They accelerated.
Punch.
Kick.
Elbow.
Palm.
Each strike detonated in mid-air, scattering ionized particles like cosmic debris. Mom's lightning coiled and snapped with divine fury. Niero's Nova-Spark roared brighter, burning clean and blue.
They blurred.
From the ground, they would look like two arcs of energy spiraling around each other—
One blue.
One violet.
Clashing and separating in violent bursts.
Rejoining.
Splitting.
Like a double helix carved into the sky itself.
Mom drove a knee upward—
Niero twisted, caught her wrist—
She discharged lightning point-blank—
He counter-blasted from his palm—
Shockwaves layered over shockwaves until the air trembled continuously.
For a moment—
They were nearly equal.
Raw maternal fury versus newborn stellar wrath.
Mom's eyes narrowed.
"You're growing exponentially, boy." she said between clashes.
Niero smirked, blue plasma venting from his shoulders.
"Bad idea to motivate me."
The air didn't just crackle—
It screamed.
Pressure mounted until the sky itself seemed ready to split apart. Static lashed across the battlefield in wild arcs, the ground quaking beneath the strain of two ascending forces.
Vuldyr's voice cut through the chaos like a siren in the void:
> ["Niero! Your Nova-Spark output is untested at this magnitude! You're burning through your reserves at a catastrophic rate! At this pace you'll—!"]
The warning drowned beneath another explosion of light.
Niero's eyes flared—irises igniting with molten blue. Energy bled from his skin in violent waves, plasma coiling around his limbs like a living corona. He rolled his neck once, twice—bones cracking under stellar pressure—every nerve screaming, every muscle compressed to its absolute limit.
A newborn star, moments from collapse.
"Then I'll finish it," he breathed, voice trembling not with fear—but with overload. "Before I burn out."
Across from him, Mom hovered within the eye of a gathering tempest.
Violet lightning tore across her form, braiding into spears, serpents, and spiraling halos. The sky darkened above her as thunderheads formed in seconds, wind screaming outward in spirals. She didn't look enraged.
She looked exhilarated.
Two forces of nature.
A furious thunderstorm.
A raging newborn star.
They vanished.
The collision detonated the atmosphere.
Thunder devoured plasma. Plasma split thunder. The impact birthed a dome of compressed air that blasted outward, flattening everything in its radius. Shockwaves rolled in concentric rings as if the world itself had been struck like a drum.
They reappeared midair—fists colliding again.
And again.
Each strike bent space in rippling distortions. Each clash was a war between elements—violet lightning tearing through blue-white stellar fire, only to be vaporized in return.
Mom's mana-laced kicks split the air into shrieking crescents. Niero answered with punches that erupted like miniature supernovas on impact. Their movements became blurs within blurs—afterimages colliding, dispersing, reforming.
Lightning howled.
Plasma roared.
The sky flickered between night and day.
But beneath it all—
A clock was ticking.
Niero felt it in the tremor of his arms.
In the flicker of his aura.
In the microsecond lag between thought and motion.
The Nova-Spark was consuming him from the inside out. Every heartbeat felt heavier. Every exhale came sharper.
He didn't have long.
Mom surged forward, lightning condensing into a spear of annihilating force.
Niero answered with everything.
He drew the Nova-Spark deeper—past safety, past reason. His aura flared violently, expanding in a spiraling inferno that split the clouds above.
One final charge.
They rocketed toward each other, twin comets on an inevitable collision course—storm and star screaming in defiance of extinction.
This is it.
Niero roared, driving his fist forward with every remaining fragment of stellar power—
The world erupted in white.
And then—
Black.
---
<<<[ Ch17, Part 03 - END ]>>>