The pressure was absolute.
In the Royal Knights' training hall, the cross-shaped halo of holy light around Sir Lancelot's sword was a sun ready to dawn, its power promising utter annihilation. Ragnar's mind, calculating a thousand scenarios per second, found no viable defense. The practice sword was a toy against this. Evasion was statistically improbable. This was an end.
In the zombie-infested military base, the black tentacles, slick and powerful, constricted with the force of a hydraulic press. Noctus's ribs creaked, his vision tunneling. The psychic shriek of the mutant zombie still echoed in his skull, a nail of disorientation hammered into his focus. He was being crushed, his Tempest power scattered and ineffective against this intimate, squeezing death.
On the stern of the Arkworld AW-03, Gaiard stood as a statue of defiance, the bullet wound in his elbow a fiery point of agony he was desperately trying to mend. Edward's sneering face was a mask of triumph, his countless subordinates a wall of flesh and malice. Tiama was at his back, but they were cornered, outnumbered, and now, he was wounded. The grinding pressure of their situation was as tangible as the cold steel deck beneath his feet.
In these three separate worlds, at the same critical moment of impending defeat, the walls between their present and their foundational past shattered.
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They were in a place of pure potential, a subconscious landscape of swirling energies. Three figures stood apart, observing one another with a nascent, primal awareness.
One crackled with untamed crimson lightning, his form a barely contained storm of destructive potential—Voltra.
Another was a swirling vortex of grey and blue, a chaotic force that promised to unravel all order—Tempest.
The third stood immovable, his feet seemingly fused to the ground, his presence a testament to unyielding, tectonic force—Crystal.
They were new, yet ancient. Awake, yet still dreaming.
Then, he appeared. A boy. Boboiboy. His consciousness, bright and determined, entered their realm. He was their new master, the one who had awakened them from an eon of slumber.
He did not look at them with fear or greed, but with a sober understanding that belied his youth. His gaze swept over Voltra's crackling form, Tempest's restless vortex, Crystal's immovable bulk.
"I see in you," Boboiboy's voice echoed through the mental space, clear and firm, "the crimson lightning bolts of destruction." His eyes locked with Voltra's. He then turned to Tempest. "The endless storm of chaos." Finally, his gaze settled on Crystal. "The vast earth full of vibrations."
He took a deep breath, the weight of his next words settling upon them all. "That power is too great. Even I am not sure I can hold it without affecting my friends."
The three elemental beings watched him, their raw, untamed natures waiting for a command, a purpose.
"So, let's hold it back," Boboiboy declared, his voice taking on the tone of a fundamental law being written. "Like the thunder that destroys the stone pillars that rise to the sky." He looked at Voltra, a silent instruction to temper his fury. "Like the great wall that blocks all tornadoes." His gaze to Crystal was a command to be a foundation, not just a weapon. "Like the wind that wraps and directs the lightning." To Tempest, it was an order to control his chaos, to give it purpose.
"Hold each other back," he finished, his voice softening with a profound plea, "so as not to hurt what I, and you, cherish."
Those words became the cornerstone of their existence. From that moment, Voltra's destructive impulses were checked by the need to protect, his lightning given precision. Tempest's chaos was given direction, his winds taught to support as well as destroy. Tempest's immovability became a shield, his power used to stabilize and defend. They were a trinity of restraint, a balance of overwhelming forces held in check by mutual understanding and a shared purpose.
But now that balance was gone. The unified being who had been their anchor was lost to the void. The mutual restraint that had defined them was severed. They were alone, and the chains were broken.
In the training hall, Ragnar's eyes snapped open, the memory of Boboiboy's plea fading, replaced by the roaring reality of Lancelot's ultimate technique. But the feeling of restraint, the need to hold back for the sake of the whole, evaporated like mist in the sun. A surge of power, raw and unchecked, erupted from his core. The air itself began to scream.
"I am the embodiment of the crimson thunder of destruction," Ragnar's voice was no longer his own; it was the voice of the storm, layered with the crackle of a thousand lightning strikes. "Now that the wind can no longer restrain me, I will make my authority known to this world!"
At the military base, the crushing pressure of the tentacles, the imminent end, became irrelevant. The memory of being part of a whole, of having his chaos directed by an unyielding wall, vanished. The Tempest power within Noctus, no longer needing to be a careful, supporting gale, roared to life with its true, chaotic nature. A maelizon of raw, uncontrolled wind energy exploded outwards from his body.
"I am the one who holds the endless whirlwind," Noctus's voice was a howling gale, tearing through the air. "When the wall can no longer hinder me, I will rule all order with my own chaos!"
On the deck of the AW-03, the pain in Gaiard's elbow, the sneers of Edward, the overwhelming numbers—all of it became insignificant background noise. The memory of being the foundation, the restraint for the sky and the storm, was a shackle that was just removed. The Crystal power within him, the essence of the unyielding earth, surged forth not as a defensive force, but as a primal, creative, and destructive will. The very ship beneath them groaned as his power resonated with its metallic skeleton.
"I am the master of the eternal earth," Gaiard's voice was a deep, tectonic rumble that vibrated through the bones of everyone present. "When the sky cannot stop my rise, I will create a new world with my own will!"
Three declarations. Three rebirths. In three separate worlds, three distinct auras exploded into being simultaneously—a pillar of crimson lightning that scorched the ceiling of the training hall, a swirling vortex of grey and blue that tore the very air asunder at the military base, and a wave of greenish-brown, tangible energy that made the massive Arkworld ship list slightly in the water. The era of restraint was over. The age of their individual authority had begun.
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The heat in the Academy's battle hall was infernal. The Flaming Serpent, a construct of Flamme's brilliant will and fury, rushed towards Ignis, its maw open wide enough to swallow him whole. The spectators watched, certain this was the end of the arrogant slum-rat's challenge.
In the frozen arena of the Ranker Association, the gatling spray of frost bullets filled the air, an inescapable hailstorm of instant death. Friya had unleashed her ultimate technique, and Friz had nowhere to run, no defense that could cover such a wide area. The high-rankers observing knew this was the moment the mysterious rookie would fall.
Facing these ultimate attacks, the minds of Ignis and Friz did not retreat in fear. Instead, they were pulled back, not to a memory of unity, but to the most fundamental conflict of their existence.
****************
A young, 15-year-old Boboiboy stood in his subconscious mind, his expression a mixture of awe and awkwardness. Before him stood two figures who were the absolute antithesis of each other.
One was wreathed in flickering, aggressive orange flames, his very posture radiating impatience and heat—Nova.
The other was clad in a calm, steady layer of crystalline ice, his demeanor cool and detached—Blizzard.
Boboiboy scratched his head, a nervous smile on his face. "It's interesting," he mused aloud, "that despite possessing opposing powers, the two of you are strangely similar."
The reaction was instantaneous and explosive.
"Similar to this stone-headed, cold-faced, lazy guy?!" Blaze roared, pointing a fiery finger at Ice. "Don't make me laugh!"
Ice merely raised a cool eyebrow, a faint smirk on his lips. "I would rather be a 'stone-head' than a hot-tempered, brainless, wild beast like a certain someone."
"WHAT DID YOU SAY, YOU ICICLE?!"
"You heard me, you walking bonfire."
Caught in the crossfire of their bickering, the young Boboiboy sighed in exasperation. "Alright, alright! I can't take this!" With a grunt of effort, he performed a quick spin, and his form split into two. One half became Nova, the other became Blizzard. "If you want to fight so badly, then go! Settle it! Just don't destroy anything important!"
The two elements, now in full control, wasted no time. They chose a deserted, uninhabited island and unleashed their fury upon one another. It was not a short skirmish. It was a war.
For a full week, the island was their battlefield. Nova's roaring infernos met Blizzard's glacial barriers. Pillars of fire scorched the sky while spears of ice rained down. The very air was a turbulent mix of superheated steam and freezing mist. It was a clash of ideologies, a battle of opposing fundamentals.
When the dust—and steam—finally settled, the island was forever changed. One half was a scarred landscape of glassy rock and smoldering embers, a testament to Nova's relentless assault. The other half was a frozen wasteland, a beautiful but dead kingdom of eternal ice, a monument to Blizzard's absolute defense and precise counterattacks. They had fought to a standstill, their power perfectly, frustratingly matched.
****************
Staring at the Flaming Serpent, a mirror of his own destructive passion, Ignis didn't see just an attack. He saw a reflection of his oldest rival. A slow, fierce smile spread across his face, one not of arrogance, but of profound recognition.
Watching the wave of frost bullets, an expression of absolute cold and control, Friz didn't see just a technique. He saw the ghost of his other half. A calm, knowing smile touched his lips, a silent acknowledgment of a timeless dance.
In two different worlds, separated by impossible distances, they spoke to their opponents, their voices carrying a weight of memory that their listeners could not possibly understand.
"Going into battle with a cold tactical mind and a sharp, cool head," Ignis said, his eyes locked on Flamme. "Always planning carefully and meticulously, but also launching extremely dangerous attacks. Surprisingly, he and I are strangely compatible. That's why..."
"Always the one who rushes into battle first without any plan," Friz stated, his gaze unwavering on Friya. "Fighting purely on instinct, but his attacks are always surprisingly effective and precise. I can't help but admit that he and I are uncannily compatible. That's why..."
Their voices, one filled with fiery conviction, the other with icy certainty, echoed in their respective arenas. And then, in perfect, simultaneous unison, they declared the truth that had been forged in that week-long battle on a forgotten island:
"...I will never, absolutely cannot lose to someone like him! My best friend and also my greatest rival. Someone who understands me as well as myself!"
The declaration was a catalyst. In the Academy, Ignis's aura exploded, not as a wild inferno, but as a concentrated, white-hot star of plasma, the pinnacle of fire's potential. In the Ranker Association, Friz's power surged, the air around him not just freezing, but becoming absolute zero, a void of cold that threatened to stop time itself. They were not just fighting to win a test or a ranking. They were fighting to uphold the legacy of a rivalry that defined their very essence. To lose here would be to betray the one who had always been their equal.
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Heim was stretched to his breaking point, the braided ropes cutting into his wrists and ankles, the barbarians pulling with mindless strength to tear him apart. Flora was desperately trying to help, but she was being held back by another group. This was a death born of misunderstanding and primal violence.
Alstar was disoriented, his senses scrambled by the stun grenade. The giant python was lunging, its gaping maw a pit of death, while a team of hostile players charged from behind, their weapons aimed to kill. This was a death born of betrayal and ruthless competition.
At the precipice, their minds, seeking not just power but purpose, reached back to the first time they had been forced to look beyond their own natures and work together.
****************
The planet Kadruax was a world of gargantuan flora. Boboiboy and his friends were there, searching for the Power Sphere, Planterbot. Their mission was interrupted by the Alpha Jumbosaur, a colossal plant dinosaur that was a walking catastrophe.
In the face of this threat, Boboiboy split. But the two elements that appeared, Thorn and Solar, were not in sync.
Thorn, naive and full of raw, untamed life energy, wanted to charge in, to overwhelm the monster with a jungle's wrath.
Solar, hyper-rational and analytical, wanted to calculate, to find a weakness, to optimize their approach.
"We must strike now! Its roots are exposed!" Thorn urged, vines already sprouting from his arms.
"Foolish. A direct assault has a 2.7% chance of success. We need data. Observe its movement patterns," Solar retorted, his eyes scanning the beast, streams of data visible only to him flickering across his vision.
"There's no time for your numbers! Our friends are in danger!"
"Acting without a plan is what will truly endanger them!"
While they argued, the Alpha Jumbosaur roared, its massive tail sweeping towards their defenseless friends. The sight struck a chord deep within Boboiboy's shared consciousness.
A third voice, laced with desperation and a newfound authority, cut through their bickering. It was Boboiboy's own, the core that bound them. "You two are very strong," he said, his voice strained, "but there are many things you cannot do alone."
Thorn and Solar paused, looking at their friends who were scrambling for their lives.
"So, let's put aside the petty conflicts," Boboiboy implored, his words a plea and an order fused into one, "and work together for the common good. For me, for you, and for our friends."
It was the first time they truly listened. Thorn's raw creativity and Solar's boundless logic, when combined, didn't just add together; they multiplied. In that moment, they understood that unity was not the loss of self, but the elevation of it.
****************
The memory was a spark in the darkness. Heim, being pulled apart, understood. He was not just a fragment of Jungle. He carried the will of the one who had united them. He was not alone.
Alstar, caught between the python and the players, realized it. He was not just a fragment of Gamma. He was the inheritor of a spirit that valued bonds over pure logic. He had a reason to fight beyond mere survival.
From the world of mythical creatures and the world of virtual invasion, two voices called out, not to their opponents, but to the memory of the one who had given them purpose.
"Unity to go further, I always remember that saying, Boboiboy," Heim whispered, his voice gaining a solid, unshakeable strength. The ropes around his wrists began to strain, not from his physical power, but from the vibrant, resilient life force now radiating from him. "But now I am just a lonely fragment in a strange world. So, please allow me to borrow your endless courage and great will, so that I can…"
"There is no such thing as a perfect existence," Alstar stated, his mind clearing, the disorientation burned away by a surge of brilliant, gamma-light logic mixed with a newfound passion. "Even though we have an adult body, we need the creativity of a child to make a difference. So, please allow me to borrow your infinite creativity and burning passion, Boboiboy, so that I can…"
Their auras began to swell, one a brilliant, vibrant green of limitless growth, the other a sharp, intelligent gold of boundless light. And in that same moment, with the same determined spirit, they finished their declarations, their voices ringing with a finality that promised to reshape their new worlds.
Heim: "...Prove my existence in this world!"
Alstar: "...Break the illusion that surrounds this world!"
The declarations were not just words. They were mandates. And with their speaking, the power they unleashed was no longer just that of an element, but of a will that had learned the greatest power of all: the strength found in the heart of another.