The man laughed.
It wasn't loud or dramatic—just a short, dismissive huff, as if Aren Kael had said something mildly amusing instead of suicidal.
"You?" the attacker said, rolling his shoulders as combat energy rippled around him like heat haze.
"You can barely stand."
Aren didn't reply.
Not because he had something clever lined up—but because his attention was completely elsewhere.
Inside him.
The Adaptive Origin Core was burning.
Not violently. Not explosively.
It was working.
Pressure pressed against Aren's skin from every direction, the oppressive weight of hostile combat energy flooding the area.
His instincts screamed again, louder this time, demanding retreat.
But beneath the fear, there was something new.
Clarity.
[Threat Level: Extreme (Relative to Current State)]
[Survival Probability: 12%]
"Twelve percent?" Aren muttered.
"That's… not great."
The attacker stepped forward, boots crunching against broken glass. Behind him, the other two spread out, cutting off escape routes with lazy confidence.
The injured man on the ground groaned again, coughing blood. His aura flickered weakly—nearly extinguished.
Aren felt his Stability dip to 52%.
The Core pulsed in response, threads of warmth reinforcing his muscles, his nerves, his perception.
The world sharpened slightly, movements slowing just enough for him to track them.
[Ongoing Adaptation: Combat Energy—Sensory Integration.]
"Oh," Aren breathed.
"That's new."
The lead attacker frowned. "You muttering to yourself?"
He lunged.
There was no warning flash, no dramatic wind-up. One moment the man was standing there—the next, he was on Aren, fist wrapped in crackling energy.
Aren reacted without thinking.
He ducked.
The punch screamed past his head, the displaced air slamming into the wall behind him and shattering concrete.
Aren rolled, barely keeping his balance as he came up near an overturned car. His heart hammered violently, adrenaline flooding his system.
"I am so dead," he muttered.
The attackers paused, surprise flickering across their faces.
"Fast reflexes," one of them said.
"Lucky."
Luck had nothing to do with it.
The Core surged again.
[Adaptation Progress: 7%]
[Combat Energy Compatibility: 5%]
Aren felt it—an intuitive sense of timing, of force vectors, of where not to be a fraction of a second before something hit. It wasn't skill.
It was adjustment.
The lead attacker snarled.
"Enough games."
The pressure spiked.
Aren's Stability plummeted—49%.
Pain lanced through his chest as the conflicting rules of the world strained against his still-fragile existence. His vision swam, dark spots dancing at the edges.
"Hey," Aren gasped, clutching his sternum.
"Easy, I'm still learning here."
The attacker didn't care.
He moved again, faster this time.
Aren sidestepped—but misjudged.
The blow clipped his shoulder, sending him flying into the side of a shattered storefront. Glass rained down as he hit the ground hard, breath exploding from his lungs.
White-hot pain tore through his arm.
[Structural Damage Detected: Left Shoulder.]
[Stability: 41%]
Aren lay there for half a second, stunned.
'Get up.'
The Core didn't shout. It didn't command.
It simply waited—as if the decision had always been his.
Aren gritted his teeth and pushed himself upright, ignoring the agony screaming through his nerves.
"Okay," he said hoarsely, spitting blood.
"Lesson one. Don't get hit."
The attackers stared at him now, expressions shifting from amusement to irritation.
"He should be down," one of them said.
The injured man on the ground watched Aren with wide, disbelieving eyes.
Aren met the attackers' gazes, forcing himself to breathe steadily.
Inside him, the Core reorganized.
[Adaptation Shift: Reinforcement Priority—Musculoskeletal.]
Aren felt pressure build beneath his skin, subtle but firm, like invisible braces locking his body together. His injured shoulder still hurt—but it held.
He took a step forward.
Then another.
The lead attacker scowled. "You want to die that badly?"
"No," Aren replied. His voice shook—but he didn't stop moving. "I want to live."
He lunged.
It was clumsy. Inelegant. No technique, no form.
But it was fast.
The attacker didn't expect it.
Aren slammed into him shoulder-first, the impact reverberating through his bones. Combat energy flared violently at the point of contact—then shifted, sliding along Aren's reinforced structure instead of tearing him apart.
The attacker stumbled back, eyes wide.
"What the—?"
Aren followed through with a wild punch.
It connected.
Not hard—but clean.
The attacker staggered, more shocked than hurt.
Aren didn't let up.
He moved again, driven by instinct and fear, each motion a desperate gamble. His body lagged behind his intent—but less so with every second.
[Combat Energy Compatibility: 9%]
[Adaptation Rate Increased Under Duress.]
One of the flanking attackers rushed in, aura blazing.
Too fast.
Aren turned—
—and felt something snap into place.
Time didn't slow.
He sped up.
Aren twisted, narrowly avoiding a blade of compressed energy that sliced through the air where his neck had been a moment earlier.
He felt the cut anyway—just a shallow graze.
[Micro-Failure Detected.]
[Stability: 38%]
"Damn it," Aren hissed.
Pain sharpened his focus.
The Core responded.
[Adaptive Response: Pain Filtering—Limited.]
The edge dulled.
Aren grabbed a broken metal rod from the ground, gripping it with both hands. It wasn't a weapon—but it was something.
The attacker sneered and said.
"That's your plan?"
Aren didn't answer.
He swung.
The rod shattered against the attacker's guard, but the impact disrupted his balance just enough.
Aren kicked his knee.
Bone cracked.
The attacker screamed, collapsing.
Aren staggered back, chest heaving.
One down.
The lead attacker's expression darkened.
"You're an anomaly."
Aren wiped blood from his mouth, hands trembling.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm getting that a lot."
The last attacker hesitated now, eyes flicking between Aren and the fallen man. Fear crept into his aura.
Aren felt it.
Not emotionally—but mechanically.
[Environmental Feedback Detected: Opponent Hesitation.]
The Core pulsed approvingly.
The lead attacker snarled and surged forward, power spiking dangerously high.
Aren braced—
—and something else happened.
The air vibrated.
A distant horn echoed through the ruined city, low and resonant.
Every aura on the battlefield flickered.
The attackers froze.
"…Hunters," one whispered.
The lead attacker cursed.
"Fall back!"
They retreated instantly, dragging their injured companion with them, disappearing into the shattered streets with unnatural speed.
The pressure vanished.
Aren collapsed to his knees, gasping.
[Immediate Threat Neutralized.]
[Stability: 34% (Critical).]
His vision blurred violently.
"Nope," Aren muttered weakly. "Not passing out. Not yet."
The Core pulsed—slower now, strained.
[Emergency Stabilization Initiated.]
Warmth spread through his chest, steadying his heartbeat just enough to keep him conscious.
The injured man groaned again.
Aren turned his head, focusing on him with effort.
"You alive?" Aren asked.
The man nodded weakly said.
"You… shouldn't exist."
Aren dragging himself closer and said.
"Who were they?"
"Scavengers," the man rasped. "Low-tier Scavengers. You scared them off."
Aren laughed softly. "Pretty sure the horn did that."
"Doesn't matter," the man said, eyes sharp despite his injuries. "You adapted. I felt it."
Aren stiffened. "You felt what?"
The man studied him intently. "Combat energy doesn't behave like that. Not around someone new."
Aren swallowed. "Is that bad?"
"It's dangerous," the man said. "For you—and everyone else."
Footsteps echoed in the distance.
Heavy and organized.
Aren looked up to see figures approaching through the ash—armored silhouettes marked with glowing insignia.
Hunters.
The silver circle reappeared faintly in Aren's vision.
[New Faction Detected.]
[Observation Recommended.]
Aren exhaled slowly.
'So this is the world,' he thought.
'Survive, adapt… or die.'
As the Hunters closed in, Aren Kael realized something crucial:
The Convergence hadn't given him power.
It had given him no choice but to learn—fast.
And this world would not wait for him to catch up.