MM - Chapter 250 - IMPOSSIBILITIES MADE MANIFEST

Nero’s internal force gushed from his body—a deluge of palpable menace that flooded the suite. The force crashed against the distant walls, rebounded with amplified strength before converging on Raine. He felt it as a physical tide seeking to drag him out to sea, to drown him in the depths of a will far older and more refined than his own. He stood steadfast within the storm, a solitary rock against the crushing ocean.

Raine’s ability to resist the full brunt of his mental force did not frustrate the peak master. On the contrary, his competitive nature surged. 

“Impressive, boy. But not enough. Let me show you where potential meets reality.”

A predatory grin split Nero’s face. He raised both arms high, and a more potent, intricate stream of mental energy coiled around his limbs. The force wound in on itself again and again, looping in elaborate patterns that defied simple observation. A complex dance of compression that built on itself until it seemed to take on a life of its own. From the peak master’s outstretched fingers, a colossal sword of swirling intent began to manifest, its form translucent yet undeniably real.

The sword grew, its edge shimmering with lethal promise. Wind stirred unbidden, whipping at loose papers and tugging at clothing, a phantom gale born from internal force alone.

Raine watched its creation, his mind’s eye tracing every impossible detail. The sword’s tip brushed the high ceiling, ripping away the plaster. Its entire length was a promise of absolute annihilation. This was no simple extension of will, no mere projection of intent; it was a tangible apparition capable of slicing through his spirit, heart, and mind. If that blade reached him, it would cleave straight through his consciousness, leaving him a hollowed-out husk.

The tension in the room ratcheted higher. Malakar, Orenna, and Pryce leaned forward, their bodies rigid, their throats dry. They held their breath, unwilling to miss a single detail of how KongRu would respond.

Raine’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silent scream of the approaching storm. Fear mingled with exhilaration, igniting his resolve. It was time to take the next step down his own path, or be erased from it entirely.

Seeing the resolve tightening in KongRu's eyes and stance, Nero hesitated, his thoughts drifting back to the catalyst that had brought him here.

Nero Thalren

- Two days ago, Sandstone City -

Nero pushed open the heavy door to Vought’s office, the familiar scent of aged wood and faint incense greeting him. What wasn't familiar was the man waiting behind the room's expansive desk. A figure that had always exuded unyielding strength was slumped like a mountain eroded by a relentless downpour. Vought’s eyes were shadowed, his broad shoulders curved inward.

This man, a world-renowned grandmaster, Nero’s mentor, the formidable foundation upon which nearly every living member of the Coalition had been built, was destitute in a way Nero had never witnessed. Vought looked defeated, drained by a sorrow that aged him a decade in a matter of days. Something terrible had happened during Nero's last deployment, something he dreaded to hear the truth of.

There was no point trying to avoid the inevitable. With resolute steps, Nero advanced and took the only other chair in the office. He waited patiently. The silence in the room grew heavy and suffocating, giving him time to spot the signs of deep grief etched into his mentor’s face: bleary, sunken eyes, the minute clenching of his jaw, the unyielding tightness in his shoulders.

A clue rested on the polished surface of the desk: a single LinQ chip. Vought’s scarred hands reached out and gently massaged the tiny device, tracing its edges as if it were a sacred relic. Nero’s brows lifted as he noticed the faint, dark smear staining its surface. Dried blood.

Techs didn't even bother to clean it before passing along the final rite? A rush job, then. No wonder the boss is so over the barrel.

Viewing the final moments of a fallen martial was a grim duty. You became that person, and through your every sense, experienced a real and true death, unfiltered and raw in the way only VRvods could be. Some twisted people out there paid dearly for the experience, and putting those sick perverts away was one of Nero's favorite perks of the job.

The question remained: what horrors were etched into that sliver of technology to affect the grandmaster so profoundly? Nero said nothing, granting Vought the space to collect himself.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a broken whisper, containing a universe of loss in a single word. "Jedidiah."

Nero’s world tilted. He heard the sharp, ragged intake of his own breath but felt none of the life-giving oxygen entering his lungs. Shock seized him, cold and absolute. He had seen Jedidiah’s duel with some upstart. Like many others, he dismissed it as a cover—a fabricated story for a mission gone wrong or an undercover setup. How could a seasoned master, a man of Jedidiah’s caliber, fall to a mere boy? It defied all logic.

Yet Vought's distant stare proved the truth. The bloody chip on the table between them gained its own field of gravity, sucking Nero deeper, and the brutal, undeniable reality that Jedidiah was gone crashed over him like a collapsing wall. 

Nero did not have what most people would call friends, but Jedidiah had been the closest thing to it. The man was steadfast, incorruptibly honest, and faithful to his calling. He had dedicated every waking hour to the Coalition, to the preservation of a peace that kept the powerful from devouring the weak. He was a true believer, a good man, a role model for every generation that followed. He wasn't perfect, but he was a damn bit closer to that word than Nero would ever be.

He’s really gone… and that little chip is all that’s left? The thought was a dagger in his heart.

"I’m sorry for your loss, sir," Nero managed, his own voice tight with emotion. "I know you two were close. Jedidiah will be missed. He was one of our best."

Vought gave a solemn, jerky nod, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle pulsed in his cheek. He seemed to bite back a wave of words, defaulting instead to the cold comfort of business. "You have a new mission. You, Orenna, and Pryce will depart for Carter City. Expect to be stationed there for several months. Arrangements can be made to relocate families if necessary."

Nero frowned, the gears in his mind turning. Vought knew damn well that he, Orenna, and Pryce didn't have any family to relocate. Already, a mission requiring three peak masters was an extreme anomaly. Yet there would be more bodies coming with them. Vought would never deploy the three of them together if he didn't believe they could handle it. They were too valuable to risk. So who else was coming, and why?

Nero voiced both questions, and Vought responded without hesitation. “The entire 23rd generation is going with you.”

"All of them?" Nero blurted, the last of his composure fracturing. Three hundred of their most promising young experts? For what? All that was clear at this point was that their next mission couldn't possibly be as simple as apprehending the boy who killed Jedidiah.

"That’s right," Vought affirmed. "Your official mission is to take them for extended training within ZionLine. But that is not your primary goal. The three of you have a much more important directive." He punctuated his words by gently tapping the LinQ chip on the desk. It sat between them, a tiny monument to a loss that felt immeasurably vast.

Nero waited, a strange premonition settling over him. He felt as if he were standing at a precipice, a turning point in his life that would forever be etched in his memory. Vought’s gaze fell to the chip, his voice softening into a tone thick with emotion. "You are going to fulfill Jedidiah’s dying wish."

"His… dying wish?" Nero was not sure he wanted to know. The last rites were a sacred, terrible burden. If Vought made him watch it when the man himself was so broken up, then Nero would be an absolute wreck.

Vought nodded, his eyes fixed somewhere beyond Sandstone City, to a distant horizon full of unknown horrors. "In his final moments, throughout that entire duel, Jedidiah’s singular desire was to bring that boy into the Coalition. No matter the price, no matter the cost. He died believing in the kid’s potential, and dreading we would make him an enemy. Let’s not disappoint our friend. Because after meeting KongRu myself, I couldn't agree more."

- Present Day, Belehorn Tower -

Standing in the ruined suite, facing the impossible youth, Nero finally understood the depth of Vought’s emotions. Raine KongRu was more than exceptional. He was a generational talent, a prodigy whose potential was a terrifying supernova set to explode on the world stage. His personal feelings about Jedidiah’s death were irrelevant. KongRu was a prize the Coalition had to possess.

Nero cycled his internal force, letting it flow from his inner realm with the practiced ease only a master with a true domain could achieve. He spun the energy in a series of intricate, interlocking patterns. They were not perfect circles, and in that imperfection lay the very essence of the secret technique. Building upon one another, the multitude of swirling energies coalesced, hardening from intangible will into something tangible—a pale imitation of a grandmaster’s external force, but substantial enough to inflict devastating harm.

He looked at Raine KongRu, who stood only paces away. The boy's youthful features stared up at the manifesting sword with eyes full of awe and insatiable hunger. Nero recognized the expression; he had worn it himself the first time he witnessed this art. It was a good sign that the boy’s mental acuity was advanced enough to perceive the technique for what it was. Otherwise, this entire display would have been wasted.

Just as with the other martial techniques he demonstrated, Nero’s intent was to show KongRu that the Coalition had invaluable knowledge to offer—secrets that could elevate his power to heights he could not yet imagine. Only by seeing them with his own eyes would this fiercely independent child consider joining their ranks. And so, Nero held nothing back. His sword of intent grew sharper, thicker, heavier. An ephemeral wind whipped around them, rustling their clothes and hair with its phantom touch.

Amazingly, KongRu did not flinch. He did not retreat. Instead, he took an eager step forward, his one good fist drawing up in preparation to meet the attack head-on. It was madness. It was precisely what Nero had expected. Throughout their spar, the boy had displayed reaction times and combat instincts that would be impressive in a martial twice his age. Nero could scarcely imagine the heights KongRu could reach with the proper guidance.

At first, he had been annoyed by Grandmaster Malakar’s presence, especially when the old bastard began antagonizing the very asset they were sent to recruit. Now, seeing the unfathomable depth of KongRu’s talent, he was grateful the codger chose to tag along out of nowhere. Guiding such a prodigy was well beyond Nero, Orenna, or Pryce’s insights.

The attack was almost complete. Nero met Malakar’s gaze for a fleeting instant, a silent understanding passing between them. The old grandmaster would intervene at the last possible second, saving KongRu and cementing in the boy’s mind that they were allies, that they could be trusted.

With a harsh shout, Nero swung. The air screamed as the blade of pure will descended. Every centimeter of KongRu vibrated with a wild impatience, his body braced for the inevitable, for the storm of mental power that no one at his level should be able to resist.

Then, the boy did something that shattered every law of martial progression Nero had ever known.

Raine KongRu

- Belehorn Tower -

Raine not only saw the massive sword forming, he felt it. His mind’s eye mapped every subtle current and eddy of its creation. His jaw tightened as he raced to dissect the mystical technique. The multitudinous loops of energy were imperfect yet harmonious, an infinitely complex dance that miraculously never clashed with itself. It was mesmerizing, a puzzle he ached to solve.

When the very first circle formed, before the sword’s hilt had taken shape, the lack of friction had been baffling. A circle of mental energy, moving with such velocity, should have generated immense resistance against itself. Instead of looping around and clashing, it did the opposite. Each rotation built upon the whole, the circle growing faster, more powerful, until it birthed a second, then a third. More and more spawned, until the entire blade was a terrifying construct of hundreds of interlocking cycles of spinning mental energy.

Each of those cycles contained enough force to rip his mind to shreds. Since achieving Genesis, Raine had no real guidance, no master to show him how to refine raw mental energy into something capable of affecting reality. His best method had been brutish and clumsy, throwing his bloodlust around like one of the mindless beasts in ZionLine. This was what he had been missing: a greater, unifying concept. It was the difference between an untrained slap and a punch that carried the weight of generations of martial knowledge.

He had to try it. He had to feel it for himself. Instinctively, Raine’s fist drew to his side, his body preparing to answer with a punch. But as he watched the circles continue to form, each flowing seamlessly into the next, he understood the utter futility of mimicry. The technique was too complex, a fluid masterpiece born from tens of thousands, perhaps millions of repetitions, to become the glorious monstrosity that now towered over him.

I fear… but I will not relent!

Raine took another step forward, planting his feet to withstand the coming impact. He had only moments—mere seconds bloated by adrenaline and focus. Within that sliver of time, he dove headfirst into his inner realm.

His bloodlust was already prepared, a gushing geyser of power erupting from the crimson lake. It hung suspended in the air of his consciousness, awaiting his call to crash against the barrier that restrained it—the entrance to the outer realm. At his urging, the crimson waters would easily break free, and then… then he had no idea what to do.

The circles would not work for him. He knew without trying that his own energy, if forced into such a pattern, would clash with itself on each rotation, rapidly fraying until it dissipated into nothing.

How? How is he doing it?

A deep, bestial yawn sounded from the shore, drawing Raine's attention. The tiger was there, resting at the lake's edge. It had grown again. It was now taller than him, a massive form of rippling muscle, savage teeth, and untamed ferocity. Yet it was not the creature's bulk that held Raine's focus. Its tail lashed at the air, but not in random motions. The tip swirled in a nearly perfect circle, yet it was not perfect. With each rotation, it dipped lower, the pattern minutely off from the last, until the tip eventually brushed the crimson-stained shore. The moment the beast caught Raine watching, its tail went still. It turned its massive head away with an indignant huff and flopped to the ground like a hippo.

Raine barely noticed. His mind was a thousand kilometers away, replaying the creation of Nero’s sword. The multitude of circles spun in his head, repeating, replicating, growing, always connected. And with the image of the tiger’s tail fresh in his mind, understanding dawned with the force of a physical blow.

It's Pi, Raine gasped internally. Never perfect. Always repeating, but never the same. It was an infinitely repeating loop, so minutely different each time that it never crossed its own path exactly. Each imperfect circle fed into the next, spawning new, equally complex patterns in a cascade of controlled chaos.

With the mad clarity that comes only at the edge of annihilation, Raine commanded his bloodlust to crash against its cage. It was time to fight back, to show them what he was capable of when pushed to the brink.