Three days. Seventy-two hours etched in agony, blood, and the relentless rhythm of violence. Shinji Kazuhiko stood amidst a landscape permanently scarred by their conflict; craters overlapped craters, shattered obsidian spires lay like broken teeth, and the ground was slick with drying blue and red blood.
He bled freely from a dozen shallow gashes, steam curling from the worst as regeneration fought exhaustion. Across the desolate arena, the Bear King swayed, a titan on the brink. Its once-gleaming rune-etched plates were cracked and dull, blood weeping from countless fissures. One massive arm hung limp, shattered by a blow that had reverberated like a tectonic shift.
"Dammit," Shinji rasped, spitting blood. His voice was raw from roars and exertion. "Are you the King or just a stubborn rock? I knew you were strong, but to tank three days of my best shots?" He shook his head, a grim mix of frustration and reluctant admiration. "You're a true monster. Probably worth a thousand of your minions combined!"
The Bear King responded not with a roar, but with a guttural, bubbling growl, a sound of pure, animalistic defiance. It lunged, a final, desperate surge of its waning power. Shinji met it head-on. A claw scraped across his chest, parting flesh like wet paper. Shinji dodged the follow-up, spun, and delivered a thunderous kick to the creature's jaw. Bone cracked audibly. The King retaliated, a backhand swipe that Shinji barely twisted away from, the wind of its passage stinging his face. Another claw lashed out, finding purchase on Shinji's forearm, shearing through muscle and grating on bone. Shinji didn't flinch. With the same injured arm, he drove a piston-like punch into the Bear King's already shattered shoulder joint.
CRUNCH!
The King bellowed in agony, blood spraying like a geyser. It staggered back, its movements leaden, its breaths ragged bellows. Its remaining eyes, dimmed but still burning with primal rage, fixed on Shinji. It gathered itself, a tremor running through its colossal frame; the last reserves, the final gambit. It charged, a living avalanche of pain and fury.
Shinji braced, feet digging into the torn earth. He didn't dodge. He intercepted. Arms crossed, Voidheart-enhanced muscles coiling like steel springs, he caught the full, dying weight of the King's charge. The impact drove him back meters, boots plowing furrows in the blood-soaked ground, but he held. The monstrous jaws snapped inches from his face, hot, fetid breath washing over him. With a guttural cry that tore from his own battered lungs, Shinji unleashed everything. He uncrossed his arms in a violent shove, creating a microsecond of space, then drove his fist forward in a straight line of pure, annihilating force. It wasn't a punch; it was a spear thrust condensed by desperation and amplified power. It struck the Bear King's thick neck, not with blunt impact, but with focused, slicing penetration.
SHUNK!
The sound was sickeningly final. The Bear King's roar choked off into a wet gurgle. Its massive head, severed cleanly from the neck by the sheer kinetic force focused through Shinji's fist, tumbled through the air, landing with a heavy thud several meters away. The headless body swayed for an eternal second, then collapsed like a felled redwood, shaking the ground one last time.
Silence. Profound and absolute. Shinji stood over the fallen entity, chest heaving, blood dripping from his wounds and knuckles onto the still-warm carcass. "Finally," he breathed, the word thick with exhaustion and a profound, bone-deep relief. "Three days... non-stop... that was ridiculous." He sank to his knees, not in weakness, but in the simple need to stop moving.
The respite lasted less than ten seconds. A low, collective growl rippled through the shattered landscape. From behind fractured spires, from deep crevices, from the edges of the ruined clearing, dozens of glowing red eyes ignited. The lesser beasts, emboldened or driven mad by their King's death, or perhaps sensing Shinji's momentary vulnerability, emerged. They formed a tightening circle, claws clicking, jaws dripping.
Shinji groaned, pushing himself back to his feet, a weary, bloody smile touching his lips. "Come on! Give a guy a break!" He cracked his neck, the fatigue momentarily overridden by the familiar surge of battle-lust. "Well... one week down. One more to go." He looked at the encroaching horde, no longer seeing individual monsters, but targets. "Guess I need to finish the cleaning."
What followed wasn't a battle; it was an execution. Shinji moved through the pack like a vengeful ghost. Voidheart-enhanced speed made him a blur. Voidheart-enhanced strength turned his blows into instant death sentences. He flowed between them, a whirlwind of precise, devastating strikes. A fist caved in a chitinous skull here. A kick shattered a spine there. A focused chop severed a limb. He took glancing blows; claws scraping armor-like skin, teeth failing to find purchase; but nothing slowed him. Within minutes, the clearing was littered with twitching corpses, the last gurgling cries fading into the wind. He stood amidst the carnage, breathing steadily, the minor wounds already sealing.
"I lost count around a hundred and fifty," he muttered, surveying the grisly harvest. He closed his eyes, reaching inward. "Danger Sense." The pulse expanded outward, farther than ever before, a mental map painting itself across the desolate wilderness. Three signatures. Northwest. 16.3 kilometers. Aggression: Low. He blinked in surprise. Sixteen klicks? It doubled... no, more. The constant trauma, the relentless push against death, wasn't just hardening his body; it was sharpening his mind, honing his nascent abilities like a blade on stone. "Time for the stragglers." He vanished in another sonic crack, leaving only settling dust and the stench of slaughter.
One Week Later
Shinji emerged from the jagged maw of the obsidian wastes like a revenant from a war god's nightmare. His clothes hung in tattered rags, barely clinging to his frame, stiff and dark with layers of dried blood and his own long-regenerated blood. Scars, both old and new, silver and pink, crisscrossed his exposed skin; badges of survival etched into immortal flesh. His vibrant yellow and green hair was matted with dust and gore. Yet, beneath the grime and exhaustion, there was a new density to him, a stillness in his deep blue eyes that hadn't been there before. He moved with the weary grace of a predator returning to its den, every step radiating controlled power and the grim satisfaction of having conquered hell.
He found Yamato waiting on the grand mansion's steps, looking incongruously pristine in his simple leathers, obsidian eyes taking in Shinji's state with detached appraisal.
"Oh," Yamato stated, his ancient voice calm. "You're finally back."
Shinji stopped a few paces away, the scent of ozone and alien blood clinging to him like a shroud. "Hey, Old Man," he growled, the words low and dangerous. A flicker of the Voidheat surge sparked in his eyes. "I should kill you for that."
Yamato didn't flinch. He met Shinji's glare evenly. "Yet, you survived. I'm impressed. More than impressed. The first crucible is complete. Consider Phase One of your training concluded."
"Concluded?" Shinji took a step forward, the ground cracking faintly under his boot. "What if I had died out there? What then? Was it all just a gamble?"
Yamato tilted his head, a gesture that conveyed millennia of witnessing life and death. "If you had died," he said simply, "it would have meant you lacked the fundamental resilience required for the path ahead. You would have been too weak for what comes next. For what I can teach." His gaze sharpened. "You are not weak, Shinji Kazuhiko. You endured. You adapted. You conquered. Now, shed the carrion stench and prepare. The true forging begins."
Shinji held the stare, the fury warring with the grudging acknowledgment that the ordeal had changed him, tempered him. He finally looked away, a sharp exhale escaping him. "Fine. Screw you, Old Man. But... I won't deny it helped. More than 'a little'." He flexed a hand, feeling the coiled power beneath the grime.
Yamato gave a faint, almost imperceptible nod. "Good. And cease calling me 'Old Man'. It is inaccurate. I am only four years old."
Shinji froze. He blinked, processing the words. "What?" The raw confusion cut through his residual anger. "Four? You're pulling my leg."
Yamato's expression remained utterly serious. "Our species' lifespan operates on a different scale. We mature rapidly. By four years, we are considered fully grown, possessing the accumulated wisdom and physical development of your kind's prime. We rarely live beyond five years and a few months. Time flows differently here, Shinji. Perception is relative."
Shinji stared, taking in Yamato's diminutive stature, the ancient eyes in the youthful face, the aura of power that belied his chronological age. "...I see," he managed, the fight draining out of him, replaced by bewildered fascination. "That... explains the height." And perhaps, he thought, the seemingly reckless approach to training; a lifespan measured in years, not decades, fostered a different kind of urgency.
"Indeed," Yamato replied. "Now, follow me. We begin Phase Two immediately. The longest and most crucial phase: Spiritual Energy Manipulation."
Shinji fell into step beside him as they entered the cool, echoing vastness of the mansion. "Spiritual Energy? What is that? Some kind of... internal power?"
Yamato led him towards a different wing, one Shinji hadn't seen; a vast, empty chamber lined with smooth, resonant stone. "It is the fundamental force, Shinji. The latent power dwelling within all sentient beings across the cosmos. The invisible current that fuels existence, thought, and extraordinary prowess. It is the source from which all other abilities – speed, strength, even your formidable regeneration – ultimately draw their potency, consciously or not. To master it is to master the very fabric of your being and interact with the universe on a deeper level."
Shinji absorbed this, the concept resonating with the hum he sometimes felt beneath his skin. "How long will this take?"
"Two months and a half," Yamato stated, stopping in the center of the stone chamber. "Minimum. Mastery is a lifelong pursuit, but we will lay the foundation, awaken your awareness, and teach you basic control."
"Alright," Shinji agreed, shedding his tattered outer shirt, revealing the scarred map of his recent trials. He focused, readying himself. "Let's get start—"
Yamato turned to face him fully, his obsidian eyes locking onto Shinji's with unnerving intensity. "Don't worry, Trascender," he said, his voice dropping to a resonant whisper that seemed to vibrate the stones. "I will tell you all there is to know."
The word struck Shinji like a physical blow. Trascender. He froze, every muscle locking tight. The casual intimacy of the term, spoken by Yamato here, now, shattered the fragile trust built through shared ordeal. His eyes, moments ago focused and determined, narrowed into slits of cold, dangerous suspicion. The Voidheart surge flared, not in strength, but in defensive readiness, a predatory stillness settling over him.
"...Huh!?" Shinji breathed, the sound sharp as broken glass. The air crackled with sudden, lethal tension. His gaze swept over Yamato, reassessing, searching for hidden malice. "Now it makes sense," he hissed, his voice low and venomous. "The 'training' designed to kill me. The indifference to my survival. You're one of them. A Saganbo soldier!"
Yamato didn't move, didn't react with fear. He simply raised a small, blue hand, palm outward. "No. Hold—"
Shinji moved. Not with training or technique, but with pure, instinctive fury and terror. He lunged, a blur of matted hair and scarred muscle, his fist driving forward with the force that had shattered Bear Kings and cratered mountains, aimed squarely at Yamato's chest. It was annihilation condensed into a single blow.
WHUMP!
The air compressed violently. Shinji's fist stopped dead, not an inch from Yamato's leather tunic. An invisible, immovable force field, shimmering faintly like heat haze, had materialized between them. Shinji strained, muscles corded, veins bulging in his neck and arms, pouring his immense physical power into the strike. The telekinetic barrier held, but it strained. Visible ripples spread outwards from the point of impact, and Yamato's small frame trembled slightly, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. A bead of luminous blue sweat traced a path down his temple.
"Impressive," Yamato gritted out, his voice tight with effort, his obsidian eyes wide with a mix of shock and exertion. "You slowed it... significantly. If that blow had landed at its full, unchecked velocity..." He let the implication hang, heavy and terrifying. "...My telekinesis barely held. I am not Saganbo's soldier!"
Shinji didn't relent, pushing against the barrier, his eyes blazing. "Then how the HELL do you know what I am?! 'Trascender' isn't exactly common knowledge!"
"Because," Yamato gasped, the barrier flickering under the relentless pressure, "it was a legend passed down! A prophecy woven into the oldest stories of my people!"
Shinji's push faltered slightly, surprise cutting through the rage. "A legend? But... you're four!"
"My grandfather," Yamato said, the words tumbling out quickly, sensing Shinji's momentary hesitation, "was not merely a legend. He was real. He was a Semi-Trascender."
The term hung in the charged air. Shinji eased the pressure infinitesimally, though his fist remained poised, his eyes locked on Yamato. "A... Semi-Trascender?"
"Yes," Yamato confirmed, breathing slightly easier as the barrier stabilized. "There were a few, perhaps five documented across vast epochs, before a true, complete Trascender was prophesied to emerge in this era. They possessed only the core passive ability: True Immortality. And one unique, additional power specific to each individual."
Shinji slowly lowered his fist, though his guard remained high, his body coiled like a spring. The telekinetic barrier dissolved with a faint sigh of released energy. "Your grandfather...?"
Yamato nodded, a flicker of profound sorrow crossing his ageless features. "His immortality allowed him to defy our species' natural lifespan. He lived to the equivalent of twenty-two of your years. A sage, a warrior... a beacon. Until two years ago." Yamato's voice hardened. "Saganbo found him. He stole his core."
Shinji's breath hitched. "Stole his core? But... if he was immortal...?"
"His unique ability," Yamato continued, his gaze distant, filled with a bitter pride, "was said to be the most potent among the Semi-Trascenders. Ascendant Surge. It allowed him, once in his entire immortal existence, to temporarily transcend his own limits and match, even surpass, the power level of any deity he faced."
Shinji's eyes widened. "And he met Saganbo... so he used it on him?" A spark of horrified hope flared. "No, you said Saganbo stole his core... meaning if he used it, he should have defeated—"
"It had a limit," Yamato cut in, his voice flat, the bitterness deepening. "A fatal flaw. His companion, a being of immense power – a God of Creation – swore the ability had no upper threshold. He urged my grandfather to use it against Saganbo, to save the multiverse." Yamato met Shinji's gaze, his obsidian eyes filled with ancient pain. "He tried. He invoked the Ascendant Surge against the God of Destruction himself." A hollow pause. "Saganbo... felt nothing. Not a tremor. Not a flicker of resistance. In that moment of transcendent vulnerability, Saganbo simply... reached out. Plucked his core from his chest like plucking a fruit. Crushed it. And ended him." The final words fell like stones. "The God of Creation could only watch."
Shinji felt a chill that had nothing to do with the mansion's cool air seep into his bones. A God of Creation... Merus. It had to be. The image was horrifying: Merus witnessing his ally's futile sacrifice, Saganbo's casual, absolute dominance. The scale of the enemy felt even more crushing. "How... unfortunate," Shinji murmured, the words inadequate. "So the ability... it could transcend deities... but Saganbo was beyond even that concept?" He looked down at his own hands, the hands of the prophesied 'complete' Trascender, feeling suddenly very small. "It was a dud against him."
"I waited," Yamato said softly, drawing Shinji's gaze back. The hostility was gone, replaced by a profound, weary hope. "I studied the legends, the fragments of my grandfather's journals, knowing I might not live to see the prophecy fulfilled. Our time is short. But here you stand. The Complete Trascender. Not before me... but within my reach."
A slow, complex smile touched Shinji's lips; part relief, part grim determination, part the weight of impossible expectation. He remembered Yamato's phrasing earlier. "Wait," he said, the analytical mind cutting through the emotion. "You just said... 'before a complete Trascender showed up in this era'..." He stepped closer, his voice dropping, intense. "What did you mean exactly? 'Showed up'? Or... 'returned'?"
Yamato met his gaze, his expression unreadable. The ancient stillness was back. "I only know," he said carefully, each word measured, "that you are not the very first True Trascender to exist." He held up a hand, forestalling Shinji's immediate, sharp intake of breath. "But that is the extent of my knowledge. The rest... is lost to time, or guarded by forces beyond my reach. I am not privy to the full story, Shinji. Only fragments passed down."
Shinji stared at him, the revelation hitting like a delayed shockwave. Not the first. The implications were staggering, terrifying, exhilarating. Who came before? What happened to them? Did they succeed? Fail? Why am I here now? He saw the genuine limit in Yamato's eyes. The North Head held no more answers. Shinji forced himself to take a deep, steadying breath, pushing the whirlwind of questions aside for later. *Merus. I need to ask Merus.* He brushed a hand through his matted hair, the gesture one of contained turmoil. "I see," he said finally, his voice rough but controlled. He managed a weak, humorless chuckle. "Well, that little history lesson just made Saganbo seem about a thousand times scarier." The understatement hung in the air.
Yamato dipped his head slightly. "My apologies for the abruptness. And the weight."
Shinji waved it off, though the tension hadn't fully dissipated. "Forget it. But back to my first question: How did you know? How did you recognize me as the Trascender? The legend just says one would appear, not what he looks like."
A faint, almost sly smile touched Yamato's lips. "I watched you. During your... crucible in the wastes."
Shinji blinked. "Watched? How? I didn't sense anyone! Danger Sense didn't ping!"
"Stealth," Yamato replied simply, "is another form of mastery. Enhanced senses are formidable, but not infallible against focused intent and ancient techniques. Distance, terrain, and specialized observational tools can create blind spots. I observed your battles, your regeneration, your growing power. The sheer, unprecedented scale of it. The legend spoke of an immortal warrior of boundless potential emerging in times of cosmic peril. The evidence... was rather compelling." He gestured at Shinji's still-bloodied, scarred form. "It fit."
Shinji snorted, a reluctant grin breaking through. "Alright, Old Ma— Yamato. Fair point. You've got some serious spying skills. Color me impressed." He rolled his shoulders, the remaining tension easing into a readiness for the next challenge. "So. Spiritual Energy Manipulation. Phase Two." He looked around the resonant stone chamber. "Where do we start? And seriously... two and a half months?"
"Indeed," Yamato said, his own demeanor shifting back to that of the focused instructor. He raised his hands, palms facing each other. A faint, ethereal light, like captured moonlight, began to shimmer between them. "The power dormant within all beings. The source of all prowess. We begin by learning to feel it. To breathe it. To awaken the spark within your own core." The light pulsed gently, casting long shadows in the stone room. "Prepare yourself, Shinji Kazuhiko. This is where the true journey within begins."