Chapter 7: Awakening

Dylan's eyes snapped open.

That sleep came too sudden. It caught him unaware. He hadn't had the time to sort his memories and…

'Wait!'

Dylan noticed a small… no huge difference.

The world had never looked this clear before.

Every detail sharpened, every color more vivid. The dim glow of the ruin's ancient carvings pulsed like a living heartbeat, he could tell how old the walls were by the amount of dust on them. He could even see the dust in the air as it moved with the breeze.

His breath was steady, controlled. Measured.

And he could hear everything.

The faint hum of power beneath the ruins. The distant echoes of shifting sand outside.

He pushed himself up, expecting stiffness and pain from the bruises and cuts he had earned in the past two days.

Instead, he felt… perfect.

His body responded like a well-oiled machine, light yet powerful, precise in every movement. His balance had shifted—not just physically, but mentally. His thoughts were quicker, his instincts sharper, his awareness stretching beyond what should have been possible.

Dylan looked at his palms that now had sparks at his finger tips. He turned his palm face down to inspect and with a massive thud, a huge chunk of the ceiling came crumbling down. Sand from the surface came pouring down. Swiftly, Dylan evaded the rocks and sand

He looked at the now open ceiling in disbelief.

Was that me?

He looked at a rock on the floor and gestured at it. The rock rose and floated.

Woah!

It was effortless. Not like moving something heavy, not like a struggle. It felt natural. As if the world around him had always been an extension of himself, waiting for him to wake up and realize it.

He twisted his fingers, and the rock spun lazily in the air, floating with the ease of a feather caught in the wind

Dylan laughed.

"Oh, this is gonna be fun."

But curiosity pushed him further. He knew the shard had changed him but he didn't know the limits.

He clenched his fist.

His veins pulsed as he focused, willing his body to go beyond, to test the limits of this new power. If his mind had changed, what about his body? Did he have superhuman strength? Could he crush stone with his bare hands?

He turned, clenched his fist, and punched the nearest wall.

Pain rocked his arm.

Dylan yelped, stumbling back, shaking his knuckles.

"Son of a—!" He cursed, flexing his fingers. The impact had hurt. The wall barely had a dent.

The grin on his face wavered slightly.

Okay. So maybe he wasn't that strong.

That was… disappointing. A part of him had hoped for the full deal—strength, speed, the whole superpower package. Instead, he got something else.

But as he stared at his hand, his grin returned. His bruised knuckles were healing at visible speeds.

This? This was better.

Strength could be matched. It had limits.

But this?

Dylan let his mind stretch again, and the world responded. The walls, the air, the weight of his own body.

What he didn't have in strength, he made up in wit.

Then—

The ground trembled.

Dylan inhaled sharply.

Metal. Sweat. Gunpowder. Raze. Basilisk?!

Thirty men.

A full combat unit.

Dylan didn't need to see them to know. His senses stretched outward like an invisible radar, feeling their movements. They were professionals, organized, methodical. And they weren't coming to capture him.

They were here to end him.

Damn.

He had expected a few men, a squad maybe. But this? This was a small war party.

And the only reason they'd deploy this many troops…

His smirk widened as he connected the dots. Basilisk, you slippery bastard.

It all made sense now.

Raze and Eric had been tracking him. The data packet Dylan had stolen must have been tagged—something small, undetectable. They had followed it right to Basilisk's hideout, and in a fit of desperation, they had unleashed every force they had onto the rogue AI.

Basilisk, of course, hadn't gone down that easily.

Dylan could almost hear the AI's voice in his head, cool and mischievous, twisting the situation in his favor.

"He tricked me. The packet he sold to me was fake—the real one is still with him. He ran into the ruins."

Dylan understood it now. Basilisk was not here. He only picked up his smell on Raze.

Idiotic Raze had believed the lie Basilisk told.

He had chased Dylan here, bringing an entire strike force with him.

Dylan let out a low whistle.

"Damn, Basilisk. Remind me never to play poker with you."

The ruins went silent.

The soldiers had stopped moving.

Dylan frowned. He reached out with his senses, stretching into the darkness—

Then he felt it.

A presence.

Heavy. Cold. Massive.

Massive both in size and aura.

It was Raze, the Zone Chief of Helion City, Eric's friend and partner.

The cybernetic warlord stepped into the ruins, his metal-plated boots echoing against the stone. His armor gleamed under the dim glow of ancient carvings, his red visor cutting through the darkness like a predator locking onto its prey.

Dylan's smirk didn't waver.

He knew Raze could see him. And Raze knew Dylan wasn't running. The warlord stopped, tilting his head slightly, studying him.

A long silence stretched between them.

Dylan exhaled, rolling his shoulders, his mind already calculating, already plotting. He could feel the tension in the soldiers, the anticipation in the air.

Thirty men. One warlord.

One street rat.

Dylan let out a slow, amused breath. Then he grinned.

"Man," he said, his voice light, playful, almost disappointed. "You guys sure know how to make a guy feel special."

Raze's voice was like a blade scraping against steel.

"You're not special, Ashen. Hand over the packet and we'll be on our way."

Dylan raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" He stretched his arms, popping his neck. "If you'll actually be on ur way after I hand it over why'd you bring an army and come yourself?"

A long pause.

Then—

Raze took another step forward.

And Dylan, facing an entire strike force, surrounded on all sides, knowing full well he was outmatched just smirked wider.