CHAPTER 41: LEVELS OF POWER AND A DANGEROUS FUTURE
The glow hadn't gone away.
It pulsed beneath John's skin, faint and rhythmic, like the dying flicker of embers tucked beneath ash. His hands trembled as he stared down at them, unable to believe what had just happened.
A Neuro Core.
He had actually done it.
He had awakened one.
But the thrill, the triumph, the exultation he had imagined... never came. Instead, a strange emptiness settled over him—like standing on the edge of a cliff, with fog all around and no idea how far the drop was.
What level was he?
The question struck harder than he expected. Because in this new world—a world that had been hiding beneath the surface of his old life—power had a name, a rank, a system. It wasn't vague or poetic. It was numbers. Tiers. Thresholds.
It was survival.
The Classic Level marked the beginning. The entry point. Those at that level were already dangerous—faster, stronger, tougher than any normal human. But the Classic Level wasn't the end. It was only the first step in a much steeper climb.
Beyond it came the Fighter Level—a realm of raw destruction, where every move could shatter bone and break ground. Reaching that tier didn't make someone special. It made them lethal.
And John?
He had no idea where he stood.
Classic Level One? Maybe Two? Or worse... maybe even below that. A fluke. A false start.
He shook his head.
The rules of this deadly game were still hidden from him, and the weight of that ignorance pressed on his chest like iron.
Luna, at least, had clarity.
His older sister was everything he wasn't right now: calm, experienced, in control. She had awakened her Neuro Core four years ago, and had climbed her way up to Classic Level 8. John had seen her power. He knew she could punch through reinforced concrete like it was wet paper. She didn't just wield strength—she commanded it.
He admired her for it.
But admiration twisted quickly into fear.
Because Luna wasn't the one vanishing into cursed forests without warning.
He was.
That forest—twisted, ancient, and alive in ways it shouldn't be—was no place for someone still finding their footing. The air there was heavy with dread, the very trees whispering of bloodshed and lost time. And the creatures... the creatures didn't merely lurk. They hunted.
And most of them, John had realized with rising panic, started at Classic Level 5.
That meant he was already outclassed. Outmatched. Out of time. Every time his body blinked into that wild, death-haunted realm, he was a vulnerable target dropped into a world where survival wasn't a right—it was a fight.
They didn't just ignore the rules.
They broke them.
They belonged to a time—or a world—that felt older than memory itself.
John drew a shaky breath, then clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.
He couldn't go on like this—stumbling through timelines, hoping each time he wouldn't be torn apart by something faster, stronger, and hungrier.
Hope was not a plan.
Instinct was not enough.
He needed to evolve.
He needed to learn.
Because right now, even with the Core's glow still warm beneath his skin, he was little more than prey. A boy wearing armor he didn't understand, walking battlefields meant for warriors.
And every night he crouched beneath roots, or held his breath behind trees, he knew what he was doing wasn't survival.
It was delay
John understood one thing now with terrifying clarity—etched into the marrow of his bones like a truth he'd always known:
Delays get you killed.