Blow for Blow

Ash continued to wait, the silence of the small room pressing down on him. 

His body ached from the previous interrogation, and his wrists were sore from the cuffs. He had no way of knowing how long had passed, but eventually, the door creaked open.

The same man walked in, his sharp eyes locking onto Ash immediately. There was something different this time—his posture was less formal, more assessing.

"We went to Zone 13," he said, closing the door behind him. "To the warehouse."

Ash kept his expression neutral.

The man sat down across from him, studying his reaction. "We didn't find a spider corpse."

Ash internally cursed. Ethan must have already cleared it out.

"That's strange," Ash said, feigning confusion. "I left it there."

The man didn't look convinced. "We also spoke to your niece. She told us you were delivering food last night."

Ash groaned. He wasn't mad at Lena—she had no idea how much trouble her words could cause. But now, he was backed into a corner.

The man leaned forward. "Who sent you to retrieve that cargo?"

Ash hesitated. He couldn't reveal the Scorpion Gang. If he did, they'd kill him before HR could even decide what to do with him.

"I took the job from someone who offered good pay. I don't ask questions."

"That's convenient," the man mused. "A random job, at the same place you awakened?"

"A coincidence," Ash replied smoothly. "Not like I expected a damn spider to jump out at me."

The man let the silence drag out, letting the weight of his presence fill the room. "Regardless of what you were doing there, you're an awakened now. And that means you need to be registered."

Ash barely had time to react before the man unlocked his cuffs. "Follow me."

Ash rubbed his wrists, wary but knowing better than to try anything. The man didn't even bother restraining him again—he was confident enough that Ash wouldn't escape. And even if he tried, Ash knew he wouldn't get far.

—--------------

The man led him to a reception area, where a clerk handed him a holo pad. Ash quickly filled in the details—name, age, occupation, and newly awakened status. He handed it back and followed the man down a stairwell that led underground.

They entered a small but well-equipped training room. Various wooden weapons lined the walls, alongside sleek white and blue training guns.

"Pick your weapons," the man ordered.

Ash felt uneasy but stepped forward, selecting a wooden dagger and one of the guns. It was lightweight but sturdy—though without real bullets, it was just for simulation purposes.

The man observed him with mild boredom. "We're testing your abilities. I'm wearing specialized combat gear. If you manage to land a hit, I'll feel it."

Ash then noticed the difference in the man's outfit from before. The combat suit was sleek and form-fitting, likely reinforced. It was designed to provide feedback, ensuring the wearer could feel strikes without taking real damage.

The man cracked his neck. "Let's see what you've got. Come at me."

Ash shifted into a stance, holding his knife forward and keeping his gun slightly back. He lunged, stabbing toward the man's torso.

The man barely moved, tilting his body to the side as the blade whiffed past him. Ash quickly followed up with a slash, but the man sidestepped, his movement effortless.

"Too slow," the man remarked, before lashing out with a counterattack.

Ash barely had time to react before a sharp strike hit his arm, forcing him back. He gritted his teeth, adjusting his stance.

He attacked again. A flurry of quick slashes and feints, trying to break through the man's defences.

But every time, the man either dodged or parried, and when he counterattacked, he struck Ash with precise blows that sent pain rippling through his limbs.

Ash skidded back, panting.

He could feel the man's movements instinctually, but his body and mind couldn't keep up. His brain processed the information, but it was like there was a delay between his instincts and his actions.

"That all?" the man asked, sounding unimpressed.

Ash gritted his teeth. "Not yet."

He rushed in again, switching up his tactics.

He feinted left before pivoting right, slashing with his knife while simultaneously aiming a sweep at the man's legs.

The man easily evaded, twisting just enough for the knife to pass harmlessly by, then stepped aside as Ash's kick whiffed through empty air.

Undeterred, Ash pressed on, weaving together rapid strikes—punches, elbow jabs, and wild slashes—but his opponent read every move effortlessly. Each attack was dodged with minimal effort, and every failed attempt left Ash open for sharp, calculated counterstrikes.

A jab to his ribs, a knee to his thigh—precise blows that sent pain searing through his body but never quite incapacitated him.

It was like fighting a shadow that struck back just enough to remind him how outmatched he was.

Eventually, a sharp kick sent the weapons flying from Ash's hands.

"You're holding back," the man stated. "Why haven't you activated your ability?"

"It's passive," Ash grunted, wiping sweat from his forehead.

The man snorted. "Then why don't I feel any spirit energy from you? You haven't activated it at all."

Ash frowned. "I don't know how."

The man's eyes turned grey, a cold, suffocating aura seeping into the room. "Because you're rejecting it. Bring it out."

Ash felt frozen in place. The overwhelming pressure made his breathing shallow, his muscles locking up.

Then something burned inside him. A deep, unfamiliar sensation.

His eyes flickered purple, a faint aura releasing from his body.

The man's eyes returned to normal, a small smile playing on his lips. "There it is."

Ash didn't have time to process it before the man dashed forward.

The fight resumed, but this time, something was different. Ash could feel the space between them in a way he hadn't before.

The minute shifts in the man's posture, the exact distance of his fists, the twitch of his shoulders before an attack.

He wasn't just reacting anymore—he was anticipating.

The man noticed immediately. "Interesting."

He increased his speed, his attacks coming in rapid succession. But Ash dodged, blocked, and countered, keeping up even as the tempo escalated.

Blows were exchanged at a blistering pace, their movements a blur of motion.

Ash's instincts screamed at him, his body moving with a precision he hadn't experienced before. He weaved past a strike, twisting his body to deliver a sharp elbow aimed at the man's ribs, but the man effortlessly sidestepped.

Ash pivoted, launching a low kick at his opponent's knee, only for it to be checked with perfect timing.

The man retaliated with a quick palm strike to Ash's shoulder, sending him stumbling back, but he recovered instantly.

Ash darted forward again, slipping beneath a punch and driving his knee upward, aiming for the man's gut.

The man twisted mid-motion, deflecting the attack with a sharp downward press of his forearm.

Ash saw the shift in the man's stance a fraction of a second before the strike came. His instincts roared, and his body moved on its own—twisting just enough for the blow to graze past his ribs instead of landing full force.

Even so, the sheer speed of the attack sent a sharp sting through his side. He clenched his jaw, ignoring the pain, and immediately retaliated with a swift palm strike aimed at the man's chest, but the man had already stepped back, effortlessly evading.

He feinted right, throwing a wild jab to distract before shifting left, his hand snapping forward like a viper. His fingers grazed the man's chin, but in the same instant, a fist rammed into his side, forcing Ash to move his body back to lessen the impact.

The force sent Ash staggering, but his body moved on instinct, rolling with the impact and springing back into position.

The man's gaze sharpened. "Better. But still not enough."

The fight continued, Ash throwing everything he had. He ducked, sidestepped, and countered with newfound fluidity, feeling the minute shifts in the air between them.

But no matter how fast he moved, the man adjusted faster. Every slight tell Ash picked up was met with an immediate correction, like he was fighting someone who had already seen his every move before he made it.

Then, finally, he saw an opening.

Ash twisted his body mid-step, dropping lower than before. He felt the shift of weight in the man's stance, saw the faintest twitch in his shoulders—

And drove his fist straight into the man's face.

The impact echoed in the room, a satisfying jolt of resistance meeting Ash's knuckles. The man's head snapped slightly to the side, a flicker of surprise flashing across his usually impassive expression.

But before Ash could even register his small victory, his aura flickered—

And vanished.

A wave of exhaustion crashed into him like a tidal wave. His limbs turned sluggish, his breath ragged.

His knees buckled beneath him, and he collapsed to the floor, gasping for air as his entire body felt like lead.

The man tilted his head, watching with mild amusement. "Looks like you're out of juice. Pity."