Mistvale forest,
Outside Periun city,
Kettlia Region
Ashtarium Nation
North American continent
October 20th 2019
The rest of the day passed in golden hours, the sun tracing slow arcs across a cloud-streaked sky. The gang filled that time with laughter and light, swimming in the cool embrace of the lake, hiking winding trails under the forest's dappled canopy, and stealing quiet moments alone or in pairs. Everything felt easy, effortless—as though the forest had, for a time, suspended the world outside its borders.
Jack found himself constantly at Carrie's side, drawn to her presence like gravity. They wandered beneath towering ironwoods, hands brushing, conversation meandering from playful banter to quiet admissions. She told him about the little things she had begun learning recently like learning to play the piano again and one of her plans to visit the famous Highgardens in Hudsonia Region—and Jack, in turn, listened as if each word were precious. With every smile, every shared glance, he fell a little further.
If he'd been smitten with her before, now he was utterly, completely devoted. She made the world sharper and softer all at once. Being with her grounded him. Made him feel more real. And yet—beneath the glow of these moments—a weight pressed against Jack's heart. A pressure he couldn't ignore.
He wanted to tell her the truth.
About his ability. About the Codex. About what he was truly becoming.
But how could he? How did someone begin to explain the existence of an entire hidden reality—the Shadow World—filled with Ascendants, Magic Beasts, and Mana-tiered cultivation realms? How did you confess that your body was a lattice of spatial energy zones, and that just last night, you fought for your life in a pocket dimension conjured by an Awakened beast?
Even his friends—Mark, Eli, Sarah—only knew part of the story. They were aware of his power, yes. But they hadn't glimpsed the deeper truth: the secret world that hummed beneath the surface of their own. The true scope of what Jack had been pulled into. And the stakes of revealing it were monumental.
Nico's words echoed in his thoughts like a warning carved into stone:
"The Accord is sacred. The mundane world cannot know. Not just for our safety—but for theirs."
The Accord. The Pact. The binding agreement that kept the Manaborn society hidden from public view. A veil woven by centuries of secrecy, upheld by the Wardens and feared by even the most powerful of cultivators. Jack didn't fully understand its origin, only that breaking it came with severe consequences—not just personal ones, but cosmic ones. Still, the temptation lingered. He trusted Carrie. More than anyone. But was that enough?
They were in a loose circle around the fire, plates in hand, the scent of roasted fish hanging warmly in the air. The meal had come courtesy of Layla and Amber, whose surprising skill with makeshift spears had left everyone—including Jack—amused and impressed. No one had expected the two girls, usually associated with glamour and classroom antics, to be so deft at fishing.
The fish had been cleaned and prepared under Carrie's direction. She'd seasoned it with the herbs and spices she brought along—lemon zest, cracked pepper, and a pinch of something smoky—and cooked them over the fire with a grace Jack found captivating. The skin crackled as it crisped, juices bubbling under the flame's heat.
Jack had taken more helpings than he meant to. He wasn't alone in that.
Afterward, full and satisfied, everyone gradually wandered back to their tents. Laughter faded into the night, replaced by the soft rustling of leaves and the low murmur of crickets. The flames reduced to embers, pulsing faintly beneath the starlit sky.
Inside his tent, Jack returned to cultivation. Sitting cross-legged on his cot, he focused on the rhythmic cycling of spirit energy. Threads of mana drifted into his soul core—calm and fluid—saturating its essence. He then guided the refined mana through his spiritual channels, infusing it into his growing mana core. He could feel it approaching the next threshold, not quite there, but close. Each cycle felt smoother than the last.
Then—movement.
A quiet presence brushing the edge of his Zone. He didn't have to open his eyes to know who it was.
"Hey, Jack," came Carrie's voice from outside the tent. "Can I come in?"
His eyes opened, the trance fading. "Yeah… sure."
The flap rustled open, and she stepped inside. She wore a soft cashmere sweater, a pair of shorts, and her usual pink leggings tucked into slightly muddy sneakers. Despite the casual look, something about her felt disarmingly perfect, like the quiet warmth after a storm.
She sat down beside him without hesitation, her presence soft but grounding. Her arm brushed against his, and Jack became acutely aware of the warmth she radiated.
"How are you feeling?" she asked gently, her eyes scanning his face.
"Good," Jack said. "Better. I'm sorry about before. I...I thought I was over it. The incident from nine years ago, but it seems I'm still dealing with it." Carrie's arms circled him, her embrace gentle but secure.
"It's all good. As long as you're feeling better. That's all I care about." Carrie said. Jack leaned into her hold, taking in the faint lavender scent clinging to her sweater. In her arms, the nightmare felt distant, blurred by the rhythm of her breath. Then she tilted her face toward his, and kissed him—slow, sweet, and steady. Jack responded with quiet intensity, his hand instinctively wrapping around her waist, drawing her close. Their lips parted only slightly as Carrie whispered, "Plus, I think I can help you feel even better."
Jack smiled against her mouth. "Is that so?"
She didn't answer with words—just a mischievous grin as she guided them both down onto the cot. The small tent suddenly felt like the only place in the world. Their bodies found each other easily, comfortably, like puzzle pieces finally aligned. His arms encircled her waist, firm and protective, while her fingers slid into his hair, their kiss deepening. Then, her hand moved to his, gently guiding it upward, pressing it softly against her chest.
Jack's breath caught, eyes flickering open to meet hers. She was smiling, open, fearless, and radiant in her trust. The hunger in her gaze wasn't urgent—it was meaningful. It was her way of saying, I'm here. I choose this. I choose you.
And in that quiet, starlit space, all of Jack's worries—about the Shadow World, the Codex, the dangers he couldn't yet name—faded into something distant. For now, there was only this. Only them.
As the kiss between Jack and Carrie deepened, something electric passed between them—an invisible current that pulled them closer, igniting a quiet hunger that simmered beneath the surface. Their breaths mingled in the soft space between kisses, lips brushing and returning again with growing urgency. Jack's hands moved instinctively, gliding along the curve of her back, while Carrie's fingers slipped beneath his shirt, her touch featherlight against his skin.
Her hand traced the lines of his chest, warm and curious, leaving trails of fire in its wake. Jack's breath hitched. He had never felt anything like this before—not just desire, but the overwhelming intimacy of being wanted and trusted by someone he cared so deeply for. Carrie's heart was thudding just as hard as his; he could feel it in the way she clung to him, her fingers trembling slightly against his ribs.
He wanted more—more of her, more of this closeness—but just as the moment threatened to sweep them away, they both pulled apart, as if by silent agreement. Their lips parted with reluctance, panting softly, foreheads pressed together.
Jack brushed a strand of her golden hair away from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. She looked up at him, flushed and radiant, her eyes shimmering with unspoken emotion.
"Are you disappointed?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Carrie shook her head. "No. Not if you're not."
A smile curved across Jack's lips as he leaned forward, trailing a kiss across her cheek, then her temple. "Never."
"I want to…" he began, his voice heavy with sincerity, "I want to be with you. Just… not like this. Not here."
Carrie gave a breathy laugh, resting her hand against his chest again. "Yeah. I figured. A tent… next to our friends… probably not the most romantic setting."
Jack nodded. "I'd rather wait until it's just us. Somewhere that feels like it belongs to us. Not borrowed."
That unspoken understanding settled between them like a warm blanket. There was no awkwardness-no regret. Just a deeper kind of closeness. They kissed again, slower this time, more tender than heated, as if memorizing each other's presence rather than chasing it.
Eventually, they quieted. The need that had roared moments ago softened into something calmer. They lay curled together on the narrow cot, their bodies tangled in a comfortable sprawl. Jack wrapped his arms around her waist, and Carrie rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.
In the stillness, time stretched. The world outside—the Codex, the hunt, the shadow of danger—fell away.
There was only the hush of breath and the warmth of skin, and the quiet promise shared between two souls still learning how to hold one another.
****
The van sped down the darkened highway, tires hissing against rain-slick asphalt as it cut through the outskirts of Periun. Inside, the dim red glow of the cabin lights cast long shadows across the faces of the men seated in the back—each armed, armored, and tense with anticipation.
Wren sat among them, his gloved fingers flexing slowly, deliberately, as if each motion helped bleed off the restless aggression simmering beneath his skin. His eyes—cold, alert—stared ahead, but his thoughts were fixed elsewhere. Jack Ryan.
The brat had made a mess of everything.
Thanks to the resources handed down from their backers, Wren had finally acquired what he needed: a location. Jack Ryan's whereabouts had been narrowed down, his patterns mapped, his connections charted. The bastard was close—too close. And Wren was itching to finish what had started the moment his gang had been humiliated.
He clenched his jaw. Word had spread through the underworld like a sickness—rumors about a masked boy showing up at the wrong places, at the worst possible times. Gangs uprooted. Deals intercepted. Minds altered. Just like what had happened to his own crew. Wren hadn't believed it at first. The mind control. The surreal memory lapses. But too many gangs had been hit. Too many whispered accounts matched the anomalies his own men reported.
It was him. That damned kid.
And now Wren knew the truth—thanks to intel from the Whisperer, a contact few dared even speak of. Jack Ryan was no ordinary street punk. He was an Ascendant. Newly awakened, unrefined—but dangerous. The kind of dangerous that only got worse with time.
Which meant Wren had to act before that time ran out.
"He's green," Wren muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing. "He hasn't adjusted to his abilities yet. He doesn't even know the full extent of what he's capable of."
That was the weak point. That was where Wren would strike.
He wasn't just guessing—he was betting on it. Unlike the kid, Wren had experience. Years navigating the underbelly of Manaborn society. He wasn't some common thug with delusions of grandeur. He was a soldier of the old code. A Manaborn who knew what it meant to survive through grit, ruthlessness, and power.
And this time, he came prepared.
Their van was armed, shielded with anti-mana dampeners. The men with him were no street-level pushovers—they were mercs trained to fight Ascendants, each one carrying enchantments and Magic items meant for combat. And Wren himself was equipped with a resonator wand—one that could help him tip the success of the attack on their side.
Jack Ryan had caused chaos.
Now Wren would return the favor.
****
"Danger detected! Danger detected!"
The mechanical yet urgent voice of the Codex rang through Jack's mind, cutting through the fog of the simulation like a blade through silk.
His eyes snapped open, golden strands of mana light fading from his irises. The dream-state training faded—along with the phantom echoes of his Mirage Step practice. He had been close, finally grasping the delicate rhythm of anchor points and phantom movements, but the Codex's warning had pulled him sharply back to the waking world.
Jack didn't hesitate.
He sat up, quiet and fluid, his movements honed from weeks of cultivating stealth and awareness. The Codex's perception systems, far more advanced than his own sensory reach, had registered multiple presences within the forest—unmarked, unfamiliar, and fast-moving.
He turned slightly, eyes falling to Carrie.
She lay beside him on the cot, her face illuminated by the soft silver glow leaking through the tent's seams. One arm was still wrapped loosely around his waist, her breath slow and content, a faint smile tugging at her lips. The sight gave him pause—not out of sentimentality, but out of instinct. The calm before the storm always looked like this. Always serene. Always fragile.
With deliberate care, Jack lifted her arm and laid it gently across her side. She shifted slightly but did not stir. He touched her shoulder softly, letting his fingers linger for the briefest second.
Then he stood.
Drawing in a breath, he pressed two fingers to the Codex mark on his chest. Threads of silver-blue light rippled out, activating his Internal Senses. His awareness expanded—not just spatially, but spiritually. He swept through the camp's mana imprint like a silent tide, checking on every friend, every sleeping heartbeat.
Eli. Mark. Sarah. Layla. Zoey. Amber.
All asleep. All safe. For now.
Then he activated his Zone.
A sphere of power extended outward, silent and seamless, spanning nearly two hundred meters. The air shimmered faintly for an instant as the Zone enveloped the nearby forest, latching onto the ambient threads of reality like a web of awareness. And there—just at the edge of his boundary—he sensed them. Three figures. Fast. Armored. Moving with intent. Hostiles. He didn't wait.
With a flicker of silver light and a pulse from his soles, Jack jumped—his body vanishing in a warp of compressed space. In an instant, he reappeared behind one of the incoming presences, cloaked in the veil of his Zone's inner silence. No leaves rustled. No twigs snapped. The night didn't notice him.
Jack moved like a phantom through the trees, his body a blur of precision and purpose. In a single fluid motion, he slipped behind the nearest target, wrapped an arm around the man's neck, and applied steady pressure. The soldier flailed for a moment, but Jack's grip was unforgiving. Within seconds, the man sagged—unconscious before he could make a sound.
The forest whispered around them, still and breathless.
The other two figures noticed the sudden absence. One turned sharply, the other hesitated—too slow.
Jack surged forward, leaping into the air with a twist of his hips. His foot snapped out in a spinning kick, catching the second man square in the temple. The force dropped him instantly. Before the third could aim or even shout, Jack was already on him—driving his fist into the man's jaw with punishing force. The crunch of bone echoed through the trees.
Three down.
Jack rose to his full height, the silver light of his zone softly dimming around him. He looked down at the men, studying their gear.
Their armor was matte-black with deep gray plating, etched with glowing runes that pulsed faintly with residual mana—clearly designed for anti-cultivator operations. Not mass-produced. Military-grade, or something close. He crouched, examining one of their weapons. It looked like a modified rifle, sleek and compact, but when he touched it—
Mana. The weapon hummed softly, resonating with the Codex interface in his palm.
"Enchanted Item Identified. Classification: Semi-Automatic Arcane Firearm. Function: Mana Rifle. Capable of firing condensed mana projectiles. Effective against energy-based barriers and lightly armored cultivators."
Jack narrowed his eyes. "Magic guns, huh…"
He dropped the weapon into the grass. He stepped back and expanded his Zone again, releasing a controlled breath as the mana lattice in his body adjusted to the surge. A translucent ripple spread outward, wrapping the forest once more in his awareness.
Zone Active – Range: 200 meters. Jumps Remaining: 10.
Good. His earlier use of the Zone hadn't burned through any of the jump reserves. He had dismissed it in time. Thirteen targets total. Still moving. Still closing in. His eyes gleamed with resolve as he adjusted his stance.
Jack moved like a silent reaper through the undergrowth, weaving in and out of shadows. With every target he dispatched, he pushed himself—testing the upper limits of his Zone Drive in live combat. These intruders were clearly organized and armed, but their reaction time was sluggish compared to his. They didn't even get a chance to fire a single shot. Not one.
And that was exactly how Jack wanted it.
The others—Carrie, Eli, Sarah, all of them—were still sound asleep by the lake. They didn't need to know about this ambush. The eighth body crumpled into the grass, unconscious but breathing, when the Codex spoke—its voice calm, clinical, and always a step ahead.
"Analysis complete. All hostile signatures confirmed: Mundane humans. No awakened soul cores detected. No star cores. Their life signs are consistent with baseline human physiology."
Jack blinked, kneeling beside the fallen mercenary. "Mundane? Then how the hell did they get their hands on enchanted rifles?" he muttered, brushing his fingers over the weapon's runes, which had begun to dim without the wielder's mana flow.
He frowned. "It's not like you can buy magical hardware at some back-alley pawn shop."
"Calculations suggest these individuals are likely part of the criminal underworld. The pattern of their appearance aligns with retaliation efforts triggered by your prior actions. Probability: 91.7%."
Jack exhaled sharply. "Right… The gangs." He rubbed his temple. "They're not taking the beatings well, huh? Never mind. We'll deal with the clean-up first—talk later."
Without another word, he surged forward, his Zone shimmering around him like a transparent veil. Two more mercs fell before they could even register movement—one dropped by a precise strike to the temple, the other by a silent chokehold that left him slumped against a tree.
Three left.
Jack crouched in the boughs above them, listening. The final trio huddled together, speaking quickly into comms, their words muffled but frantic. Across the forest, Wren moved with grim determination. His boots barely made a sound against the earth as he advanced, staying low, weaving through the trees with a predator's caution. He wasn't just following Jack—he was studying him.
Wren had intentionally held back, allowing his men to scatter ahead. A tactical decision. He needed to see the threat firsthand. And what he saw chilled him to the bone.
Jack Ryan wasn't some freshly awakened punk flailing with new power. No. What he witnessed was practiced control—refined movement that danced between precision and savagery. The boy teleported. Not once, but multiple times. He phased in and out of reality with terrifying efficiency. His strikes were clean, his decisions immediate. Every attack was deliberate. Every motion had weight.
This isn't some newbie Ascendant, Wren thought, bile rising in his throat. He had heard rumors, of course. Tales of freaks—awakened ones who were naturally gifted with their cultivation, whose power surged far beyond what their cultivation phase should allow. But he'd dismissed them. Until now.
I need to pull back. Regroup. Reassess.
But he didn't get the chance. Jack's presence bloomed through the trees like a stormfront. A ripple of space bent around Wren—and then he was there.
Just there.
One moment, it was just the forest. The next, Jack Ryan, standing directly in front of him, eyes narrowed with recognition. Not fast movement. Not some spell trick. Actual, seamless teleportation. A trait far beyond Awakening-phase mobility. Wren froze. He didn't even reach for his weapon. Jack tilted his head, something dangerous simmering behind his steady gaze.
"You," he said flatly. "You're the one from Joe's memories."
Wren flinched.
He remembered now—the look in Joe's eyes after his encounter with Jack. The panic. The fear. Wren had tracked the brat's retaliations, seen the signs, guessed at the escalating threat. But deep down, he'd never expected this.
Jack took a step forward, shadows clinging to his silhouette as if the forest itself bowed to him.
"I went after your crew. Hit one of your bases," he said, his tone low. "You weren't there. But I haven't forgotten."
Wren opened his mouth—whether to reason, plead, or bluff, even he didn't know.
Jack cut him off.
"But Nico told me to stand down. Said to let it go." His voice darkened. "Guess you didn't get the same warning."
The air around them warped subtly, Jack's Zone folding in—tight, oppressive. Wren felt it press against his skin like a vice. And for the first time since the hunt began, Jack didn't look like a kid anymore. He looked like something older. Something inevitable.
Wren tried to move—but the world refused to budge.
It was as if time itself had buckled under an unseen pressure. The space around him had thickened, distorted—every particle of air frozen in stasis. He couldn't even twitch without resistance, as though reality had wrapped him in invisible cords. His breath caught. His instincts screamed.
Jack advanced slowly, cracking his knuckles, each pop echoing like distant thunder. His gaze was cold. Unhurried. Deadly. Every step he took sent subtle ripples through the atmosphere—Zone Drive compressing tighter, anchoring force amplification in geometric echoes around Wren's position.
"You should've stayed in the shadows," Jack muttered as he drew near.
Wren strained, struggling against the spatial suppression like a drowning man clawing against the deep. Sweat beaded across his brow. His limbs refused to respond. His will alone couldn't defy this suffocating grip.
Then it happened.
A sharp pulse—a blinding flash of crimson light erupted from within his coat pocket.
Mana surged.
Malevolent. Thick. Wrong.
Jack's eyes widened as he instinctively leapt back, skidding across the forest floor just before a disruptive wave shattered the framework of his Zone. The spatial lattice fractured like glass under pressure, the resonance echoing through his spine. His dominion collapsed.
"A counterfield?" Jack hissed.
The oppressive aura flooded the clearing, and Wren's body jerked free from the frozen space. The invisible shackles broke. He fell to his knees—then laughed, wild and exhilarated—as he gripped the wand now glowing in his palm.
The wand pulsed with residual power, scarlet veins of mana coiling like serpents across its surface. Whatever had triggered it—whatever had sent it—was still watching. Jack could feel the lingering presence.
A high-grade artifact. More than that, this wand was a relay—a conduit.
Wren's grin twisted. He didn't know exactly how it worked, but it had saved his life. And there was still a spark of that terrifying mana locked inside. Enough to fight. Enough to escape.
"No more running," Wren said, raising the wand.
Jack steadied himself, narrowing his eyes.
"What the hell was that?"
"Mana transference detected," the Codex replied coolly within his mind. "Essence flowed from an external source directly into your opponent through a prepared medium. It is an artificial awakening enhancement."
"Mana transference?" Jack echoed, tensing. "You're saying someone gave him power—remotely?"
"Correct. A potent Manaborn signature was identified. I am currently analyzing its composition."
Jack's heart tightened.
Then the Codex delivered the next blow.
"New analysis complete. Subject Wren has undergone genetic mana fusion. Classification: Thrall."
"...Thrall?" Jack said slowly, brows furrowing.
"Affirmative. A being infused with Vampiric essence and bound to the will of a master. The energy signature matches that of Awakened Vampires. Likely, Wren's benefactor is not only watching, but also initiating field-level interventions through him."
Jack clenched his jaw. So this wasn't just a gang problem anymore. This was the Shadow World watching from the dark. And some vampire had just marked him.
Jack tried to expand his Zone again, but nothing responded.
A cold jolt ran through his spine. That's when he realized the earlier mana shockwave had done more than disrupt his technique—it had wounded it. His Zone had not simply dissipated; it had shattered, and with that collapse came a backlash.
He could feel it now. That strange fatigue—a hollowness gnawing at the edges of his mana circuits. The sensation mimicked the exhaustion he experienced after using all ten of his Zone jumps. Which meant...
"Damn it," Jack muttered under his breath. "It's on cooldown."
No support. No teleportation. No spatial distortion.
"Looks like I'll have to do this the hard way," Jack said, narrowing his eyes.
Across the clearing, Wren stood like a man reborn. Mana surged violently through his veins, twisting and reforging him from the inside out. His pupils shimmered faintly crimson, and though his body still bore the shape of a human, his aura had turned feral—wrong. He could feel it. A mind not entirely his anymore. Chains. Whispered commands.
He didn't care.
All that mattered now was crushing the brat who had haunted his name like a curse.
Raising his wand, Wren drew mana into its core. A shimmering glyph formation appeared midair, precise and complex. The wand synchronized to his will, its embedded circuits pulsing as they formed a complete spell array.
"Flare Sigil!"
A burst of flames roared out like a living beast, surging toward Jack in a searing wave.
Jack reacted instantly. Even without Zone Drive, he was still an Ascendant—his physical baseline transcending any mundane human. He dropped low, propelling himself aside as the flames tore through the clearing, devouring grass and bark in a crescent arc. The heat washed over him, but he was gone before the fire could catch his coat.
His mana-laced musculature moved with seamless coordination. Though he hadn't yet reached full reinforcement—something Jacien warned might be a hurdle due to his Factorist path—he didn't need the traditional framework. Jack's body was still sharpened by mana through his lattice network, refined enough to close the distance in a blink.
He dashed through the smoke, trying to rush Wren—but the thrall was ready.
Wren's senses had sharpened unnaturally since his transformation. The wand flared again, spinning midair as another runic circle lit the space above Jack.
"Flare Lance!"
The incantation triggered a crimson downpour—dozens of flaming spears rained from the sky.
Jack vaulted backward, diving between detonations, rolling to avoid the worst of it as fire scorched the air and turned leaves to ash. The heat was unbearable. Every explosion threatened to wake his friends. Every blast could ignite the forest.
He gritted his teeth.
He can't keep this up. If this turns into a wildfire... or if Carrie wakes up...
No. That couldn't happen.
He inhaled sharply, gathered every strand of mana he could muster, and launched himself into the trees, using their trunks and limbs to slingshot toward Wren in a blur. Bark cracked under his force, branches whipped by in a blur, and then—he was there.
Wren had seconds to react. He erected a barrier—a dome of dense mana lattice just as Jack's punch connected.
Crack.
The impact sent web-like fractures rippling across the shield. Wren's eyes widened, and with a roar, he lashed out with a kick.
It slammed against Jack's jaw, sending him crashing through the underbrush, leaves and dirt trailing his body as he hit the ground hard.
Jack rolled and rose to his feet in one motion, his vision tinged with red, blood trickling down his lip.
"Alert: Vampiric essence has enhanced the opponent's physiology," the Codex chimed in his mind. "Physical stats now approaching baseline metrics for Vampire-class entities."
Jack barely heard it. Another volley of Flare Lances descended—he weaved through them, rage fueling his steps. The fire hissed around him, but he pressed forward, faster, harder. His eyes were burning now, but not from the flames.
From fury.
"You picked the wrong night," Jack growled, launching forward with a brutal dash. "Anytime now, Codex," Jack muttered, dodging another lance with inches to spare.
"Notice: Zone Drive cooldown nearly complete. Estimated time: one minute."
He wasn't going to run away. He was going to end this. Jack surged forward, each step drawing more power from his core as his momentum built like a storm. His fist drove into Wren's mana barrier once more—only this time, he didn't hold back. The impact shattered the shield completely, mana fractals scattering like shards of luminous glass in the air. The force rippled outward in a short shockwave, and before Wren could react, Jack followed up with a brutal forward kick.
Wren narrowly dodged, the sole of Jack's boot grazing his cheek—but the sheer wind pressure from the kick sent him flying anyway. He crashed into a tree with a bone-jarring thud, bark exploding around him as the trunk creaked ominously. Had he not been reinforced by his thrall physiology, the impact would have knocked him unconscious. Still dazed, Wren stumbled up, wand already raised to cast another spell.
But Jack was ready. He had been watching. Every circle, every trace of runes midair—he had studied the tempo of Wren's casting, the delay between his gestures and spell formation. Jack couldn't identify the type of magic—it wasn't like Nico's fluid, instinctive spellwork—but one thing was clear: it was slow. The wand, likely high-grade, required structured formations. Each incantation demanded precise alignment of mana flow before activation.
And against someone like Jack? That delay was a death sentence. In the span of heartbeats, Jack appeared beside Wren—fast enough that the wand had barely begun to glow. He could feel it—the rush of power returning as his Zone reactivated. The brief cooldown had ended. The Codex's passive rejuvenation of his ethereal gland had done its job, restoring his neural links to his Ability Factor.
His domain pulsed outward, covering a wide radius like a living breath of space itself.
Wren's wand flickered.
Too late.
Jack's fist ignited with spiraling white light—ambient mana coalescing in a pattern of spiraling threads, borrowed from a memory engraved into his Codex.
[Zone Drive – Echo Drive Art: Mana Cannon]
The same technique the Aetherfang Stalker had once used against him now roared from Jack's fist in a tightly compressed beam of spiraling energy. It exploded forward with a thunderous pulse, blasting through the wand's half-formed glyphs and striking Wren dead-on.
The thrall's body was hurled through the forest like a ragdoll, smashing through tree after tree—trunks splitting, branches snapping, bark raining down as his path of destruction tore deep into the woods.
Jack stood there, his outstretched fist slowly lowering, the fading echoes of mana humming through the air around him.
Smoke curled from the impact trail.
"…And that," Jack muttered, "is how you end it."