The next morning, Ratom returned to the training center. Yomi was quiet, the hum of hidden machines beneath the city the only sound as he made his way through the streets. The domes around him gleamed faintly under the pale light, and for a moment, it felt like the world above didn't exist at all.
Inside the center, warriors moved across the floor, dressed in sleek black suits that clung to them like second skin. The suits weren't just armor — they seemed to pulse with energy, enhancing every movement. Kicks were sharper. Punches hit harder. The fighters moved like they were born for war.
Lucas stood at the edge of the room, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the scene. He said nothing as Ratom entered.
A firm tap on Ratom's back broke the tension. He turned to find the man he'd fought the day before — Eraculius, his scar catching the light as he grinned.
"Doing better than yesterday?" Eraculius asked.
Ratom smirked. "You tell me."
Eraculius chuckled. "The suits—they're designed to push a human's strength up to a humanoid's level. But you won't be needing one. Neither will I. The stronger you are naturally, the less use the suit is. You're already past what it can handle."
Ratom raised a brow. "So what's your plan? Just hope I hit harder next time?"
"No. We train. You've got something better than a suit," Eraculius said. "It's time to use it right."
Eraculius didn't waste time. The moment they stepped onto the mat, the training began.
"Your bones. Your blood. That's your weapon. But you're using them wrong. You're fighting like a man with claws. I'll teach you to fight like a maker of death."
Ratom listened, breathing steady. Eraculius circled him like a predator.
"You can forge your bones and blood into weapons outside your body. Blades, spears — whatever you need. Stronger than steel. Faster than any Shade unit can counter. That's what kept you alive so far. But next time, you'll need more than luck."
The first lesson was harder than Ratom expected. He tried to force bone from his palm, shaping it into a staff, but it splintered before it fully formed. His blood hardened around it in a thin layer, but that, too, cracked and fell apart.
"Again!" Eraculius snapped.
Ratom focused. His breath slowed. He tried again. The bone extended, thicker this time, the blood forming a dark edge. It lasted only seconds before breaking apart.
Eraculius didn't let him stop. For hours, they repeated the drill. The warriors in the suits paused now and then to glance at them — to watch the man who fought Shades train like a machine himself.
By nightfall, Ratom's arms were heavy, but his focus sharper. The next weapon he summoned held its shape — a bone blade with a blood-hardened edge that hummed as it cut through the air.
Eraculius grinned. "That's more like it."
The next days blurred into one. Every morning, Ratom stepped onto the mat. Every night, he left soaked in sweat and blood. The training grew harder. Eraculius attacked without warning, forcing Ratom to summon weapons mid-motion. A spear from the elbow. A blade from the wrist. A shield formed from ribs and hardened marrow.
"You're still too slow," Eraculius said after one brutal match. "Your mind hesitates. A Shade won't wait for you to decide what to make."
Ratom gritted his teeth. His body burned with exhaustion, but he focused. From his forearm, a twin blade grew — one side solid bone, the other sharp as glass, made from crystallized blood. He swung, and the air hissed at the cut.
"Good," Eraculius said. "Again."
They trained until they couldn't stand, until the mats were dark with effort, until even the suited warriors stopped their drills to watch.
On the fifth day, Eraculius called for a break. The sun was setting behind the domes, casting long shadows across the hall.
"You've done it," he said. "Your strength — it's beyond mine now. Twice what I can manage. That makes you four times stronger than that Shade you fought. You're ready."
Ratom wiped a line of blood from his brow. "I won't need luck next time."
Eraculius smirked. "No. Next time, you'll be their end."
But the final test remained. Eraculius activated a training drone — a machine designed to mimic the speed and strength of a Shade. It launched at Ratom without warning, its strikes blindingly fast.
Ratom didn't flinch. He moved with it, not against it. His body reacted before his mind could think. A bone spear shot from his palm, blood hardening along the tip as it flew. The spear struck clean through the drone's core, the machine sparking and crashing to the floor before it could land a single hit.
Lucas, watching from the shadows, gave a single nod — his first sign of respect.
Ratom stood over the shattered machine, breathing steady. He looked at his hands, still lined with blood and bone dust. The power was his now. And he knew what he had to do.
The week to the capital was drawing close. The Divergent Key would move soon. And this time, Ratom would be ready.