High above the speeding landscape, in the train's command car ran with silent efficiency. Polished chrome and soft blue lights reflected off a large holographic map of the Mystic Pheonix Nation. General Dwayne stood before it, his hands behind his back, his face stiff
An aide, a young captain with a data pad, stood at attention. "Sir, the report from the Cinderfall Choosing is finalized. Twelve new Awoken. A slightly above-average yield for a D-class territory."
"Any notables?" the General asked, his eyes not leaving the map.
"One Mage-class with high elemental affinity. One Warrior with a rare Shield-Armament Mark," the aide read. "And… one unverified type. No known class matches"
The General finally turned, one eyebrow raised a fraction. "Unverified type?"
"Jonah, age fourteen. Subject experienced a Code Red reaction to the serum. Full systemic shock. Medical flagged him for observation, but he recovered." The aide swiped on his datapad. "His Mark is unidentified. A three-clawed sigil. No match in the national registry."
General Dwayne grunted, "A dud, most likely. It happens. The serum fails to properly map a class, leaving a junk code Mark and a null power. The boy will wash out at the Academy within a week." He waved a dismissive hand. "Mark his file for review and move on. Don't waste resources on a faulty asset."
"Yes, sir." The aide made a note, and Jonah's fate was, as far as the military was concerned, sealed.
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Down in his small, luxurious room, Jonah was entirely unaware that he had already been branded a failure. He was too busy coming to that conclusion on his own.
He lay on the too-soft bed, the expensive textbook discarded on the floor. His stomach twisted with a mix of frustration and fear. He had tried everything he could think of. He'd focused on the empty workshop in his mind until his head throbbed. He'd tried to pull power from the air like a Mage, to feel a weapon in his soul like a Warrior. Nothing.
The silence of his own power was deafening.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Think, Jonah, think.
The old survival instincts from the mines kicked in. When you're stuck, you don't just smash into the rocks. You wait. You listen. You feel around for something loose, some hint of a way out. There's always a weak spot.
What was different about him now? What had the serum done?
He cast his mind back to the Awakening. He didn't just remember the pain; he forced himself to relive it. The fire in his veins. The soul-freezing cold. The horrible, violent sensation of being hollowed out, like something had been scooped out of his very center.
As he focused on that memory of emptiness, he felt something else.
It was faint, a barely-there vibration deep within him. Not in his mind, but in his body. A quiet, residual hum of energy that hadn't been there before the Awakening. It was like the ghost of a sound, hiding beneath the beat of his own heart. It felt… foreign. It wasn't his.
An instinct he didn't know he possessed rose. It was a primal, predatory urge. Some deep part of him grabbed at the strange energy. It was slippery, like trying to hold a fish. But he didn't stop. He focused, held on tight and pulled.
He yanked the energy with all his mental might, dragging it from his body and into the empty workshop of his mind.
The effect was instantaneous.
The silent darkness of his Beast Space was no longer empty. Three faint, ghostly motes of light appeared, swirling in the center of the void like dust caught in a sunbeam. They were a dull, earthy brown color, and they pulsed with a weak, stubborn energy.
As he stared at them, a line of text burned itself into his thoughts. It wasn't a voice or an idea. It was clear, precise information, delivered directly to his consciousness as if from a screen only he could see.
` [Ant soldier Essence x3 Acquired] `
His breath hitched. Ant soldiers. The monsters from the mine.
A flood of understanding, cool and clear, washed away his panic. It all clicked into place with a certainty that left no room for doubt.
His power wasn't broken. It wasn't a dud. It was an absorption power.
The God serum hadn't given him a pre-packaged skill like a Mage's fire or a Warrior's blade. It had built him the workshop. The Beast Space. It had given him the factory. But the factory needed raw materials.
The essences of the creatures he had killed in the mine… they had lingered within him, dormant and useless. The Awakening had created the space to process them. His power didn't create from nothing. It took from what he had defeated. His survival had earned him his first ingredients.
He was a scavenger. His power was a scavenger, too.
A breathless laugh escaped his lips. He wasn't a failure! He was different. Wildly, terrifyingly different, but not broken.
He immediately focused on the three swirling motes of Ant soldier Essence. He had materials now! He could finally build something. He pictured one of the Ant soldiers, trying to use the essence to shape it inside his mind.
The motes just swirled lazily, unresponsive. They were potential energy, nothing more.
Another sliver of intuitive knowledge surfaced. Of course. You couldn't just throw paint at a wall and call it a painting. You needed a canvas. You couldn't build a machine with just a handful of gears; you needed a frame to put them on.
He had the blueprint, the very soul-stuff of the Ant soldiers. But he needed a foundation to build upon.
The panic was gone, replaced by a sharp, focused excitement. He had solved the first riddle. He wasn't a dud; he was a builder who just needed to find his starting block.
He stood up, his eyes gleaming with a newfound purpose. He had paint. Now, he just had to find a canvas.