Dorgu's breath came slower now.
Each inhale sounded like steam hissing between pressurized plates. His body—still sheathed in glinting alloy—was cracked in places, faint red lines marking the seams. Smoke curled from his back. His left side had stiffened.
He hadn't expected this.
Not from a boy with no record, no training, no known past.
Roman Ravenscroft was supposed to be raw.
Instead, he was evolving right in front of him.
Dorgu's jaw tightened. A fine line of blood trickled from his ear—nothing fatal, but enough to remind him he was bleeding.
He adjusted.
This wasn't about strength anymore.
This was about control.
He moved fast—but not recklessly this time.
Instead of charging head-on, Dorgu yanked a length of live conduit from the wall, letting sparks flare. The line went dead, electricity sputtering into nothing.
Roman's eyes narrowed.
Dorgu moved again—this time toward the corner breaker box.
Roman lunged to stop him, but Dorgu hurled a steel pipe mid-motion—forcing Roman to dodge just long enough for him to grab the fusebox and rip it out of the wall.
Sparks burst.
Then died.
The station dimmed.
The hum vanished.
The air lost its charge.
Roman flinched instinctively—his skin felt colder. Lighter. His body had been feeding on the environment's saturation, and now it was gone.
Dorgu stepped into the new silence like a predator into still water.
He'd cut the current.
Now Roman was on his terms.
The first punch came low.
Roman ducked, but not fast enough. Dorgu's metal elbow slammed into his chest, sending him backward into a pillar hard enough to fracture it. This time Dorgu didn't get Roman's blood.
Roman gasped, ribs screaming.
Dorgu didn't let up.
He came in close—brutal, mechanical, precise. No wasted movement. Roman blocked what he could, redirected one strike with a jolt of electricity—but the shock barely registered.
The terrain had turned against him.
And Dorgu knew it.
Roman tried to create space.
He flung his hand outward, calling sparks—only a flicker came. It danced and died.
Too little. Too far.
Dorgu grabbed his wrist.
Roman punched with the other hand—direct hit to the jaw. The crack echoed.
Dorgu's head snapped sideways…
But he didn't let go.
Instead, he twisted Roman's arm, drove a knee into his stomach, and slammed him into the ground.
The floor cracked beneath the impact.
Roman coughed blood.
Some blood splashed to Dorgu's arm and cheeks.
For a second—just a second—Dorgu hesitated.
Not out of mercy.
But calculation.
Should he ingest Roman's blood this time to copy his power or finish Roman with his current power.
He looked at Roman—battered, twitching, his glow dimmed—and took a step back. He raised one fist, metalized and sharp, preparing for the finishing blow.
And then Roman's eyes opened.
Not wide. Not desperate.
Focused.
The light was coming back.
Faint blue veins began to glow beneath the skin. Barely visible. But rising.
Dorgu frowned.
He looked up—
—and realized the mistake.
The room was dark.
But the walls were still wet.
Condensation clung to every beam, every pipe. His movements had spread it further, sweat and mist merging into thin, glistening trails.
Roman wasn't just using the environment anymore.
He was the environment.
Roman struck.
Not with flash.
But finesse.
He dragged one palm along the wet floor and connected it to a broken wire still pulsing behind a snapped panel.
The current looped.
Not strong enough to kill—but more than enough to ignite.
It surged.
Not just into Dorgu—but around him.
The water. The steel. The walls.
Roman closed his fist, and the air cracked open with light.
Dorgu screamed.
For the first time in the entire fight, he screamed.
Roman didn't wait.
He lunged—not with anger, not with panic, but with precision.
A knee to the chest.
A fist to the throat.
A final surge through the elbow—straight into the fractures lining Dorgu's ribcage.
all of his attacks cladded in electricity.
The power inside him obeyed.
And it burned.
Dorgu dropped.
Not dead.
But smoking.
His body twitched, his breathing ragged. One hand clawed the floor, trying to push up—but failed.
Roman stood over him, chest heaving, hands still lit with residual current.
He didn't speak.
He didn't celebrate.
He just waited.
Because this wasn't over.
Not until Dorgu stopped getting back up.
"Finish him!" Misha's voice rang out from above, sharp and urgent. "Now, Roman!"
Roman didn't move.
His muscles trembled. His lungs felt like crushed foil. Every pulse of power that had surged through him now returned with twice the weight. Even standing upright felt like a defiance of gravity.
Dorgu wasn't getting up.
Not yet.
But something about the way his fingers twitched—
Roman stepped forward—
Then froze.
Dorgu smiled.
Not wide. Just a subtle, twisted curve at the edge of his lips.
Roman's eyes narrowed.
That smile didn't belong on someone who lost.
Then he saw it.
The blood.
His own—smudged along Dorgu's jawline, smeared across the cheek. Roman's blood had gotten into Dorgu's mouth.
Misha's voice returned—quieter now, but razor-sharp.
"Too late."
Inside Dorgu
He felt it immediately.
The moment the drop touched his tongue.
It wasn't just information—it was truth. Raw. Alien. Endless.
The taste of blood usually brought clarity.
A surge of data. Strength. Instinct.
This time, it brought something else:
Resistance.
The power didn't yield.
It fought back.
Dorgu's eyes widened as the world tilted around him. His mind, trained to parse thousands of genetic signals in seconds, stuttered mid-process.
> Subject Classification: UNKNOWN. Type: NOT GENETIC. Warning: Soul-encoded mutation detected. It is not genetic mutation but soul mutation.
For the first time in years, Dorgu felt his ability complain.
Not reject. But resist.
He gritted his teeth, grounding himself as the analysis raced toward its conclusion. Roman's power wasn't normal—it wasn't even genetical in the way Dorgu had expected.
It was metaphysical.
Soul mutation.
But still… some of it stuck.
He felt his own body tighten, injuries closing faster than before. The burns on his arms receded. Cracked joints realigned. The bonus effect of his power always gave rejuvenation after ingestion.
He rose slowly—muscles tense, eyes clearer than before.
Roman stepped back instinctively.
Dorgu didn't speak.
But inside… he understood now.
He is only normal soldier now, well maybe expert soldier.
Dorgu's brow twitched.
It didn't make sense.
Dorgu glanced toward Roman—and felt fear from him but he can't absorb it, his ability telling him that the target have higher authority than him.
He turned to the girl above—Misha.
And felt less. A void. No emotional signal. Nothing to amplify.
By analyzing Roman's power he know that Roman can steal someone else power through envy. But he can't sense any of the stolen power from Roman's. It's impossible that Roman didn't steal any power before because when facing him he use electric power.
Roman still hadn't moved—staring, stunned, unsure of what he'd just witnessed.
Roman watched the change.
He felt it.
The echo of himself now lived in Dorgu's body.
Dorgu exhaled, regaining his footing.
A clear strategy formed in his mind.
He couldn't win here.
Not with scraps of Roman's ability.
But out there?
In a crowd?
Where the air pulsed with anger, fear, lust, hate—raw and unfiltered? he will provoke those emotions from the crowd and absorb them.
Well Roman can also absorb them but he is already badly battered. With Dorgu's rejuvenated state if he can get stronger by absorbing those emotions he still have a chance to win.
He could become something else.
Something stronger.
He bolted.
Not with hesitation, but purpose.
One smooth leap carried him over the shattered platform. Another launched him toward the surface stairwell.
Roman blinked. "He's—running?"
Misha's eyes narrowed.
"We can't let him get to a crowd."
Misha said. "Because if he does…"
She didn't finish.
She didn't need to.
Roman already knew.
If Dorgu reached people—feeling people—he wouldn't be a copy anymore.
He'd be a monster.
The storm had moved inland.
Thunder cracked above the city like distant artillery. Rain slicked the rooftops of Tasik Harbor, hissing on neon signs and rusted gutters. But neither Roman nor Dorgu slowed.
They ran.
One to grow stronger.
One to stop the other before it was too late.
Dorgu's movements weren't graceful anymore—they were warped.
As he sprinted through the crowded alleys of the harbor district, his body shifted in ways that didn't seem natural.
His body grow bigger and his skin thicker with every rages he absorb. He attacked his surroundings to spread the terror, to harvest emotions. His form become twisted when he absorb mix of emotions.
Now he look like a stitched monster.
A big stitched monster.
A woman screamed as he vaulted a low wall and kicked over a street vendor's cart. A child cried out when sparks flicked from his shoulders. Civilians scattered. Shouts echoed. Sirens blared.
The more afraid they were, the faster he grew.
To the world, he looked like a monster, surging through the city like a living weapon.
And behind him...
A man was chasing him.
Lightning tracing faint lines along his arms.
Roman didn't speak.
Didn't shout.
Didn't pose.
He just moved—silent and surgical.
No one knew his name.
He didn't look like a hero.
But to the terrified onlookers?
He was the only thing not attacking them.
Roman could feel it.
Electricity wasn't the only thing crawling under his skin now.
The ambient emotion in the district—raw, uncontrolled—was feeding his base mutation. But he didn't show it. Not physically. Not outwardly.
His strength was real.
His speed was real.
But to the crowd, he was just a man with sparks in his arms, chasing a nightmare.