The twist continued.
Harun felt it before he understood it.
A sharp, nauseating pull ran up his arm—bones grinding against bones, muscles screaming as Rohan rotated his wrist with deliberate slowness. Not fast. Not violent yet.
Intentional.
"You feel that?" Rohan said softly. "That sound inside your arm?"
Harun clenched his teeth. Pain shot up into his shoulder, white-hot, blinding.
"That's your body realizing," Rohan continued, eyes glowing deeper crimson, "that it picked the wrong opponent."
With a final snap—
Rohan released him.
Harun crashed into the stone wall behind him, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. He dropped to his knees, one arm hanging unnaturally loose, fingers trembling.
Across the room, Sahil lay curled on the ground, blood smeared across his lips and chin. His vision swam. Every breath burned.
Move, his mind screamed.
If I don't move, I die.
Rohan rolled his neck once, casually, like someone warming up before a workout.
"Disappointing," he muttered. "I expected more."
Gohan stepped forward. "That's enough, Rohan."
Rohan didn't even look at him.
"This place," Rohan said, voice calm, "locks me in a room like I'm some unstable weapon. And then you bring them in front of me?"
He turned slowly.
His gaze locked onto Sahil.
"You," he said. "You kicked me."
Sahil forced himself to stand. His legs shook violently, but he stood anyway.
"Yeah," Sahil coughed, blood dripping. "And I'll do it again."
For a fraction of a second—
Something flickered in Rohan's eyes.
Amusement.
Then he vanished.
Not moved.
Vanished.
Sahil barely had time to register the pressure before his stomach imploded.
Rohan's knee drove into his abdomen with enough force to lift him off the ground. Sahil's body folded around the strike, a broken gasp tearing from his throat as he flew backward and smashed into the floor.
He slid.
Didn't move.
Harun screamed his name.
Rohan turned to Harun next.
"Still alive?" he asked. "Good."
He crossed the distance in two steps.
Harun tried to stand.
Rohan kicked.
The blow connected with Harun's ribs—once, twice, three times—each impact precise, surgical. Something cracked. Harun felt it. Heard it.
He collapsed.
Rohan grabbed his hair and dragged him across the stone like he weighed nothing.
"You joke," Rohan said quietly. "You laugh. You talk about food."
He lifted Harun and slammed him into the wall again.
"You think this world cares about that?"
Harun spat blood and laughed weakly. "Still… better… than sitting alone… in the dark."
That did it.
Rohan's aura erupted.
The crimson pressure multiplied, flooding the room like liquid rage. The walls trembled. The remaining bearers outside the room dropped to their knees, unable to breathe.
Inside—
Rohan punched Harun.
Not once.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Each hit landed like a hammer, snapping Harun's head sideways, crushing bone and muscle. His knuckles fell uselessly to the floor.
Finally, Rohan threw him.
Harun skidded across the ground and stopped near Sahil's motionless body.
Silence followed.
Rohan exhaled slowly.
"Pathetic."
Gohan's voice cut through the tension. "Rohan. Enough."
Rohan turned his head slightly. "You're afraid," he said. "Not of me."
He glanced at Harun.
"You're afraid of him."
Gohan said nothing.
Rohan smiled wider. "I can tell."
He walked toward Sahil again and crouched, gripping Sahil's chin, forcing his face up.
Sahil's eyes fluttered open.
"Still conscious?" Rohan murmured. "Impressive."
He raised his fist.
Harun moved.
Something snapped inside him—not bone, not muscle.
Something deeper.
He forced himself up, legs shaking, vision blurred red.
"Touch him," Harun said hoarsely, "and I swear—"
Rohan froze.
Slowly, he stood.
"You swear what?" he asked. "You can barely stand."
Harun stepped forward.
Then another.
Pain screamed through his body, but he didn't stop.
"I don't know what I am yet," Harun said. "But I know one thing."
He clenched his broken knuckles.
"I don't quit."
For the first time—
Rohan looked genuinely interested.
He smiled.
"Good," he said. "Then let me break you properly."
He lunged.
What followed wasn't a fight.
It was a massacre.
Rohan struck faster now—no restraint, no testing. Elbows. Knees. Open-handed blows that rattled Harun's skull and crushed his torso. Harun landed one punch—barely—but Rohan didn't even flinch.
Rohan caught him mid-swing.
Headbutted him.
Harun collapsed.
Rohan stood over him, chest rising slowly.
"Remember this," Rohan said quietly. "This is the difference between potential… and power."
He turned away.
Gohan finally moved.
"That's enough," he said firmly.
Rohan stopped.
The aura receded—slowly, reluctantly.
As medics rushed in, Rohan glanced back once.
His red eyes met Harun's.
A promise passed between them.
This wasn't over.
Not even close.
The room smelled like iron.
Blood—fresh, metallic—hung in the air, mixed with the faint ozone sting left behind by Rohan's crimson aura. The stone floor was cracked in multiple places, spiderweb fractures radiating from where Harun's body had been thrown.
Sahil lay unconscious, chest rising unevenly. Medics hovered over him, working in silence, their faces tight with urgency.
Harun didn't move.
At first, everyone thought he was unconscious.
Then—
He coughed.
A wet, painful sound escaped his throat as his body twitched. Fingers—bruised, swollen, bent wrong—curled slowly against the floor.
One of the medics froze.
"…He's awake."
Gohan stepped closer.
Harun's vision was blurred, the world splitting into dull reds and grays. Every breath felt like glass scraping his lungs. His ribs screamed. His arm burned like it had been dipped in fire.
But he was alive.
That made no sense.
No one else could survive Rohan like that.
Gohan knelt beside him.
Harun's cracked lips twitched into something that might've been a smile. "Told you," he whispered hoarsely. "Didn't… quit."
Gohan didn't respond immediately.
Instead, he placed two fingers lightly on Harun's wrist.
Then his eyes widened—just a fraction.
Still stable.
That shouldn't have been possible.
Gohan stood.
"Everyone else," he said calmly, voice carrying authority, "leave."
The medics hesitated.
"Now."
Reluctantly, they lifted Sahil and began moving him out. One by one, the other bearers were ushered away, their faces pale, shaken, their eyes flickering back toward Harun like they were looking at something unnatural.
Soon, only two people remained in the room.
Harun.
And Gohan.
The silence pressed down heavier than Rohan's aura ever had.
Harun laughed weakly. "So… am I dead yet?"
Gohan looked down at him.
"No," he said. "And that is the problem."
Harun frowned. "Problem?"
Gohan exhaled slowly.
"You should have been unconscious after the first strike," Gohan said. "After the second, hospitalized. After the third—dead."
Harun tried to push himself up and failed, dropping back with a sharp hiss.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Felt like that."
Gohan's eyes darkened.
"But Rohan's aura," he continued, "did not affect you."
Harun blinked. "…What?"
Gohan turned, looking at the cracked walls, the faint crimson stains still glowing where the aura had scorched the stone.
"Everyone else collapsed," Gohan said. "Even trained bearers. Even those stronger than you."
He looked back at Harun.
"You didn't."
Harun swallowed. "I thought… adrenaline or something."
Gohan shook his head slowly.
"No."
He paused.
Then said the words that changed everything.
"Rohan's aura is designed to crush the will before it crushes the body."
Harun felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"It induces fear," Gohan continued. "Despair. Submission. The instinct to kneel."
Harun remembered the room.
The pressure.
The terror.
Everyone else breaking.
"…But not me," Harun whispered.
Gohan nodded.
"You felt the pressure," he said. "But your core did not respond to it."
He stepped closer.
"Because your Dravillian stone is not a standard manifestation."
Harun's heart thudded painfully. "Then what is it?"
Gohan hesitated.
For the first time since Harun had met him—
Gohan hesitated.
"Knucklis," Gohan finally said, "is not the name of your power."
Harun's breath caught.
"It's the shape your mind gave it."
Gohan crouched, bringing himself level with Harun's eyes.
"What you awakened," he said quietly, "is a resistance-type core."
Harun stared.
"A what?"
"A core that does not amplify strength, speed, or elements," Gohan explained. "But one that rejects external domination."
Harun's pulse quickened.
"Rohan's aura couldn't bend you," Gohan said. "Because your core doesn't yield."
Memories flashed—Harun standing when he shouldn't have. Moving when pain demanded stillness. Laughing when fear tried to silence him.
"You don't overpower force," Gohan said. "You endure it."
Harun whispered, "That's… it?"
Gohan's gaze sharpened.
"No."
He straightened.
"That is only the surface."
Harun's throat tightened. "Then tell me the truth."
Gohan looked toward the doorway Rohan had vanished through.
"Rohan is dangerous because his power dominates others," Gohan said. "He breaks them."
Then he looked back.
"You are dangerous because you don't break."
Harun felt something twist inside his chest—fear mixed with awe.
"There is a reason," Gohan said, voice low, "why the Scantum reacted late to you."
Harun remembered it—how the stone hesitated.
"Your core," Gohan continued, "does not seek control."
Silence.
Then
"It resists destiny itself."
Harun's breath hitched.
Gohan placed a hand over Harun's chest.
"Whatever you become," he said, "will not be decided by fate… or fear… or even power."
His eyes hardened.
"And that," Gohan said, "is why Rohan noticed you."
Harun closed his eyes.
The pain was still there.
But beneath it—
Something unyielding stirred.