April sat cross-legged in the darkened dojo, her eyes closed, her breath slow.
"April."
She suddenly heard a deep ancient voice calling out her name from absolutely nowhere. Instead of freaking out like any normal person, April instead continued to remain calm. As she knew exactly who's voice it belonged to.
She mentally closed her eyes focusing—and diving into the depths of her consciousness, where the voice awaited.
The moment she entered that space, the air around her shifted.
A deep, rumbling voice greeted her.
"You are wasting time."
April exhaled, unbothered. Of course Ultima was impatient.
"I'm not," she said calmly.
"Kyokushin Karate is too rigid. Too controlled."
April opened her eyes in the mental space—standing in a vast, dark void. And before her, Ultima stood in its ethereal form: a massive orange colored, lupine beast, its glowing 6- silver eyes piercing through the darkness.
Within her mental space April could see normally with her eyes instead of through her gear.
"April, you are a predator. You should be learning something that allows you to fight like one—feral, instinctive, deadly."
April looked up at Ultima recalling the day she first met Ultima.
Flashback:
It had been after her first awakening.
The night when everything inside her snapped and the world itself seemed to pulse with orange light.
April remembered collapsing in that ruined alley, her entire body trembling, the G-Force raging through her veins like molten fire. Her vision blurred, her breath caught between gasps—and then everything went silent.
She found herself standing in a world of dim amber mist. The ground beneath her feet shimmered like liquid glass, and in the distance, something breathed.
A heavy, thunderous inhale that made the air itself tremble.
"...Who's there?" she had whispered.
The mist stirred. From its depths, a shape began to emerge—massive, primal, and predatory. A wolf, easily fourty times her size, its body formed from molten energy and flowing embers. Six glowing eyes opened, three on each side, each a silver blaze cutting through the void.
April's knees nearly buckled. The beast stepped forward, its paws leaving cracks of light across the misty ground.
"You smell of fear," it said, its voice layered with ancient hunger. "But underneath it… something else. You wield my Instincts."
April swallowed hard. "Who or what are you?" she questioned with a strained smile.
"I am what you unleashed," the creature rumbled. "The force buried within your design. The one that sleeps in your blood and screams through your scars."
Its six eyes narrowed, studying her.
"You may call me… Ultima."
April stared at it, the name echoing through her chest like thunder. "Are you my enemy?"
The beast tilted its head. Then, slowly, it grinned—a terrifying, tooth-filled grin.
"No," Ultima said, lowering its head until their eyes met. "I am your evolution."
April didn't remember what happened after that—only that when she woke up, her heartbeat still echoed with the name Ultima.
From that day on, the door to her mind no longer felt locked.
It was as if that single encounter had burned a pathway open, one that led directly into the creature's realm.
Whenever she focused, she could feel the pulse of that same ancient energy—dense, wild, and alive—waiting just beyond thought. The moment she entered, the mist would part, and Ultima would always be there, silent and still, its six eyes following her every move.
She began to talk to it, at first cautiously, then with growing curiosity.
She wanted to understand what it was—what she had become the moment she awakened it.
Ultima never spoke much, but when it did, its voice carried weight and arrogance, each word sinking deep into her mind like it was carved there.
She learned quickly that Ultima wasn't just a beast.
It was an ancient beast. A construct of instinct and will and something else it didn't want to say, born from a fusion between her body's nanotech and something older—something primordial. It didn't call itself a weapon or a system. It didn't even recognize those words.
When she asked why it took the form of a wolf, Ultima's answer was simple:
"It is due to what i am. As we wolfs hunt not for survival… but for balance. To fill our endless hunger."
Those lines stuck with her.
In time, she realized that every question she asked led to another mystery, and every silence from Ultima taught her more than words ever could.
From then on, the void became her second dojo. Her training ground.
Her place of communion with the beast that slept within her veins.
And that was how she began to understand what Ultima truly was—
Not a weapon.
Not a curse.
But a partner.
End of flashback:
April folded her arms. "And that's exactly why I should learn this style."
Ultima growled lowly. "Explain."
April smirked. "Because Ragnarök already knows my past."
The wolf's ears twitched.
April stepped closer. "Every user before me has probably fought the same way. And since Ragnarök killed most of them, I'm willing to bet they have tons of data on your old fighting style."
Ultima didn't respond.
April continued, voice firm. "That means if I fight the same way as the ones before me, I'm predictable. They'll already have a counter for it."
She let that sink in before delivering the final blow.
"But if I learn something new—something they aren't expecting—" she smirked, "—I can turn the tables."
Silence.
Then—
A deep chuckle.
"You are clever, little wolf."
Ultima's 6-silver eyes glowed brighter.
"Very well. But know this—when the time comes, you must embrace both."
April's smirk widened.
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
April snapped out of her meditation, her breathing steady.
But something was off.
The dojo was empty—but she felt it.
Someone was watching.
She stood slowly, every muscle ready for a fight.
Then—
A shadow shifted near the entrance.
April turned sharply.
"Who's there?"
No answer.
But she knew.
Ragnarök was still watching.
Still waiting.
April clenched her fists.
They wouldn't wait forever.
And neither would she.
April didn't sleep that night.
Even after leaving the dojo, after making it back to the hollow, after lying in bed with the covers pulled up to her chin—she felt them.
Ragnarök was watching.
And she needed to be ready.
—
The next morning, April arrived at the dojo before sunrise.
Master Ryu, was already there, standing in the center of the training hall with his arms crossed.
His presence was like an unmoving mountain—calm, steady, and impossible to shake.
"You're early," he said, not turning to face her.
April bowed slightly. "I want to refine my forms."
Hiroshi finally looked at her, his sharp eyes studying her posture, her breathing, the way her muscles tensed ever so slightly. He could tell something had changed.
"Good," he said simply. Then he stepped forward. "Show me."
April exhaled, emptying her mind, and shifted into a stance. Kyokushin Karate emphasized power, efficiency, and conditioning.
There were no wasted movements. No unnecessary flair. Every strike had a purpose.
She began with the kihon—the fundamental techniques.
A straight punch. A rising block. A low kick.
Each motion was sharp, refined, precise.
Then came kata—predefined forms that simulated real combat scenarios. April moved like flowing water, striking invisible opponents, pivoting, evading, countering. Her blonde-violet hair stuck to her forehead, but she ignored it, her focus razor-sharp.
Master Ryu watched without speaking.
Then—
SMACK!
A wooden bokken cracked against her arm.
April gritted her teeth, refusing to flinch.
"Your guard was too low," Master Ryu said, expression unreadable. "Again."
She exhaled, reset, and went again.
Another strike. Another correction. Again. And again.
The training pushed her to exhaustion, but she never wavered.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Master Ryu nodded in approval.
"You're improving," he said. "But you're still holding back."
April straightened, sweat dripping down her back. "How?"
Master Ryu tapped his temple. "You're thinking too much. Your form is flawless, but you hesitate." He gestured at her hands. "Your fists are precise, but they lack intent."
April's eyebrows narrowed. "Intent?"
Master Ryu sighed, stepping closer. "You are not here just to learn, April." His voice was firm, but not unkind. "You are here to kill."
She stiffened.
Master Ryu didn't look away. "The style I teach is meant to break opponents. It's meant for survival. If you don't strike with everything—with your mind, your body, your very spirit—you will die when it matters most."
April clenched her fists.
She thought about Ragnarök.
About the people waiting in the shadows.
She met master Ryu's gaze.
"Then show me."
A small, rare smirk crossed his face.
"Very well."
He raised the bokken again.
And this time—he wouldn't hold back.