[ March 16th, 2087 (Night) | Maison Bella Cafe > Sector 13-05 > Mega Ark-City 01: Radiant City > Earth ]
Niero stood frozen in the center of the transformed space, his eyes still struggling to reconcile what they were seeing with what his mind insisted shouldn't exist.
A basement didn't do this.
A café didn't hide this.
And his mother—no matter how strange she could be—shouldn't be standing in front of an armory wrapped inside a dojo carved out of folded reality.
His chest felt tight. Not from fear alone, but from the growing sense that something fundamental had just shifted beneath his feet.
"An… ultimatum?" he finally said, his voice quiet, uncertain. "Mom… I don't even know what's happening. Or what you're asking me to choose."
Mom didn't answer right away. She watched him—really watched him—the way she used to when he was younger and had scraped his knee but insisted he was fine. The same measuring gaze. The same worry hidden behind composure.
Instead, she raised the cube slightly.
"Then let's start simple," she said. "So, Tell me..."
Her eyes flicked to the cubeoid object in her hands.
"What do you think this is?"
The cube pulsed softly, violet lines crawling across its surface like slow-moving veins.
Before Niero could respond, a familiar presence brushed against his thoughts—cool, precise, unmistakably Vuldyr.
>「 Analyzing device, 」she murmured telepathically.
>「 Energy signature aligns with spatial-lock technology. Probability: high. 」
A pause.
>「 It resembles a D-Blockade… but the model is unfamiliar. Not consistent with Bloom Dominion authority-issued hardware nor recorded from the Bloom Dominion's Codex. 」
Niero swallowed.
Yeah… I thought so, he replied silently.
His eyes lingered on the cube a second longer than necessary. He suspected what it was the moment the room unfolded—but suspicion wasn't certainty, and certainty was dangerous.
If Mom knew he recognized it…
If she knew he understood even a fraction of what this implied…
That would open doors he wasn't ready to walk through.
So he did the only thing he could.
He looked away slightly and shook his head.
"I… don't know," Niero said aloud, carefully, deliberately. "Some kind of… cube...device? Definitely not a normal tech I'm familiar with."
The lie tasted bitter.
Mom studied his face again, searching for cracks. For hesitation. For truth.
Then she exhaled slowly.
"That's fair," she said at last. "You weren't supposed to. Most of civiliants doesn't"
She adjusted her grip, holding the cube with **both hands now**, almost reverently.
"This is a D-Blockade," she said.
The word landed heavily in the air.
"A dimensional projector," Mom continued, her tone shifting—less like a café owner, more like someone reciting doctrine she hadn't spoken aloud in years.
"It creates an overlaid mirror dimension anchored to a fixed physical space. Think of it as… an invisible cage."
She glanced around the dojo, the weapons, the expanded horizon of folded space.
"Or an arena."
Niero's fingers curled unconsciously. "So this place isn't… real?"
"It's real enough," Mom replied. "Just not visible to the outside world. Everything inside stays inside. Everything outside stays out."
She met his gaze again, eyes sharp but tired.
"We used these to lock down crime scenes. To contain anomalies. To fight without worrying about collateral damage."
There was a pause—brief, but heavy.
"The one I'm holding," she added quietly, "is special."
Alura shifted slightly beside the dojo mat, her expression unreadable but attentive.
"It's from my active-duty days," Mom said. "A non-standard unit. Custom issue. Designed to create a room with a larger space within a fixed space, making this cramp concrete room in...this dojo. we're in."
Her thumb brushed the cube's surface, almost fondly.
"You could call it a… retirement gift."
Niero frowned. "A retirement gift that folds reality?"
Mom huffed a soft, humorless laugh. "Military has a strange sense of humor."
Her expression hardened again—not cruel, but resolved.
"This one doesn't just lock things down," she said. "It lets us cut loose."
She gestured to the dojo. To the weapons. To the space itself.
"No surveillance. No authorities. No consequences bleeding into the real world."
Alura finally spoke, her grin returning—but there was something sharper beneath it now.
"It's where your mom and I go when pretending to be normal gets… exhausting."
Niero's heart thudded painfully in his chest.
Yet still hadn't moved.
The dojo hummed faintly around them, the D-Blockade holding reality in a patient, suffocating grip. Weapons lined the walls like silent witnesses. The mat beneath his feet felt too clean—too prepared—for whatever this conversation was becoming.
"I still don't get it," he admitted at last, his voice tight.
"You showed me this place. You showed me the cube. You said it's an ultimatum, but—"
He looked at his mother, frustration finally slipping through.
"—what does that even mean?"
Mom didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she reached into her pin apron again—but this time, what she pulled out wasn't military.
Wasn't technological. Wasn't glowing.
It was jade.
A talisman, oval and smooth, carved into the shape of a coiled Chinese dragon. Time had polished its surface into a soft sheen, but a thin crack ran along one edge—not enough to break it, but enough to prove it had survived something.
The moment Niero saw it, his breath caught.
The talisman felt… heavy. Not in weight—but in presence.
Mom held it carefully in her palm, as though it might shatter if she gripped it too tightly.
"This belonged to someone I served with," she said quietly. "One of my squadmates. A good friend."
Her thumb brushed the crack unconsciously.
"She believed in old superstitions," Mom continued. "Said jade—especially dragons—protected the wielder from harm. From bad luck. From death."
Alura's expression softened, her usual humor nowhere to be found.
Niero frowned. "How did she get it?"
Mom's lips curved faintly—not into a smile, but into something nostalgic.
"She won a lucky draw," she said. "Street rock lottery, back in Mega Ark-City 04: Neo Daxia. Ridiculous odds. Everyone thought it was a scam."
She gave a soft huff.
"The prize was a raw crystal. Turned out to be real jade. Beautiful stuff."
Mom lifted the talisman slightly, letting the light catch its surface.
"She took it to a local carver. Paid extra to have it shaped into a beautifully detailed dragon talisman."
A pause.
"She said if fate was going to give her something rare, she'd make sure it meant something."
The room felt quieter somehow.
Niero swallowed. "And… what happened to her?"
Mom didn't look away.
"She didn't make it," she said simply. "One of the countless cruelties being in the Fringe and the Fog"
The words landed with no drama. No embellishment. Just truth.
"The talisman did its job," Mom added after a moment. "Protected her. Just not enough."
Silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.
Niero finally spoke, his voice lower now.
"Okaaaay...Then why show this to me?"
He gestured weakly around them.
"What does a lucky charm have to do with this folded underground dojo? This military-grade D-Blockade? This...Ultimatum?"
Mom closed her fingers around the jade.
"This," she said, lifting it between them, "is why we're here."
She stepped closer, the crack in the jade clearly visible now.
"This talisman is a reminder," Mom continued. "Of belief. Of preparation. Of people who thought being lucky was enough."
Her gaze sharpened, locking onto Niero's.
"It's also proof that luck runs out."
Niero's chest tightened.
"Mom…"
While Mom continued explaining the dangers beyond the walls of Mega Ark-City 01: Radiant City, her voice remained calm but heavy with experience.
"The outside world isn't like the stories you hear in school," she said.
"Even the Sororitae—magical girls blessed with miracles and spread hopes and dreams—die out there. Even the Bellatrix, the Radiant Empress's bio-engineered amazoness soldiers to defend humanity and the Mega Ark-Cities… can fall."
Her words carried no drama, only certainty.
Then, without warning, she removed her apron with the Maison Bella Cafe's logo, and dropped to the ground.
This made Niero confused.
Then she reached for the collar of her oversized turtleneck.
Niero stiffened.
"H-Hey—what are you—"
He quickly turned away, his ears burning.
What is she doing? he thought, flustered. Why now of all times?
The sound of fabric sliding softly filled the room.
Mom casually undress herself right in front of Niero, which made him flustered and embarrassed, and he averted his eyes.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, MOM??!!
Mom removed her loose sweater, then long skirt she always wore.
Niero stilled looked away but still can hear the soft thud of her cloths dropped on the floor.
"Look," she said.
Niero hesitated before slowly turning back.
What he saw wasn't something he had ever imagined.
She was now in her black sports bra and yoga pant—simple, practical clothing meant for movement, not appearance. Her wear accentuate her attractive figure with her frame, large bust and wide hips. A body most women her age would kill for.
However, what caught his attention about her body is that it wasn't fragile, nor delicate.
It was hardened—trained.
Muscle lines traced her arms and waist, subtle but unmistakable toned.
Across her skin ran marks that told stories words never could: old cuts, burn scars, faded bullet wounds, surgical stitches.
And across her abdomen—
A long, pale scar.
As if a claw of a beast gashed across her stomach.
Niero's breath caught.
"I've never shown you this," she said quietly. "Not just because I wanted to hide it from you… but because I didn't want you to carry the weight of it."
He realized something then.
She had always worn baggy clothes, especially her signature fluffy-looking wool turtleneck cloths.
Even at the beach or the waterpark, she wore full-body swimwear.
He had thought it was just her style.
But now he understood.
"This," Mom said softly, touching one of the scars, "is what the outside world does to people who aren't prepared."
Her gaze met his—not as a mother shielding a child, but as a survivor warning someone she loved.
"And this," she added, "is why I never wanted you to step beyond the walls."
The room felt colder.
Mom exhaled slowly, as if steadying something deep inside her.
"The Mega Ark-Cities aren't safe because the world is gentle," she said. "They're safe because everything outside is worse."
She turned away from Niero and began walking toward one of the weapon racks lining the transformed space. As she moved, the air itself seemed to tighten, her voice threading through the hum of the D-Blockade.
"Beyond the walls," she continued, "there are horrfic creatures that can kill you cruely. There are unknown anomalies that can warp you instantly before you can even react. there are twisted humans—people who survived too long in places they shouldn't have. Their minds rot before their bodies do. There are animals warped into nightmares, ecosystems that learned to hate anything that breathes. And monsters…"
She paused, fingers brushing over cold metal.
"Monsters that don't follow rules. Don't care about rank, destiny, or courage."
She stopped at a rack near the edge of the mat and pulled something free.
A full-body suit.
She turned and tossed it toward him.
Niero barely caught it, instinctively gripping the unfamiliar material.
"What—?" He looked down.
It was a M.A.R.S. suit, but lighter. No heavy plating, no integrated weapons—built for physical conditioning, reaction training, survival stress. The kind of thing soldiers wore before they were trusted with the real thing.
Mom's eyes flicked to it. "Put it on."
His throat tightened. "Mom—"
"That wasn't a suggestion," she said calmly.
Something in her tone made his spine straighten without thinking.
As Niero hesitated, Vuldyr's voice slid into his mind, low and alert.
>「—This pressure… Niero. Be careful. Her mana output is restrained, but intentional. She is no longer merely speaking. 」
Niero swallowed.
Behind him, Mom removed a pair of fingerless combat gloves from her belt and slid them on with practiced ease. She reached back and tied her hair up, the movement sharp, efficient—nothing like the gentle hands that kneaded dough or brushed crumbs from a counter.
Then she looked at him.
"My name," she said evenly, "is not just 'Mom.' Not just Emilia."
The lights overhead hummed softly.
"I was a Bloom Dominion's Anti-Anomaly Special Operative. Retired."
A pause.
"And before that… I was an S-Rank Sororitae."
Niero felt it then.
A pressure.
Not mana exactly—something heavier. Like standing too close to a stormfront.
"I bore a title once," she continued, her voice steady but resonant.
"War Goddess of Thunder — Raijin."
The name seemed to settle into the room, vibrating through the mat beneath their feet.
Niero's breath hitched.
Even Vuldyr went silent for a fraction of a second.
The warmth he associated with his mother—the softness, the comfort, the safety of home—didn't vanish.
It was simply overlaid.
Like a blade sheathed in silk.
The aura rolling off her was calm…
but menacing, restrained by discipline rather than mercy.
"This is what I was," she said quietly.
"And this is what the outside world demanded of me just to survive."
She gestured around the dojo, the weapons, the sealed space.
"This is why we're here. This is why you're wearing that suit."
Her eyes locked onto his, unblinking.
=
Niero tugged at the seams of the M.A.R.S. suit, feeling the snug material hug his frame, flexible yet unyielding, like armor that demanded movement and precision. Every muscle tensed automatically, as if the suit itself expected him to perform.
Mom stepped closer, her jade dragon talisman glinting faintly in the overhead light as she looped it carefully around her waist. Its green surface shimmered, etched with the serpentine body of a dragon, eyes gleaming as if aware of the stakes.
"This," she said, voice low but sharp, "is the key to your ultimatum."
She tapped the talisman with one finger, the faint chime echoing softly in the expansive room.
Niero swallowed. His chest felt tight. Even in the dim light, the seriousness radiating from her filled the space like a physical weight.
"You want to be a Marauder," Mom continued, stepping back, **her eyes never leaving his**. "To join the military academy, to survive the fog, to face monsters, anomalies, and horrors that even trained Sororitae and Bellatrix-class Amazons struggle against… you first need to prove something."
Niero's hands flexed at his sides.
Prove what?
Mom's voice cut through the question before he could even articulate it.
"You must survive, Niero. Not just winning, not just fight, but truly endure and survive."
She moved closer, the talisman swinging slightly against her hip. "I'm giving you three chances. Three. If you can catch this talisman from me—if you can take it from my grasp—you earn your place. The Marauders, the academy, your path forward—it's yours."
Her eyes narrowed, unyielding. "If you fail… you will abandon this suicidal ambition. One chance, one rule, one life. I won't ask again."
The words landed like steel.
Fail, and your dream dies. Succeed, and you are one step closer to becoming a Marauder.
Niero's stomach knotted.
Three chances. That's all.
His mind raced—every memory of failure, every lesson, every battle flashed through him. The pressure wasn't just physical; it was final, a decision that would define the rest of his life.
He looked down at the jade talisman, shimmering faintly, almost alive. Its serpentine eyes seemed to pierce through him.
Niero's fingers tightened against the seams of the M.A.R.S. suit as he looked between his mother and Aunt Alura. The weight of the jade talisman at Mom's waist seemed to press into him, heavier than any armor he had ever worn.
"Wait…" he began, hesitating, "is this… the ultimatum you and Alura were talking about?" His voice was low, uncertain, as though saying it aloud might make it real.
Alura stepped forward, folding her arms with a sly grin. "Bingo," she said casually, though her eyes glittered with amusement. "My part? Well… I said that you, Niero, want to be a Marauder, right? And your mom—she doesn't. So what do we do? You argue, she argues… and nothing gets solved."
She paused, tapping her fingers against her chin.
"The best way to settle this? A good old-fashioned combat test. Simple. Clear. Can you survive and take the talisman? Then you prove yourself. Can't? Then you let it go."
Niero swallowed hard, glancing at his mother. "But… Mom…" His voice faltered, the words trapped somewhere between his chest and his throat. "This… this is just…"
Mom's hand hovered over the talisman, steady, calm. She gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod.
"This is not out of malice, Niero," she said softly, her tone almost gentle despite the tension in the room.
"Not because I want to hurt you or test your pride. This… is out of love. Because I care about you more than anything. Because I want you to survive. Because the world beyond our walls… is unforgiving."
Niero opened his mouth to respond, to argue, to pour out the words brimming in his chest: I understand, I know you love me, I want this, I need this—but the words refused him. They were heavy, clumsy, and insufficient, like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands.
So instead, he just nodded, the weight of the moment pressing on him. He could feel Alura's gaze, teasing but sharp, and Mom's unwavering calm, like a storm held in check.
The silence was heavy, but not suffocating—more like the quiet before a battle that could define a lifetime.
"Is… there really no other way?" he asked softly, almost a whisper. "I mean… not just because I don't want to fight you, Mom… but… it feels unfair."
He hesitated, his mind churning. The pressure radiating from her—the calm, controlled aura of someone who had fought wars before he was even born—was almost overwhelming.
How could he, a mere Stargod at ascension level 11, even stand a chance against a rank-S Mana Caster that is his own mother?
The thought gnawed at him.
Alura shook her head, though her expression was unreadable.
"Sorry, kid. There's no shortcut. This… this is the only way she'll truly know you mean it."
Mom's gaze softened, but her tone was unwavering.
"There is no other way, Niero."
He swallowed, lips parting to speak again—but Mom cut him off, her voice now carrying a weight that pressed against his chest.
"And there are conditions," she said. She lifted a finger to count them off.
"Three chances. One hour per chance. One full day to recover between each attempt. If you get knocked down, or if time runs out… that attempt is gone. Exhausted. Finished."
Niero's jaw tightened. His fists clenched inside the suit. "That… that's unfair!" he said, agitation bleeding into his voice. "How can you—how can anyone—expect me to—"
"Unfairness is common in life, Niero," Mom interrupted, calm but cutting. "Out there—beyond the walls, in the Fog—it's far worse. Rules bend. Monsters don't care about fairness. Survival doesn't ask permission. This… this is preparation. This is reality."
He wanted to argue, to say that life didn't have to be like that, that this test was somehow cruel—but again, no words came. His chest tightened, and the silence swallowed him whole.
Mom's tone shifted, offering him an escape.
"You don't have to take this test." She opened with a soft, motherly tone.
Niero shifted his gaze to her.
"If you choose to step down, to let the Marauder path go… you will be...uhh... rewarded. Maybe extra allowance, pampering, anything a young boy in this city could want. Comfort, safety… everything you desire. No danger. No pressure. So please...reconsider."
Niero's heart twisted, torn between desire and duty, between his dream and the fear of failure. He closed his eyes, took a deliberate, deep breath, and forced himself to stand taller, to meet her gaze.
"I… I want to try," he said finally, voice low but firm, carrying every ounce of resolve he could muster.
Mom's lips pressed into a thin line, and for a heartbeat he thought he had disappointed her. But then her eyes softened, a flicker of pride breaking through the sternness.
"You're foolish," she said quietly, almost to herself.
"But… that's my Baby Badger."
Alura smirked, letting out a short whistle.
"Well, you just made things interesting."
Niero felt the weight of the ultimatum settle fully on his shoulders.
And yet, for the first time, he felt something else beneath the pressure: resolve.
=
The dojo mat stretched wide beneath the artificial lights, its surface pristine—too pristine, as if it had been waiting for this moment far longer than Niero had.
He stood opposite Mom at the center of the mat.
He glanced down at himself—full-face headguard*, chest guard, fingerless combat gloves, the training-grade M.A.R.S. suit hugging his body with subtle mechanical tension. Every layer screamed protection. Allowance. Mercy.
Then he looked at Mom.
No armor.
No suit.
Just a sports bra, yoga pants, and fingerless gloves. Her toned frame was marked with scars that told stories far older than him—cuts, burns, stitches faded but not forgotten. The jade dragon talisman rested at her waist, quiet and unmoving.
Too calm.
She looked… peaceful.
Niero clenched his fists.
"So I'm wrapped up like a crash-test dummy," he muttered, "and she's dressed like she's about to do yoga."
Mom met his gaze. "If you think this is insulting," she said evenly, "you're already underestimating what you're facing."
That hit harder than any punch.
He felt it then—the pressure. Not loud. Not explosive. Just a steady, crushing presence, like standing too close to a thunderstorm that hadn't decided to strike yet.
She's not tense.
She's not excited.
She's not afraid.
She was ready.
Niero exhaled slowly, gears in his suit humming softly as it synced to his breathing.
"You're really okay with this?" he asked, voice tight. "Fighting your own son?"
Mom's eyes softened—just for a moment.
"I'm not fighting my son," she said. "I'm testing a future Marauder."
Alura raised her hand. "Both of you, take your stances."
Niero hesitated, then shifted his feet, lowering his center of gravity. His body remembered drills, simulations from his Ego-Space, late-night training sessions stolen between café shifts. He brought his hands up, cautious, guarded.
Mom didn't move.
She just stood there.
Waiting.
Alura moved to the edge of the mat, arms crossed, voice crisp and official.
"Alright. Rules recap," she said.
She lifted a finger.
"Niero, your objective is simple: take the jade talisman from her. Doesn't matter how. Doesn't matter how ugly it gets. That's your only objective."
Another finger.
"Second; You get one hour. If you're knocked unconscious, immobilized, or give up, that attempt's over."
Then she tilted her head toward the weapon racks lining the wall.
"Finally, the handicap condition; you're allowed full access to the arsenal within the dojo. Melee. Firearms. Whatever's on the wall is fair game."
Alura smirked. "Use whatever you think keeps you alive."
Niero's jaw tightened behind the headguard. A handicap.
Insult prickled up his spine—not because of the weapons, but because of what they implied. That even with all of that… it still might not be enough.
Mom rolled her shoulders once, loosening up, the faint lines of old scars shifting across her skin as she settled into a relaxed stance.
"I'll hold back," she said evenly.
The words didn't reassure him. They unsettled him.
Then her gaze sharpened—no longer maternal, no longer soft.
"But don't you dare do the same," she continued.
"For the next hour… I'm not fighting my son."
She raised her guard, posture fluid, lethal in its restraint.
"I'm fighting a potential warrior."
A chill ran through Niero.
>「 —Warning, 」 Vuldyr's voice echoed inside his mind, low and urgent.
>「 Power spike detected. This individual is suppressing an extremely high-output Mana signature. Confirmed: former Rank-S Sororitae, Mana arcana classification—Thunder. 」
Niero swallowed hard.
His [Skill: Golden Eye (Appraise)] flickered instinctively, appraisal data flooding his vision far too late.
-
> [Skill: Golden Eye (Appraise) >>> Target: Emilia Ripley ]
>
> Estimated Combat Rank: S
> Estimated Combat Level: ???
> Estimated Health Points: ???
> Current Output: Heavily Restrained
> Threat Assessment: Lethal
-
His own status hovered mockingly beneath it.
-
> [ STARGOD STATUS ]
> Stargod Ascension Level: 11
> Estimated Combat Rank: F
-
I should've scanned her earlier… The thought came with a bitter edge. He had never once thought of his mother as something to be measured.
Mom noticed his hesitation.
Her smile wasn't warm—it was sharp, as if she had already seen through him.
"Scared?" she asked.
Niero's fingers curled slowly into fists, his nails biting into his palms. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
"I'd be stupid not to be."
"Good." Her voice was calm, almost approving. "Fear keeps you alert. Fear keeps you alive."
She paused.
The silence between them stretched, heavy enough to crush his breath. Her eyes hardened, the faint trace of a smile disappearing.
"…But never let fear overwhelms you."
Her word weighted on his consciousness, filled with a sense of familiarity, a sense of experienced one do not wish for others to experience it.
At the same time, even after scanning Mom with her overwhelming power, Niero made his decision.
"Vuldyr," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest, "disable the Aegis Veil and suspend the Astra Force."
For a moment, silence swallowed his words.
>「 …What? 」
Vuldyr's voice spiked in disbelief, almost glitching.
>「 Are you out of your mind?! That's not a Rank-D Orc you're facing! That's— 」
He hesitated, as if the truth itself was dangerous to say.
>「 —most likely a Rank-S individual with superhuman feats and abilities. Your own mother. Your surprisingly jacked-up mother! 」
Niero's jaw tightened.
"Even when I just got the Aegis Veil just recently, even if I rely on the Veil and the Astra Force right now," he said, his eyes never leaving her figure, "then I'll never know how far I can really go with my strength alone.."
Vuldyr's tone shifted—from shock to genuine concern.
>「 She will destroy you. Not metaphorically. Not theoretically. She will mopped the floor with your face. 」
"…Do it."
There was no hesitation in his voice now.
Behind the visor, his gaze burned with quiet resolve.
"I need to push myself," he whispered. "Even if it breaks me."
A brief pause.
Then—the faint hum of the Aegis Veil faded away.
For the first time, Niero felt the full weight of standing before her without protection.
>「 …Good luck, Kiddo. Ya gonna need it. 」 Vuldyr muttered, his voice unusually subdued.
Aunt Alura's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Take your stance."
Niero exhaled slowly and stepped forward.
His posture shifted—feet grounded, shoulders relaxed yet ready, hands raised in a stance born from mixed martial arts. Efficient. Practical. Personal.
Then Mom moved.
Her stance changed instantly.
Not elegant. Not ceremonial.
Military-grade close-quarters combat.
The realization hit him like a shockwave.
This was the first time he had ever seen his mother stand like that.
Niero felt sweat bead under his helmet. His heart beating like a drum. A anxious sense of anticipation what yet to come.
His instincts screamed at him to grab a weapon—any weapon—but his feet stayed rooted with his and arm guard up.
"You can start whenever you want," Mom said calmly.
With the serious look in his eyes, Niero responded.
"Let's do this!"
Alura glanced at the timer projected faintly onto the wall.
The moment Alura's console chimed and the timer snapped to 59:59, Niero moved.
Not *thinking*—just moving.
His toes dug into the mat and the world seemed to lurch forward as if he'd been yanked by invisible strings. Muscles screamed, the M.A.R.S. suit whining softly as it compensated, amplifying his first step into something dangerously close to a launch.
There.
The jade dragon talisman swung at Mom's waist, its faint green sheen catching the light.
Everything slowed.
The hum of the D-Blockade stretched into a deep vibration. His breath elongated. Even the subtle sway of Mom's tied hair became painfully clear. Niero's gloved hand shot forward, fingers outstretched—
I've got it—
Then Mom moved.
Not back.
Not away.
She stepped aside.
One smooth, impossibly efficient pivot—like a thundercloud sliding off course. Her body passed him by with a whisper of displaced air, faster than his eyes could fully track. The talisman slipped just out of reach, teasingly close, close enough that his fingertips brushed nothing but empty space.
"Huh—?!" Niero gasped.
His momentum betrayed him.
The forward charge turned into a slide as his boots lost friction, his body twisting instinctively. He dropped low, one knee skimming the mat, one hand slamming down to stabilize himself. The impact rattled up his arm, but he kept control, skidding in a controlled arc until he ground to a halt just short of the dojo's boundary line.
Still inside.
Barely.
He sucked in a sharp breath and spun around.
Mom stood a few steps behind him, completely composed—feet planted, posture relaxed, hands loosely raised. Not even winded.
She looked at him, eyes sharp but unreadable.
"…Too straightforward," she said calmly. "If that were outside the walls, you'd already be dead."
Niero's teeth clenched.
Damn it.
Vuldyr's voice slipped into his mind again, tighter now.
>「 —Analysis: Her evasion was pre-emptive, not reactive. She predicted your line of approach before your first step completed. 」
Niero pushed himself upright, heart hammering, adrenaline roaring through his veins.
"So you're saying… she read me before I even moved."
>「 Affirmative. 」
Mom tilted her head slightly, as if amused by his recovery speed.
"But," she added, "good balance. You didn't panic. You didn't fall out of bounds."
Her gaze sharpened.
"That earns you another breath."
Alura whistled softly from the sidelines. "First five seconds and you already almost ate the floor. New record, kid."
Niero rolled his shoulders, heat flooding his chest—not humiliation, but resolve.
I'm just getting started.
He raised his guard again, eyes locked on the jade talisman as it swayed gently at Mom's waist—still there, still mocking him.
Niero lunged again.
Then again.
Then again.
He dashed in a flurry of movement, boots biting into the mat as he threw a barrage of grasping hands, feints layered over real attempts, left then right then left again—each motion sharper than the last. His breathing quickened, sweat beading beneath the headguard as the jade talisman flickered in and out of reach like a taunt.
Too close.
Too far.
Damn it—hold still—
Mom kept dodging.
Not scrambling. Not retreating.
She shifted with minimal movement, a step here, a half-turn there, her body gliding just outside his reach as if she were already standing where he wasn't. It wasn't flashy. It was efficient. Cruel, in its calmness.
Niero felt irritation coil in his chest.
"Stop moving!" he snapped before he could stop himself.
Mom arched an eyebrow. "Then make me."
She tilted her head slightly. "You know, you're allowed to hit me."
The words landed like a spark to dry tinder.
"…What?"
"If grabbing isn't working," she continued evenly, "adjust. Punch. Kick. Use the weapons. Use anything." Her eyes hardened just a fraction.
"I won't break if you don't."
That did it.
Niero growled under his breath and charged.
This time, he didn't hesitate.
He dashed forward hard, right hand shooting toward the talisman—fast, desperate, committed—
And everything went wrong.
Mom's hand snapped out.
She caught his right wrist mid-motion.
The grip was instant. Absolute.
Niero's breath hitched.
Huh—?!
Her fingers locked around his arm like iron bands, strength far beyond what her lean frame suggested. Before he could even react, she twisted—a sharp, precise rotation that sent pain screaming up his shoulder—
"Wait—!"
The world flipped.
Literally.
Mom stepped in, pivoted her hips, and used his own momentum against him. In one smooth motion, she threw him over her shoulder, effortless, practiced—
Niero hit the mat with a bone-rattling thud.
The impact knocked the air clean out of his lungs. Pain exploded across his back and shoulders as the dojo floor rushed up to meet him, the sound echoing harshly through the D-Blockade space.
For a heartbeat, all he could do was gasp.
The timer on Alura's console blinked quietly.
58:57
Barely a minute had passed.
Mom stood over him, looking down—not angry, not smug.
Just… firm.
"You hesitate," she said calmly. "And you commit too late."
Her gaze softened, just a little.
"Outside the walls, that flip wouldn't have ended with a mat."
Vuldyr's voice came tight and urgent in his mind.
>「 Warning: Structural damage minimal, but psychological pressure escalating. She is not exaggerating. 」
-
> [ STARGOD STATUS ]
> [ HP (Health) - 148 / 150 ]
> [ SP (Shield) - 0 / 100 ]
> [ EP (Energy) - 150 / 150 ]
-
Niero clenched his fists against the mat, chest burning, pride stinging worse than the pain.
One minute.
And he'd already been thrown like a child.
He forced himself to roll, to push up on shaking arms, teeth grit behind the guard.
"…Again," he muttered.
Mom stepped back, giving him space, eyes never leaving him.
"Good," she said quietly.
"Get up. This test has barely begun."
Snarling under his breath, Niero surged back into motion, attacking again with renewed desperation. Another flurry of hands. Another lunge for the talisman.
Mom caught his left wrist mid-reach.
This time, Niero adapted.
In the same instant her grip closed, he dropped low and swept his leg out, aiming to knock her feet from under her.
But instead of losing balance—
She jumped.
Her body lifted cleanly over the sweep, and before Niero could even look up, her leg snapped around in a taekwondo-style hook kick.
The impact struck the side of his face.
The world spun violently as he was sent tumbling, his body crashing back to the ground in a disorienting roll. Stars danced in his vision as he lay there, gasping.
The timer blinked overhead.
Two minutes gone.
And the talisman was still untouched.
Niero pushed himself back to his feet, shaking off the lingering haze. He inhaled once—slow, measured—then settled into a low stance.
This time, he didn't rush.
He began to circle her, footsteps light against the dojo mat, eyes locked onto the jade talisman swaying faintly at Mom's waist. Every shift of her shoulders, every subtle change in balance, he catalogued. He was searching—not for strength—but for an opening.
Then he burst forward.
Niero closed the distance in a flash, snapping out a series of sharp jabs—compact, efficient strikes born from MMA training. His fists moved fast, each punch layered to probe her guard rather than break it.
"Do they know? Sophie and Daisy, I mean?" he asked between breaths. "About your military past? About this room?"
Mom didn't retreat.
Instead, she stepped into his range.
Her arms moved in tight, economical arcs as she intercepted his fists, redirecting them with practiced ease. Each deflection flowed into the next—wrists turning, forearms guiding, elbows guarding her centerline.
Wing Chun.
"Only the need-to-know basics," she answered calmly, her voice steady despite the flurry of blows. "They know I was a soldier. Nothing more."
Niero threw a cross. She parried it aside.
"Then they don't know you were an S-Rank Sororitae?" he pressed, adjusting his angle and firing another jab.
Her hand snapped up, trapping his wrist for half a heartbeat before releasing it.
"No," she said. "They don't know about that."
He feinted left, then struck right.
"Nor do they know about this place?" His eyes flicked briefly to the reinforced walls, the faint energy hum of the D-Blockade surrounding them. "Or why you're testing me like this?"
Mom deflected the strike with her elbow, sliding seamlessly into another block.
"They don't," she replied. "And they won't."
Her movements were close, controlled—every inch of motion deliberate. Where Niero relied on momentum and combinations, she dismantled them piece by piece, turning his aggression aside without wasting energy.
Niero surged forward again, arms raised in a tight boxing guard. This time, he didn't explode all at once—he ramped up, footwork quickening, rhythm sharpening with each step.
Jab.
Cross.
Another jab.
His fists cut through the air in clean lines, pressure building as he forced her backward by inches. Then, as her guard lifted to meet his punches, Niero shifted his weight and drove a Muay Thai knee upward toward her abdomen.
"Then why didn't you tell us?" he demanded. "If you were fine with Sophie and Daisy becoming Sororitae—"
The knee never landed.
Mom's forearm snapped down at the perfect angle, meeting his leg mid-rise. The impact jolted up Niero's spine, the strike stopped cold—not with brute force, but with surgical precision.
She absorbed it without flinching.
Jab—blocked.
Cross—deflected.
"Because it wasn't a story I wanted to pass on," she said, turning his next punch aside. "Not one you inherit."
Her movements remained composed, almost gentle, even as she dismantled his offense. She stepped inside his range, her elbow checking his ribs just enough to make him adjust.
"I fought too long," she continued. "Against things that shouldn't exist. Things that don't leave you unchanged. Things that can corrode your soul..."
She redirected another strike, her grip firm but controlled.
"The horrors change you," she said quietly. "for better or worse."
Niero tried to pull back, but she stayed with him—close, relentless in her calm.
"And I was afraid," she admitted, eyes steady, "that if your sisters knew everything… they wouldn't see their mother anymore."
She parried his guard aside, not striking—just proving she could.
"They want to be something else," she said. "A symbol. A public force people can smile at. A borderline pop-idol police unit that fuels people hopes and dreams."
Her lips curved faintly. "And I'm fine with that."
Niero exhaled sharply, resetting his stance.
"But you," she went on, stopping another jab with the flat of her palm, "you chose the path that walks into the Fog."
Her voice hardened—not in anger, but in fear.
"And I hoped," she said, "that if I never told you who I really was… I could still convince you not to become a Marauder."
Niero exhaled hard—and then accelerated.
His footwork sharpened, each step snapping into place as his output surged. The M.A.R.S. suit hummed faintly, servos responding as he poured more intent into every movement. His fists became blurs, karate-style straight punches, fast and linear, each strike aimed not to break her guard—but to thread through it.
Jab—jab—reverse punch.
Another burst. No pause.
His eyes never left the jade talisman at her waist.
"Even if you never told me," Niero said through clenched teeth, punching as he advanced, "even if you hid everything that could've inspired me to go outside the walls—"
Mom moved.
Not retreating—intercepting.
Her speed rose to meet his, arms flowing in tight arcs as she deflected each strike just before impact. Every block redirected his force sideways, shaving momentum, never wasting motion.
"—I still wanted to be a Marauder," Niero continued, voice steady despite the strain. "Not because of you. Not because of stories."
Another flurry. Faster now.
"It felt like a calling."
For the first time, the air changed.
Mom's foot slid back half a step. Her spine straightened. The calm, measured rhythm she'd held cracked just enough for something sharper to leak through.
Her counter came in a blink—her palm slicing past his guard, stopping a hair's breadth from his throat. Not striking.
Warning.
"A calling," she repeated, deflecting his next punch with force that rattled his arm. Her voice was still controlled—but colder now. "Is not always meant to be answered."
She pivoted, her movements suddenly heavier, denser—like the room itself had gained weight.
"Some voices," she said, batting aside another strike, "exist to test whether you can ignore them."
Niero pushed harder, chaining punches together, speed climbing again as he tried to overwhelm her defenses.
"And what if I can't?" he shot back. "What if turning away feels worse than dying out there?"
For a split second—
Thunder murmured.
Not sound. Not light.
Pressure.
The dojo mat trembled beneath their feet as Mom caught his wrist mid-strike, her grip locking like a steel vice. Static crawled faintly along her forearm, barely visible—yet unmistakable.
Her eyes met his.
"Then," she said quietly, "the outside world will eat you alive."
She released him and stepped back, the jade talisman swaying once at her waist.
"And I refuse," she finished, stance settling once more, "to let my son answer THAT. VERY. CALL!"
The timer on the wall ticked onward.
49:51
And Niero realized—
Time flies very fast.
She was still holding back.
But not nearly as much as before.
Niero reset his stance, boots sliding softly across the dojo mat as he began to **circle** her.
Slow. Careful. Breathing measured.
>「 —It's been roughly eleven minutes,」Vuldyr's voice echoed calmly inside his head.「 You've barely brushed the talisman.」
Niero clicked his tongue internally.
Oh really? Thanks for the info. He shot back telepathically, irritation sharp. Didn't need you to rub salt on it.
Mom watched him the entire time, posture relaxed, shoulders loose—like a predator letting its prey tire itself out.
"Mom," Niero said aloud, eyes never leaving the jade dragon swaying faintly at her waist. "If I prove I can survive against the odds—will that be enough for you?"
For a heartbeat, she didn't answer.
Then, evenly, she said, "It remains to be seen."
That was all.
Niero inhaled—and exploded forward.
His body moved in a zigzag weave, footwork snapping left, then right, deliberately breaking rhythm. He closed the distance fast, unleashing a barrage of punches, fists hammering toward her centerline.
Mom slipped past them effortlessly, torso swaying just enough to let the blows carve through empty air.
Gritting his teeth, Niero pivoted and swung his left leg into a reverse roundhouse, the kick cutting low and fast.
She bent backward.
Not stumbled. Not retreated.
She leaned—spine arching impossibly as if she were playing limbo with death itself. The kick passed inches above her chest.
Niero's eyes widened.
Now.
Using the momentum, he leapt, twisting mid-air, his right leg snapping downward in a vertical 180-degree kick, targeting her exposed abdomen.
For a split second—
He thought he had her.
Then her hand closed around his leg.
Iron-tight.
At the same time, her other hand seized the chest guard of his M.A.R.S. suit, fingers biting into reinforced plating like it was cloth.
"What—?!" Niero gasped.
Mom's body coiled—and then dropped.
She slammed him into the mat with brutal precision.
THUD.
The impact thundered through the room, the dojo mat rippling as Niero's breath was driven violently from his lungs.
"—GHK!" His grunt tore out of him as pain flared across his back and ribs.
She released him instantly, already stepping away, calm as ever.
"Overcommitted," Mom said, tone instructional, almost gentle. "You gambled everything on one opening."
Niero lay there for a second, chest heaving, vision swimming as the timer on the wall ticked onward.
-
45:37
-
For the next few moments, the dojo filled with the dull thud of impacts and the hiss of breath.
Niero pushed.
He threw everything he had—jabs snapping from his shoulders, low kicks slicing toward her knees, clinches meant to drag her down, grappling entries he'd rehearsed a thousand times in secret. His body moved on instinct now, his mind racing as it analyzed, adapted, corrected. Every slip of her shoulder, every pivot of her foot fed into that strange gift he'd carried since childhood—the ability to learn by watching, to piece together styles from Ark-Net footage, old movies, underground fight clips, and the rare, brutal reality of live combat.
But it wasn't enough.
He barely grazed her. Couldn't bruise her. Couldn't even get close to the talisman.
It felt like fighting smoke.
Mom flowed around him, steps light, movements economical—always half a beat ahead. When he punched, she wasn't there. When he kicked, she had already shifted. When he tried to grapple, her balance was unshakable, her center rooted like stone.
It reminded him painfully of those past fights—of Rank-E goblins screeching and clawing in the dark, of a Rank-D orc's sheer brutality forcing him to the brink. Back then, he had felt himself grow under pressure.
Now?
Now it felt like he was hitting a wall that refused to break.
Annoyance flared. Then frustration. Then something sharper—something that burned behind his eyes.
"Stop—!" Niero snapped between breaths, another punch sailing wide as she slipped past it. "Stop playing around!"
Mom stilled.
The sudden stillness was worse than the dodging.
Niero's chest heaved as he glared at her, fists clenched so tightly his gloves creaked. "I'm not doing this for fun," he said, voice cracking despite himself. "I'm doing this so I can be someone you can be proud of, not just because I'm a son in an all-women family in this society. I want to make you proud. I want to make all of you proud. So don't—don't dance around me like this."
The words hung there, raw and exposed.
For a moment, Mom didn't move.
Something passed across her face—sadness, quiet and deep, like an old wound being pressed. Her shoulders lowered just a fraction.
"…I see," she said softly.
Then she straightened.
"Okay. Let's kick things up a notch."
The air changed.
It wasn't dramatic. No flash of light. No thunder.
Just—weight.
A crushing pressure settled over the dojo, heavy and suffocating, like the atmosphere before a storm breaks.
Niero's skin prickled.
Goosebumps raced up his arms as instinct screamed at him to run.
Mom shifted her stance.
Gone was the relaxed ease. Gone was the casual grace.
Her feet planted firmly, body angled forward, hands raised in a tight, efficient CQC guard—compact, lethal, built for ending fights quickly. The calm warmth he associated with her vanished, replaced by something cold, focused, and terrifyingly professional.
This wasn't his mother anymore.
This was a former S-Rank Sororitae.
The War Goddess of Thunder—Raijin.
"If this is what you want," she said quietly, eyes locking onto his, unblinking, "then you better not hold back."
Niero swallowed hard.
His heart pounded—not with anger now, but with dread.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't violent.
And yet… he tightened his stance.
It was pressure—like ice-cold needles sinking into his skin, threading through muscle and bone, whispering a single, merciless truth into his nerves:
You're going to die.
Niero swallowed, but his throat felt dry, constricted. His breath came shallow as the air itself seemed to weigh twice as much.
This isn't poking a bear, his instincts screamed.
This is poking something that kills bears.
>「Brilliant move, genius. Truly inspired,」Vuldyr drawled in his mind, her voice dripping with mock applause.
>「You've successfully awakened something you absolutely shouldn't have.」
Niero didn't even bother snapping back this time.
Because she was right.
Mom hadn't called lightning.
Hadn't invoked her Mana Arts.
Hadn't transformed into her Sororitae form, that divine, overwhelming manifestation that amplified her power into something mythic.
No thunder. No glow. No magic.
What stood before him now was worse.
This was a human warrior, forged through years of blood, pain, and death—honed by battlefields that didn't care about ideals or dreams. A woman who had survived long enough to retire from hell.
For this one hour—
She wasn't his mother.
She was a monster wearing human skin.
Niero's blood ran cold.
Colder than when he faced the Hollow entity—Hachishakusama, that child-stealing nightmare whose presence warped sanity itself.
Colder than when the Orkoid Orc had cornered him in a kitchen reeking of spice and violence.
Those encounters had terrified him.
This?
This was suffocating.
His lungs burned as if the air refused to cooperate. His legs trembled, not from exhaustion, but from instinct—some ancient part of him begging him to drop, submit, survive.
Mom took a single step forward.
Not fast. Not aggressive.
The mat barely made a sound beneath her foot.
Niero flinched anyway.
Her eyes never left him.
"This," she said calmly, voice low and even, "is what waits beyond the walls."
Each word landed like a hammer.
"No fair fights. No warnings. No mercy."
She raised her hands slightly, settling deeper into her stance. "If you hesitate out there—you die."
Niero's vision blurred at the edges.
His mind screamed run.
But beneath that fear—beneath the crushing inevitability—something else stirred.
Defiance.
His fists tightened.
He sucked in a shaky breath, forcing air into his lungs, forcing his spine straight despite the weight pressing down on him. His heart thundered, but he anchored himself to it, letting the rhythm steady his thoughts.
Impossible, he told himself.
So what?
He had stood against impossible before.
He fought the Hollow entities.
He fought the haunting Hachishaku-Sama.
He fought the foul Orkoid Goblins.
He fought the raging Orkoid Orc.
He fought the something he never face before, and nearly died from it.
Thanks to the Astra Force. The Stargod System. Even Vuldyr.
They unlock something within him.
Something he never dream of.
Strength.
Courage.
Willpower.
He lifted his gaze and met her eyes—really met them this time. Not as a son. Not as a child.
But as someone standing at the edge of the Fog, staring into the abyss and refusing to blink.
"I… won't stop," he said, voice hoarse but unbroken. "Even if I'm scared."
For the first time since her aura changed—
Something flickered in Mom's eyes.
Not softness.
But respect.
"Good," she replied.
And then—
She moved.
Vuldyr's warning came a fraction of a heartbeat too late.
>「Movement—!」
Niero blinked.
And Mom's fist was already there.
The punch sliced past his face with terrifying precision. He jerked his head aside on instinct alone, feeling the air pressure graze his cheek like a blade. His skin prickled where it passed—proof that if it had landed, he wouldn't be standing.
Too fast—!
He planted his feet, muscles screaming as he forced his body into a stable stance. Mom didn't give him time to breathe.
Her fists came in a storm.
Straight punches. Short hooks. Compact, efficient, merciless.
Niero dodged—barely.
Every movement demanded everything he had. He pulled at muscles he didn't know could stretch, pushed his reaction speed past comfort, past safety. His mind raced even faster, dissecting trajectories, predicting angles, desperately searching for an opening in her rhythm.
Analyze. Adapt. Survive.
He slipped past her right punch, ducking low as her arm cut through the space where his head had been.
"There—"
Her left side.
Niero twisted his hips and threw a low right hook, aiming straight for her exposed ribs.
"I've got—!"
He never finished the thought.
Mom's left knee snapped upward.
Crack.
White exploded behind his eyes as her knee slammed into his right cheek. The impact rattled his skull, but before his body could even react—
Her right arm, which had been mid-punch, retracted.
And then struck again.
A brutal, compact blow smashed into his left cheek.
The world flipped.
Niero hit the dojo mat headfirst, the sound a sickening, hollow thud that echoed through the room. Pain detonated through his jaw, his vision swimming as his body refused to respond.
>「—NGH!」Vuldyr hissed in his mind, sharp and involuntary, as if she'd taken the hit herself. 「I almost felt that—!」
On the sidelines, Aunt Alura winced hard, popcorn halfway to her mouth.
"Ooooh—yeah, nope," she muttered. "That's gonna hurt in the morning."
Mom stood over him, already stepping back into stance, breathing calm. Controlled.
She didn't look angry.
She looked focused.
"Too slow," she said evenly. "And you telegraphed your intent."
Niero groaned, forcing air back into his lungs as the mat felt unbearably cold against his cheek. His face throbbed, every heartbeat pulsing pain through bone and muscle.
But even as he lay there—
His fingers twitched.
Get up.
Mom moved.
The shift in air alone warned him.
She stepped in, weight dropping, fist already drawing back—intent clear, execution lethal.
Now—!
Niero didn't think.
He reacted.
From the ground, his body twisted, one shoulder digging into the mat as his legs snapped upward and began to spin. It wasn't pretty, and it wasn't textbook—but it was fast.
A breakdance-like sweep, momentum-driven and desperate, his legs carving a wide arc as he launched into a capoeira-style helicoptero.
Mom's punch came down—
—and was kicked aside from below, his heel slamming into her forearm, redirecting the strike just enough.
Her eyes widened.
Just a fraction.
That was all Niero needed.
As her balance shifted, his spinning leg continued its arc—
Thud.
His heel connected cleanly with her left cheek.
The impact rang through his leg, sharp and real.
For a heartbeat, the world went silent.
Then Niero used the very leg that struck her to push off, kicking himself away, rolling across the mat in a controlled tumble. He slid, planted a hand, and sprang back up into stance, chest heaving, eyes wide.
On the sidelines—
"Oooooh!" Aunt Alura blurted out, nearly dropping her popcorn. "Okay—okay! I saw that! He hit her! ATTA BOY!!"
Niero barely heard her.
His heart was pounding.
He had done it.
He had finally—finally—landed a hit.
I HIT MOM!!!
A wild, breathless grin tugged at his lips before the reality crashed down on him.
…I hit Mom.
The joy faltered, guilt flashing across his face as he stared at her, half-expecting anger. Shock. Disappointment.
Mom straightened slowly, one hand brushing her cheek where he'd struck her.
There was a small amout of blood flows out from her left nostril of her nose..
No fury.
She rolled her jaw once… then looked at him.
And smiled.
Not a warm smile.
A proud, dangerous one.
"Hah," she said, voice low, almost pleased. "So you do have it in you."
Niero swallowed. "I—I didn't mean to—"
"Don't," she cut in firmly, raising a hand. "If you hesitate because I'm your mother, you die outside those walls."
She stepped back into stance, aura steady but unmistakably heavier now.
"But that just now?" Her eyes locked onto his, sharp and assessing. "That was backbone."
The words hit harder than her punches.
Niero clenched his fists, breath steadying as something inside him clicked—fear still there, doubt still clawing at his chest, but beneath it all… resolve.
This wasn't a spar anymore.
This was a line being crossed.
And for the first time since the fight began, Mom wasn't just testing him.
She was acknowledging him.
-
44:30
-
They moved at the same time.
Niero pushed off the mat, muscles screaming as he surged forward—and Mom met him head-on.
Boom.
Forearm crashed into forearm, the impact sharp enough to sting through the padding of his M.A.R.S. suit. The force rattled his bones, but he didn't falter. Neither did she.
For a split second, they were locked there—eyes inches apart, breath colliding—before both of them shoved off.
And then—
Everything exploded.
Punches snapped through the air. Blocks rose and fell. Kicks lashed out, were checked, deflected, countered. Their movements blurred together—his MMA-rooted chaos against her refined, lethal efficiency. Fists grazed guards, elbows skimmed shoulders, feet scraped the mat in rapid pivots.
To anyone watching, it almost looked even.
Niero's mind was on fire.
Angle—too wide.
Timing—she favors the right.
Weight shift—half a beat before the strike.
His adaptive instinct kicked in full throttle. Every block fed him data. Every miss taught him something. He adjusted footwork, shortened his punches, slipped where he used to dodge, countered where he once panicked.
A jab—deflected.
A hook—slipped.
A low kick—checked.
I can do this.
For the first time since the match began, hope surged through his chest, fierce and intoxicating.
"I—!" Niero breathed out between strikes, teeth clenched. "I'm not—just guessing anymore!"
Mom blocked a flurry of punches, stepping back half a pace. Her eyes flicked over him, sharp, calculating.
"I know," she said calmly.
He saw it then.
An opening.
Her left side—just a fraction exposed. Her guard a hair too high. His body moved before doubt could catch up, shoulder twisting, fist driving in—
—and suddenly—
Everything changed.
The air pressed down.
Mom's presence shifted, like a storm front rolling in without warning.
Her next strike came faster.
Not by a little.
By a lot.
Niero barely raised his guard in time. The impact blasted through his arms, sending him skidding back across the mat, boots screeching as he struggled to keep balance.
"What—?!" he gasped.
She was already on him.
Her punches weren't just precise anymore—they were heavier than before. Each one carried intent, weight, experience layered upon experience. His blocks rang painfully, vibrations crawling up his arms, numbing his fingers.
She's accelerating.
No—worse.
She was letting go.
"You felt it, didn't you?" Mom said, striking even as she spoke, voice steady, almost gentle. "That moment where you thought you could win."
Niero ducked, barely avoiding a hook that whistled past his ear.
A knee slammed into his guard, forcing the breath from his lungs.
"That," she continued, advancing without mercy, "is exactly when people die."
Her speed kept climbing.
The openings he thought he'd found vanished. The patterns he'd begun to read warped and evolved mid-exchange. Techniques flowed into each other seamlessly—boxing into Wing Chun, Muay Thai into brutal, efficient CQC.
His analysis lagged.
For the first time, his adaptive mind struggled to keep up.
Too fast.
Too strong.
She's still holding back her powers—
"Niero," Mom said, her tone firm but not unkind as she knocked aside his guard and forced him back another step. "You're doing well."
That should have comforted him.
Instead, it terrified him.
The shift was undeniable.
Niero's offense collapsed.
What had been punches and counters turned into pure survival—arms raised, stance tightened, teeth clenched as blow after blow hammered into his guard. Each impact rang through his forearms like struck steel, vibrations biting deep into muscle and bone.
Bang.
Crack.
Thud.
His boots scraped backward across the mat as he was driven step by step, every block feeling less like defense and more like trying to stop a collapsing wall.
Too heavy…
These weren't just fast strikes anymore—they were loaded. Each punch carried weight, intent, and experience refined over decades. It reminded him—painfully—of the Rank-D Orkoid Orc.
No.
It was worse.
That orc had been brute force. Wild. Predictable.
Mom's strikes were controlled devastation.
Niero's arms screamed. His elbows trembled as another punch smashed into his crossed guard, forcing a grunt from his throat. If this were anyone else—an average man—bones would have already shattered.
Mom stepped in, her shadow swallowing him.
"Can you feel it?" she asked, her voice calm, almost gentle—utterly at odds with the storm she was unleashing. "The pressure. The Dread."
Another strike slammed into his guard, dropping him to one knee.
"The way overwhelming power pushes you down," she continued, circling him slowly, never lowering her guard. "The way it opresses you with crawling despair."
Niero dragged in a breath, chest burning. His vision shook at the edges as he forced himself back up, arms still raised, knuckles white.
A hook crashed into his guard, snapping his head sideways despite the protection.
"This," Mom said, striking again, harder, "is nothing compare to whats waiting outside the walls."
His adaptive instincts screamed, desperately cataloging angles, timing, weight transfer—but every answer came a beat too late. He wasn't being outsmarted anymore.
He was being overpowered*.
*Vuldyr—!*
>「You are being suppressed,」 Vuldyr hissed in his mind, tension sharp and urgent. 「This is not Mana. This is experience. And it is crushing you.」
Niero grit his teeth as another barrage forced him back, forearms shaking violently.
"So—what?" he shouted through clenched teeth, refusing to drop his guard even as his muscles begged him to. "You're saying—this is it?! That I can't—!"
Mom stepped in close, her next strike stopping a hair's breadth from his face.
The wind of it alone stung his skin.
Her eyes locked onto his—unwavering, fierce, and painfully sincere.
"I'm saying," she said quietly, "this is what you're asking to walk into."
She pulled her fist back, stance solid, aura still pressing down like a stormcloud.
"And you don't get to look away from it."
Niero swallowed hard, arms burning, legs shaking—but he didn't lower his guard.
Not yet.
Even as the weight of her power crushed down on him, one stubborn, defiant thought burned through the pain—
If this is the wall…
Then I'll break myself against it before I turn back.
Between the relentless impacts, in the narrow slivers of time where his guard barely held, Vuldyr's voice cut through the noise.
> 「Now.」
Her tone was sharp—commanding.
> 「Use the Nova-Spark. A small, controlled output. You *must* strike.」
Niero staggered back half a step, forearms trembling as another blow glanced off his guard. His breath came ragged, chest screaming.
Nova-Spark…? Now?
He felt it answer anyway.
Deep in his core, something ignited—a familiar yet alien warmth, coiling through his veins like living starlight. His right fist clenched, and faint, invisible pressure gathered around it, dense and compressed.
Not flashy. Not explosive.
Focused. Dangerous.
For the first time since the match began, Niero felt it.
A path.
There—
A microscopic delay in her rhythm. A fractional shift of weight. An opening no normal fighter would ever see—
His right arm drew back.
His eyes flicked to Mom's face.
For a heartbeat, the world slowed.
And Niero froze.
If I hit her with this—
If I really do—
This wasn't mana.
This wasn't training gear or borrowed strength.
This was his secret.
Something no one knew about.
Something even Mom didn't know he carried.
And worse—
This was his mother.
Not the War Goddess.
Not the monster forged by battle.
His mother.
The woman who cooked, scolded, cried, dotted, worried.
Who hid scars under sweaters.
Who loved too hard because she'd already lost too much.
His fist hovered inches from her.
His heart hesitated.
His fist trembled.
Mom's eyes sharpened instantly.
"You're hesitating."
The words landed harder than any punch.
Before Niero could pull back—or commit—she moved.
Too fast.
Her fist slammed into his face before he could even raise his guard—his head snapping sideways as white pain exploded behind his eyes.
A second punch drove into his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs.
A third struck his jaw.
Bang—Bang—CRACK!
His guard was gone. His stance shattered.
Niero staggered, vision blurring.
"Out there," Mom said as her blows kept coming, relentless and merciless, "hesitation gets you killed."
A punch slammed into his jaw.
His HUD flared violently.
> [HP: 130 / 150]
> [HP: 118 / 150]
> [HP: 103 / 150]
"Outside the walls," she continued, striking his abdomen hard enough to lift him off his feet, "no one waits for you to decide."
92… 78… 65…
Niero's vision blurred. His ears rang. The world tilted as another blow smashed into his temple, stars bursting behind his eyes.
As if his brains was bouncing around within his skull like a pinball arcade.
I—I—
>「NIERO!」 Vuldyr screamed, panic flooding her usually composed voice. 「You are losing consciousness—wake up! You must MOVE!」
Another hit.
His knees buckled.
Another.
Another.
Another.
His back slammed into the mat.
41… 29… 18…
Pain drowned thought. Sound stretched and warped. Mom's voice became distant, like it was echoing through water.
"I told you; I wasn't testing my son..." she said softly, almost sadly, as her final strike drove the air from his lungs, "...I'm testing a Marauder."
Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision.
His fingers twitched uselessly.
>「NIERO—STAY WITH ME—!」
He tried.
He really did.
But the dojo tilted violently, the lights smearing into long streaks as his legs slowly gave out. He felt himself falling, distantly aware of the mat rushing up to meet him.
The sound of impacts on his body slowly muffled away.
I'm sorry…
Mom…
The last thing he heard was Alura shouting his name, her voice stripped of humor—
And then—
Black.
=
<<<[ Ch 15, Part 01 - END ]>>>