"Fake it till you make it. And if you fake it long enough, sometimes the dragon dies." — Unknown.
Micah stood there, looking down at the two elites who were literally begging for their lives, and he had no idea what to do next.
Dexter was on his knees, hands raised, blabbering about how they were just exploring and didn’t mean any harm. Myra was beside him with her head bowed, her short blades hanging loose in her fingers, asking a masked stranger to spare her.
These were the same two people who had spent the entire semester treating him like garbage. The same two who had called his arena victory lucky, sloppy, and undeserved. The same two who had formed their little strike team and excluded him without a second thought.
And now they were on the ground in front of him, terrified out of their minds.
The funny part was that Micah could barely stand. His broken ribs were grinding against each other with every breath. His right hand was burned down to the bone, and the pain was so bad that his vision kept flickering in and out. His Flux reserves were completely empty, and the Prism’s aura was fading by the second.
If either of them decided to attack him right now, he’d be dead before he hit the floor.
But they didn’t know that. All they saw was the mask, the dead Drake, the destroyed Stone-Ape, and the residual energy still clinging to his clothes. The combined psychological effect of all three had created an illusion so airtight that neither of them even considered fighting back.
’I need to say something. They’re expecting a response. If I stay silent too long, they might start thinking. And if they start thinking, they might start noticing things. Like the fact that I’m shaking. Or the fact that I can barely breathe.’
Micah cleared his throat.
Then he deepened his voice as much as he could manage, pushing it down into his chest and grinding the words out through clenched teeth. He wasn’t trying to sound cool. He was trying to sound like someone who didn’t have two broken ribs and a hole where his hand used to be.
"You have no idea how lucky you are."
The words came out low and rough. Not quite what he’d aimed for, but close enough. It sounded like a man who didn’t talk much because talking was beneath him.
Dexter flinched. Actually flinched, like someone had thrown something at his face.
Micah continued.
"I’m here for one reason. This vault. What’s inside it belongs to me. Your existence means nothing to me, and I have no interest in spilling blood that isn’t worth the effort."
That last part was stolen directly from a movie he’d watched back on Earth. He couldn’t remember which one, but it sounded good, so he went with it.
Dexter nodded so fast his head looked like it was vibrating. "Yes! Yes, of course. The vault is yours. Everything in it. We never saw anything. We don’t even know what’s down here."
Myra’s head was still bowed. Her fingers tightened around her blade handles, but she didn’t lift her gaze.
"We’ll leave now," she said. "Immediately. And we’ll forget everything."
"You’ll do more than forget," Micah said, and he was genuinely surprised by how steady his voice sounded. "If a single word about this place, about what’s inside it, or about me leaves either of your mouths, I will find out. And when I find out, I will come for you. Not tomorrow. Not next week. That same night."
Dexter’s face went from pale to green. He looked like he was about to throw up.
"I swear on my life," Dexter said, the words barely above a whisper. "On my family. On everything. I saw nothing. Nothing at all."
He was lying, of course. He’d seen the vault, the containment pedestal, and the dead guardian. He’d probably already figured out that the Astral Prism was missing from its housing. But he was too scared to acknowledge any of that right now, and Micah wasn’t about to remind him.
Myra straightened up slightly. She still didn’t meet his eyes directly, but she raised her head enough to speak clearly.
"You have my word as well. I will never speak of this to anyone. Not my family, not my instructors, not my squad mates. No one."
Her voice was controlled. Disciplined. But Micah could see the pulse hammering in her neck, beating so fast it looked like it was trying to escape through her skin.
She was terrified.
Both of them were.
And Micah needed to get out of there before the Prism’s aura faded completely and the illusion fell apart.
He straightened his posture. Every rib in his chest screamed in protest, and his burned hand throbbed so badly that black spots danced at the edges of his vision. But he forced his spine straight, rolled his shoulders back, and stepped forward.
Directly toward them.
Dexter scrambled backward on his hands, his boots sliding in the blood pooling from the Drake’s corpse. Myra held her ground, but her jaw clenched so tight that the tendons in her neck stood out.
Micah walked past them without slowing down.
He stepped over the Drake’s tail, navigated around the rubble, and headed for the tunnel entrance. His stride was measured and deliberate, each step placed with the calm precision of someone who had all the time in the world.
Internally, his legs were shaking so badly that every step felt like walking on a tightrope. The adrenaline that had kept him moving was crashing hard, and the pain was flooding back in waves that made his vision swim.
’Don’t stumble. Don’t limp. Don’t show weakness. Just walk.’
He reached the tunnel entrance and stepped inside without looking back.
The darkness swallowed him immediately, and the moment it did, his left knee buckled. He caught himself against the tunnel wall, his shoulder slamming into the concrete. The impact sent a fresh jolt of pain through his ribs that was so intense his legs almost gave out completely.
Then the system spoke.
[Ding!]
[Apex Predator Eliminated: Obsidian Drake, 50% Flux Equivalent.]
[Bonus reward granted for solo elimination of boss-class entity.]
[Talent Acquired: Advanced Flux Breathing (Passive, High-Tier)]
[Advanced Flux Breathing: Significantly accelerates Flux absorption from external sources. Allows host to safely process concentrated energy at 3x standard rate. Reduces meridian stress during rapid cultivation. Enables controlled siphoning from crystallized Flux sources.]
Micah stared at the notification in his mind, blinking through the pain.
’You’re giving me this NOW? While I’m collapsed in a tunnel with broken ribs? Where was this when I was getting my face punched in by a rock golem?’
The system didn’t respond. It never responded. It just dropped the gift and went back to sleep, like a cat leaving a dead bird on your doorstep.
But the talent was there. He could feel it sitting in the back of his mind, a new set of instincts and knowledge that hadn’t been there before. He suddenly understood how to breathe in a way that would pull Flux from the air three times faster than normal. He understood how to route concentrated energy through his meridians without rupturing them. He understood how to siphon power from crystals and condensed sources safely.
’Okay. Fine. I’ll take it. But your timing is still garbage.’
He pushed off the wall and kept moving. Each step was a negotiation between his body and his willpower. His body wanted to lie down on the cold floor and never get up. His willpower kept dragging him forward, one foot in front of the other, through the dark tunnel and up the crumbling stairwell.