Ethan Cole - The Unlimited System

Mark stood in the dimly lit alley, the shadows of the surrounding buildings swallowing the faint light from above. The man in front of him hadn't moved an inch since he arrived. Cloaked in black and facing away, the figure looked almost like a statue carved into the wall of the city itself.

"You've been watching the Cole residence for too long," Mark said, his voice calm, but a layer of sharpness cut through. "Speak. Why?"

The figure turned slowly. His face was hidden behind a smooth, white mask, and his voice, distorted through a modulator, was devoid of identity.

It seemed the figure came here prepared. He didn't wish to give away anything about himself to anyone.

"Purpose?" the man echoed. "Perhaps… the opposite of yours."

"What do you mean?" Mark studied his stance. No sign of a weapon, no shift in footing. Yet something about the air around the man felt heavier than it should.

"I mean what I mean." Then the figure reached into his cloak.

Mark was already on edge. Muscles tensed, his left foot slid slightly back, anchoring him.

But instead of drawing a weapon, the man flicked a small piece of folded paper forward.

It cut through the air sharply.

'Why can't I sense any killing intent?' Mark wondered inwardly.

He changed his stance and caught it without taking his eyes off the figure.

He unfolded the paper. It was a map—hand-drawn, crude but clear. It marked a location outside Novan City, nestled within a deep forest.

"What is this?" Mark asked.

"That's..." The man tilted his head. "A secret project. One the LaRues have kept hidden for years."

"What are they planning?" Mark asked again.

Somehow, he felt that he could ask as many questions as possible of the man. No need to pry for it at all. He seemed to be really coming here to give away information.

"They're creating something dangerous. Artificial Ascendants."

"Artificial... Ascendants?" Mark blinked once. "Impossible. You can't become an Ascendant without forming a core."

"No," the man said, stepping forward. "Not in the natural way. But science has found a shortcut. Jermaine is the lead researcher."

The name hit like a slap. Mark knew him. He was someone who had been under federal protection. He was someone who could shift the balance of war with his knowledge.

Mark took a deep breath, eyes narrowing.

"Are you doubting me, Mark?"

"How do you know my name?" he asked.

Not because he forgot who he was. But, because he could feel a sense of familiarity from the way the man talked, from the way his name was pronounced.

The man didn't answer. Mark stepped forward.

"Don't walk away from this," he said. "If you know that much, then you know you can't leave now."

The figure gave no reply.

That was all Mark needed.

He dashed forward. Not blindly, but he wanted to test something out.

"As always." The man reacted fast. Faster than Mark expected. He twisted sideways, letting Mark's first strike graze nothing but air. Then he planted his foot and countered with a palm strike aimed at Mark's chest.

Mark pivoted, caught the blow with his forearm, and retaliated with a knee to the ribs.

The figure blocked. The sound of bone meeting bone echoed in the alley.

For a few seconds, there were no words. Only movement.

Each strike was calculated. Mark threw a combination of jabs and kicks, not at full force, but enough to read the other man's strength. The figure parried them, his footwork clean, his balance unshakable.

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'His movement seemed familiar, but it was much stronger than the person I knew,' Mark thought.

He really felt that the man in front of him was someone he knew, or maybe everything was just a coincidence.

Their bodies moved like seasoned warriors, trading momentum, gauging.

Mark ducked under a wide swing and went low, sweeping with his leg. The figure leapt over it, then launched a roundhouse kick mid-air.

Mark raised his arms, blocking it with both forearms, sliding slightly across the damp ground.

"You're not just a messenger," Mark muttered, pushing back.

"And you're not just a guardian," the man replied. "We're both more than what we appear."

Mark stepped forward again, feinting with his left. The figure reacted too early.

That gave Mark what he wanted.

He closed the distance, punching toward the man's stomach with a straight force-enhanced strike. A normal human would have buckled. But the man twisted, redirecting the blow with his forearm and retaliating with a close-range elbow toward Mark's chin.

Mark jerked back, avoiding the worst of it. Still, the impact grazed his jaw. His lips split slightly.

He touched the blood and smiled.

"Not bad."

The masked man said nothing. His breathing hadn't changed. Neither had Mark's.

It was a test. And both of them knew it.

"Why did you really show yourself?" Mark asked. "You could've dropped the map anonymously."

The man straightened his shoulders, as if the fight had been a formality.

"Because if you're going to follow this lead, you need to be ready. What's coming is beyond politics. Beyond family wars."

Mark didn't lower his guard.

"Then say it plainly. What are they planning if what you're telling me about the Artificial Ascendants is true?"

"An army. One that doesn't need to ascend the way we did. One that can be mass-produced, conditioned, and controlled."

Mark looked down at the map again.

"I should kill you now."

"You could try," the man said. Then, suddenly, his form shimmered. "But not today. We'll meet again."

Mark blinked, and the alley was empty.

No sound. No flash. The man was simply gone.

'That technique... It is not simple at all.'

Even Mark, who could be considered a strong Ascendant, would not be able to get away just like that.

Mark stood in the silence, the pulse of adrenaline still rushing in his ears.

He folded the map again, slipping it into his jacket. His heart was calm, but his mind was not.

That man… was no ordinary spy. He had strength, technique, and something more. The precision of his movements spoke of training far beyond mercenary work.

"Someone who worked for an organization," Mark muttered. "Maybe ex-family. Maybe LaRue-trained."

He turned toward the mouth of the alley, his steps steady.

Whatever this was, it had just turned worse.

He lifted it to his lips.

"This is Mark," he said, voice low and firm. "I've made contact with an unidentified individual claiming knowledge of a project to create Artificial Ascendants. Possible connection to Jermaine and the LaRues. Sending map coordinates now."

He paused, listening. Whoever was on the other end didn't speak, at least not in a way that could be heard from this side.

"I'll confirm the site. If I go dark, proceed as planned."

The glow faded. Mark slid the device back into his jacket and began walking out of the alley, his mind spinning with possibilities.

Somewhere far from the alley, a shimmer of static twisted in the air before collapsing into the form of the masked figure.

The figure stumbled slightly, one knee dipping as he leaned against the trunk of a tree.

The night was quiet here. Too quiet.

The stars above her were obscured by drifting clouds.

The figure's hand pressed against the left side of his chest. He winced.

"I… can't… keep this power up much longer."

The voice, no longer distorted by the modulator, was strained and real. The figure was actually a woman.

She gasped and pulled back the cloak to reveal a small metal vial strapped securely near her ribs. Inside were dark bronze pills, no larger than a fingernail, each glowing faintly from within like they were alive.

She took one, placed it on her tongue, and swallowed.

"Please... Please..." she pleaded as she was worried that she was too late to consume the pill.

Luckily, the effect was near-instant.

A coursing heat surged through her body, rushing from her chest to her fingertips, then down to her legs. Her muscles, which had been trembling from strain just moments ago, steadied. The tightness around her heart loosened.

Her breathing calmed.

The cloak flared slightly in the night breeze as she straightened. Her masked face tilted upward.

"Two more months," she muttered. "That's all I need."

Then she vanished into the night again, shadows swallowing her whole.

Somewhere high above the glow of Novan City, atop a steel-and-glass skyscraper overlooking the vast sprawl of lights and motion, a man stood alone at the edge of a rooftop.

Alexander LaRue.

Impeccably dressed in a crisp, obsidian-black suit that shimmered faintly under the moonlight, he looked more like a politician attending a gala than one of the most dangerous men in the city. His tie was blood red, knotted tightly. His shirt cuffs gleamed with platinum cufflinks. Not a strand of his silver-streaked hair was out of place.

The night air tugged at the hem of his coat, but he didn't seem to notice.

His eyes, dark and unreadable, stared out into the distance as if watching something far beyond the skyline—beyond even the limits of the city itself. The wind carried faint echoes of honking cars, distant sirens, and the relentless hum of the city that never truly slept.

And yet, a smile curled slowly across Alexander's lips. Cold. Measured.

"So…" he muttered, the words barely more than breath, "you chose betrayal after all."

He wasn't speaking to anyone present. No one else was on the rooftop. But his voice carried like a whisper through the night.

"I gave you a purpose," he said, stepping forward, his polished shoes clicking softly against the rooftop tiles. "I gave you time. Protection. Power."

He exhaled through his nose and placed both hands behind his back, his posture calm, almost regal.

"But maybe that wasn't enough for you."

There was no anger in his tone. No heat. Just a kind of unsettling delight, like a man watching pieces move exactly where he wanted them, even when they thought they had broken free.

He turned slightly, facing the direction of the old city's outskirts—the area just beyond the Cole residence. His eyes narrowed.

"And if it's Mark who finds that little trail you left…" He chuckled once, low and pleased.

"That would be perfect."