Ethan Cole - The Unlimited System

Branches whipped past her face. Roots snagged at her boots. But Maya didn't stop.

She sprinted through the forest, every stride a desperate push forward. Her advanced suit dampened the noise and reduced friction, letting her move like a shadow—but nothing could quiet the storm in her chest.

Her breaths came quick now. Not from exhaustion, but from everything she'd just left behind. The scent of scorched metal. The crackle of fire. The last glimpse of Mark surrounded by flames.

"You're clear, Maya." Ezra's voice cracked in her ear. It was trying to stay calm, but she heard the tension under it. "Keep heading north. Yamal's tracking your path to the extraction point."

"Weird." Yamal chimed in fast.

"What do you mean?" Maya asked."

"No activity outside. None of the guards are moving. No patrols, no pursuit," Yamal replied. "Either they don't know what's happening... or they were never meant to intervene."

"Never meant to intervene?" Maya looked back.

The glow of the facility had faded between the trees, like the mouth of a beast quietly closing.

She slowed just a little. Her pulse had already spiked.

"That's exactly what's wrong with everything," she murmured.

Ezra's voice sharpened. "Do you mean that..." He didn't want to finish his words, fearing that Maya might turn around. But it was all too late.

Maya didn't respond immediately. Her eyes swept the woods. Her instincts were screaming. "Too quiet. No sirens. No countermeasures. No one's coming after me."

"This is wrong." She clenched her fists. "Alexander doesn't just let people go."

There was a long beat of silence.

Then Yamal spoke again, but his voice was different this time. Strained. Urgent. "Oh no. Maya… they're not after you."

Ezra felt like slapping Yamal right now for stating the obvious.

Maya stopped.

Her eyes widened, and the realization hit like a cold knife to the chest. "They're after Mark."

Yamal's voice came through like a punch. "Damn it! That bastard planned this!"

"He wanted you to escape. He needed Mark alone." His words tumbled over each other, faster now. "This whole thing—stealth, entry, the so-called security gaps—it was all a trap."

Maya's feet moved before her mind could catch up. She spun around. "I have to go back."

"No," Ezra cut in. Firm. Sharper than usual. "You go back now, you'll only get caught. Alexander wants you out of the picture. He's locked onto Mark for a reason."

"That's not—" she started, but Ezra interrupted.

"Maya, listen to me. Mark knew what he was doing. He gave you that order because he's buying you time. If you turn around now, you'll throw away the chance he fought to give you."

Maya's jaw clenched. Her fists tightened at her sides as heat built behind her eyes.

She hated this. Hated the helplessness. But deep down, she knew they were right. Mark wasn't reckless. If he stayed behind, it was because he had already made peace with the risk.

She exhaled hard, pushing down the ache in her chest.

"Fine," she said, voice low and tight. "But once I reach the team, we go back. We get him out. No matter what."

"Agreed," Ezra replied. "Now move. You've got two kilometers left. We'll guide you every step."

Maya didn't answer. She just ran, faster than before, each stride driven by the promise she made to herself.

They were going back for him.

No matter what it cost.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

But Ezra wasn't being honest. Not completely.

There was no realistic plan to return for Mark. Not with just the three of them. No backup. No heavy support. And certainly not without time to regroup and assess.

Mark had always been the pillar of their operations. The one who led them through fire and chaos. He was the shield, the strategist, the frontline. Without him, everything felt unbalanced.

Ezra knew that.

He didn't say it aloud, but the truth sat heavy in his chest. They weren't strong enough without Mark, and diving back in now would only get more people killed.

Maya, especially. She was brilliant—deadly when needed—but she ran with her heart. If she charged back in, she'd die. And so would anyone trying to follow.

He told her what she needed to hear. A promise. A line of hope to keep her moving.

But deep down, Ezra had already started considering other options. Not because he had given up on Mark, but because saving him might require more than brute force.

He needed to find someone. Anyone. Someone who could tip the scale.

Even if that meant turning to the very people they swore never to deal with again.

***

The chamber was scorched in every direction, the air thick with heat and the scent of burnt steel. Flickering lights above cast jagged shadows across the ruined walls. Flames had blackened the floor tiles, and the bodies of cloaked figures lay twisted in silence.

Mark and Alexander stood at the center of it all, circling each other with careful steps, each watching the other for the slightest shift in posture. This wasn't just a fight. It was a clash between two philosophies—two forces molded by fire and sharpened by history.

Mark's boots scraped against the ash-covered floor. His breathing was calm, but his eyes tracked every movement Alexander made.

The LaRue, in contrast, moved with the confidence of someone who believed the outcome had already been written.

Alexander's voice broke the silence first, laced with amusement. "It seems your partner made it out. How noble of you to stay behind like a dying ember."

Mark didn't blink. "I told her to leave. You should've done the same actually."

Alexander gave a slow smile, eyes gleaming with firelight. "Still carrying that savior complex, I see. Always shielding others. Always the hero."

"No," Mark said quietly. "I just don't like wasting time on people who talk too much."

Alexander let out a low chuckle, then raised his hand.

The flames that burst from his palm were deep crimson, nearly black at the core. They twisted unnaturally, like serpents made of molten steel. The air shimmered around him as the temperature surged, and the ground at his feet began to crack.

"You'll find I've evolved since we last crossed paths," Alexander said, his voice rising with power. "This is not the fire of mortals. It's refined through sacrifice. Ascendant blood and pure ambition."

He took a step forward, and the flames danced up his arms like they belonged there—alive, sentient, hungering.

Mark didn't back away. His own fire lit slowly, glowing golden-orange, clean and stable. It flowed from his shoulders down his arms, coating his fists in light that pulsed with every beat of his heart. His flames didn't rage—they burned with purpose.

"You corrupted the essence," Mark said. "Twisted the gift into something monstrous."

Alexander's eyes narrowed. "We perfected it. You cling to outdated ideals, Mark. Ascendants should rule, not hide in the shadows like ghosts."

"I didn't come to argue," Mark said. "I came to stop you."

Alexander surged forward.

Their flames collided with a roar. The force of the impact exploded outward, sending a pressure wave across the chamber. Fire licked at the walls, crawling upward like wild vines. Glass shattered above. Sparks rained down like dying stars.

Alexander was relentless, his movements wild but fast—he struck with wide arcs, turning his flames into sweeping crescents of destruction. Each time he slammed his foot down, the floor fractured beneath him.

Mark, in contrast, fought with surgical precision. He moved like someone who had trained for this moment a thousand times. He deflected flame with angled strikes, redirected the heat around him, and answered with tight, concentrated bursts of fire that left the air rippling in their wake.

"You've always had control," Alexander spat between attacks. "But control is weakness when the world demands power!"

"You confuse chaos with strength," Mark replied, his voice calm as he stepped past another wave and countered with a flame-coated palm strike. "But your fire doesn't obey you. It devours everything, even your own people."

A shadow passed over Alexander's face.

The next attack was faster, sharper. A vertical column of fire erupted beneath Mark's feet, forcing him to leap backward. His boots skidded across the floor, leaving melted streaks behind.

Mark landed low, steadying himself with one hand. Then he launched forward—fire gathering at his fists, swirling around his arms like a vortex. He punched forward, and a compressed stream of flame shot out, blasting Alexander off balance.

Alexander recovered quickly, sliding across the floor, his laughter echoing. "That's more like it."

The battle resumed with new intensity. Fire clashed against fire, one side dark and consuming, the other bright and tempered. The entire chamber became a crucible, testing who could outlast the other.

"You know what we're building here, Mark?" Alexander called out, spinning with another wave of heat. "We're forging perfection. The Artificial Ascendants are just the start."

Mark ducked beneath a whip of fire, rolling to the side and retaliating with a flaming kick that forced Alexander to retreat.

"I know what you're building," he said coldly. "A future built on stolen blood."

Alexander's flames began to spiral tighter around his arms, forming bladed shapes that shimmered. "Then you should understand why your essence is so important to us."

Mark stood tall again, his flames rising. "Come and take it."

Their next clash sent both of them crashing into opposite walls. The impact cratered the surface, but neither man fell. They stared at each other across the burning room.

Alexander's voice turned lower, more serious. "You can't win this alone."

"I'm not trying to," Mark answered, stepping forward again. "I just need to buy enough time, for everything you've built to come crashing down."

Alexander's lips curled into a thin smile. "Then let's burn that time away."

And once again, fire lit the space between them—two Ascendants, two visions of power, locked in a war that would decide more than just who lived or died.