Ethan Cole - The Unlimited System

Ethan leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath.

The hardest part was over. The speech was done. The staff were energized. The buzz of Nova Tech's first day was alive and growing. For the first time in hours, he allowed himself to sit still.

The door creaked open.

Jordan strolled in like he always did—uninvited, unapologetic. He dropped onto the couch across from Ethan and stretched out, arms spread, legs wide, like he was home.

"Well, well, well," Jordan said, clapping slowly with a grin that was all teeth. "Look who finally decided to be a real CEO today."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, not even trying to hide his smirk. "That supposed to be praise, or are you just here to bully me again?"

Jordan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "A little bit of both. I mean, what was that up there? The voice, the posture, the whole 'we're building a vision together' thing? You even had that pause before smiling, was that on purpose?"

Ethan laughed, shaking his head. "I rehearsed, alright? You kept telling me to 'own it.' So I did."

Jordan pointed at him. "Own it? You didn't just own it. You crushed it. I almost stood up and clapped when you said 'We're not here to follow trends.'"

Ethan rolled his eyes, still grinning. "Yeah, and then I saw you smirking in the back. You nearly ruined the moment."

"I was proud!" Jordan said, hands raised in defense. "Shocked, but proud. I've known you a long time, man. And never... Yes. Never did I think I'd see you give a speech like that. You didn't just talk. You led."

Ethan leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "So what, you're saying I've been invisible all this time?"

Jordan squinted at him, like he was trying to be serious. "Not invisible. Just... predictable. You're the smart guy. The planner. The one who overthinks and triple-checks everything."

"And today?"

Jordan leaned back and crossed one ankle over his knee. "Today, you looked like the guy people want to follow. Big difference."

Ethan sat back again, quieter now. His smile was smaller, more thoughtful. "You think the others felt that too?"

"Oh, definitely," Jordan said. "You should've seen their faces when you walked in. Some of them probably thought you were just a model we hired to play the CEO."

Ethan snorted. "That bad?"

"That good," Jordan corrected. Then, after a beat, he added more quietly, "You've grown, Ethan. A lot. Just… don't let it mess with your head, alright? I don't want you turning into one of those CEOs."

Ethan gave him a look. "Jordan, I literally am above the CEO. I'm the Chairman."

"Exactly why someone needs to keep you humble," Jordan said, already reaching for one of the bottled waters on Ethan's desk like it was his. "And that someone, sadly, is me."

Ethan laughed, leaning back once more. "Guess I'm stuck with you, then."

Jordan cracked open the bottle. "You better believe it."

The door opened without warning, cutting through their banter. Yamal stepped in, his expression clouded with concern. There was something off in the way he carried himself—still composed, but tinged with urgency that didn't go unnoticed.

Jordan's eyes flicked from Ethan to Yamal. He picked up on the change instantly. "That's my cue," he said, rising to his feet. "Catch you later, boss."

Ethan gave him a quick nod. The door closed behind Jordan with a quiet click, and the weight in the room shifted.

"What's going on, Yamal?" Ethan asked, his voice shifting to something colder, more focused.

Without a word, Yamal placed a small device on the desk and tapped it. A holographic screen flared to life, casting a pale glow between them.

"I need you to see this," Yamal said, his voice low, almost reluctant.

Ethan rested his hands on his lap. "What is it?"

Instead of answering, Yamal gestured to the screen. "It's a field recording. Mark and Maya. They went on a mission. You need to see what they found."

Ethan blinked. "A mission? Mark didn't report anything."

The footage started. At first, it was quiet—Maya in her suit, gliding through the dark halls of an unknown facility. Based on the angle and interface, Ethan guessed it was Mark's body cam.

As the scene unfolded, Ethan's brows pulled together. The infiltration looked too easy.

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Crates marked with biohazard warnings. Scientists moving between stations. Shelves stacked with glowing vials.

"What is this place?" Ethan asked, suspicion rising in his voice.

Yamal remained silent, his eyes never leaving the footage.

Then the camera panned across a row of tall chambers—glass tanks, each one filled with translucent liquid and a human body suspended within.

Ethan's blood ran cold.

"What are they doing?" he muttered, barely audible.

Yamal's voice broke the silence, grim and steady. "It's one of the LaRues' hidden facilities. They're building artificial Ascendants. The project's nearing completion. Seventy-five percent done."

His shoulders sagged under the weight of it. "Artificial Ascendants? That sounds dangerous and... war. But why?"

"We're not sure," Yamal said. "But what we do know, they need Mark's blood essence to finish the process."

Ethan sat back in his chair, his mind racing.

"Mark's blood essence? What's that supposed to mean…" Ethan trailed off, his mind spinning with questions he couldn't yet form into words.

"I'll fill you in later." Yamal's voice was tight, his jaw clenched. "That's not the part I needed you to see."

Then the image shifted—and Alexander LaRue appeared.

Ethan's posture straightened. "Who's that?" he asked, his tone dropping to a cautious murmur.

"Alexander LaRue," Yamal replied, sharp and direct. "One of the most powerful Ascendants under the LaRue name. He's not someone you take lightly."

"Is he one of the heirs?"

"No. Adopted. But he answers only to the head of the family."

Ethan's breath caught as the man came fully into view—poised, composed, and deadly. His mere presence seemed to freeze the air around him.

On screen, Mark stood alone amidst chaos, surrounded by cloaked figures wielding weapons that pulsed with energy.

"Who are they?" Ethan asked, eyes narrowing.

"The Artificial Ascendants," Yamal replied. "The result of LaRue's experiments."

Then Ethan saw it—one of the cloaked figures lifted its right arm, and with a shifting metallic sound, it transformed. The limb elongated and sharpened, morphing into a blade crackling with unstable energy. Another turned theirs into a cannon-like barrel. Others took on different weapon forms.

Ethan leaned forward, surprised. "They can do that?"

Yamal nodded slightly. "This is what we believe they're capable of for now. They can't wield elemental forces like real Ascendants. But they've engineered the ability to morph their limbs into bio-weapons."

The footage showed Mark reacting quickly, fire erupting from his fists as he struck with deadly force. Even from his point of view, the fluidity of his attacks was breathtaking—his control, his speed, his power. He moved like a force of nature.

"This is what Ascendants are like?" Ethan whispered, not really expecting an answer.

He kept watching. Crimson flames burst to life, this time from Alexander. His strikes were cold and precise, his fire violent but disciplined. Every clash lit the room in violent color.

Ethan's heart pounded. The battle between them felt unreal. The screen trembled with each collision of flame, metal, and raw strength.

The cloaked figures joined in, closing the gap. One slashed with a blade-arm. Another fired a blast from its cannon. Mark countered with a wave of fire, but they kept coming.

"Mark…" Ethan breathed. He could see it. Mark was fast, efficient, but the numbers were against him. And Alexander's presence only made it worse.

The recording ended mid-frame. The silence that followed was deafening.

Ethan leaned back, jaw locked. "He was on the losing ground."

Yamal gave a slow nod. "Before the signal cut, it was obvious. He was still standing, still fighting, but not for long. The odds were too steep."

Ethan drew a breath, slow and heavy. "What happened after that?"

"That's what we want to know," Yamal said quietly. "We lost all communication. That clip was the last thing we received."

Ethan's hands gripped the edge of his desk. "And Maya?"

Yamal hesitated before answering. "She escaped. Mark ordered her to leave, and she obeyed. But now… she's not handling it well."

"What do you mean?" Ethan pressed.

"She wants to go back for him," Yamal explained. "But it's too dangerous. Ezra had to detain her. He's keeping her under control for now, but she's determined to go back."

Ethan exhaled sharply, his gaze locked and hard. "While Mark risks everything and Maya spirals, we're sitting here trying to make sense of the LaRues. It doesn't feel right."

Yamal leaned forward, his tone steady but firm. "This is bigger than any one of us, Ethan. The LaRues are playing the long game—and they've never hesitated to spill blood to get what they want. Mark knew that. He walked in with both eyes open. He did it to protect all of us."

Ethan's jaw clenched. Frustration burned beneath his skin, but so did something deeper—an ache to act, to move, to not feel helpless. "Then what are we supposed to do?"

Yamal leaned back, just slightly. His sharp gaze lost some of its usual edge. He let out a breath, slower this time, as if weighing every word. "Give me a few days. Maya's not in any shape to make decisions right now. I need to get her back first. We can't do this without her."

Ethan's brow furrowed. His voice came out sharper than he intended. "And Mark? What happens to him while we wait?"

Yamal paused.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he stared at the holographic display still glowing faintly on the desk. Its flickering light cast lines across his face—tired, tense, unreadable.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Heavy.

"We're thinking about him, too," Yamal said. "All of us are. But…"

"But what?" Ethan pressed, leaning in, both hands braced on the edge of the desk. "There has to be something we can do. We can't just sit here."

Yamal looked up, locking eyes with him. His voice, when it came, had an edge to it.

"Do you think I don't want to go in there myself and drag Mark out?" he asked. "Do you think Maya doesn't? Or Ezra? Steve? We all do. But this isn't a rescue. It's a setup."

Ethan blinked, caught off guard by the crack of emotion in Yamal's voice. "A setup?"

Yamal's tone lowered. "They let Maya go, and they kept Mark. That's not an accident. They want us to come for him."

Ethan stared at him. "You think they're after all of you?"

"I don't think so." Yamal nodded. "Only Mark is the unique one among all of us. But, if they get the Five Ghosts of Nemesis… it's over. They won't need test subjects anymore. They'll have the blueprint."

Ethan felt the weight of those words drop like a stone in his chest. "And if they pull it off?"

Yamal didn't flinch. "Then it won't matter how strong we are. They'll have an army of controllable Ascendants. No personality. No free will. Just weapons."

Ethan slumped back into his chair, the enormity of it crashing over him. He ran a hand through his hair, his thoughts racing.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter—but steadier.

"What do we do next?"

Yamal straightened, the decision already firm in his mind. "We prepare. We do this the right way, not the fast way. One wrong step, and we hand them everything."

Ethan shook his head slowly. "And how am I supposed to prepare for something like this? I'm not even sure I understand half of what we're facing."

Yamal's tone softened. Not out of pity—but out of understanding. "That's why we want you to come with us. In a few days."

Ethan glanced up. "Where?"

"To Nemesis headquarters."