Ethan Cole - The Unlimited System

The room was cloaked in shadows, lit only by a single, flickering bulb that swung lazily from the ceiling. Smoke curled in the stale air, thick and bitter, coiling upward from the cigar clenched between Donald's yellowed teeth.

The table before him creaked whenever he shifted, its legs uneven and old. Dust coated the corners of the room, and the air felt heavy, like something dangerous was about to unfold.

Donald sat at the head of the table, hunched slightly, his thinning hair slicked back, his fingers tapping slowly against the wood. His eyes, sharp despite the age in his face, scanned the three figures seated across from him.

Three Ascendants.

Three weapons dressed in human skin.

The first was Verran. He was tall, wiry, and dangerous in the way a blade was. His pale skin almost shimmered in the low light, and his emerald eyes were too alert, too focused.

They gleamed with something sharp, something sick. He wore a long coat draped loosely over his lean frame, and every so often, a gust of air swirled unnaturally around him. It didn't come from the vents. It came from him.

They called him The Gale Reaper, a title earned through whispers and blood. An assassin. A ghost. He killed without sound, without mercy. And he liked it that way.

Verran leaned back in his chair now, legs stretched out, fingers drumming a slow, patient rhythm against the table's edge. The sound was steady, mocking. As if he was waiting for someone to give him permission to be cruel.

To his right sat Kaida.

Where Verran was a knife in the dark, Kaida was a hammer in broad daylight. Her frame was compact, powerful with every muscle honed by war. Scars lined her forearms, twisting like battle lines carved into flesh.

Her short, black hair framed a face that didn't flinch, not even in a room filled with people like this. She didn't blink often, and when she did, it was slow. Purposeful.

She was an Earth Ascendant. A fortress of muscle and stone. She had once shattered an entire highway just to stop a convoy. People still talked about it, in fear and in awe.

Kaida sat with her arms crossed, boots planted wide, her expression stone-cold. No threats needed to be spoken. Her presence was the threat.

And then there was Dravik.

He was massive and unmovable. He sat silently, but the silence was loud. His skin was bronze, slick with the faint glow of heat.

Tattoos spiraled from his knuckles to his collarbone, pulsing faintly like embers under skin. His bald head shone under the hanging light, and his eyes, deep and hollow, didn't stray from Donald. Not once.

He was a Fire Ascendant. Some said he burned an entire village because they'd refused to kneel. Others said it was because he just wanted to see what it looked like.

His fingers cracked one by one. Little sparks danced across his knuckles, like his body didn't know how to stop burning.

Donald took one long drag of his cigar, let the smoke slide from his nostrils, then leaned forward.

His eyes glinted with the greed of a man who had everything to gain and nothing to lose.

"I want to remind you guys of our deal," he said quietly, his voice rough and grating, like gravel beneath a boot. "You've fulfilled part of it by coming with me to Novan City and being my dogs."

The insult hung in the air.

The smoke thickened.

None of the Ascendants moved.

They didn't need to.

The silence that followed was enough to rattle the table legs.

Donald let the silence linger for a few more seconds, the smoke from his cigar drifting lazily in the dim air.

Then he leaned in, voice low but cold with intent.

"Now, I want you three to handle something else for me." He paused just long enough to draw their attention. "Ethan Cole."

All three lifted their gaze at once.

"But…" Donald continued, his eyes narrowing, "don't kill him. I want him alive. Broken. Stripped of his wealth. His pride. His power. Leave him with nothing. I'll take care of what's left."

"Stripped of his wealth?" Verran tilted his head, his grin sharpening like a blade. "So, this is personal. You want him humiliated, not eliminated."

Donald gave a slow nod, the tip of his cigar glowing. "Exactly. I want to watch him fall. Not just die, but to fall hard."

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His expression changed a bit. "I want the world to see it."

Kaida shifted forward, resting her scarred hands on the table. The metal rings on her fingers tapped softly against the wood.

"And what's in it for us, Donald? Why should we get our hands dirty with your vendetta?"

Donald blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling, then tapped ash into the tray. "You'll be compensated. Do this, and I'll double the amount I promised. No tricks. No delays."

Dravik let out a low, gravelly chuckle. It rumbled in his chest like thunder behind a mountain.

"Double's nice," he said, flexing his thick fingers as fire flickered faintly between them. "But that's still coin. This isn't just a job, and you know it."

"You're asking us to go after Ethan Cole," Verran scoffed, the usual amusement in his voice gone. "The same Ethan Cole backed by the Five Ghosts of Nemesis."

He stared directly into Donald's eyes and said, "You know that your rewards are nowhere near enough, Donald."

Kaida's eyes darkened. "Don't play dumb, Donald. You know who he has behind him. This isn't some rich kid we can scare. He's connected. Protected."

The room grew tense.

Even the air seemed to still.

Donald didn't flinch. He took another drag from his cigar, the ember burning bright in the dim light. His voice, when it came, was steady. Confident.

"I expected hesitation," he said plainly. "You're not wrong. Ethan is protected by the Five Ghosts of Nemesis. And this isn't about money."

He let the words settle before continuing.

"You're doing this because I can give you something far more valuable."

The three Ascendants exchanged cautious glances.

"What kind of valuable are we talking about?" Verran asked as he was curious to what Donald wanted to give them.

Donald leaned in, his voice now a low murmur. "Power. Influence. Access. I can connect you to the LaRues."

That got their attention.

Verran's smirk faded, replaced by a slow, calculating expression. "Through whom?"

He arched a brow. "You met with Lucien last week. He walked out like he owned you. So I believe it is not going to be him."

"You've met Lucien LaRue." Donald snuffed out his cigar in the ashtray, the hiss of smoke cutting through the silence. "But I'm not talking about him."

"Then who?" Dravik's patience was growing thin.

Donald's lips curled into a slow, crooked grin. "Lucien is just a spoiled child. I'm talking about Alexander."

Kaida's eyes narrowed. "Alexander LaRue?"

Donald gave a single nod. "I've worked with him before. Real deals. Not the fake ones Lucien waves around like candy. Alexander can give you reach beyond everything. Beyond Arland. If you impress him… doors open."

Kaida's expression shifted. The corner of her lips curled upward, slowly. "Now that sounds interesting."

Dravik leaned back, his broad shoulders settling into the worn chair. "A seat at the LaRue table, huh? That's not a reward. That's a career."

"I'm not giving it to you. I'm offering the chance." Donald's voice sharpened, dropping all pretense. "Prove yourselves. Show results. I'll make sure the right people take notice. Lucien may be the face now, but even he can't ignore performance. Especially when it threatens his ego."

For a moment, the room was still again.

Then Verran broke the silence with a low chuckle. "Well. That changes things."

He glanced at the others. "We'll go through Cole like a storm. Not enough to kill him. Just enough to leave him crawling."

Kaida cracked her knuckles. "We'll tear down his image. Burn what he built. Let the world laugh at what's left, as how you wish it."

Dravik grinned, the fire in his palms flaring just slightly. "You have a deal, Donald."

Donald sat back in his chair, finally allowing a full smile to spread across his face. He looked satisfied, but beneath it was something colder.

"Good," he said. "Let's make sure Ethan Cole learns exactly what happens when you cross me."

***

Ethan finally stepped past the edge of the forest and onto a dirt path that sloped gently into a wide clearing.

There it was.

The Village of Cahaya.

And it was nothing like he expected.

Dozens of stone-brick homes sat neatly between rows of timber shops and blacksmith huts. The streets were packed with carts pulled by animals he didn't recognize—something between a deer and a bull—and people bustled about in tunics, cloaks, and sandals. No lights. No cars. No tech of any kind.

It felt like he had walked straight into a living memory, a world that belonged to empires long gone.

Ethan slowed his pace.

The deeper he walked, the more stares he received.

His modern hoodie, cargo pants, and trail shoes made him look like a misplaced traveler from the stars. Children peeked out from behind their mothers. Older men whispered to one another, eyes narrowing in suspicion. A few stall owners paused mid-transaction, blinking at him as if unsure whether to greet or run.

'This… can't be Earth. At least not the one I know.'

He pulled his hood tighter over his head, but it didn't help. It made him stand out even more.

He stopped just short of the village's central plaza, where a large fountain stood surrounded by benches and a sun-bleached notice board. He didn't dare go any farther. The eyes were already too many.

'Is there a way to change my clothes? System… wardrobe? Inventory? Anything?'

No response.

He sighed quietly and took a few steps back, planning to find a place to hide until he could figure things out. Maybe wait until nightfall.

But just as he turned, a voice called out from behind him.

"You're not from here, are you?"

Ethan froze.

The voice was calm, male, and mature—not old, but not young either.

He turned slowly.

A man stood a few feet away, carrying a basket of herbs over one shoulder. He wore a simple dark-blue tunic, belted at the waist, and light armor over his chest that looked ceremonial more than functional. His hair was tied into a short knot, and there was something sharp in his gaze—like someone who had seen war but chose to smile anyway.

"What gave it away?" Ethan asked cautiously, his voice low.

The man chuckled. "Maybe the strange boots. Or the moving picture on your shirt. Or maybe the way you're standing like someone ready to run." He stepped closer, lowering the basket. "Name's Alden. I help run the outer fields and keep the peace when needed. You are?"

Ethan hesitated. But something about Alden felt grounded. Not threatening.

"…Ethan."

Alden nodded once, then glanced around at the still-curious villagers. "You're lucky you didn't go any deeper. The Elder's Guard would've dragged you straight to the square for questioning."

Ethan swallowed. "Noted."

Alden's eyes narrowed slightly. "You don't seem dangerous. Just lost. But that doesn't change the fact that you don't belong."

"I didn't choose to be here," Ethan said.

"Very few do," Alden replied, almost as if he was speaking from experience.

Then, his expression softened.

"Come on. I'll take you to someone who might know what to do with you. And maybe—if you're lucky—she'll help you blend in."

Ethan didn't move at first.

But then he saw the way the other villagers kept watching. He was a walking question mark in their quiet world. The longer he stood here, the worse things would get.

He nodded.

"Alright. Lead the way."

And so, with his steps uncertain but his heart steady, Ethan followed Alden into the village—toward answers he didn't even know how to ask, and the next piece of the trial waiting just beyond the surface.