SSSS-Rank Null

Andy stumbled into his apartment, clutching his side. Each step sent a sharp jolt through his back, the wound throbbing like a second heartbeat. The door slammed shut behind him, and he leaned heavily against it, his breath ragged and uneven. As the adrenaline drained away, the full weight of the pain came crashing down, a tide he could no longer hold back.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. The words barely left his lips as he pushed off the door, staggering toward the bathroom.

Under the sink, he found the battered first aid kit, its faded red cross a lifeline. Setting it on the counter, his shaking hands fumbled with the latch. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and froze. His reflection was a wreck. Blood smeared his back and soaked his torn shirt, the jagged fabric clinging stubbornly to the gash beneath.

"Great," he hissed, grimacing as he peeled the shirt away. The gash stretched diagonally across his back, shallow but angry. Each movement sent a fresh wave of pain rippling through him.

The antiseptic burned like fire when he dabbed it onto the wound, and he let out a low growl, his teeth clenched tight. Bandages came next, awkwardly taped over the injury with the kind of precision born of desperation rather than skill. It wasn't clean. It wasn't perfect. But it would hold.

He stumbled back into the main room, collapsing onto the couch. He stared at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling as his thoughts spiraled. The image of the Shadowmaw loomed large in his mind. Its six glowing eyes, its impossible movements—like liquid darkness come to life. He could still feel the oppressive presence of it bearing down on him.

He was helpless. Again.

"EIL," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't do anything. Not a damn thing."

[You survived. That's what matters,] the reply was steady and mechanical, a counterbalance to Andy's tumultuous thoughts.

"Surviving isn't enough," he snapped, his frustration boiling over. "I need to fight back. Not just run away."

[Then we adapt. We improve.]

His jaw tightened. 

He didn't respond. Words felt hollow in the face of his failure. Instead, he sat there, his mind a maelstrom of anger, shame, and determination. Slowly, exhaustion pulled him under, and he drifted into a restless sleep on the couch.

---

The days that followed blurred together, a haze of healing and restless thoughts. He barely left the apartment, his world narrowing to the confines of his four walls. His back ached with every move, a constant reminder of the monster and his own inadequacy. But idleness wasn't in his nature. 

He sat at his cluttered desk, the faint glow of his monitor illuminating the mess of blueprints and notes scattered across its surface. A list of parts glared back at him, mocking him with its impossibility: mana stones, high-grade alloys, specialized circuitry. Each item was another obstacle, another impossibility to overcome.

"EIL," he said, his voice hoarse. "We need another way. The black market's too risky in person."

[There are online black market networks. Encrypted, untraceable. But it's still a gamble]

"Everything's a gamble," he muttered, pulling up a dark web interface on his computer. "Let's just hope we get lucky."

Hours passed as he navigated the dark corners of the internet. He placed orders with sellers who asked no questions, the prices bleeding his already meager savings dry. Cryptocurrency changed hands, and the promises of vague delivery times hung like unanswered prayers.

A week later, the first package arrived. He tore into it, anticipation and dread mingling in his chest. Inside, he found a mana stone. It wasn't the highest quality, but it was functional. Usable.

"Not bad," he said, turning it over in his hands. For the first time in days, a flicker of hope sparked within him. "Maybe we'll get through this after all."

[Progress is progress.] 

He nodded, setting the stone aside. But the optimism was fleeting. "It's too slow," he muttered. "We need to speed things up."

He leaned over his desk, sketching furiously. His earlier designs for an exoskeleton felt clunky, inefficient. Inspiration struck, born of necessity and desperation.

"An endoskeleton," he whispered, his eyes narrowing. "Smaller, lighter, but just as powerful. Maybe more."

[It's a risk. Integrating it directly into your body could have unforeseen consequences.]

"Everything's a risk, but if it works, it'll give me the edge I need."

---

A year passed in the suffocating confines of his apartment. His world became a maze of even more half-finished projects, hastily drawn schematics, and discarded prototypes. He worked tirelessly, each failure sharpening his knowledge, each success pushing him closer to his goal. EIL was his constant companion, offering guidance, corrections, and an unyielding push toward perfection.

But the work demanded more than time and effort; it consumed resources at an alarming rate. Andy poured every stolen hour and hard-won dollar into acquiring the parts he needed. The dark web became his lifeline, but it wasn't always reliable. 

Packages arrived late or missing key components, forcing him to improvise. When his funds ran dry again, he took on riskier ventures—smuggling rare materials, trading favors for scraps of tech, and occasionally stepping into dangerous circles to broker deals.

He hated the compromises he made, but the project demanded sacrifices. Each sketchy encounter, each whispered agreement, was a thread in the vast fabric of his obsession.

Every breakthrough came at a cost. Nights spent poring over academic papers and obscure research logs. Days consumed by trial and error, frustration mounting with every miscalculation. He devoured any information he could find—engineering manuals, medical texts, theoretical physics articles. His notebooks filled with equations and theories, each one an attempt to bridge the gap between what he envisioned and what was possible.

He practiced new techniques, built small prototypes to refine his skills, and adapted designs from cutting-edge innovations. With EIL's help, he simulated countless iterations of the endoskeleton before he dared to attempt the real thing. Each setback only deepened his resolve, turning his tiny apartment into both a sanctuary and a crucible.

Finally, it was ready. The endoskeleton was a marvel of engineering—sleek, compact, and far more advanced than anything he had ever built. It wasn't just a tool; it was a part of him, designed to fuse with his spine and nervous system. The risks were astronomical, but so were the potential rewards.

In the center of the room, he set up the operating table, dragging over the robotic arms he'd constructed for this exact purpose. Tools and medicine were meticulously arranged. There was no margin for error.

He stripped down, the cold air prickling his skin. He lay face down on the table, the metal surface unforgiving beneath him.

"Alright," he said, his voice steady despite the storm of nerves raging within him. "Let's do this."

[Beginning the procedure. This will be painful,] EIL warned.

"Yeah, no kidding," he muttered, gripping the edges of the table.

The first incision was agony. He bit down on a leather strap, his muffled scream tearing through the silence of the room. Each cut, each movement of the robotic arms, sent waves of fire through his body. Time became meaningless, the seconds stretching into an eternity of pain.

He hovered on the edge of consciousness, his vision blurring as the endoskeleton was meticulously implanted, piece by piece. The cold touch of metal against bone was a jarring contrast to the burning pain.

Finally, it was over. The robotic arms retracted, their work complete. He lay there, drenched in sweat and blood, his body trembling from the ordeal. The endoskeleton was a cold, unfamiliar presence fused with his spine, an extension of himself yet entirely alien.

[The procedure is complete. Rest is advised.]

"Yeah," he rasped, his voice barely audible. "Rest..."

---

When he woke, the pain was still there but dulled, a distant echo of the storm he'd endured. He sat up slowly, each movement a test of his limits. The endoskeleton shifted with him, its weight subtle but ever-present.

Standing unsteadily, he took a deep breath. "Alright," he said, flexing his hands. "Let's see if this thing works."

He activated the endoskeleton. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, power surged through him, electric and exhilarating. His muscles tightened, his senses sharpened. He felt stronger, faster, more alive.

"It works," he said, a grin spreading across his face. "It actually works."

[Congratulations. But remember, this is just the beginning.]

"Yeah," he replied, clenching his fists. "But it's a damn good start."