Yellow Jacket

Lisa, Alorna, Imujin, and Isol tore across what was left of the battlefield. The plains were gone, replaced by a fractured wasteland of molten trenches and drifting shards of broken stone. The ground no longer held still beneath them. Every strike broke more of it. Every motion sent miles of earth screaming into the air. Dust plumes rose like towers and collapsed in the same heartbeat, burying the world in rolling haze. The sound alone was enough to rattle the Skybox windows with every hit. The temperature climbed with every exchange, waves of shimmering heat rippling upward to warp the glass.

High above, the cadets had gone silent. Even the instructors watching from behind them had stopped talking, until Velrock leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing.

"Isol," he said slowly. "How is he still in there?"

Lambert frowned, leaning on the railing. "That… shouldn't be possible. He's never made it past the midpoint. Usually, he and Josephine are the first to go."

"He definitely wasn't this strong last time," Wick said. "Not even close."

"Look at him," Lambert muttered. "He's not just surviving. He's holding the line against them."

"I can't even follow his throws," one of the cadets whispered. "He's… faster than them. That's not supposed to happen."

There was a pause. Then all three instructors, as if by instinct, turned to look at Vaeliyan.

Vaeliyan stood still, hands folded, expression calm. He didn't flinch under their combined stares. The glass trembled from the shockwaves below, and he did not move. His eyes never left the battlefield.

"He got stronger," Velrock said quietly. "Because he had to. To make sure he could train that one." He nodded toward Vaeliyan.

"Still," Wick said softly, "he shouldn't even be standing in that mess."

"And yet he is," Lambert said. "Because of him."

Below, the battle raged on. Lisa came first, her body a blur, shockwaves detonating under each step. She hit like the fall of mountains, fists pounding the air into concussive walls that tore through even Imujin's guard. Every punch ripped trenches into the earth, sending molten sprays into the sky. Alorna flanked her in silence, her blows scalpel-sharp, striking at every gap Lisa opened. Imujin met them laughing, bare hands splitting the ground like fault lines, throwing boulders the size of buildings with casual flicks of his wrists. Their collisions sounded like thunder at point-blank, the kind that flattens forests. Each clash kicked up storms of debris that swallowed them whole for seconds at a time.

Isol wove around their feet like a phantom, tearing broken slabs from the ground and hurling them as fast as artillery shells. Every throw came from an impossible angle, skipping off shattered debris and ricocheting through collapsing shockwaves to break rhythm and force openings. He was a storm of motion and calculation, trying to unmake their momentum piece by piece. Even from the Skybox, it was clear: this wasn't the same man they remembered. His timing was perfect, his precision brutal. Every throw struck at the exact instant their focus shifted, keeping all three of them off-balance. Even Imujin's rhythm seemed to falter when Isol was in motion.

Lisa tore a canyon open with a rising uppercut, molten stone spraying in a fan. Alorna darted through it, driving a heel into Imujin's ribs hard enough to flip his body end over end. He caught himself mid-spin, slammed both feet into the ground, and ripped up a house-sized slab of bedrock to swat Lisa from the air. She caught it, hurled it back, and followed behind it like a missile, tearing the air into ribbons.

Isol caught the return shockwave and twisted it with a precise palm strike, redirecting it back toward Imujin's side. The blast hit, staggering him for a heartbeat, and Lisa used that instant to hammer his jaw. The shockwave peeled the world apart. Stone vaporized around the impact, forming a glowing haze.

They struck at once. The shockwave folded the world. Lisa and Imujin hit each other so hard the air peeled away in a bubble, the edges of the world bowing outward. Alorna used that instant—slipping through the void, driving her elbow into Imujin's knee. Something cracked like a glacier breaking. His leg bent wrong, the sound sharp enough to cut the air. A ripple shot outward from the break, splitting the plain for miles.

Imujin roared and spun, catching Alorna's strike with one arm while swinging the other wide. Isol lunged in to exploit the opening, hurling a jagged lance of stone straight at his ribs, but Imujin caught it in midair and flung it back faster than it had come. It caught Isol in the chest like a thunderbolt. His body folded around it, light flashing as his avatar tore apart and dissolved in a burst of crackling static, leaving nothing but molten slag where he had stood.

Lisa lunged back in, and that was when Imujin saw the opening.

He didn't wind up. He didn't gather power. He just struck.

His palm lashed sideways across Lisa's body. A slap. Casual. Effortless. It hit like the end of history. Lisa simply ceased to exist. The shockwave erased her body, the light of her avatar shredding in every direction. The pressure cratered the land for miles, erased the sound from the world. Only Alorna remained standing when the wind returned, her hair lashing sideways in the vacuum as the world tried to remember gravity.

And she was not retreating.

She came at him like the end of a blade, shoving him backward with a dozen strikes that cracked his armor and shattered the ground beneath their feet. She was silent, expression blank, eyes locked on him as she broke him apart piece by piece. She drove a knee up into his ribs hard enough to lift him from the ground, then twisted, heel slamming into his injured leg. It came off below the knee in an arc of red light. He landed on one leg, grinning, blood hissing into steam on the ground.

Then Imujin bent, coiled, and launched himself skyward.

He rose through the smoke like an eclipse, throwing himself so high the battlefield shrank beneath him. He spread his arms wide, body cruciform, and for a heartbeat he seemed still. The air went dead silent. Every crack in the plain trembled.

Then he clapped his hands together.

The air between them vanished. The void collapsed.

The world exploded.

White light swallowed everything, every shattered stone, every molten canyon. The shockwave ripped the plains flat again in a single instant, the blast rolling out to the edge of the simulation like a wall of annihilation. The ground cracked, liquefied, then turned to glass.

When the light faded, there was nothing left.

The simulation ended.

The Skybox had gone silent, like even sound had been wiped away with the battlefield. Where chaos had raged a minute ago, a single glassy sheet stretched to the horizon, still rippling with heat. No craters, no dust, no anything. Just the hiss of stone remembering how to cool.

Sixteen cadets pressed to the glass, eyes fever bright. Ten minutes earlier they had been drooping on their feet. Now they stood like people who had just been hit by lightning and were still waiting to see if their hearts would start again.

"He clapped his hands and the world exploded," Fenn said, voice ragged.

Varnai let out a laugh that sounded like it hurt. "Not exploded. Erased."

Xera slapped the glass and winced at the sting. "There was a field and then," she clapped once, hard, "nothing."

"That wasn't strength," Elian said. His tone was low and awed. "That was annihilation."

"Ann-i-hi-la-tion," the Twins cheered together, throwing their arms up like they were on the winning side of a championship. "We love that word." They were grinning too wide, a little loopy, like sleep deprivation had turned joy into a drug.

Ramis laughed without humor and scrubbed his face. "We are supposed to reach that, right. That is a thing we can do."

"Apparently," Wesley said. He was smiling in spite of himself. "And I want it."

Velrock spoke and the noise folded in on itself. "Listen. What you just saw is not the result of pushups, though it will help. You get there by raising your level, by rebuilding your body to carry that level, and by mastering your own body. Those three together are what matter. Level is your ceiling. Body is your chassis. Technique is your driver. If one of them fails, the other two do not save you."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Sylen did not take her eyes off the field. "Would he survive his own blast."

"Yes," Velrock said. "That is why he is called a continent breaker. He is not city scale. He is nation scale."

Jurpat swallowed. "What if he misses."

"He does not," Lambert said. Flat. Final.

"They do not send him because nothing around him survives," Velrock said. "Nothing except him."

That set off a wild pulse of laughter, a little hysterical, a little giddy. The fatigue that had been smothering them was gone. The room buzzed like a live wire.

Xera bounced on her toes. "Did you see the wave peel the air off the ground."

"I am going to do that," Sylen said. Her hands shook on the rail and she did not care.

"Not before I do," Elian said. He was showing too many teeth.

"Relax," Chime said, grinning. "I am first."

"First one to erase a battlefield gets bragging rights forever," Roan said.

"We will," the Twins said together, as if the question had been addressed to them alone. They fired finger guns at the empty world and giggled like sleep had abandoned them for the night.

"You are all insane," Lessa said, but the smile in her voice could have cut glass.

Velrock let the buzz ride a few seconds, then pinned it. "You need to hear the rest. Lisa is a mountain of a body, but that does not make her the strongest. Mass is only one piece and it multiplies what your level already lets you produce. Think of it like engines. A bodybuilder can build a huge engine, but if the airframe cannot handle torque, if the tires cannot deliver traction, if the pilot cannot fly the envelope, the extra horsepower just spins the wheels. Imujin has the highest ceiling in the room, he has rebuilt himself to carry that ceiling, and his technique lets him put every ounce of it where it matters. That is why he can end someone with a slap. The slap is not the point. The control is."

Varnai nodded too fast, like his head had switched to a higher gear. "So level is the limit on how much current we can draw. Body is the wiring and the breaker box. Technique is the musician who knows what to play."

"Good," Velrock said. "Here is a real example. When you start lifting, you gain weight and your numbers jump. That is not only muscle. Your nerves learn to fire in sync. Your tendons and fascia start carrying load. Your structure stops leaking power. That is technique inside the body. Then you add timing, footwork, intention, and now your power stops wandering. Same mass, same bones, more reality in every strike. That is why Lisa can throw a mountain and still lose to a sharper hand. She is a larger engine on a chassis that is still learning the track."

Elian leaned forward, eyes hot. "So how do we climb the level ceiling. Not metaphorically. Practically."

"You climb it by doing the work that earns levels," Velrock said. "You kill what needs to be killed, you complete what needs to be completed, you survive what should have ended you. Every level you claim increases what your body is allowed to output. Then you teach your body to carry that new output without tearing itself apart. Then you teach your skills to land the force the way your body can actually deliver it. Most people reverse those and wonder why they plateau."

Wesley pointed at the glass. "If that clap erased the air, how do you live through the vacuum and the heat once it collapses. Because I am doing the math in my head and it says do not stand there."

"You do not stand there," Velrock said. "You stand inside the pocket you shaped, and you leave the edges before they close. That is level for the raw power, body for the recoil and the heat load, and technique for the timing window. If any of those are low, you die inside your own trick."

"Or you take it on the chin," Wick said, matter of fact. "If you can."

The Twins rocked heel to toe like kids at a festival. "We are stealing the clap."

"You cannot steal a clap," Roan said, which only made them grin wider.

Rokhan pointed at the field. "I am stealing it. I do not care what you call it."

"Good," Velrock said. "Just learn the lesson the scene gave you. Level raises your ceiling. Conditioning multiplies the ceiling into output. Expertise turns output into results. It is multiplicative. If you double your level but fail your body, you still fail. If you build body without level, you are strong in the wrong way. If you gain both and have no control, you break what you love and lose anyway."

Lessa tapped the glass with one finger. "So, Lisa is a huge engine with a near perfect lift record, but Imujin is a larger engine on a stronger airframe with a pilot who has flown every storm there is."

"Yes," Velrock said. "That is the hierarchy you saw. That is also why this class matters. You are here to learn what you are, where you leak, and how to stop leaking. You are here to understand your limits so you can move them, not pretend they are not there."

Sylen let out a breath that trembled. "That makes me feel worse and better at the same time."

"Good," Velrock said. "It should."

Then the room softened around the words.

Velrock let the quiet sit for a beat. "You are not here to become Imujin," he said. "You are here to surpass him. And to make sure you survive you."

"Big ask," Wesley said, but there was no complaint under the words.

"Yes," Velrock said. "That is why you are here."

"We will," the Twins said together, not loud now, just sure.

"Good," Wick said. "Hydrate. Sleep. Do not blow up the hallways."

Chime grinned like she had already decided to ignore the last part. "No promises."

Before they could leave the pad at the far end hummed to life, and the rest of the instructors stepped off it and into the Skybox. Even their presence carried weight, as if the air hesitated around them. Imujin walked at the front, still rolling one shoulder like he was shaking off dust. Gwen came in next looking a little upset. Alorna followed silent as a blade, her gaze cutting across the room. Lisa moved with casual ease, not a trace of effort showing, while Jim, Theramoor, Isol, and Josaphine stepped in behind them like an approaching storm. Deck trailed last, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking over the group with casual interest that did nothing to hide the sharpness behind them.

The temperature in the Skybox seemed to shift when they entered. The cadets straightened almost instinctively, like their spines had remembered duty. Every one of them was still buzzing from what they had just seen, breaths shallow, eyes wide, their hearts struggling to catch up with the reality that these were the people they were supposed to become.

Imujin stopped at the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back. He scanned the silent row of cadets, his gaze heavy enough that even the air seemed to bend away from it, before finally speaking.

"So," he said, his voice low but cutting through everything like stone grinding on steel. "I hope that demonstration was helpful."

The silence that followed was taut, a string drawn to its breaking point.

He folded his arms, his expression hard but not unkind. "Consider it a reminder of what the Fist of the Legion truly means. That is the mountain peak you are climbing toward. That is the weight you must learn to carry without breaking."

Jim smirked faintly. "And the ocean that will crash through you if you get sloppy."

Lisa gave a small nod, her tone quiet but resolute. "It is meant to be overwhelming. It should be."

"Take what you saw," Gwen said quietly from the far side, "and make it something of your own. Use it to sharpen yourselves until you cut through the world."

Imujin's gaze swept over them one last time, lingering briefly on each cadet as if weighing their resolve, then he turned toward the exit. "That concludes our part."

The cadets were still standing stunned when Vaeliyan's voice broke through the haze.

"Actually," he said, straightening from the rail. The word snapped every head in the room toward him. He met Imujin's gaze without hesitation, and for an instant, the noise in the air seemed to still.

"I think I know what I'm going to do for my final task."

The words landed like a dropped blade, sharp and absolute. Even Deck's faint grin faltered. The rest of the cadets simply stared, as if he had just announced he was going to wrestle the world itself.

Vaeliyan stepped forward, calm but bright-eyed, like someone balancing on the edge of exhaustion and exhilaration. "If you don't mind, could you talk to the sub-instructors and have them run one more sim for me? I'll tell you what I want. We can go down and set it up."

Deck's brow lifted. "Right now?"

"Yes," Vaeliyan said simply, like there was nothing strange about it.

Deck tilted his head, grinning faintly. "You're serious."

"I'm very serious," Vaeliyan said. "And I'm fairly sure no one's ever done what I'm about to try."

Lessa muttered under her breath, "He sounds like he's about to pass out."

"I'm fine," Vaeliyan said brightly. His voice carried an edge of laughter that didn't quite reach his eyes. "A bit tired, not exhausted. Just… excited. And I have a plan."

Fenn muttered, "He sounds insane."

"Good," Vaeliyan said, smiling thinly. "Crazy is where the fun lives."

Velrock studied him for a moment, long enough that the silence felt heavy, then gave the smallest nod. "I think it's a good idea."

Imujin turned slightly toward Deck. "Get the sub-instructors. Prepare the floor."

Deck gave a small salute, his grin returning. "On it."

The room stirred as if waking from a trance, the cadets exchanging glances somewhere between disbelief and awe, while Vaeliyan simply stood at the center, calm as still water, eyes bright with something dangerously close to joy.

Vaeliyan paused at the edge of the pad. The low hum of the machinery thrummed beneath his boots, steady and deep, like distant thunder rolling across a hollow sky. The faint vibration climbed up his legs, whispering of the storm to come. He stood motionless for a heartbeat, then turned his head toward Imujin.

"Before I go," Vaeliyan said, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of tightly contained energy, "is it alright if I emulate the strength needed by using my Soul Skill, and whatever other skills I need, to provide the force for this technique? Just to make it possible."

Imujin watched him in silence, the air seeming to still around him. Then he gave a single, deliberate nod. "Yes. That's fine. If I can repeat the technique you show, then I will consider it real… even if you needed crutches to achieve it the first time."

"That's fair," Vaeliyan said, bowing his head slightly. His tone stayed even, but his eyes caught the light. For just a moment, something sharp and bright flickered there. "Thank you."

Deck tilted his head, studying him. "So," he drawled, "what kind of sim are we talking here?"

Vaeliyan exhaled slowly, almost like he had been holding his breath this whole time. "I just need a large group of enemies. Charging. It doesn't matter what they are, as long as it's an open battlefield. The more of them, the better." He hesitated, then added, "Lances might complicate things… but even if they're firing at me, I think I can make it work."

Deck let out a short, low whistle, eyebrows lifting. "Alright. That's a very simple sim. Waves of targets, open field. Nothing fancy. I can call that in."

"Good," Vaeliyan said, and though the word was quiet, it landed like stone on glass.

Deck raised a brow. "You want to get suited up first? Armor, seals, any safeguards you want to throw in before this gets bloody?"

Vaeliyan shook his head. "No need. I can do this without the armor."

"That's your call," Deck said. A half-grin crept across his face, the kind that meant he was already mentally placing bets. "Just making sure you've got every chance to make it even more dramatic."

"Honestly," Vaeliyan said, stepping onto the pad, "I think the display will speak for itself. It should at least be… fun to watch if it works."