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Chapter 120 - The Waiting Room (V)
🕑 Added 2024-11-23 05:21:54 +0000 UTCAlonso’s eyes widened. 79% Overdrive? What the hell?!
“But I don’t understand. How could I override your control of Overdrive with my waves in that state? And… how did this happen? Why didn’t anything like this happen during the fight with Siddharth?”
Houston sighed. “There could be several reasons. For one, every time you’ve exceeded the Overdrive decoupling threshold before, you never tried to be creative with the EM waves—you focused more on the physical body. During the fight with Siddharth, while you did use EM waves, your only goal was to block his pulse. That focused your mind on a single task, avoiding any deviation in how you used the waves. And finally, the pressure. During Siddharth’s fight, you were under extreme stress, with a clear goal: win. But this time… it was like you were drugged, playing with forces you don’t fully understand. And the consequences… well, you’re seeing the result.”
Alonso’s expression hardened. They had really messed up this time. He shook his head and stood up, still a bit dizzy, but he knew it would pass.
He poured more water over his head, letting it splash down, dripping from his hair to his bare chest.
Then he grabbed his sword and began practicing.
His movements felt off, his senses dulled, his mood not quite right for the session to flow, but… it wasn’t like he had anything else to do.
“How safe is it to use Overdrive now?” he asked Houston as he thrust forward.
“Not ideal, but… 10% if you absolutely need it. No more than that.”
Alonso nodded. “That’ll do.”
Overdrive 10%
The energy pulsed through him, faint but steady, sharpening his movements and bringing a slight headache that he ignored.
His stances quickened, his focus narrowed. Each swing, each slice felt more fluid, and the haze in his mind began to lift, little by little.
The steady rhythm of his practice grounded him, clearing his head bit by bit.
He was starting to get a better feel of the blade, each movement smoother as he went on, though he knew he was still far from Siddharth’s fluid mastery. Not only that, but what he could learn from him was limited. They hadn’t had the time to effectively use Phase 3, and Siddharth’s style differed from his own, relying on two swords.
“Speaking of dual wielding,” Houston interjected, “why didn’t you take Siddharth’s sword after the fight? I doubt the situation would have changed much if you had… maybe.”
Alonso stepped forward in a balanced footwork pattern, combining it with a downward diagonal slash, his movements calculated and steady. “That sword has an owner. And whoever it is, they’re linked to that blade. If they die, I lose it. And… I can’t afford to rely on a weapon that could abandon me in a time of need.”
Houston stayed silent after that, acknowledging the explanation.
Alonso continued, practicing, letting the session run as far as his body allowed.
Hours passed, the only sounds in the white room were his blade slicing through the air, his steady footwork, and the occasional drop of sweat hitting the smooth white floor.
After one final stroke, he stopped, feeling the familiar pang of hunger. He glanced at the table and, to his amazement, saw that all the food had been restocked. Remarkably, he hadn’t even finished a third of the previous assortment.
That was good.
He made his way over, grabbed a few dishes, and began devouring them. His appetite had skyrocketed since he started using Overdrive, and the natural demands of his enhanced body meant he now ate four to six times more than he had before entering The Tower.
After that, he drank a couple of liters of water, took care of necessities in a corner of the room—which, to his surprise, disappeared shortly after, much to his relief and comfort.
“It’s like The Tower is treating you better the higher you climb… interesting,” Houston commented.
Alonso nodded. It made him wonder who, or what, were the existences behind The Tower that seemed to put so much effort into assisting them? Or perhaps all of this was casual for them, hardly any effort at all? He remembered his exchange with Chiara about the theories they had.
A part of him was driven by the desire to reach the top and find the answers for himself. But the questions lingered: How far were they from the top? Could he realistically make it?
“Alonso, I get all of this. But while it’s true that our only choice is to move forward, regarding The Tower… well, we’ve only heard about it from Chiara. What if… it was made up?” Houston said suddenly.
Alonso frowned slightly. “Chiara... she’s a manipulative bitch, but you saw her face then, her expression. Do you really think she was lying about The Tower?”
“I know,” Houston replied. “But… maybe she’s been tricked too. Anyway… ahh, it’s hard to get my thoughts clear. What I’m saying is: don’t move forward assuming this is some kind of assisting alien trial. Be open to other possibilities. Don’t believe they’re here to help us. Keep it somewhere, in the back of your mind… that all of this might just be… something else entirely.”
Alonso took a deep breath. “I understand. I’m confident The Tower is real, and that it’s aiding our evolution, but even if it’s not… do I have a choice, Houston? Can I act differently?” He paused, but Houston didn’t answer. “No. I can’t. All I can do is keep moving forward, survive each challenge, emerge as the victor in every battle. Climb every step until there’s nothing left. And… if I ever reach the top, if I ever get close to the truth, well… we’ll understand then. Tower or not. The truth… is at the end.”
Both remained silent for several seconds until Alonso started making his way to the center of the room. He checked the numbers on the wall, but they were still the same.
“How far can we push Overdrive without decoupling?”
Houston seemed to snap out of a train of thought. “Uh… well, we’re not sure. Before Siddharth’s battle, we tested it at 32%, and that was already a sensitive zone… I’d suggest letting your mind heal a bit more and—”
“My mind survived even at 79%, even if only for an instant. It won’t break now, Houston. Set it to 33%. I can handle it,” Alonso replied, his tone firm.
Houston sighed.
Overdrive 33%
Alonso felt the atmosphere shift. But… he could still feel Houston’s presence, though slightly fuzzy. His body’s tolerance for Overdrive seemed to have grown.
“I think we can push a bit higher,” he said. “Increase it by 2%, Houston.”
“What?! Our connection’s already strained, and you want to go higher? This—”
“Our connection is better than it was at 32% back then. This isn’t our limit now. Let’s find it.”
“You really have a death wish, don’t you?”
“No… I have no choice,” Alonso grinned.
Overdrive 35%
His senses sharpened just a bit more, each shift as clear as day. As for Houston…
“I think we can still go half a—”
“The… uck! -alf a perce… -ou wann— die!” Houston’s voice was distorted, but… he was there.
Alonso knew this was the limit, maybe half a percent more, but that was enough.
He gripped his sword tightly, his heartbeat racing. One thing was clear. If he ever wanted to reach the paradigm of instinctive EM wave control, there were two key elements: think less and sharpen his instincts. And for that, he had to train at the very edge of Overdrive.
Going beyond the decoupling point wasn’t an option after what happened. But right at that threshold… that’s where he would train. That’s where he’d find the breakthrough he needed. And he’d push it, over and over again.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the waves he sent out. They felt different from this perspective—slower, more defined as they traveled through space, bouncing back and filling his mind with details of his surroundings.
A smile crossed his face. He was on the right track. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but… he will reach it. He will surpass it.
As for The Tower, or whatever this was—he would reach the top, no matter what.
6:59 a.m.
Forty-five survivors lined up, faces set, breaths controlled. The stronger ones hefted packs, silent under the weight. Those lighter stood ready, eyes forward, nerves taut.
No words. Only the low rustle of shifting gear, the soft scrape of boots against rock.
7:00 a.m.
They moved, a single line surging forward, swift, perfectly synchronized, efficient. Boots hit the rocky path in unison, bodies leaning into each step. The line flowed over the stones, pace unwavering, each stride measured.
The first reached the outcrop. Without stopping, they descended, clearing the way for those behind them. The line continued, one after another, each slipping down in smooth succession, the movement seamless.
7:06 a.m.
The Oasis was empty.
