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Chapter 118 - The Waiting Room (III)
🕑 Added 2024-11-23 05:18:58 +0000 UTCAlonso held the blade steady, feeling his heart pound as his muscles, tense and burning from the workout, finally relaxed. His grip loosened slightly, and he let out a slow breath, savoring the moment of stillness after the relentless motion. Sweat traced lines down his face, neck, and bare chest.
Overdrive 5%
He lowered the sword and let his arms drop, feeling the satisfying ache settle in.
Standing there in the quiet, he allowed himself a moment of peace, his heart gradually calming, his breath steady. A faint smile crossed his face as he took in the weight of his effort and the quiet satisfaction of finishing.
“Why did you keep it at five?” Alonso mused as he poured water from the barrel over his body. The temperature was perfect—cool enough to refresh him without being uncomfortably cold.
“Well, I thought we could try conditioning your body’s resting state to a low percentage of Overdrive. That could help your body gradually tolerate higher levels in the future.”
Alonso considered this and nodded. “Smart. Worth a try. But the energy demands on my body are just going to keep rising. Let’s hope the food keeps up.”
“I reckon The Tower will provide a solution for that. For now, this room seems like a waiting space. I suspect one of those counters on the wall will start changing soon, though I’m not sure what they mean.”
Alonso glanced at the numbers. While he had some ideas, they were just hypotheses. Better to wait and see rather than waste time thinking about the possibilities.
He moved into some light stretching, rolling his shoulders and loosening the tension in his arms from the workout. He reached down to touch his toes, feeling the strain release in his hamstrings, then twisted his torso to stretch his back.
After a few deep breaths, he took a quick rest, allowing his pulse to calm, then headed to the table to eat more of the prepared dishes. Satisfied, he returned to the floor, sitting cross-legged with his back straight.
So, how do you feel EM waves?
It seemed ridiculous to try without reducing them to entities with amplitude and frequency—he was so accustomed to measuring and calculating.
He tried just sensing his mind waves as if they were like breathing, but the sensation felt foreign, unnatural. Breathing is breathing, he thought. But this… how could I make it natural without thinking?
Taking a deep breath, he decided to change his approach. Perhaps it was a type of energy, spiritual in a way. But what does that even mean?
He scoffed internally. He was no monk, and spirituality felt as abstract as the waves themselves. The idea only frustrated him more, slipping further from his grasp the more he tried.
After a moment, he thought of water—a natural flow, a current. He focused, trying to visualize the EM waves as something fluid, letting them ebb and flow. For a moment, he felt he was onto something, as though drops were merging together into a continuous stream, but the sensation quickly unraveled, scattering into chaotic, random droplets. The harder he concentrated, the more erratic it became, as though his mind had become a chaotic storm of droplets splashing everywhere.
He opened his eyes with a sigh, rubbing his temples. It was close, but not enough. His mind was trained to analyze, not let go, and trying to feel something as elusive as this was a frustratingly foreign experience. He needed another approach, but what?
He closed his eyes again.
If water wasn’t working, maybe he needed to think of something more concrete. What if EM waves were like muscle memory? Something that builds over time and becomes instinctual.
He attempted to approach it like he would any physical skill, thinking of each pulse as if he were practicing a stance, each wave as a specific technique. But the more he tried to make it feel like muscle memory, the more he realized he was forcing it. Waves didn’t have the same predictability as physical movement. They weren’t muscles that he could just train into automatic response. The idea collapsed as quickly as it had started.
Alright, let’s try something completely different, he thought, taking a deep breath.
Maybe the waves could be visualized as light—something bright, responsive, maybe even radiant. He focused, trying to imagine the waves like rays of sunlight, something natural that spread and connected effortlessly. But no matter how hard he tried, it didn’t feel right; it was like chasing shadows. The EM waves didn’t respond, and his mind felt even more tangled than before.
He could sense the waves there, hovering at the edges of his awareness, but they refused to merge as he wanted.
The big pulse felt so far away.
Minutes turned into hours, each attempt bringing him no closer. No matter how he shifted his perspective, it seemed impossible to break through the mental walls he’d built up over weeks of logical training. With a final, frustrated sigh, he decided to take a break. His mind wasn’t exhausted, but the constant failures were starting to dampen his mood.
He leaned back, letting his mind settle.
“Any suggestions?”
Houston remained silent for a moment, as if carefully considering his response. “Any suggestion I give will probably make it worse. I’m your pure rational side—what do you expect me to say? I’m perfectly fine with the waves being electromagnetic,” Houston chuckled, but then his tone shifted. “However, I can suggest a different approach—well, perhaps a better approach. We’ll just have to see how it goes.”
Alonso raised an eyebrow. “Okay, I’m listening.”
“I believe you’re overthinking it. And while that’s not bad per se—and what I do all the time—if you want to succeed down this path… you have to let that go. Luckily, we have the perfect tool for it.”
Alonso thought for a moment, then grinned, almost slapping his forehead for not realizing it sooner.
“That was stupid,” he laughed. “Yeah, I think that could work. During the fight with Siddharth, that’s exactly how I reached it, didn’t I?”
His mood lifted, excitement quickening his heartbeat. He got up; sitting down suddenly felt confining, not his style at all.
He took a deep breath.
Overdrive 45%
The shift is immediate.
I feel it all at once, as if every fiber in my body has woken up.
My senses sharpen, each detail around me vivid and almost painfully clear. The still air in the room feels alive against my skin, and I can hear my own heartbeat, each beat pounding strong and steady, though strangely… it feels slower, almost drawn out, like I have all the time in the world between one pulse and the next.
Houston’s presence fades, like static in the background, distant and almost inaudible. I know he’s still there, but right now, I’m on my own, fully immersed in the sensations coursing through me.
My breath slows, and even that feels measured, like a river flowing in rhythm with the beat of my heart.
Everything seems suspended in time, giving me the strange illusion that I can see and feel each millisecond passing.
My muscles buzz with energy, taut and ready, not tense but primed, as if waiting for the next motion, the next strike.
I tighten my grip on the sword, and even the texture of the hilt feels amplified. The weight of it balances perfectly in my hand. My gaze moves around the room, and I notice how truly perfect the white walls are, not a single defect.
It feels like I’m seeing everything for the first time.
I close my eyes, sending my waves forward, one pulse at a time.
Oddly, I notice they aren’t coming back. Then I remember—the walls are impermeable to EM waves. Shifting focus, I direct my waves toward familiar objects: the chair, the table, the barrel, the food.
I sense the echoes returning, each pulse painting their forms in my mind like 3D elements in a workspace.
I’m creating a map, painting reality in my mind.
Each pulse I send out feels different now, more tangible, like it’s no longer just information bouncing back—it’s alive, real.
The echoes don’t just return as abstract forms; they come with depth and texture, like I can reach out and touch them. Each pulse seems to linger, painting layers upon layers of shapes in my mind, each one more vivid than the last.
The chair isn’t just an outline. I can feel it, the roughness of the wood, almost as if my mind is recreating the very material it’s made of. The barrel has a cool density, and the food… even that comes back with its own unique texture, rich and warm. Every pulse layers itself onto the previous one, like adding color and detail to a sketch, until I can almost believe I’m seeing with my eyes open.
Then I notice those layers—arcs of colors and shapes, like tiny fragments or streams of energy, swirling around. And… I can feel them merging into a bigger flow, looping and moving around me, bouncing and returning in rhythmic waves. I… can feel them.
Euphoria rushes over me. I want to move with them, to join in their rhythm. I swing my sword, following the flow as it guides each strike. I… I feel them there. They are with me.
Faster. I want it to go faster. Each swing feels charged, alive with the merging flows that pour into my strikes, fueling the rush surging through me. The pulses blend and layer, more and more, each one feeding the momentum, driving the speed.
I crave it. No, I need it.
My heart pounds wildly, and every part of me is in sync with the energy flowing around me, the room a blur of raw power and movement. My body hums, every muscle, every nerve electrified, my grip so tight on the sword I can feel the hilt bite into my skin.
The faster I go, the better it feels, the adrenaline fueling every swing, every strike.
And I keep pushing, losing myself in the relentless rhythm. My body is burning, yet it feels incredible—like the world has dissolved, and all that exists is me, the blade, and the pure, pulsing energy binding us together.
Faster. Harder. I push until my body feels like it will break, but I don't care.
My senses blur, my thoughts haze over, reduced to raw instinct as I drive myself forward.
Each swing is sharper, stronger—a torrent of power flooding through me, each pulse crashing against the other, merging into one massive flow.
More. I can take more.
I push again, harder, urging my body into higher states, not knowing how, everything else falling away.
The power is blinding, deafening, consuming me as the rush pounds through every fiber of my being.
Then... it all stops.
The world freezes. The pulsing flows, the vibrant layers—everything vanishes in an instant, like a switch has been flipped.
Confusion clouds my mind as the ground seems to tilt beneath me.
I open my eyes, but my vision is blurred.
I feel my legs buckle as if the strength has been drained out of me.
Then… I fall, crashing to the floor, gasping for breath as the world fades back into silence.
