The Emergence of a New Strongest?
At first, he was just someone with exceptional endurance. Someone with outstanding survival instincts. He had a firm sense of purpose. His body was a bit tougher than most. It wasn't impossible, so he was convinced—absolutely convinced—that this was the truth.
So, Physical Enhancement was his first ability. Abel never doubted it. Even as a child, he'd wander for three days straight and come back unscathed; it would've been weirder not to believe it. His relentless training was his own desperate struggle to push his physical limits to the max. And in the end, that seemed to be right. His body had indeed grown stronger and tougher. When he channeled his ability, his movements doubled in speed, and his power multiplied several times over. Who could look at that and say it wasn't Physical Enhancement?
As for taking up the sword... well, that was mostly Abel's personal taste. But he was an ability user, after all. In a cool world where abilities existed, it felt lame to just punch and kick. No style to it, no flair. In Abel's mind, every ability user needed at least one flashy trick up their sleeve. Unfortunately, he couldn't handle water, fire, ice, or lightning. He couldn't even create light like his sister. So, he picked up the sword. If he could combine Physical Enhancement with sword mastery, no ability user would be cooler. He wished for it, desperately.
Whether it was luck or the fruits of his training, Abel got good with the sword. Precisely, when he used his ability, his swordsmanship surged in power. Speed. Precision. Strength. All of it. That's when Abel was certain. Ah, I have two abilities. Physical Enhancement. And swordsmanship on top. Dual abilities weren't rare, so it wasn't shocking. There was even a social notion that handling two might prevent mastery of either. That's why the academy evaluators didn't question Abel's two abilities—they just called him excellent and moved on.
Kugugugu...!
But if those evaluators saw this scene? They'd probably surrender their credentials. Realizing they'd been completely wrong would be a world-shaking discovery—they'd leap to their feet in shock.
"Hoo."
The mysterious energy coursing through his body gathered in his right hand. And in the sword gripped there. The blade, once gleaming with beautiful metallic sheen, was gone. For some reason, the sword's edge had turned pitch black. A faint, ominous hum echoed—not from the sword itself, but from whatever had converged upon it.
Deep in his mind, a whisper urged him to shake it off, to dispel it now. He didn't know why. It kept insisting: scatter it all, it's harmful, you can't endure it, it's a power too vast to contain. Better not to have it than let it wreck your body.
But that only steeled Abel's resolve. Can't endure it? Says who? After all the training I've done? I've pushed through worse in every situation. No way I'd yield to this.
"Abel! It's because of you! If only you hadn't—!"
Flam's shout drew a pitying sigh from Abel. "Aigo." That line—it was the classic. What was it called again? The rage-filled outburst right after "I liked her first!" Most guys who said that didn't end well. He got it, though. From their perspective, some weirdo had swooped in and stolen everything. It'd feel unfair. They'd never officially entered the race or shown interest, yet in the end, he'd taken it all and played dumb.
Wait. Thinking about it that way, it kinda feels like I'm the NTR guy here.
He felt a bit wronged. No, more than a bit. It wasn't like Flam had confessed and Seria accepted. Or that Abel had ruined some prior engagement. For them to hit him with "It's because of you! If only you weren't here!"? That was a stretch.
Flam's techniques were straightforward. Massive flames. High-powered flames. Wide-area flames. That's it. Some were easy to dodge, some to block, some to counter. Immense power, but still rough around the edges. Add some finesse, and he'd be the next top pyrokinesis user after Duke Phoenix.
"You should learn from Portus in situations like this, Flam."
"What?!"
"It's not wrong, so keep it in mind."
Kuugugugu!!
Abel's sword sliced through every flame in its path, advancing. With each cut, the black energy cloaking the blade grew stronger. It devoured the flames, the heat—everything—spewing out tremendous power. Reaching his final step, Abel subtly twisted the sword tip at the last moment. Against a real enemy, he wouldn't, but Flam was a fellow student. A comrade. A friend. Even in his rampage, he'd apologize once he snapped out of it.
He deliberately missed, slashing lightly at the empty ground beside Flam.
But the result was anything but light.
Kwakwakwang!
A massive sword scar etched into the earth right beside him, from the test field floor to the barrier wall. Everything in front vanished, as if cleaved by a giant blade.
"Uh... uh...."
Even berserk, Flam sensed death brushing past. As Abel walked by, Flam stared blankly at him, dazed.
"You're next. Portus."
Unlike Flam's brute force, Portus's techniques were incredibly varied. Gentle waves one moment, towering tsunamis the next. The son of Master Sparrow, the hydrokinesis pinnacle, lived up to the name. But like Flam, he had far to go. Especially in berserk mode—strengths amplified, weaknesses exacerbated.
Amid the crashing tsunami, Abel smirked leisurely and flicked his sword forward.
"All that variation, but no real power behind it."
The opposite of Flam's issue. Opposing elements, opposing personalities, opposing styles. Against the weak, it'd feel like a tsunami. But reversed? Just a swollen stream. Even that lost power as it drained into the groove Abel carved in the ground. He flipped the terrain, redirecting the water straight at Portus.
Impossible before, but now? Effortless. The focused power hadn't dulled one bit.
Peueok!
Portus, struck full-force by his own wave, groaned and collapsed. Somewhat recovered, he stared blankly at the ground.
"You're next, Rel."
This one? Better to sheathe the sword for now. Abel smiled, stabbing it into the ground with a boom that shattered the field. Ignoring it, he assumed his polished martial stance and threw a heavy straight at the charging Rel.
Kang!
In an instant, Rel activated his Body Mutation, wrapping his arms in steel. There used to be a slight delay, but berserk mode must've fixed that. His legs gleamed with heavy steel plating too. That's why he was going for uncharacteristic low attacks.
But some things worked, some didn't. Abel kicked Rel's knee joint. Steel-hard via mutation, but not true steel. Joint strikes always landed damage. Abel knew this, minimizing his own joint exposure in training. Rel hadn't.
"Watch that next time."
Reining in the overflowing power to just the right level, Abel toppled the crumbling Rel with ease. Finally, he faced the last one to calm.
"...I won't accept this."
Ah, come on. Please. Berserk or not, don't say lines you'll regret forever. That drops you from protagonist tier to below.Wait, don't actually say it!
Abel prayed desperately, but Kalligo spat the blanket-kicking line anyway.
"Abel. Prove to me that you're worthy of Lady Seria..."
A flash grazed Kalligo, slicing the thick outer wall behind him clean in two, not a crumb left.
"Ditch the lines and bring out your shadows."
Show actions worthy of a berserker, not dialogue. At Abel's half-plea, shadows erupted from Kalligo in multiple tendrils. Starting single-digit, quickly double, then multiplying endlessly...
Peueok!
Before finishing his line, Kalligo flew back, smashing into the wall. It crumbled slightly, burying him in rubble. The perfect picture of defeat.
"Drag it out a bit. Who waits for full speeches these days? Shapeshifting, maybe."
This is advice for your own good. All of it. So listen up.
With cleanup done, Abel glanced at his sword. Still pitch black. Don't tell me I have to use it all up here? Shaking it lightly just in case, it reverted to normal, as if nothing happened. The energy clinging to it fully absorbed back into his body.