CHAPTER 35 — Pressure Lv. 4

  Aiden moved through the Safe Zone’s underbelly with his hood pulled low, the new silent?weave jacket hugging his frame and the impact baton clipped to his belt. The black market’s noise faded behind him, replaced by the distant hum of traffic and the muffled thrum of city life overhead.

  He needed a place to train.

  Not a gym.

  Not a public facility.

  Not anywhere with scanners or cameras.

  Somewhere forgotten.

  Somewhere abandoned.

  Somewhere he could push his Forces without drawing attention.

  He found it on the far edge of the industrial district—a massive warehouse with shattered windows, rusted loading docks, and a sagging roof. The building leaned like it had given up years ago. Perfect.

  Aiden slipped inside through a broken side door.

  Dust coated the floor.

  Old crates lay scattered like skeletons.

  Moonlight filtered through cracked skylights, casting long beams across the empty space.

  Aiden exhaled.

  This would do.

  He walked to the center of the warehouse, the silence settling around him. His Perception picked up faint vibrations—rats in the walls, wind brushing against metal, distant traffic—but nothing close. No people. No Guild.

  He rolled his shoulders, testing the ache from the hybrid fight. The pain was dull now, manageable. His new jacket moved silently with him, the material absorbing sound like it was drinking it in.

  He unclipped the impact baton.

  Time to work.

  Aiden planted his feet and focused inward. Pressure Force stirred immediately—dense, heavy, coiled like a spring inside his chest. It had grown since the hybrid fight, strengthened by the constant strain of survival.

  But it was still crude.

  Still raw.

  Still inefficient.

  He needed control.

  Aiden inhaled slowly, letting the Force gather in his arm. The air around his fist thickened, vibrating faintly. He struck forward.

  A dull thud echoed through the warehouse.

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  Dust puffed from the floor where his fist stopped inches above it. The impact wasn’t physical—it was Pressure, compressed and released in a tight burst.

  Aiden frowned.

  Too weak.

  Too unfocused.

  He tried again.

  This time he layered Gravity beneath the movement, anchoring his stance. Pressure surged through his arm, sharper, more concentrated. He thrust his palm forward.

  A shockwave rippled outward, scattering dust and rattling a nearby crate.

  Better.

  But still not enough.

  Aiden paced, thinking. Pressure wasn’t about brute force. It was about density. Compression. The moment before an explosion. The tension before release.

  He closed his eyes and visualized it.

  Not a punch.

  Not a strike.

  A burst.

  A controlled detonation.

  He inhaled, gathering Pressure into a tight sphere in his palm. The air around his hand warped, vibrating violently. His arm trembled under the strain.

  He thrust forward.

  The shockwave blasted outward in a tight cone, slamming into a stack of crates. Wood splintered. Metal groaned. The entire stack toppled with a thunderous crash.

  Aiden staggered back, breath sharp.

  A notification flickered at the edge of his vision.

  [PRESSURE FORCE — Level Up]

  [Pressure — 3 → 4]

  Warmth surged through him.

  Pressure shifted—evolving, sharpening, condensing into something new. The Force no longer felt like a blunt tool. It felt like a weapon. A precise, concussive blast waiting to be unleashed.

  Aiden steadied himself.

  He raised his hand again.

  Pressure gathered instantly—faster, smoother, more responsive. He thrust forward.

  A tight, focused shockwave erupted from his palm, slamming into a metal support beam. The beam rang like a bell, vibrating violently.

  Aiden grinned.

  Short?range.

  Directional.

  Devastating.

  He practiced again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Each blast grew cleaner, tighter, more controlled. The warehouse filled with echoes—metal groaning, crates shattering, dust swirling in the air like smoke.

  Aiden’s arms burned.

  His lungs ached.

  Sweat dripped down his forehead.

  But he kept going.

  He needed this.

  He needed to be stronger.

  He needed to stay ahead of the Guilds, the hybrids, the Titans, the world.

  He switched tactics, combining Forces.

  Gravity to anchor.

  Pressure to strike.

  Sound to mask the noise.

  He fired a concussive blast while muting the shockwave’s echo. The air rippled silently, the impact visible but soundless.

  Aiden blinked.

  That was new.

  He tried again—Pressure blast, Sound dampening.

  The shockwave hit a crate and shattered it without a sound.

  A silent concussive strike.

  Aiden’s heart pounded.

  This wasn’t just training.

  This was evolution.

  He practiced until his arms trembled and his breath came in ragged gasps. The warehouse floor was littered with splintered wood and twisted metal. Dust hung in the air like fog.

  Finally, he collapsed onto a crate, chest rising and falling.

  Pressure Lv. 4.

  A concussive blast.

  Short?range.

  Silent if he wanted it to be.

  He wiped sweat from his brow and looked around the ruined warehouse.

  This place would work.

  This would be his training ground.

  His sanctuary.

  His forge.

  He clipped the baton back to his belt and stood slowly.

  The city outside was dangerous.

  The Guilds were watching.

  Helix Dynamics was hunting anomalies.

  But Aiden was no longer just surviving.

  He was preparing.

  He stepped into the shadows, Sound Force muting his footsteps as he slipped out of the warehouse and into the night.

  Tomorrow, the myth of the ghost hunter would begin to spread.

  And Aiden would be ready.