The morning sun cast a warm, golden hue over the vibrant city-state of Pinecrest, signaling it's denizens of the arrival of a new day.
As one of the most prosperous city-states in Avalor, a nation famous for its diversity, Pinecrest stood as a beacon of modernity and opportunity. No matter if a person was white, black, brown, yellow or afin, they were welcome here.
The city-state was divided into five distinct districts, each which contained smaller towns within. At the heart of it all stood the central district, housing the government's headquarters and serving as the residence for top officials. This pivotal area, deemed off-limits to the general populace, held an air of exclusivity.
Beyond the central district sprawled the city-state's other four quarters: the Eastern district, Western district, Southern district, and Northern district. Each boasted its unique allure, offering a variety of attractions and distinct features that contributed to the city-state's vibrance.
The Western district's skyline, adorned with sleek skyscrapers that reached for the heavens, reflected the district's economic prowess. The morning rush began as citizens, fueled by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, embarked on their daily journeys beneath the canopy of bustling streets.
Amidst this lively atmosphere, tucked away in a modest home, a young dark skinned man could be seen preparing to embark on his daily workout session.
In the quiet of his house, Rion stood in the middle of a makeshift training area, breathing steadily. The space was dimly lit by a single overhead bulb, casting soft shadows across the walls. His once-unremarkable frame had undergone a gradual metamorphosis over the past half-year. Lean muscle now flowed beneath his dark skin, replacing former weakness with a quiet, natural strength beneath his dark-hued skin.
His silver-white hair caught the dim light as it hung tied back from his face, glinting softly with each movement while his warm brown eyes surveyed the room with newfound clarity. With everything prepared, he planted his feet on the floor and let out a deep exhale.
Then he began to move.
The exercise looked simple but was deceptively difficult. Keeping his feet firmly in place and his legs straight, he let his arms hang relaxed at his sides. Only his upper body moved.
He tilted his head left, bending sideways until his torso made a right angle. Back to center, then right, forward, and backward. Four movements, one cycle. With each repetition, he bent lower and lower.
He was training his body's responsiveness and flexibility, the two foundations of his fighting style.
From there, he moved to other parts of his body—legs, ankles, thighs, then elbows, wrists and shoulders. Each strike, every step, was part of a strategy. His mind worked as hard as his body, running through scenarios, counterattacks, and adjustments to improve his reactions.
Sweat trickled down his brow, but he didn't stop. His well-defined muscles moved fluidly, responding without hesitation to each mental command. The strength, agility, and flexibility he now possessed had developed gradually through his consistent practice. What had once pushed him to his limits now felt as natural as breathing.
As he neared the end of his session, he pushed himself harder, summoning a final burst of energy. The room seemed to hum with invisible power as he spun through the air, landing with controlled precision. After a bunch of full cycles, Rion's body was hot and drenched, sweat dripping from his hair and soaking through his clothes.
Breathing deeply, he stepped back and sank into a cushioned chair in the corner. The room was quiet again, save for the steady beat of his heart. He leaned back, letting his body relax, and closed his eyes for a moment.
'It's already been six months...' he whispered to himself, the words hanging in the air as he cast his gaze across the room.
The ordeals and triumphs of the past half-year danced in his thoughts as he took a moment to reminisce. As his eyes, stared into the distance, he let out a heavy sigh.
These six months had felt like an eternity, but also the blink of an eye. He had spent them honing his body, pushing himself to limits the previous Rion hadn't known existed.
He had also poured time into studying this new world, devouring books, observing people, and piecing together the nuances of a life he was still learning to navigate. His mornings were filled with intense physical training, but his afternoons were spent in quiet focus—studying history, laws, and culture, trying to understand the intricacies of a place so different from what he had known.
From the moment he began, it became clear that his intelligence was.... lacking. Solving complex problems took longer, felt harder, and his once-flawless memory now faltered at times.
This way, his learning pace proved insufficient, given the overwhelming amount of information to absorb. Compounding the challenge was the fact that this fresh knowledge occasionally contradicted fundamental chuzkah principles. In addition, the advanced principles of chuzkah engineering often clashed with the rudimentary tools and materials available to him.
For instance, replicating chuzkah power sources required a deep understanding of local energy conversion methods, which differed significantly from his previous world's. It felt as if one suddenly confronted a child who believes that one plus one equaled two, with the sudden assertion that one plus one equals three.
Still, what he lost in sharpness, he gained in something unexpected. His imagination and creativity felt boundless, unshackled in ways he never thought possible. He didn't know if this was because of his transmigration or the wierd origin energy.
His limited research on the strange energy that seemed to pulse through this world had barely scratched the surface. No matter how hard he tried, his understanding remained shallow. Unlike the structured, logical systems of other mundane forms of energy like heat and light, origin energy was chaotic, almost as though it had a will of its own. It didn't follow clear rules or predictable patterns.
One of the biggest questions he had was the role of origin energy in cultivation. It was an invisible force that cultivators, both adepts and strykers could somehow passively draw from their environment, absorbing it passively into their unique charged cells within their bodies, much like sponges soaking up water. This stored energy was the driving power behind cultivator abilities.
The best analogy he could use was that these charged cells were like a combo of a storage unit and a processing plant, storing the raw origin energy and converting it into a refined, usable form.
However, what puzzled Rion was the process itself.
According to his experiences, cultivators could not directly manipulate the ambient origin energy around them. Instead, they had to first absorb it, internalize it, process it, and only then could they tap into its power. It was like they had to first 'digest' the energy before they could make use of it.
As he delved deeper into his musings, he wondered if the reason mutated beasts had heightened strength and resilience was because these creatures possessed a similar cellular structure, allowing them to tap into the origin energy as well? He had no doubt that the truth was probably more complex than it appeared.
He also had trouble getting good samples to study more. The study of charged cells and origin energy was a delicate science, and he would need advanced equipment in order to perform meticulous experiments—resources that were frustratingly out of reach due to his limited means.
Despite these challenges, he had managed to glean some understanding of the physical laws governing this world. Yet, his financial constraints and the lack of access to essential resources meant that many aspects of his theories remained untested.
'All of that changes today though,' he whispered to himself, excitement showing on his face.
In these six months, he had made massive strides towards infiltrating the criminal underworld of the Western district. As a massive trade city-state, Pinecrest was a hotbed for illegal operations. Intelligence agencies and brokers, smugglers, illegal arms dealers, individual criminals, mercenary assassins, hackers, and other kinds of shady groups comprised it's underworld.
The Western district's criminal underworld proved to be a multifaceted landscape, with each organization vying for dominance in their own territories. Rion meticulously mapped out the key players, assessing their strengths, weaknesses, and potential for collaboration.
He had been gathering information, identifying individuals with ties to the criminal underworld in order to find an entry point that would offer the most benefits at the least cost. And at last, he had finally found a suitable individual, a small time mob boss nick-named Cobra.
Cobra ran a small time firearms smuggling ring in Pinecrest. Since firearms were legally prohibited throughout the city-state, they were hot in demand in the black market.
For weeks, Rion had been closely observing Cobra's operations, searching for the right opportunity to act. Without the means to hack into Cobra's sophisticated communication network, he instead relied on his wit and resourcefulness. He meticulously gathered information from public sources, eavesdropped on conversations, and pieced together Cobra's shipment details.
He also immersed himself in studying Cobra's public persona, deciphering his habits, and understanding his preferences. His goal was clear: to find a way to align with Cobra's interests and earn his trust, all while remaining undetected.
One of the things he had learned about Cobra was that he was a cunning and ruthless leader, who valued efficiency above all else. He had a small but loyal crew of thugs and smugglers, who followed his orders without question. He also had a reputation for being a reliable and discreet supplier of firearms and explosives, catering to various criminal groups and individuals in the Western district.
He had also learned that Cobra was always looking for new and improved weapons, especially ones that could give him an edge over his competitors and enemies. He was willing to pay a premium for rare and exotic firearms, as long as they were effective and reliable. He was also interested in explosives, especially ones that could cause massive damage and chaos.
Even though Cobra was the leader of a gang, they were just small-time hoodlums in the grand scheme of things. To be able to find a gunsmith willing to make guns for them was literally a pie from the sky.
Using this information to his advantage, Rion devised a careful plan to make contact with Cobra without arousing suspicion. He began by frequenting the same bars and clubs known to be favored by Cobra's associates, carefully blending into the background while gathering intelligence.
Then, through one of his lower level associates, he contacted Cobra and offered him a deal that he couldn't refuse. Since firearms were sure-profit goods, he had claimed to be a skilled technician and inventor who could provide him with custom-made guns and explosives, using materials that Cobra supplied.
To make his offer more tangible, he invested most of his left over money to make some prototypes and securely sent them over. However, due to lacking access to a private workshop, he had to improvise, crafting the initial components out of repurposed samples at the academy before discreetly completing the assembly in the privacy of his own home.
Even though these samples were just slightly enhanced versions of the weapons on the market, because he had promised better ones, they managed to pique Cobra's interest.
He had agreed to meet Rion in person today, at his auto garage, which served as his base of operations. The invitation came with a not-so-subtle warning: mess with me and face the consequences.
Undeterred by the ominous caution, Rion accepted the invitation and prepared for the meeting. He took meticulous steps to conceal his identity and whereabouts, employing clever misdirection and the art of deception he had honed over the past months.
After clearing the clutter from his makeshift training room and taking a brisk shower to freshen up, he dressed in attire that struck a balance between casual and obscure– dark jeans paired with a massively oversized grey hoodie. The outfit provided a layer of anonymity, allowing him to blend into the urban landscape with ease, while offering a hint of rugged charm.
Ah, the joys of meeting with potential underworld bosses, he mused sardonically, as he adjusted the straps of his backpack. The small backpack contained the additional weapons he had crafted, in order to prepare for any unforeseen circumstances.
Here's to hoping Cobra's bark is worse than his bite. But just in case, I've got my bite ready.
Satisfied with his preparations, he locked the door behind him and stepped out.