Emmet sat in a quiet corner, the ghost of his recent mock duel with Jasper still sharp in his mind. The duel was the root of his current analysis, but the problem was twofold: technique and the cruel scarcity of energy.

  He recalled watching Jasper fight. Though incredibly strong, Jasper’s execution often seemed lacking. He thought: With Jasper, his control seems lacking; he needs to improve the speed of the way he summons his Bone Skills. Although his warrior skill is good, it lacks refinement. Well, he knew that even Raze found it hard to pin Jasper down due to the power gap they had from their first encounter. Just like Raze, he knew that if Jasper managed to perfectly sync his bone skill and his warrior divinity, he could improve multiplefold.

  Emmet then considered his own status. His use of his Totems now required a consistent feed of Demonic Energy. Since fully embracing the demonic power that flowed through him, his prior means of accessing the Totems had vanished. The fundamental issue, he knew, was that his own body didn't generate Demonic Energy; it was more like he needed to sustain the Totems with fuel—ammo drawn from Demonic Crystals.

  Crucially, his ability to create new Demonic Crystals was severely limited. He lacked any consistent source of raw demonic energy to convert; the crystals he possessed were simply extra he had saved up. Now that he was using a lot of them, he knew he might not be able to replenish his stock, making his Totems a non-renewable resource.

  Unlike Jasper, whose demonic energy seemed to recover over time, Emmet felt he had a fundamental defect. Ahh, this is troublesome, he thought. He could certainly achieve more destructive output using the Totems, but without an unlimited source of energy, that path was inherently capped. Since he couldn't rely on the limitless reserves of others, this flesh, this bone, this perfect, optimized movement, had to become his infinite source of power.

  He had to make a pragmatic choice. For now, he must focus on his greatest, most sustainable asset, the one that did not require precious Demonic Energy: his body.

  His own physique, while possessing massive strength, demanded refinement. His speed, for instance, felt brute and clumsy. He thought of Julian’s Shadow Speed—the effortless, dark elegance as he dashed and evaded. Julian was in a class of his own. Emmet, by contrast, relied on raw exertion: a forceful, primal drive from his legs, followed by a conscious syncing of his entire body to eliminate any movement that might hinder his speed or acrobatic flow.

  Then there was his throwing skill. It felt powerful, yes, but needlessly wasteful; a simple throw felt like a sequence of superfluous motions. Perhaps I can derive my throwing skill from my other physical strike movements, he mused, rising to his feet.

  He executed a single-leg dash. "Too many unnecessary movements," he muttered, immediately trying again, focusing on arresting the momentum with minimal applied force. "Hmm. It's easier in theory," he observed, "but controlling this much raw, overflowing strength is a separate challenge."

  Next, he threw a fast, hard punch into the empty air. A sharp, distinct whipping sound cracked through the quiet room. Ahh, that power makes for too much wasted force.

  Raze’s Breathing Technique was designed to balance breath, movement, and applied force. Raze had long since perfected that technique, but Emmet found it harder due to the sheer, excessive force he applied. He lacked control. He began practicing his fist again, aiming for a powerful blow that was simultaneously controlled and silent.

  How do I achieve that?

  Emmet paused, letting the analytical side of his mind take over. He had to eliminate the "Whip Crack" of Wasted Energy. The punch, he realized, had three phases: Acceleration, Impact, and then the critical, failing phase of Deceleration. The "whip crack" was the sonic evidence of violent deceleration, wasted kinetic energy that should have gone into the target, not into straining his own joints.

  The key, Emmet determined, was not to stop the punch after impact, but to structure the motion so its kinetic energy was fully depleted precisely at the moment of maximum penetration. This was the "Still Point Fist."

  He needed to apply the Kinetic Chain Misdirection. He wouldn't throw his fist at the target, but his entire body mass, with the fist serving as a mere delivery point. The momentum must be visualized as passing through the target's core.

  Crucially, the "pulling force"—the opposition muscles—must act as a Guidance System, not a brake. By engaging a constant, low-level tension in the triceps throughout the acceleration phase, the arm would not be a loose whip, but a rigid, living spear.

  This allowed for the Penetration & Vanish Technique. At the exact nanosecond of impact, he would simultaneously push through the target with the accelerating muscles and activate the pulling muscles with equal and opposite force, not to pull back, but to cancel all remaining forward momentum inside the target. The kinetic energy would have nowhere to go but into the target. There would be no recoil, no sharp sound, but a dull, deep thump or thud—the sound of pure force being absorbed.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Emmet sat down, his practical analysis complete, but his mind refused to rest. He had solved the single-strike problem. Now he had to apply that same principle to his throwing skill, specifically in the context of rapid, successive attacks.

  He would need a Second Way.

  The Still Point was a perfect linear transfer. But a true warrior didn't throw one spear; they unleashed a continuous storm. Stopping after every throw, even perfectly, meant a fraction of a second wasted on recovery and restart. He realized the problem wasn't stopping the momentum; it was recycling it.

  This was the Flow Cycle—a non-stop, circular transfer. The strength began as a launch from the ground and accelerated the spear. Then, as his arm recoiled, he would "catch" the residual energy and route it instantly back down the arm, across the core, and back into the supporting leg. The leg, having received the returning kinetic force, wouldn't stop, but would use that influx of energy to spring into the next stance or step, initiating the next throw instantly.

  The force itself must not stop, but flow continuously. He kept repeating the thought, tuning every tendon and muscle like a series of cascading waves—a ripple of force doing a one-way, self-sustaining flow. His abnormal strength was no longer a liability demanding restraint, but the fuel for an infinite engine. If the excess strength couldn't be channeled into the spear, or if the physical cycle faltered, he would simply distribute it to the area around him, letting it harmlessly flow away—a quiet, gentle dissipation of power that left him perfectly balanced for the next move.

  Lost in his conceptual breakthrough, Emmet transitioned from abstract thought to immediate physical practice. He kept improvising and improving his movement, consumed by the process. He did not care how utterly ridiculous he looked.

  Jasper entered the room just then. He stopped dead, his brow furrowed in utter confusion. Emmet was making a series of bizarre, rotating arm motions, throwing invisible things, punctuated by strange, prancing footwork. He looked like a dancer making foolish, uncoordinated moves.

  "That's weird," Jasper muttered to himself, shaking his head slightly. "Oh well, I guess I just need to leave him alone. I think he’s up to something, but this is clearly a private moment." He decided he'd consult with Emmet tomorrow.

  But as he started to turn, Jasper hesitated, his innate curiosity overriding his decision. He looked again. The initially awkward, exaggerated movements were slowly, almost imperceptibly, becoming more precise, more practical, and, suddenly, undeniably cooler. Emmet was transitioning from abstract "dance" to a more proper, coherent martial sequence.

  "Ooh, now that looks cool," Jasper breathed. "Is that some kind of martial art? Never seen one like that before."

  Emmet, completely absorbed in the Flow Cycle, made a sweeping circling movement. His left hand kissed the ground while the right swept high in the air. He twisted his torso to take a step like a ballerina, moving with the fierce grace of a swan, before encircling both hands and ending in a focused striking motion. Then he collected himself into a strong forward horse stance and made a final, powerful exhaling breath.

  "Phew," Emmet sighed, feeling the deep, satisfying stretch of the perfect motion. "That was relaxing."

  Jasper, taking yet another peep, saw a complete transformation. Emmet was now moving with minimal, focused body movement. He wasn't walking; he was gliding, striking, and appearing to instantaneously shift from one space to the next.

  "What the heck is that?" Jasper whispered, his eyes wide. "Did he just teleport? He's moving so fast, wait... he's not just moving, he's also making strikes with every step."

  Realizing this was going to be more than a few minutes of oddity—this was turning into a show—Jasper decided to get comfortable. He discreetly slipped out of the room, made a quick trip to the kitchen for a packet of dried fruit and a pouch of fortified water, and then settled back near the doorway, now ready to dedicate his full attention to the observation.

  He had been weirded out by Emmet's moves moments ago, but now he thought Emmet was moving like a master martial artist. No—it was more than that. It was something entirely new, seamless, and absolutely lethal.

  What the hell is he? Jasper watched, utterly mesmerized by the birth of a new form of fighting. He quietly leaned into the wall, trying to mimic the gentle sway Emmet used to redirect his phantom momentum. He attempted the circular twist of the arm and immediately corkscrewed into a heap, his elbow slamming the floor. "How could he do that?" Frustration burning, he tried the quick, gliding dash Emmet had performed, but instead of traversing space, his center of gravity betrayed him, driving his face into the stone floor with a sharp, sickening thwack. He glared up at Emmet, who remained oblivious. "Those movements are impossible," Jasper grumbled, rubbing his aching cheek.

  Back in his zone, Emmet didn't notice Jasper's painful attempts. He continued to imagine the movements, but now he applied them in real time. His movements seemed to create multiple illusions—a visual blur or delay in motion that left behind a shimmering ghost image—the illusion of many hands striking at once.

  He realized this effect was entirely unintentional, a side effect of his Breathing Technique: the sudden, momentary pause followed by a massive burst of speed. He wasn't simply moving fast; he was shredding nanoseconds.

  The goal was not to create an illusion, he confirmed, but to achieve a complete movement with absolutely perfect timing. Then, to apply all of his immense strength, flowing seamlessly from the beginning of one step to the very end of his fingertip. That was the core principle. The strength could then be instantly converted to speed, power, braking force, and other necessary forms, as long as it was properly controlled by the Flow Cycle.

  Suddenly, Emmet stopped. Every muscle in his body instantly went still, holding a position of absolute rest, then he drew a deep, shuddering breath.

  He breathed out, the sound a sharp, pressurized WOOOSH!

  In that instant, as the sound erupted from his lungs, a visible force exploded outward from his body. It was a dense shockwave that violently compressed the air, blasted the surrounding ground, and made the very atmosphere feel like it had ruptured.

  Jasper, watching from the doorway, felt the sharp physical impact hit him like a massive, silent fist, forcing the air out of his own lungs. He staggered back, coughing and clinging desperately to the door frame, his jaw hanging open in pure, breathless astonishment.

  Emmet remained perfectly still, the eye of the localized storm, before his shoulders relaxed and the air around him settled. He had done it. He had achieved pure, controlled dissipation of force.

  But Emmet was not satisfied with this single success. He knew his body would continue to grow stronger as he absorbed and refined more Demonic Energy, and when he became stronger, his control needed to be equally stronger. This realization hardened his resolve. He understood now why Raze performed his demanding warrior arts every single day. He clenched his fist, watching the knuckles tighten in front of him, and declared silently, "I will improve every day."