Reality unraveled at the seams.The mana Blake had forced into the alpha's chest detonated, expanding with a violence that bent space around it, straining the fabric of existence until it gave way. In an instant, a sphere of raw kinetic force erupted from the wound, swelling to the size of a beach ball before Blake could draw another breath. The alpha's torso ceased to exist in any meaningful sense of the word.

Shards of flesh and fragments of cybernetics blasted outward in a gruesome spray, the creature's body shredding apart like a rotted fruit struck by a sledgehammer. The shockwave slammed into Blake’s chest with the force of a battering ram, tearing him from his precarious perch. He hurtled backward, the world spinning into a chaotic blur of steel and sky as he tumbled helplessly, any semblance of control ripped away.

Well, shit.

Pure instinct sent Blake reaching for his mana reserves, trying to summon [Unfettered Stride] to create a platform—any kind of cushion to break his fall. But his core was bone dry. The moment he tried to draw power, white-hot agony lanced through his entire body. It felt like someone had replaced his blood with molten glass, every nerve ending screaming in unified protest.

The pain was so intense it stole his breath, leaving him gasping as the ground rushed up to meet him. Through the haze of agony, he could hear Chimera calling to him. Trying to warn him. He didn't need her to tell him what his own senses had already coldly informed him: this was going to hurt. A lot.

Blake's body moved on autopilot, intense training kicking in as he tried to position himself for the impact. Get your feet under you. Bend your knees. Roll with the impact. But without mana to slow his descent, physics would have its way with him regardless of technique.

He slammed into the debris-strewn ground like a meteorite made of bad decisions.

The impact drove what little air remained from his lungs. His attempt to roll with the force went about as well as expected—which was to say not at all. His shoulder hit first, followed by his hip, sending him bouncing and skidding across jagged metal and broken stone. Each point of contact brought fresh bursts of pain, his body collecting new injuries like a frequent flyer program for trauma.

When he finally skidded to a stop, Blake lay very still for a long moment, cataloging damage through the red haze of pain. His chest felt like it was full of broken glass, each breath sending fresh spikes of agony through his ribcage. His left shoulder was definitely dislocated—he could feel the joint sitting wrong in its socket. Various cuts and bruises made themselves known with varying degrees of urgency, but nothing immediately fatal jumped out at him.

Small mercies.

He tried again to reach for his mana, hoping maybe there was some tiny reserve he could tap into. The response was immediate and brutal—pain so intense it made his vision white out for a second. His muscles seized up involuntarily, back arching off the ground as electricity seemed to dance along his nerve endings.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Chimera's voice cut through the agony, tight with concern. "Your mana channels are completely drained. I don't have a good metaphor for you here. Just listen to the pain and stop."

Blake wanted to respond with something appropriately sarcastic, but all that came out was a grunt of pain. He focused on breathing instead, trying to find some position that didn't feel like being stabbed with hot pokers. So far, no luck on that front.

"That was... impressive though," Chimera continued after a moment. "The spatial manipulation at the end there—you managed to create a perfect sphere of repelling force. The math involved in containing that much kinetic energy is actually quite fascinating. Of course, the subsequent explosion was less about precision and more about, well, explosions. But still! Progress!"

Blake managed to crack one eye open, staring up at the alien sky through a veil of pain. "Glad... you're... entertained," he ground out between clenched teeth.

He tried to push himself up on his good arm, but his body had other ideas. Fresh waves of agony rolled through him as overtaxed muscles simply refused to cooperate. The drained mana channels felt like they were full of acid, burning from the inside out. Every movement, no matter how small, sent fresh spikes of pain shooting through his nervous system.

"Your core is trying to regenerate mana," Chimera said, her voice adopting a measured, almost detached tone. "But your channels are shot—like trying to force water through cracked, brittle canals. The flow's too much for them to handle, and every bit that moves through grinds against raw, exposed surfaces. That's why it feels like you're being torn apart from the inside."

Blake let out a slow breath, forcing himself to relax back against the ground. "How... long?"

"Until you can move without wanting to scream? Probably an hour or two. Until your mana regenerates enough to use abilities again? That's harder to say. The good news is you're not in immediate danger of death. The bad news is... well, everything else."

He closed his eyes again, focusing on controlling his breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The pain wasn't going anywhere, but he could choose how much attention to give it.

When he touched the mana channels again—carefully this time, just testing—it felt like running sandpaper over sunburned skin. Raw. Abraded. But maybe a little less intense than before. Progress, however small, was still progress.

The adrenaline was starting to fade now, leaving him acutely aware of every injury he'd collected during the fight. His ribs felt like a xylophone played with sledgehammers. His dislocated shoulder throbbed in time with his heartbeat. A hundred smaller cuts and bruises made themselves known, each one vying for attention like particularly aggressive telemarketers.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his old drill sergeant was calling him ten kinds of idiot for burning through his mana reserves without a backup plan.

Connover, you stupid bastard.

Blake grimaced at the memory. He'd heard those words more than once during training—usually right before something went spectacularly wrong. The sergeant had been right then, and he'd be right now. Fighting without reserves was just asking to get yourself killed.

"On the bright side," Chimera offered, "you did completely obliterate that alpha. I'm actually having trouble finding any pieces big enough to analyze properly. The spatial warping basically turned its torso into abstract art. Very messy abstract art."

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A weak chuckle escaped Blake's lips, immediately followed by a groan of pain as his ribs protested the movement. "Gonna... need a minute," he managed to say through gritted teeth.

"Take your time," Chimera replied, her tone softening slightly. "I'll keep watch. Though I doubt anything else is going to come investigate after that light show you just put on. Most creatures have better survival instincts than that."

Blake lay there in the dirt and debris, feeling every year of his age plus about twenty more for good measure. The alien sun beat down on him from above, its heat a physical presence against his skin. His body felt like it had been run through a meat grinder, then reassembled by a drunk toddler with limited understanding of human anatomy.

But he was alive. More importantly, he had won.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, past the pain and exhaustion, a small part of him was already analyzing the fight—breaking down what had worked, what hadn't, how to do better next time. Because there would be a next time. There always was.

For now though, he just focused on breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The pain wasn't going anywhere, but neither was he. Not for a while at least.

Time became a fluid thing, marked only by the steady rhythm of his breathing and the slow pulse of agony through his empty mana channels. Each attempt to move was met with fresh waves of pain, his body making it very clear that it had reached its limits for the day.

The dislocated shoulder would need to be dealt with soon, but that could wait until he could actually lift his arm without feeling like he was being electrocuted. The ribs... well, those would just have to heal on their own. Not much to be done for cracked ribs except try not to laugh. Or breathe too deeply. Or move.

Another careful probe of his mana channels revealed they were still raw, but maybe... maybe a little less than before. Like the difference between third-degree and second-degree burns. Still agonizing, but theoretically improving.

Theoretically.

Blake stared up at the alien sky, watching strange patterns dance across its surface while he waited for his body to remember how to function without screaming at him. Sometimes the best thing you could do was just be still and let time do its work.

Time was a bastard when you were waiting for pain to pass.

----------------------------------------

Blake's boots scraped against metal deck plating as he stumbled through the airlock, one hand pressed against the wall for support. His vision swam, exhaustion and pain making the corridor twist and blur like a funhouse mirror. The dislocated shoulder had been a bitch to pop back in place by himself, but he'd managed. Now it just felt like someone had replaced the joint with ground glass and razor blades.

"You look terrible," Eland's voice cut through the haze. The Stokrine stood at the end of the corridor, medical kit already in hand. His cetacean features twisted into concern.

"You should see the other guy," Blake managed, then immediately regretted speaking as his ribs protested the movement.

"I did, actually. Chimera was kind enough to share footage. Though 'see' might be generous—there wasn't much left to look at." Eland moved forward, supporting Blake's weight as they made their way toward the med-bay. "I particularly enjoyed the part where you turned it inside out with spatial manipulation. Very creative. Also incredibly reckless."

Blake grunted in response, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. The walk back to the ship had been... interesting. His empty mana channels still felt raw, like someone had taken sandpaper to his nerves, but the intensity had faded from "constant agony" to merely "persistent torment." Progress of a sort.

The ferroghests had given him a wide berth on the return journey. He'd caught glimpses of them in the shadows—glowing eyes tracking his movement, mechanical whines cutting through the silence. But none had approached. Whether they sensed the remnants of spatial distortion clinging to him or simply recognized a more dangerous predator, he couldn't say.

Either way, he wasn't complaining.

Eland helped him onto the med-bay's examination table, already running scans with practiced efficiency. "Three cracked ribs, severe mana channel strain, multiple lacerations and contusions..." The Stokrine's massive hands moved with surprising gentleness as he applied some kind of gel to the worst of the cuts. "You certainly don't do things halfway."

"Go big or go home," Blake muttered, then hissed as Eland hit a particularly tender spot.

"Speaking of going big," Eland continued, "we may have a problem with our friend Rax. Mara contacted me while you were out hunting. It seems he's acquired some rather impressive upgrades recently. New weapons, enhanced cybernetics, even some basic cultivation techniques. Far more than he should have access to given his resources."

Blake's eyes narrowed. "Quest rewards?"

"Most likely. The timing fits with Aureon's scenario announcement. Rax must have completed something significant to earn that level of reward." Eland finished with the gel and moved on to wrapping Blake's ribs. "Mara's worried. Says his enforcers are getting bolder, pushing further into neutral territory. Testing boundaries."

"Of course they are." Blake winced as Eland tightened the bandages. "Give a bully better toys, he just becomes a bigger bully. I'll look into it tomorrow, see what intel we can gather on his new capabilities."

"Tomorrow?" Eland's tone carried a hint of amusement. "You can barely stand."

"I'll manage." Blake tried to sit up straighter, immediately regretted it as pain lanced through his chest. "Besides, need to review what I got out of today's little adventure first. System's been pinging me with notifications since the fight ended."

Eland made a sound that might have been a chuckle. "Yes, I imagine it has. That was quite a performance you put on. The spatial manipulation alone should have earned significant rewards, never mind taking down an alpha." He stepped back, examining his handiwork. "But you're right—rest first. The notifications will keep."

Blake nodded, already feeling the pull of exhaustion. The adrenaline had long since worn off, leaving him running on fumes and stubbornness. Even the constant throb of his injuries seemed distant now, like it was happening to someone else.

"The gel contains mild painkillers," Eland explained, noticing Blake's drooping eyelids. "Should help take the edge off while your body processes the strain. I've also added some nutrients that will help speed mana channel recovery, though I'd still avoid using abilities for at least twelve hours."

"Noted." Blake pushed himself off the examination table, grateful for Eland's steadying hand. "Think I can make it to my quarters without falling over?"

"Let's find out." Eland supported him as they made their way through the corridors; the ship's lighting dimmed to accommodate Blake's fatigue. "Though I should warn you—Chimera's quite excited about analyzing your performance. She and Zephyr are already on a private channel running numbers. She may not let you sleep until you've gone over everything."

Blake managed a weak smile. "She'll have to wait. Right now, I couldn't analyze my way out of a paper bag."

They reached his quarters without incident, though Blake's legs felt like overcooked noodles by the time he sat on the edge of his bunk. Eland helped him remove his boots, then stepped back with a final assessing look.

"Get some rest," the Stokrine said. "We can deal with Rax and his upgrades tomorrow. For now, focus on recovery."

Blake nodded, already lying back against the pillow. His mind wanted to race—to process the fight, to plan for Rax, to examine every angle and possibility. But his body had other ideas. The combination of exhaustion and whatever was in that gel pulled him down like lead weights, dragging him toward unconsciousness.

The last thing he heard before sleep claimed him was Chimera's uncharacteristically gentle voice: "Sleep well, Blake. You've earned it."

Blake's smile lasted until she spoke again.

"Tomorrow, though, we're going to get deep into the weeds about that fight. Night, buddy!"

Blake sighed, cursed a few times as he turned onto his side in a huff, and promptly slipped into unconsciousness.