Alonso had to admit, he was feeling a bit sorry for Ayu. Maybe... they had gone too far?
"What too far? She's benefited a lot from this. Her technique has improved by no small margin thanks to these sparring matches."
Alonso sighed, his heart beating normally despite the intense sessions. He stared at Ayu, who was taking a break in front of him. They had both agreed to end it here.
"And by the way, you never told me about reversing Phase 1. When did you do that?"
"Heh, there are a lot of things you don't know, lad. In any case, it would be amusing to see Ayu’s face if we told her you actually won with your natural reactions nerfed by a full 10%."
"Lad? Boy? Last I checked, you're not even a month old, Houston. And as for your current self, what, you’re not even a day old!"
"Age is just a number, kiddo."
Alonso smiled inwardly and shook his head. He glanced at Ayu, now deep in meditation, likely going over the combats and what she’d gained from them.
"What, you should be doing that too, but no—let Uncle Houston handle it. EM analysis? Houston. Training program? Houston. Overdrive and all its phases? Houston. I'm seriously starting to wonder: what do you even do anymore?"
"Uncle Houston? That was a good one," Alonso laughed inwardly. "But hey, who suffers the pain? Who's fighting? Who goes through this hellish training? Come on, each to their own, grandpa Houston."
After a moment of deliberation, he stood up and approached her. Ayu opened her eyes at his approach, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.
Alonso sent her an image: himself, pointing at her cottage, and then showing a training session.
Ayu nodded with a small smirk, waving him off with a playful gesture as if to say, go on then.
With that settled, Alonso gathered the meat he had stored and headed for Ayu’s cottage. Inside, the space was quiet and warm, a calm contrast to the intensity of the training. The only glaring issue was the stain in the corner he had left from the last time he was there, especially the gray ooze.
Seeing it again made him blush with embarrassment, silently promising himself he would clean it somehow—perhaps even remove the wooden tiles entirely and put in new ones. But that would have to wait until after he survived the looming deadline.
He placed the meat down and took a deep breath, mentally preparing for what came next.
“Well, now that we have plenty of meat at hand, you’ve passed the first experience, and you’re more used to it, I think we can ramp it up,” Houston said.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Every bit of it.”
image [https://i.imgur.com/EPU265m.png]
> September 4, 2024 - Melbourne, Australia
As if Australia wasn’t bad enough, now she was at some place called Sugarloaf Peak. Yarra Ranges? Middle of nowhere. The nerve of them, sending her to this backwater spot. Alonso couldn’t have picked a better place to disappear, right? Yeah, because nothing screams alien abduction like standing on top of a cliff in the middle of nowhere at midnight.
She sighed as the chopper descended, her eyes scanning the shabby base below. The lack of discipline was painfully obvious—off the roof, really.
When they landed, she didn’t even wait for the steps; she jumped down immediately, greeted by some nobody whose name she forgot the moment he said it. Her aide-de-camp, Étienne, quickly liaised with this poor-ranking official while she remained silent, surveying the camp.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Her gaze settled on two people who were clearly non-military. Civilians? Climbers’ relatives, perhaps? They brought his friends? What about his parents? Odd.
She watched the chopper take off, the noise of the blades slicing through the air giving her a brief moment of relief. Finally. Now, she just had to wait for the second one. After all, there was only room for one landing at a time.
It wasn’t long before the next one descended, lowering her portable outdoor office onto the barren ground. At least they got this part right. As the helicopter set it down, she observed the sleek, stylish black box unfold, expanding elegantly without a hitch.
She approached it, her fingers trailing across the smooth metallic surface, almost enjoying the feel of it beneath her fingertips. Almost. With a soft press of her hand, a door slid open, seamless and silent. She stepped inside without a second glance at the world outside.
The door closed behind her as she made her way to the center of the compact but high-tech space. A cube-like seat rose fluidly from the floor as if it were an extension of the room itself. She dropped onto it and exhaled sharply, the tension of this whole ridiculous trip fading just a little as she removed her mask.
“Alright, Alonso,” she muttered, eyes flickering toward the data streams lighting up on her interface. “Let’s see what makes you tick.”
Her fingers danced across the holographic display, precise and efficient.
“MAI, give me a summary of Alonso Shemson. Essential details only.”
“Welcome back, Madelaine. How was your trip to Australia?”
“Don’t bother with pleasantries, MAI. Just before that—how long until his estimated return?”
“There is a 72.1% probability he returns within 18-19 hours, with a 26.3% chance in 32-33 hours. Other possibilities are statistically insignificant. Ready for the summary?”
“Proceed.”
“Alonso Shemson, born June 18, 1997. Son of Alfredo Shemson and Thalia Ramos. Born in Barcelona, Spain. Spent his childhood in London, UK, before moving back to Spain at 13. They relocated to Melbourne, Australia, after his father took a job there in 2013.
He majored in Physics at Monash University by age 22, followed by a Master’s in Computer Science from the University of Melbourne at 24. Currently pursuing a PhD in Applied Physics. His intellectual performance is near-genius, excelling in scientific fields despite not taking academia too seriously. He enjoys outdoor activities like hiking, camping, and rock climbing.
Key event: a car accident in January this year resulted in the death of his father, leaving his mother in a coma. Alonso suffered severe injuries, including the loss of his leg. He now uses a prosthetic, which he adapted to efficiently. Despite his physical recovery, emotional trauma from the accident has weighed heavily on him, though he has thrown himself back into his research and outdoor hobbies.”
Madelaine leaned back, her eyes still fixed on the interface. “So, who are the people outside? Who did they bring?”
“Since Alonso has no immediate family in Australia, other than his mother who remains in a coma, they brought his two closest friends: Pablo and Jack.”
She remained silent for a moment, processing the information. “So, he recovered his leg with the first orb in The Cage. Tell me about the rest of his experience in The Tower.”
image [https://i.imgur.com/EPU265m.png]
So, it’s time. 6:59 a.m.
Ayu couldn’t lie to herself—she was nervous, more than she had been in a long time. Alonso had been in her cottage for over 12 straight hours. She wasn't sure if he had been training the entire time or just slacking off. Either way, it didn’t matter now. It was all up to Chiara and Siddharth.
She really hoped he could survive this. Alonso had surprised her in their last sparring sessions, exceeding her expectations by far. But that had been casual—no killing intent, no use of electromagnetic waves. It wasn’t a fair comparison. And besides, she was nowhere near Siddharth’s level. Unarmed, she could perhaps hold her own. But with blades? Against Siddharth, she'd be dead in two exchanges, if not one.
Ayu glanced around. There was a larger crowd today than usual. It was strange, considering that Siddharth may not show up until tomorrow.
7:00 a.m.
She heard the soft, barely perceptible footsteps behind her. It was comforting, in a way. Chiara had arrived, silently taking her place beside Ayu, her gaze fixed on the center of the lake. Neither spoke, but the calm in Chiara’s demeanor helped Ayu steady herself.
Then, a few minutes passed, and Ayu spotted them—a group of people moving swiftly along the narrow, rocky trail. They were coordinated, their steps precise, like they had done this a hundred times before. These were no amateurs. Warriors, all of them. But none more so than the one leading them.
Siddharth.
His bald head gleamed under the early morning light, his light cloth fluttering lightly as he moved with a calm, measured stride. Even from this distance, Ayu could sense the incredible energy that radiated from him—though not in the way others might. For Siddharth, his presence was subtle, like the stillness before a storm. Every motion he made was deliberate, as though his very existence had been honed through years of solitude and practice.
As the group finally reached the end of the path, they were greeted by the surrounding members of the faction. Respect, admiration, and even devotion filled the eyes of many as they gazed upon him.
This was no ordinary man. He was one of the pioneers of the tunnel, the leader of the largest faction in the Oasis, a grandmaster of the blade, the savior of the oppressed, the vanquisher of the tyrant, and a revered Rishi—a title spoken with awe by the Indian contingent—a sage and warrior in perfect harmony, wielding both wisdom and martial prowess beyond compare.
This was the revered hero of the Oasis:
Siddharth Kumar.