Abeni landed gracefully amidst the wreckage, unfazed by the shattered walls that slammed into her. She was wrapped in her own finite yet infinite essence, nearly indestructible. Upon impact, she shifted smoothly into a battle stance.

From the dim recesses of the room stepped the supervisor. His features were unremarkable, his face devoid of clear emotion, yet marked by a heavy, weary shadow. In a voice that echoed through the hollow space, he asked, “Have you ever wondered why I built this place?”

Abeni’s reply was curt: “Never cared. I only thought about getting out.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded. “You were dragged into this territory against your will. I can’t expect you to share my grudges.” His exhausted gaze drifted toward the twisting gears hidden in the gloom above. “This place is my hell.”

Abeni said nothing. She offered no jest, no mockery. She did not pity him, nor did she feel any warmth toward him. Still, she understood that a man who constructed his own personal hell was not someone to provoke. Not out of fear, but out of a certain quiet kindness.

No one sane would dream of an endless workday. The supervisor was clearly beyond spent, carrying a sorrow she did not care to unravel. Abeni was impatient—she had a life waiting outside these walls: people to see, a school to attend, parties to crash. She would not linger, chained by another’s trauma.

Only moments ago, Abeni had been training with Takeshi and Hiroki inside the shared mental space formed by the m-path chain. Together, they had drilled the fundamentals of using essence, honing skills that transcended ordinary martial training. Yet something remained elusive, a missing piece that Abeni hoped to grasp: the fundamentals of actual, physical combat.

Abeni understood the complexities of essence work inside and out. She had mastered the chain’s five steps, the art of enveloping herself in a territorial essence, and other intricate techniques that would impress any seasoned soul smith. You could easily call her a genius, and you wouldn’t be wrong. But amid all those conceptual feats, there remained a gap in her skillset—she still struggled with the basics of throwing a proper punch.

Takeshi had explained this shortcoming to her. He could handle certain aspects, like charge, quite well, and Hiroki had a natural gift for others, like tension. Still, none of them had truly mastered the martial side. However, Takeshi believed that with Abeni’s territorial essence, she could become a real threat if she learned the proper fundamentals. After some thought, he agreed to instruct her.

He began by outlining the principles: charge, reverse-charge, tension, release, echo, and quiet. These, he said, were the foundation of martial arts for a soul smith. Charge involved using one’s inner essence to interact with the surrounding essence—the wraith could aid this process, but in large part it depended on one’s own ability. A charge could be positive or negative. A positive charge provided an ignition, a spark that fueled not only physical movements, but also heightened thought, awareness, and the senses themselves. By reacting to the essence around them, a fighter gained a sort of secondary aura, a personal energy field that enhanced their combat performance.

As Takeshi explained, something clicked in Abeni’s mind. Hiroki’s flames, the way they flared out of control and engulfed him, now made sense. His essence was constantly charging and reinforcing itself, making him stronger within that fiery embrace. Takeshi agreed: Hiroki was like a walking battery, effortlessly feeding off the ambient essence. Anyone else might have been consumed by such power, but Hiroki thrived in it.

Takeshi then introduced the concept of negative charge. Unlike the positive charge, which boosted and ignited one’s essence, the negative charge worked the other way: it applied brakes, shutting down that ignition rather than fueling it. When Abeni asked why anyone would want to hold themselves back, Takeshi gestured toward Hiroki. His flames danced unpredictably, powerful but erratic. What made Hiroki strong could also make him vulnerable—those very flames might consume allies as easily as enemies. A negative charge could control such volatility, reining in destructive impulses.

There were other practical uses as well, Takeshi explained. Imagine an opponent rushing at you at full speed, fists charged and ready to strike. By using a negative charge, you could dampen their momentum, nullifying or at least weakening their blow. It was a defensive tool, one that balanced out the headlong aggression that positive charge encouraged.

Next, Takeshi turned to the principle of tension. Tension involved gathering arcane essence into a single focal point and then releasing it. Hiroki, despite being naturally adept at charge, had a more refined, painstakingly developed skill when it came to tension. He could concentrate essence precisely and then let it flow at just the right moment.

Release, on the other hand, was the opposite of tension—transforming a concentrated knot of essence into a dispersed field. Used wisely, release allowed a soul smith to counter explosive attacks by combining negative charge and release to not just weaken, but to completely empty out an enemy’s offense.

Takeshi continued, explaining Echo and Quiet. Echo involved using one’s own essence to create a chain-like connection to the surrounding arcane energies. It was like sparking an electrical circuit in the mind, allowing messages to flow instantly. With Echo, one could close their eyes and still see the world, guided by the resonating signals of energy all around them.

Quiet, by contrast, meant subduing one’s arcane signature, muting it so completely that it did not interact with external energies at all. If Echo was a beacon, connecting and illuminating, then Quiet was the silence that kept you hidden and undetected.

These were the principles Abeni learned within that shared subspace: charge and negative charge, tension and release, Echo and Quiet. She had only scratched the surface, just enough to keep herself and the others alive in that strange, dangerous territory.

The supervisor closed his eyes, as if making some final, unspoken decision. Then he opened them, lifted a single finger toward Abeni, and declared, “You’re fired.”

Back in their training sessions, Takeshi had explained how Abeni’s territorial essence could serve as a shield. By layering a positive charge to boost her defenses, a negative charge to dampen incoming attacks, and a precise release to disperse them altogether, she could withstand even the fiercest assaults. It was through this combination that she had survived the encircling flames—barely. The heat still left her shaken, though. Anyone else would have been incinerated on the spot. Her only real advantage was that her arcane reserves hadn’t run dry. Still, the fact that the flames had come so close to ending her made her mortality painfully clear.

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Yet instead of despair or fear, the realization ignited something else inside Abeni. She felt an odd, fevered thrill. Her lips curved into a devilish smile, and her essence flared with renewed vigor, feeding off her excitement like fuel to a flame.

She launched herself toward the supervisor in a sudden, explosive rush. The clock was ticking, and Abeni knew it. She had about fifteen minutes before the rules of this territory shifted once again—fifteen minutes before another “surefire” effect struck. Takeshi had explained these fundamental laws of time, space, and essence. Among them was a sort of time-based trigger: once a certain threshold was reached, an unstoppable consequence would follow.

Abeni had already weathered the first of these effects; enduring another would be risky, and a third would likely end her. Even cloaked in her territorial essence, if she were stunned beyond consciousness, it wouldn’t matter how resilient she was. She had to strike now, while she still had strength and time on her side, before that fifteen-minute window closed.

Abeni had activated another ability she’d learned in the training space—one derived from the conductor tree skill set. It was called Euphoria, and it worked by elevating her adrenaline to unimaginable levels. Within the boundaries of her essence, every facet of her being—strength, perception, reflexes—rose toward infinity. Armed with Euphoria, she could hold her own against the Supervisor. His power was extraordinary here—after all, this was his domain, and that meant his might verged on limitless as well. Takeshi had cautioned her to remain cloaked in her territorial essence at all times.

Without it, the territory’s other defining element—endless fatigue—would latch onto her, draining her energy and leaving her vulnerable.

The Supervisor ripped a chunk of the building free and hurled it straight at Abeni. She vaulted gracefully over the debris, using its momentum to spring off a wall and twist into a kick aimed where he stood. He dodged, his own reflexes sharpened to a preternatural edge. He followed up with a punch, but she slipped beneath it, attempting an uppercut as a counter. Again, he evaded.

Yet her movements were layered—she spun into a loaded kick, and this time her strike connected. In that instant, something flickered in the Supervisor’s mind—strange memories he did not recognize: a distant time, a girl’s face. The confusion only lasted a heartbeat, but it was enough. Abeni seized the opening, channeling her tension into a single, devastating punch. It connected with a thunderous force, sending the Supervisor hurtling across the room and into the opposite wall. The impact set loose a rain of scaffolding, metal pipes, and concrete, burying him beneath the wreckage.

Again, foreign images and unfamiliar emotions seized the Supervisor’s mind, jarring him with scenes he did not recognize. He realized then what was happening.

Earlier, when Takeshi, Hiroki, and Abeni had strategized against their formidable enemy, they acknowledged the inherent disadvantage of fighting in his domain. Strength alone might have sufficed, but it would be an uphill battle. Takeshi proposed a more subtle approach: instead of overpowering the Supervisor directly, they could attempt to reconfigure the very nature of his territory itself.

“How?” Hiroki had asked. Takeshi’s reply was deceptively simple: “By whispering. And we happen to have a pretty good whisperer.” That was why Abeni stood against the Supervisor, rather than Takeshi or Hiroki. Even though they were more adept in the physical aspects, only Abeni could slip into the Supervisor’s mind. She could rewrite his perceptions, twist the fabric of his thoughts. The territory itself, after all, was born of his trauma. If she could corrupt his mental landscape, she could destabilize the very domain they stood in—maybe even break it down entirely.

Her territorial essence would help her withstand his “surefire effect,” an ability that would have crushed anyone else.

The plan’s success hinged on that singular fact: Abeni had to be the one facing him. Before they left their training grounds, Abeni had learned where the Supervisor and his henchmen would be. She knew where to find the real one. They had positioned themselves perfectly, choosing their battleground with care. Now, all that remained was for Abeni to whisper into his mind and tear down the walls he had built.

Every time Abeni’s blows connected, she reached out through the m-path chain, forging a subtle link into the Supervisor’s mind. With each successful hit, she tampered with his memories—shifting certain events, altering the narrative—just enough to loosen the foundations of this traumatized territory.

The Supervisor caught on after experiencing two flashes of a life he’d never lived. Furious, he roared at Abeni, “How dare you! You have no idea what I went through, what we all went through. Every person trapped here is responsible for making this place a living hell—both for me and for them.”

Abeni had gleaned a bit of insight from those brief intrusions. She knew who “us” referred to, people tied together by suffering, pinned down by this fabricated world born of anguish.

“And now you think you can tamper with my memories?” the Supervisor continued, voice trembling with rage. “My anger is the bedrock of this place, and you dare try to unravel it? The audacity!”

In that instant, a profound shift overcame the Supervisor. All around him, wraiths coalesced, their forms converging and sinking into his flesh. He began to grow, muscles knotting and swelling, thickening until his suit ripped apart at the seams. Two additional arms sprouted beneath the originals, and his legs thickened until they resembled an elephant’s, heavy and unyielding. Horns jutted from his skull, and where his eyes had been, hollow sockets now oozed a red, molten essence.

Abeni knew what this was even before the image fully registered. He had fused with an Anger Wraith, taking on a monstrous form fueled by rage. It was an utterly terrifying sight. A voice called down from above, and Abeni glanced up to see K9 perched in the shadows atop a suspended metal pipe. His hounds loomed just beyond the dim light, watching the battle below with savage interest as he calmly stroked their heads. She hadn’t expected to see him so soon—let alone to realize he’d already dispatched his own opponent.

“He’s losing his humanity,” K9 remarked, nodding toward the Supervisor. “The wraiths are taking over. Soon, his consciousness will be completely submerged.” He paused, letting the gravity of the situation sink in. “Rogue wraiths are a serious threat. When they bind themselves to a soul-smith, the overwhelming emotions they embody rise to the surface, subsuming the host’s mind. Eventually, the soul-smith becomes a rogue—a being more dangerous than anything else in this arcane world.”

Abeni met K9’s gaze for just an instant before refocusing on the monstrous being before her. The fifteen-minute threshold had passed once more. The creature that had once been the Supervisor raised its gargantuan arms and spoke in a hollow, resonant voice: “You’re fired.” In that moment, flames erupted again, engulfing the space around her and scorching the air she breathed.

Far away in this vast, surreal territory, Hiroki and Takeshi were locked in their own life-or-death struggles. Each faced down a “perfect worker” clone—beings with powers drawn straight from the fabric of this domain, bolstered by relentless strength and tireless stamina. Takeshi stood on a high ledge, surrounded by a silent orbit of floating needles, preparing for the precise moment to strike. Hiroki grappled with his own adversary amid roaring fires and oppressive heat, the infernal atmosphere made his opponent, as fake as he was, experience a kind of terror, one a real human could feel, it made him feel as though he had stepped into hell itself.