The arena erupts into chaos as Team Transcendence launches their attack. Riven disappears in a blur of motion, leaving only afterimages as he crosses the battlefield faster than my eyes can track. His teammates fan out with practiced precision, each targeting a specific member of our team.

  I barely have time to raise a telekinetic barrier before Riven's first attack comes, a flurry of strikes that hit from multiple angles almost simultaneously. Most impacts reverberate through my shield like hammer blows, but the last one slips through, catching me in the ribs.

  "Too slow, Gary," his voice seems to come from everywhere at once. "Your telekinesis might be impressive, but what good is power when you can't even see what you're fighting?"

  He's not wrong. His speed is unlike anything I've faced before, pushing the limits of my perception. The neural accelerator thrums against my forehead as I expand my telekinetic awareness outward, trying to sense what my eyes can't follow.

  I strain my senses to their limits, the neural accelerator pulsing as I scan for any trace of his movement. There, a subtle disturbance in the air to my right. I pivot awkwardly, resonance blade humming to life, but I'm still too slow. The strike connects with my shoulder, sending a jolt of pain down my arm.

  "You're out of your league," Riven calls out, already circling for another attack. "Even with that fancy crystal in your forehead."

  Around us, the chaos of battle unfolds, though I can only catch glimpses of it while focusing on Riven. In my peripheral vision, I see Desta's power armor glowing with quantum energy as combat drones materialize around her from the spatial compression device integrated into her armor. She's engaging multiple opponents simultaneously, her merger with Xaelon clearly giving her a tremendous advantage.

  Riven launches another attack, this one coming so close to connecting that I feel the air displacement against my skin as I barely twist away. I can't afford any distractions.

  "Your teammates won't save you," he says, apparently mistaking my momentary glance toward the rest of the arena. "They're outmatched."

  I focus entirely on him, trusting my team to handle their own battles. The neural accelerator pulses steadily against my forehead as I channel all my concentration into tracking Riven's movements.

  Minutes pass in a blur of attacks and desperate defenses. My arms and torso accumulate shallow cuts where his vibration knife slips past my guards. Nothing serious individually, but the combined blood loss and pain are taking their toll. I can feel my reactions slowing, my telekinetic barriers forming a fraction of a second too late.

  "Getting tired?" Riven taunts after landing a particularly effective slash across my thigh. "You should have accepted our offer. Now you'll lose everything."

  I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stay focused despite the growing fatigue. The neural accelerator seems to pulse more intensely against my forehead, as if responding to my desperation.

  As I push my telekinesis to its limits, I feel something strange, a resistance, like a thin film stretching but refusing to break. There's more power available, I can sense it just beyond my reach, but something holds it back, containing my abilities below a certain threshold. The neural accelerator pulses against my forehead as I strain against this unexpected barrier, this ceiling on my powers that I didn't know existed until this moment.

  Riven takes advantage of my momentary distraction, his blade slicing a clean line across my chest before I can fully reform my barrier. The pain clears my mind, bringing me back to the immediate threat.

  "Your enhancement is impressive," Riven says, materializing briefly before vanishing again. "But untrained, unfocused. I've spent years perfecting mine."

  Another attack comes, faster than the others, a complex sequence of strikes from multiple angles that forces me entirely on the defensive. I block the first few, but the last one catches me across the back, sending me stumbling forward.

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  I'm losing. The realization hits me with cold clarity. For all my power, all my progress, I can't match his speed.

  But then, as I watch him circle for another attack, something catches my attention. There's a pattern to his movements, a rhythm I've subconsciously begun to recognize. His attacks aren't random, they follow specific sequences, repeated with only minor variations.

  When he comes again, I'm ready, not because I can track his speed, but because I can predict which angle he'll choose based on his previous attacks. My resonance blade meets his vibration knife with a precision that surprises us both.

  "Lucky block," he mutters, disengaging immediately.

  I don't respond, focusing instead on what I've just discovered. As his next attack comes, I'm already positioning my defenses where I anticipate he'll strike rather than trying to react to his movement. Once again, I successfully counter him.

  A pattern is emerging. Despite his incredible speed, Riven relies on a limited set of attack combinations. It's as if his body can move faster than his mind can direct it, forcing him to fall back on pre-programmed sequences rather than true adaptive combat.

  This is my advantage. I don't need to match his speed if I can predict his movements.

  His next attack comes with even greater velocity, but I'm already moving to intercept, my resonance blade precisely positioned where his momentum will carry him. The clash of our weapons sends a shower of energy sparks across the arena floor.

  "What—" he starts, genuine shock visible on his face before he disengages.

  I press my advantage, shifting from pure defense to calculated counters. Each time he attacks, I'm already there, anticipating his movement patterns with growing accuracy. The neural accelerator thrums against my forehead, helping me process and predict his tactics faster than I could alone.

  "Impossible," he mutters after I counter a particularly complex sequence. "You can't be tracking me at this speed."

  "I don't need to track you," I reply, finally breaking my silence. "Your body moves faster than your mind can control it. You're predictable."

  Fury flashes across his face. "Then let's see how you handle this!"

  He pushes his enhancement to its limits, his form blurring even more as he attacks with renewed ferocity. But in his anger, he becomes even more predictable, falling back on his most practiced combinations rather than adapting to my counters.

  I settle into a rhythm of my own, conserving energy by making minimal movements, letting my telekinetic awareness and pattern recognition do the work that pure speed cannot. The neural accelerator seems to sync with my thoughts, distributing the mental load more efficiently than ever before.

  Again I feel that strange barrier constraining my telekinetic power, like a membrane stretching to its limits but refusing to tear. I push against it, straining to break through, but it holds firm despite my efforts.

  Riven's attacks grow increasingly desperate as his familiar patterns fail to connect. His frustration makes him sloppy, opening gaps in his defense that weren't there before.

  I seize an opportunity, positioning a telekinetic pulse precisely where his evasion pattern will take him after his next attack. When he strikes and I deflect, he moves exactly as predicted, directly into my trap.

  The impact sends him sprawling across the arena floor. He recovers with astonishing speed, rolling to one knee, muscles tensing for a desperate counterattack. His enhanced reflexes might still give him an opening.

  Before either of us can move, a brilliant beam of energy strikes the ground between us, a warning shot. I glance over to see Desta approaching, the energy weapon integrated into her power armor still glowing faintly. Behind her, the rest of Team Transcendence lies defeated, their struggles finally ended.

  "It's over, Riven," she says, her weapon trained on him with unwavering precision. "Your team is down. You're outnumbered four to one."

  His eyes burn with frustration as he assesses the situation. The arena's medical staff is already moving toward his fallen teammates. Even with his speed, the odds are impossible.

  "This isn't finished," he says, his voice tight with restrained anger. "You've made a mistake today, Gary. One you'll regret when we meet again."

  The arena system announces our victory, displays lighting up with Team Exodus' name. The modest crowd erupts into cheers, clearly impressed by our performance against what should have been superior opposition.

  Sera and Lyra join us, looking battle-worn but triumphant.

  "Three consecutive victories," Sera notes, extinguishing the flames between her fingers. "Not bad for a team with a 'disappointing' sponsor."

  "Speaking of whom," Lyra adds, pointing toward the observation booth where Zix bounces with unrestrained excitement, his frill expanded to maximum size and flashing celebratory colors.

  As medical staff attend to my cuts, I take a moment to reflect on the strange barrier I felt constraining my telekinetic abilities. Whatever it is, whether a natural limitation or something artificially imposed, one thing is for certain. It represents the next threshold in my development.

  I have a feeling that breaking through it will be the key to reaching S-rank.