And just like that, he’d be Indomitable?
How the hell was that supposed to work?
Nate stared, unblinking. Mouth still open.
Vega wasn’t stupid—if she said it, she had a reason.
And he wasn’t stupid enough to dismiss it outright.
So then… what was he missing?
As if on cue, a screen flashed.
His plan.
First Step: Understand Your Strengths & Weaknesses
- Strength: Damage Control System & Its Use
- Weakness: Lack of Understanding of Said System & Physically Weak, Susceptible to Danger
Nate let out a slow breath.
He looked at it. Sighed.
“You know what? Let’s do it,” he muttered, taking the chance.
With a single swipe of his finger, he crossed out the word Weakness.
The words shifted.
- Strength:
- Damage Control System & Its Use
- Lack of Understanding of Said System & Physically Weak, Susceptible to Danger
His brow twitched.
That was… not right.
He frowned.
How the hell could weakness suddenly be considered strength?
Vega’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Because Damage Controllers don’t have weaknesses.”
This again.
“Really—” Nate started, but she didn’t let him finish.
“Lack of understanding of your System and skills? Congratulations. You have a blank slate. You can shape it however you want.”
She didn’t stop there.
“Physically weak? That just means you have more room to grow. More levels to gain. More potential to unlock.”
His jaw tightened. “And Susceptible to Danger?”
A smirk in her tone. “Everyone’s susceptible to danger. Even the Zodiac Gods—if you know their breaking points.”
“So…” Nate paused, still not buying it. “Even with these stats, rank, level, and skills—I’m not weak.”
Vega didn’t hesitate.
“No. You never were.”
Her voice was steady. Absolute.
The kind of certainty he didn’t know how to trust.
“If anything, you’re stronger than ever.”
Nate let out a short, dry laugh.
“Right. So I could take on a Hero, a Villain, and just—what? Walk away in one piece?”
“Of course you can,” she said without a second thought. “Just use your brain and your skills accordingly.”
“Accordingly?” He shook his head, sheer disbelief washing over him. “How, exactly, am I supposed to use them accordingly?”
His voice rose. Hands waving in frustration.
“Why can’t you just say it—”
Then—
The words on the screen shifted.
Skills:
- Hivemind: User-bound. Tap into the vast human psyche. Not only feel emotions and detect damage, but also control weak psyches—of which humanity has no shortage.
- Magnetic Shift: User-bound. Control more than just metal. Anything with magnetic properties—including but not limited to the human body—is within your reach.
- Structural Awareness: User-bound. Gain absolute knowledge of everything—living or non-living. Every fiber. Every fracture. Every structural detail. Focus on specifics, extract critical information. Rank. Level. Skills. Status. Because in the end, every being is a structure.
- Stabilization Sequencer: User-bound. Processes the Damage Report from Structural Awareness, generating a precise Stabilization Plan. No guesswork—just steps to fix. Can also assess an opponent’s stability. Their strengths. Their weaknesses. Because, again, they’re just another structure.
- Time Stop: Half-user-Half-system bound. Freeze time for 30 seconds. 500% power boost. Execute your Stabilization Plan without interruption. Available only after required Damage Detection. A reality-altering skill.
- Restoration: System-bound. Any and all Damage restored. A reality-altering skill.
- Backlash: Skill-bound. Price for the Temporary boost. All resources used. Body is in excruciating pain after over-exertion. But nullifies your Mana Signature—making you undetectable to both prying eyes and technology. As stats increase, so will recovery time.
- Death Step: User-bound. Further suppresses Mana Signature. One minute per level. Also enhances stamina, allowing escape from detection without being crippled.
- Structural Reconstruction: User-bound. Understand and rebuild any structure instinctively—living or non-living. Requires a connection first, physical or mental.
Nate’s breath hitched.
His mouth hung open. Eyes wide.
What… the fuck?
“You need strength. To have strength, you need to do Damage Control. You were worried—how would you do it? Where you’d do it?”
Vega sounded amused, almost mocking.
“I’m sorry, come again?”
Nate barely breathed.
He stared at the list.
Reread it.
Once. Twice. A third time.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
It didn’t change.
His pulse thundered in his ears.
This isn’t possible.
He rubbed his eyes. Forced a slow exhale.
But when he looked again—
It was all still there.
His stomach turned. His hands curled into fists, nails pressing into his palms.
He had been fighting—struggling—with a fraction of his power. Planning around limitations that didn’t even exist.
He sucked in a breath. No. That wasn’t right.
He hadn’t been fighting.
He had been holding back.
The weight of it hit him all at once.
His knees buckled. His hands hit the floor.
A slow, bitter laugh built in his chest, barely making it past his lips.
“…No shit.”
His throat was dry. His voice barely a whisper.
He’d spent his life preparing for a slow, calculated climb to power.
Step by step. Inch by inch.
But now?
Now, Vega was telling him he’d never been weak to begin with.
The thought settled in his chest, sinking deep—then flipped.
His fingers twitched. His breath evened.
Not fear.
Something sharper.
Realization.
.
.
.
Nate exhaled, steadying himself.
He focused. On the skill list. On what he didn’t know. And more importantly—how to use it.
Hivemind:
He could control weak psyches. Take over minds.
Villains? Their minds were already fractured—damaged from years of System overuse.
In a fight, he wouldn’t have to throw a punch. Just… slip inside. A whisper. A suggestion. And they’d take themselves out before the battle even started.
Or maybe—
Make them drag a Hero away from the battlefield. Pull them into the water.
Force them to fight there. Away from the city. Away from life.
Or—
If the skill leveled up enough... he could take over Heroes, too.
Make them fight. Make them kill each other.
Oh, wouldn’t that be nice?
A slow, shallow grin tugged at Nate’s lips.
So many possibilities.
Magnetic Shift:
Not just metal.
Anything with magnetic properties.
And in a living body?
Blood.
Blood was made of iron. And iron—
Holy. Shit.
His mind raced. Could he freeze an opponent’s blood? Lock their limbs mid-motion? Drag them to the ground with a flick of his fingers?
Sure, it would take precision. Control. Practice.
But that’s what level-ups were for, weren’t they?
And once he got there—
Once he mastered it—
Honestly?
It was terrifying.
Nate’s grin widened.
Structural Awareness & Stabilization Sequencer:
He’d always used them on objects. Materials. Buildings.
Never people.
But people were structures too.
An unknown opponent. A fight he wasn’t prepared for. Normally, he’d be at a disadvantage.
But with this—
A screen.
Every critical detail.
Rank. Level. Resources. Stats. Skills.
Not instantly. Not yet. But with practice?
He’d know everything.
He could decide. Fight or flee?
If he fought—another screen.
Now he knew where to hit. Where to dodge. Where to break them apart—limb by limb.
Maximum impact. Minimum risk.
A fight where his enemy never even got the chance to swing.
One-sided. Beautifully, brutally one-sided.
Nate pumped his fists. His grin stretched even wider.
He couldn’t wait.
Time Stop & Restoration:
Time Stop only activated when there was Damage. No wounds, no activation.
So in a clean fight? Useless.
Because the moment it kicked in—Restoration followed. Resetting everything.
A skill he had zero control over.
If he could use it freely?
There wouldn’t be a fight. He’d insta-kill everything.
Maybe that’s why both were System-bound. Limited.
Because unrestricted?
He wouldn’t just be dangerous.
He’d be unstoppable.
Nate exhaled.
Even bound by the System, they were the most powerful abilities in his arsenal.
More powerful than all his other skills combined.
Restoring death. Altering reality itself.
A feat not even the Gods could pull off.
Oh, boy.
Wouldn’t that make him famous?
Wouldn’t that finally put the Association and Monolith in their place?
His fist slammed into the ground.
“Yes!”
His teeth clenched. His breath heavy.
Backlash & Death Step:
Backlash. Sure, it hurt.
But he’d never thought of it like this.
Mana Signature.
Mana—the force that powered every superhuman.
And the way they identified each other? Their unique signatures.
But if his was erased after Damage Control—
And Death Step gave him that sudden stamina boost—
He could vanish.
Heroes. Villains. Authorities hunting him down?
They would never find him.
To their eyes, he’d be a dead man. No Mana. No presence.
That’s why it was called Death Step.
Nate stifled a chuckle.
So obvious.
Weaponizing his biggest weakness.
Structural Reconstruction:
The last on the list.
It let him rebuild both living and non-living things. Instinctively.
Nate reread the screen.
That’s what it said.
Did it work the way it sounded?
Could he rebuild—
People?
Himself?
Outside of Damage Control?
His pulse pounded in his ears. The realization hit like a weight in his chest.
Then it flipped.
Turned into something sharp. Electric.
With enough practice, he wouldn’t just be hard to kill.
He’d be untouchable.
His breath hitched. A cold rush flooded his spine.
Shit.
Shit.
SHIT!
Just how broken was this?
This one skill alone—
It could make him immortal.
And with all of them combined…
His lungs squeezed. His throat was dry. He swallowed, hard.
“This isn’t just Damage Control.”
For as long as he could remember, he’d been put in one role.
The cleanup. The afterthought.
The one who showed up once the wreckage settled.
But this?
This wasn’t just fixing things.
This was control.
Total.
Control.
.
.
.
Nate lay on the cold floor, staring into the white abyss.
He had control.
He could decide.
If he wanted to watch the world burn from the sidelines—let the arsonists have their way, then come in after and fix it.
Or—
Jump in. Crush the arsonists. Fix it before they ever had the chance to strike a match.
He would choose the latter. Always.
But right now?
The former was his only option.
These skills—they gave him an edge. Sure.
But they were newborns. Raw. Untested. Basic.
They wouldn’t hold a candle to the forces already at play.
Not yet.
He needed to raise them. Evolve them.
Raise himself. Evolve himself.
Stats. Level. Rank.
Strength.
Experience.
And the only way?
Damage Control.
This time—without fear.
He exhaled.
He would do it. He had everything he needed.
But first—
Nate planted his hands on the floor, pushing himself upright.
He rolled his shoulders. Stretched his fingers. Clenched his fists.
The tension coiled. Then, slowly, it released.
Around him—emptiness. A blank slate.
A void.
A sandbox.
His lips curled.
“Alright,” he muttered, the grin creeping in.
“Let’s test this properly.”