The alien lunged first, its shadowy tendrils slicing through the air with deadly precision.
Wattson dodged with superhuman speed, his body adapting instantly to the alien's swift reflexes. The first tendril slammed into the ground, turning the asphalt into dust.
Another tendril lashed out, but Wattson raised his hand. With a flick of his fingers, the steel frame of a nearby car bent and twisted, forming a metallic shield to intercept the attack.
The shield dissolved on impact, disintegrating like paper in a flame, but Wattson had already moved. His mind processed the alien's speed and strength, recalibrating his reactions at an incomprehensible rate.
Not relenting, he thrust his arms forward, summoning the metallic remains of nearby vehicles.
Steel twisted into jagged spears and crackling nets of electromagnetic energy. He hurled them into the shadows, the air erupting into a symphony of metallic clashes and sizzling destruction.
Boom!
A shockwave radiated from the clash, shattering windows and splitting the earth. The 'warm-up' was over. Now, it was time to get serious.
Wattson raised his hand, releasing a barrage of electromagnetic pulses. A wave of microwave energy surged forward, invisible but devastating—capable of frying electronics and cooking organic matter.
It only made the alien stagger slightly before it retaliated, its shadowy tendrils whipping through the air.
These shadows were not merely physical; they sapped energy from everything they touched.
Wattson ducked and rolled, his body evolving mid-motion. His skin thickened to resist the draining effect, his movements growing faster and more fluid.
He countered with a barrage of attacks, magnetically lifting cars and hurling them with precision akin to guided missiles.
The alien caught the first car effortlessly, crushing it into a compact metal ball before hurling it back.
Wattson deflected it with a wave of his hand, sending it skidding harmlessly into a building.
The battle transformed the city into a war zone. Skyscrapers toppled as Wattson hurled electromagnetically charged wrecking balls at the alien.
Streets split apart, devoured by the alien's decaying shadows. Electrical surges coursed through the grid, plunging the city into darkness interspersed with erratic sparks.
This was more than a physical battle—it was elemental. Wattson unleashed a searing blast of gamma rays, ionizing the air and scorching everything in a five-block radius.
The alien retaliated with a tidal wave of shadows, obliterating what remained of the cityscape.
It charged, its raw strength shaking the earth, delivering blows capable of shattering entire cities. But Wattson absorbed the impacts, his body converting the kinetic energy into electromagnetic power.
With a final surge, he unleashed a concentrated beam of energy directly into the alien's chest.
It wasn't enough.
The alien only grinned, grabbing Wattson by the arm and slamming him into a nearby building like a ragdoll. Yet Wattson refused to give in. He staggered to his feet, defiance blazing in his eyes.
The alien materialized behind him, claws aimed for his neck. Wattson ducked instinctively, spinning to grab its arm.
A surge of electromagnetic energy superheated the alien's flesh. The alien laughed, an ominous sound that reverberated like a death knell, and unleashed an aura of decay.
The aura enveloped Wattson, seeping through his pores, nose, ears, and eyes.
"Aaaaaaah!" Wattson screamed as his life force drained at an alarming rate.
The aura didn't just suck his vitality; it attacked his soul, threatening to turn it to dust. His memories fragmented, his thoughts disjointed, insanity clawing at the edges of his mind.
He was dying, and fast.
His immortality not helping, since the more vitality the aura consumed, the stronger it became.
And so in an attenmpt to resist, his body stopped supplying vitality to his cells, letting him dry up fast.
In the chaos of his deteriorating consciousness, an epiphany struck. His technopathy wasn't his primary ability.
Why wasn't he using his true power—the ability to create anything he could imagine?
With a roar that shattered the alien's mocking composure, Wattson's eyes blazed. A glowing blue rune materialized above his chest, shimmering with raw power.
The aura of decay was sucked into the rune, imprisoned in a cage within his soul.
As the toxic energy dissipated, his body reacted explosively.
Boom!
The muffled detonation within him triggered a rapid transformation. His body evolved faster than he could process, but the process required ten agonizing minutes—an eternity in battle.
The alien noticed immediately, charging at him with lethal intent.
Time seemed to slow for Wattson. His thoughts raced as he considered his lineage, his heritage.
Vampires controlled blood; surely, as a high human, he had authority over something, right?
But first, he needed to survive.
His eyes glowed again as a new rune flared to life, enhancing his body and replenishing his energy. In his hands materialized a sleek weapon—a pistol.
A gun?
Shadow, watching nervously from his time realm, shook his head. "Has he lost his mind?"
But when Wattson aimed the gun at the alien, its confidence vanished. The alien's eyes widened in terror.
As the first bullet left the barrel, it turned and fled, instincts screaming for survival.
What had Wattson created? Simple: the alien's ultimate weakness. The gun embodied the one thing fatal to it, like kryptonite to Superman.
Because right now, he could feel his race was awakening something, but it lacked fuel.
And what better fuel then fighting and adapting to a very powerful opponent?
The battle raged on for eight grueling minutes. Wattson teetered on the edge of death, using the gun sparingly to buy precious moments of recovery.
Each clash brought him closer to his limit, but also closer to victory.
By the end, Wattson stood victorious over the alien's shriveled, lifeless form. His body was broken—bleeding, disfigured, his muscles barely holding together—but he had won.
As he watched the alien crumble to dust, his vision blurred. Darkness crept into the edges of his consciousness, and he collapsed.
But the battle wasn't over.
The rune that had trapped the aura of decay faltered as his energy waned. The toxic energy escaped, more aggressive and lethal than before. It surged toward Wattson, intent on finishing what it had started.
System notifications chimed faintly in his mind.
[Host has successfully activated the trial for the Aeonborn Bloodline.]
[Bloodline Awakening ongoing...]
[The trial has recognized the host as the last heir. The trial has begun.]
[The special trait of Supreme Humans has awakened. Host adapting and evolving.]
[Host has fulfilled all prerequisites for a major evolution...]
[Host evolving to Level 1.]