A/N i have a limited stock for this fanfic, so two chapters in a row wont be happening often, so enjoy and throw some stones, get this fanfic out there.
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Chapter 2
As the dealer raised his arm to punch again, Ash's hand shot up and caught the fist, surprising both of them. He pushed himself to his feet, eyes glowing white, and the dealer's expression faltered. For a man so skinny and malnourished, barely standing at five-foot-five, the strength in that grip didn't make sense. The glow wasn't for show—Ash had activated his dormant mana, enhancing his physical traits far above his base level.
"Gosh, I can't believe I have to waste the mana I've been gathering for hours on this guy," he thought bitterly, knowing each second burned through his precious mana reserves, activating mana used up the dormant mana reserve, which was bad obviously since reaching the second stage required excess mana to leave the body and form a shell on his body, and if he burned mana, meant that he was not only not progressing, but was regressing instead.
He struck the dealer square in the face, forcing the man to stumble back, "fuck you, you piece of white trash" The dealer growled as he recovered quickly and retaliated with a haymaker, which grazed Ash's jaw and sent him spinning against the alley wall. Ash countered with a jab to the ribs, followed by a sharp knee to the gut.
The dealer slammed a fist into Ash's shoulder, numbing it briefly, but Ash ducked low and drove his elbow into the man's side. Blow after blow was traded—fists smashing against flesh, feet scraping on the wet ground, each collision echoing off the narrow walls. Finally, Ash landed a heavy punch to the dealer's temple, and the man slumped to the floor, unconscious.
Seeing the unconscious man on the ground, Ash groaned and slowly let go of the mana flow within him. His eyes dulled from glowing white back to their usual grey, almost lifeless. He stood still for a moment, letting the silence of the alley settle around him, broken only by the sound of a distant car horn and dripping water.
"Don't blame me for this, dude," he muttered as he wiped the blood from his mouth and reached into the dealer's pockets, pulling out a couple hundred dollars. Then, without hesitation, he stripped the dealer of his clothes, tossing away his own worn-out rags onto the damp concrete.
The new clothes stung slightly against his skin, the fresh fabric rubbing against the cuts and bruises on his body. But compared to his old torn hoodie and thin joggers, they might as well have been designer wear. Smiling to himself, he tightened the belt around the dealer's trousers, which sagged around his malnourished waist.
The shirt was loose too, but it was clean and smelled like soap instead of blood and sweat. He walked out of the alley like nothing happened, blinking at the sudden sunlight, and made his way toward the first noodle shop he saw. The bell jingled as he entered, and he ordered not one, not two, but four steaming bowls of noodles and devoured them like an animal.
The old Chinese man behind the counter laughed heartily at the sight. His silver beard shook with every chuckle, and his eyes crinkled with joy. "You eat like tiger, boy!" he said through his laughter, shaking his head. Ash grinned with a mouth full of noodles and replied, "These are the best damn noodles I've ever had." He slurped the last of the broth and leaned back in his seat, his smile the brightest it had been in weeks.
"You from around here?" the old man asked while wiping the counter. "Nah, just passing through… trying to get stronger, y'know?" Ash said honestly, tapping his chest. "Strong body needs strong meal," the man nodded. With a thankful nod, Ash stood up and left, his hands in his pockets and stomach finally full.
As he walked down the street, he noticed how people on the sidewalk were subtly crossing the road or stepping aside. His gaze followed theirs and landed on a group dressed in matching dark suits, standing under a flickering sign. "Triads," he thought with a sigh. The neon buzz of the sign above them and the cold stares they gave anyone who looked too long made the air feel heavy.
"As if aliens, superpowered people, government mutates, and supernatural beings weren't enough," he groaned, turning away. "Not my business anyways. All I have to do is accumulate mana and earn money." He burped lightly, stomach satisfied, and stuffed his hands deeper into his coat pockets.
Eventually, he found himself back at the docks. The gentle sound of waves crashing against the wooden posts and boats bumping softly into each other calmed his thoughts. The sky had started to turn orange, and a salty breeze drifted past, brushing against his hair. "Ah, this feels nice," he thought as he sat down on the edge of the dock, crossing his legs. With a slow exhale, he began his special breathing technique, drawing in the surrounding mana, calming his mind, and letting the world fade around him.
-scene change-
The next morning, the sun had risen again, streaking the sky in hues of orange and gold, casting long shadows over the quiet dock. Ash opened his eyes to the soft crash of waves and the light sea breeze brushing against his face. As soon as he tried to sit up, the familiar sting of cramps spread through his body—but they weren't as brutal as before.
Still, his muscles clenched and ached from hours of mana absorption through the night. "Agh… finally it's gone," he groaned as the last of the tension left him. He leaned back against a rusted blue shipping container, staring at the horizon where the sun kissed the ocean's surface.
It was a beautiful sight—one that could've easily belonged to another world. "What a beautiful world," he mumbled, but almost immediately scoffed. Beneath that beauty was a brutal, twisted reality—aliens, mutants, monsters, magic, and gods. He took a slow breath, shaking off the thought and rising to his feet. The dock he stood on creaked beneath him, worn but sturdy, and stamped with a faded metal sign that read Rand Enterprises.
Just like Stark Industries, they were a giant in the corporate world. It was strange—Tony Stark, a man who built flying suits, fought gods and aliens alongside a WWII supersoldier, a hammer-wielding Norse god, and a green rage monster born from a lab accident. And of course, Loki—the god of mischief, whose invasion the old Ash cursed with all his powerless heart.
Shrugging off old grudges, Ash started walking along the pier, approaching the nearby workers and supervisors who were checking shipments or loading crates. "Excuse me," he called out to a bald man in a reflective vest, clipboard in hand. "You guys hiring?" The man eyed him from head to toe. "You look like you'd snap if I threw a pencil at you. Sorry, kid."
Another foreman, this one stocky and red-faced, didn't even stop walking. "Don't have time for slackers. Go eat a sandwich and come back when you grow some arms." Ash tried three more piers, each rejection more blunt than the last. "No ID, no experience, no hire," one woman said with a shrug. "Not a charity," another added before turning her back.
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A/N so? what do you think? and yes, ash is like that, he wont back down from a fight, even if its eternity.
PS: getting rejected that many time, i know the feeling, at least some of them have the decency to reply, some don't even inform youof the fact that they are not moving on forward with you, and yes, i am talking about Real Life.
PS: no ash wont stay like that for the whole time.