Chapter 411: Platinum Rank

Alexander launched forward, turning into a dark blur. However, the leader extended his hand: the air around him solidified into a wall, and the impact sent Alexander rebounding back, while the leader didn’t budge.

"Congratulations, you are now Platinum Rank," said the leader. "You are impressive."

Alexander stood in shock, realizing he was unable to touch the boss despite being times stronger than before.

My strikes are too dispersed, I need to concentrate them... thought Alexander.

He gritted his teeth and focused his power into a single point. His fist, wrapped in black shadow, shot forward once more; this time, the energy spun into the shape of a drill that slammed into the barrier. The blow punctured the defense and opened a hole, forcing the leader to dodge out of the way.

"Now that’s new," said the leader, raising an eyebrow. "You’re the first person to break my barrier with a strike, even if you only pierced it slightly; however, it’s an excellent result. Let’s test your strength."

The man raised his hands once more. That landslide of pressure that had pinned him before dropped down upon him again. Alexander smirked, telling himself:

"I won’t fall for this again."

He readied his body to shatter the pressure, but the leader didn’t try to lock him down; once he had him boxed in, the air fractured, and Alexander took a blow that shattered his shadow armor to pieces, sending him flying until he slammed against the metal floor.

"You are strong, but you still have a ways to go before reaching the top," said the leader in a calm voice.

Alexander lay on the alloy floor, breathing heavily as the remnants of his armor faded away.

The boss turned toward his vice-leader and said to Stephen:

"He passed every test."

"I never doubted him for a second," replied Stephen, smirking.

Alexander’s eyes rolled back. He had been fighting for a day without rest: first against Big Black’s minotaur form, then carving his way through an army, and enduring the onslaught of the TMC leader. His body collapsed, giving in to exhaustion, and darkness devoured him.

The leader approached with steps, watching the shadow armor fade onto the floor.

"Looks like he hit his limit," said the leader. "Bring him upstairs. There are still things to discuss before those bastards arrive."

"Let’s go," replied Stephen, slinging Alexander’s body over his shoulders.

They ascended back up in the elevator, leaving behind the heat of the Vulcan alloy. After the ride, they rushed him to the TMC’s medical wing, a facility packed with vital sign monitors, immersion tanks, and chemical synthesizers.

Nurses in sterile suits deployed around the gurney. Stephen took charge of the procedure, directing every detail of the treatment since he knew the boy’s physiology and cellular reactions.

"Administer concentrated saline solution!" commanded Stephen in a firm tone. "Prepare Healing Potion Factor 3 and dilute it with Factor Gamma 2 to stabilize muscle tissue."

"Understood, sir. Shall we hook up cellular flow restorers?" asked one of the nurses.

"Yes, and inject three doses of the violet compound into the main IV," added Stephen, watching automated needles pierce Alexander’s skin to deliver fluids that looked like a liquid rainbow. "His adaptable skill is going to devour those chemicals at a rate. Keep pressure low and don’t cut off the IV until his regeneration spikes balance out."

"Attention all personnel, they have arrived!" echoed the leader’s voice through the intercom.

Stephen frowned and turned to the nursing staff.

"Administer two more doses of stabilizing serum and keep the infusion of Factor Gamma 2 going," commanded Stephen before turning on his heel. "Don’t take him off monitors until he wakes up."

Stephen exited the medical wing and walked through the corridors toward the executive floor. As he approached reception, he spotted men in executive suits. Each wore a pin on his lapel displaying the flag of a nation, representing the blocs of the World Federation.

The delegation advanced escorted by two secretaries guiding the way.

"Vice-Leader Stephen, the leader is expecting you in the main board room," said one of the secretaries, offering a nod.

"Right this way, gentlemen," instructed Stephen, gesturing toward the double doors of the conference hall.

The double doors of the boardroom swung open. The TMC leader was waiting for them, seated at the head of a black glass table with the posture of a man who knows he is master of his domain.

"Greetings, envoys of the Federation," said the leader.

"Greetings, leader of the TMC," replied the man leading the delegation, adjusting his tie.

"May I ask what brings you to my abode?" asked the leader, cracking a smirk.

"Well, you see..." began the delegate, but the man beside him cut him off, taking a step forward.

"Let’s cut the bullshit, Scott. We know he’s here. Hand him over and we’ll leave without causing trouble," declared the envoy in an icy tone.

Silence descended upon the room. The leader, holding a cigar between his fingers, tossed it into the air. In a fraction of a second, the surrounding space compressed, and the cigar shattered into a cloud of ash before hitting the table.

"Or else what?" said the leader, locking a glare onto the group.

Silence fell over the boardroom, heavy enough to cut with a knife.

The TMC leader’s gaze turned glacial. A vein bulged at his temple as a wave of suppressed intent made the room’s glass walls vibrate. Once an individual reached a rank within the global hierarchy, addressing a person by his real name was a sign of disrespect, a direct insult that no one with common sense would ignore.

His title was not an alias; it was his dignity, his authority, and the weight of his existence.

"I see the Federation’s dogs have forgotten their manners," said the leader, as the air around him began to fracture with sparks of spatial pressure.

The leader let out a sigh and extended his hand forward, dissolving the spatial pressure that threatened to flatten the envoys.

"Let’s all calm down," said the leader.