Sovereign Ascendant

The vial sat before him, sealed in reinforced glass, the Bellum glyphs carved into its surface glowing faintly.

Gaius stared at it for a long moment.

Then he uncorked it.

The substance inside was thick, dark as congealed blood, its scent sharp and unnatural. It did not move like liquid. It pulsed, slow and deliberate, as if it were alive.

Gaius exhaled.

He had fought battles against impossible odds. Had survived in the dark for months. Had walked away from death more times than he could count.

But this?

This was different.

This was not war.

This was destruction and rebirth.

A slow death he would have to endure alone.

Without hesitation, he drank.

The taste was wrong. Not bitter, not metallic, not like anything he had ever consumed before. It was cold at first, sinking into his stomach like ice.

Then the fire began.

—

It started in his bones.

A deep, searing heat, radiating outward, as if molten metal had been poured into his marrow.

He gritted his teeth, jaw locking, his entire body tensing as the pain bloomed.

His muscles contracted violently, tendons twisting, skin tightening as his body rebelled against itself.

Then the real agony began.

His bones cracked.

Not clean breaks. Fractures, splinters, microscopic shatters spreading through his entire skeleton at once.

His ribs felt like they were collapsing, his spine a column of snapping tension, pulled apart and forced to knit together over and over.

His breath hitched, sharp and ragged, but he did not scream.

He had known what this would be.

The Bellum Empire's enhancers did not grant power.

They tore a man apart and forced him to survive it.

He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as his muscles began to rupture.

Every fiber of his being was breaking.

And then, worse—it began to rebuild.

—

The pain did not fade.

It only changed.

From destruction to something worse.

He could feel it—his muscles regenerating, denser, thicker, layer upon layer of fiber weaving itself together, binding around bones that had been shattered and reforged.

His skin peeled, burned away, regenerated.

His body was being rewritten.

And all he could do was endure.

—

At the height of the pain, when the world had narrowed into nothing but agony, he reached for the healing pill.

His fingers trembled. He nearly dropped it.

But he forced it into his mouth.

The pill dissolved instantly, coolness rushing through his body, countering just enough of the damage to keep him from passing out.

His breath came in shallow gasps.

His body was wrecked. Yet it was stronger.

Not through Qi.

Not through techniques.

Through raw, physical evolution.

And this was only the first dose.

—

The next vial came two days later.

The pain was worse.

His body remembered the suffering and anticipated it, his nerves raw before the transformation even began.

But he did not hesitate.

He drank.

And he broke again.

—

It took ten days.

Three vials.

Three times he shattered and healed.

Three times he felt himself reduced to something barely human.

But by the end, he had changed.

He stood taller.

His muscles were not bulked with excess size, but carved into something denser, something more efficient.

His skin was tougher, his reflexes sharper.

And when he moved, he felt the difference.

Not in raw power.

In control. In precision.

His body had become something beyond mortal limits.

A weapon in its own right.

—

Days passed.

The Legatus broke through.

Gaius had expected it. A man like Varro, a veteran of countless campaigns, had been standing on the threshold of the Praetor rank for years.

All he had needed was the recognition, the reward, the last push forward.

It had taken him a week to stabilize.

And now, he was calling for him.

—

The attendant found him in the upper levels of the military sector, where officers took their meals in private dining halls, far from the common soldiers.

She approached with measured steps, her posture disciplined, yet not rigid.

Gaius recognized her immediately.

She had been a Centurion longer than him, before he had been promoted.

And she was one of the fiercest warriors he had ever seen in battle.

Vespera Aurelian.

Tall, with a lean, honed frame, the kind built for speed and lethal efficiency.

Her hair was a deep auburn, worn in a simple warrior's braid, her features sharp and striking. Golden eyes met his with quiet intensity.

She had always been a storm on the battlefield—relentless, controlled, calculated.

But off it?

Cool-headed. Reserved. A presence that demanded attention without effort.

She stopped before him, arms folded, expression unreadable.

"The Praetor is calling for you," she said.

Gaius raised a brow. "What for?"

A hint of amusement flickered in her eyes. "I don't ask questions above my rank."

He smirked. "That's not true."

Vespera tilted her head slightly. "It's true when it needs to be."

He exhaled.

"Fine. Lead the way."

As they walked, he could feel her gaze lingering on him.

Not with suspicion.

With curiosity.