Any and everything the demon was saying was being rendered as whitenoise to Zayn. The feeble ray of light shone brighter until, finally, it pierced and dispelled the veil of darkness. Light engulfed everything around him.
The voice was gone.
Just like that, Zayn had conquered his demon.
And from that came the euphoria of being freed from his shackles and the inhibitions that had previously coursed through Zayn’s vein. He felt alive!
His mind had been emancipated. He was granted liberty, and his spirit felt as free as a horse without his reins.
His quondam progressed so quickly that it birthed a demon, and now that it had been banished and dispelled, Zayn was a different man now!
Had he dismissed the grueling idea of isolation training—whittling his will to its weakest, baiting his demon to emerge and finally destroying it—it would have come back to haunt him once more. When he attained the perfect class, as he was well on his way to Invincibilis, the demon would have surfaced and seized control of him.
When that happened, the only thing that awaited him would be his inevitable doom and death.
Whatever dark clouds that fogged his mind had melted away. The road ahead of him was illuminated, and was clearer than ever before.
Zayn had a lot more than just a glimpse of what the perfect class would feel like, he now had a sure grasp of what it would be, an understanding that was beyond the transient epiphany he had experienced back then. Given more time, Zayn knew that he would finally attain the perfect class.
And maybe achieving Invincibilis was not a pipe-dream, after all.
A faint smile hung on his lips.
Then his consciousness began to wither and fade like a puff of smoke.
In the beginning, his consciousness was about as large as a man-made lake. It rapidly shrunk, until all that was left was a barrel. It then became a bucket, before finally being reduced to a cup.
Ashe slowly entered the mystical state of absorption, his body froze, muscles by muscles until it was motionless. The frequency of his breathing lowered until it took him more than ten seconds before he exhaled slowly.
Even his heartbeat had become sluggish, it beat only every ten or more seconds. If anyone were to be with him right now, they would have noticed his body temperature lowering so much that he was like a seated corpse.
Zayn had succeeded into entering the state of absorption. He had managed to calm himself down into a state of serenity while locked in an inescapable, tightly-sealed room while the matter of his life and death was dependent on someone other than himself.
It happened over such a difficult circumstance that it was nigh-impossible. If words of it got out to the general public, everyone would be shocked like they were not never shocked before!
After all, many before Zayn had attempted similar extremities in a bid for more power over centuries. But all of them, unlike Zayn, had failed.
Some faltered because their wills were weak and they made sure they had a way out when the air within their space was used up. Some had the will but not the strength and skill to battle their demons, which resulted in death of asphyxiation.
“Destruction breeds creation.” And yet, how many could survive such total destruction enough to live and create?
Only Zayn Larson bore the will and power to win his demon throughout history.
The benefit of entering such a state was enormous.
Three days later, Zayn’s consciousness had been shrunken into a drop of water. His body seemed to have sunken into a kind of hibernation, causing him to breathe once per hour, a rate even his heartbeat followed. For a live man, he was pretty close to being dead.
On the seventh day of his training, a huge crowd had arrived at the Insurgent Trifecta.
Their arrival was marked by a pressing sense of belligerence. Leading the group was Wade’s brother-in-law and combat instructor of the Insurgent Duofecta, Taio Cruz. Behind him, a dozen people trailed, half of them superior class fighters.
Joe had come out from the entrance to greet the entourage personally. With his jovial smile, he said, “Hello, Sergeant Cruz! Welcome, welcome!”
Liam, Holden, and other higher-ups were standing behind Joe, their eyes set on Taio’s obviously darkened expression. Something was amiss, they felt.
Taio had none of Joe’s cordiality. Instead of returning the gesture, he pulled out his phone, located a video, and played it right on Joe’s face. It was surveillance footage, and in the middle showed a man’s back.
It was Zayn Larson. The video had captured the moment Zayn killed Wade in the mansion.
Joe watched it play, his heart skipping a beat. As he did, he heard Taio questioning, “So, this *sshole in the video is one of the Insurgent Trifecta’s people, isn’t he? Hmm, Director Pennywise?”