Inside a brightly lit room, a brutal scene was unfolding.
A young boy that was no older than eighteen, was repeatedly being crushed beneath a massive, jagged rock which was suspended from the ceiling.
Each time the rock slammed into him, it left behind nothing but mangled remains, flesh and blood being scattered across the ground like debris.
But then, something astonishing would happen. From the ruins of his body, cells multiplied at an impossible rate. Skin, bones, muscle, all reformed in perfect symmetry, and within seconds, the boy stood whole again, his aura just a bit more powerful than before.
The process repeated. Over and over.
The rock rose, shifted, and crashed down again. Each time it changed—its edges sharper and its heat molten. It reduced him to nothing but a single arm. Yet in moments, that arm grew back into a flawless body.
Again, the rock fell and educed him to just wrists. Then, just fingers. And each time, he regenerated faster, more efficiently—from a drop of blood, from a single cell.
The rock's force increased with every strike, vibrating with intense power. But no matter how it crushed him, the boy always recovered—instantly, perfectly.
This grueling cycle went on for hours.
At last, the rock stopped. Silence filled the hall as the boy stood tall once more, his bare chest gleaming under the bright lights.
Muscles rippled across his body, skin flawless, and dark hair falling effortlessly into place. His physique was perfection itself—abs like carved marble, shoulders broad, with an aura of invincibility around him.
As he stepped out of the hall, a cold, neutral faced girl stood waiting, a robe in hand. She offered it to him without a word, her pretty face unreadable.
Despite the fact that he was stark naked, she didn't flinch. Clearly, this was routine.
He grabbed the robe, a smirk curling at his lips as his gaze lingered on her face.
"Why don't you ever smile? Just once?" he teased.
She looked at him, unimpressed. "Because you haven't earned it." Her tone was flat, her expression colder than ice.
He chuckled, pulling the robe over his shoulders. "One day, Yara. One day."
Yara didn't respond. She only turned and gestured toward the courtyard. "He's waiting."
Torren sighed, the playful edge instantly leaving his voice. "The old man, huh?" He reluctantly followed her outside, stepping into the sunlight.
There, at the entrance to the courtyard, stood a man dressed in elaborate robes. Though his face seemed youthful, Torren knew better. This was Oren, one of the Elders of the Regenerari.
"You missed the meeting again," Oren said, his voice filled with disapproval.
Torren Vialis, Apex of the Regenerari, smiled, unbothered by the elder's scolding tone.
"I was training. You know, the thing that's actually going to help me win this competition," he said casually, though his voice carried the weight of his power.
Oren's eyes narrowed slightly. "The meetings are important, Torren. They keep you updated on the movements and strategies of the other Apexes. This Veriataga Nexus isn't like the others. It's going to be dangerous."
Torren chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Oh, I know that well, trust me. But if it's just information about the other Apexes, I can get that in seconds. I don't need to sit through a boring meeting for hours. It's a waste of time."
Oren sighed heavily, shaking his head. Torren had always been nonchalant, always seeing things through his own lens. But still, the elder was worried. He had seen too many cocky warriors fall because they underestimated what lay ahead.
Torren noticed the concern in the elder's face and smiled reassuringly. "Relax, Oren. I can't be killed. You know that."
Oren stared at him, the weight of those words settling uncomfortably in his chest. He knew that truth better than anyone—the full extent of Torren's abilities.
The Regenerari were a race that thrived on their capacity to regenerate and adapt. Injury and death were concepts they barely feared, as their bodies could recover from nearly any wound.
But Torren Vialis was something else entirely. His regenerative abilities were unlike anything their race had ever seen. Not only did he heal faster, but every time he was injured, his strength grew. Each time his body was torn apart, he came back stronger.
It was this gift that made Torren the Apex of their race—the first and only one to perfect this power so fully.
And it was why the elders were more worried. The Veriataga Nexus wasn't just a competition; it was a battlefield filled with the strongest beings from across the planet.
Even immortality had its limits, and the Regenerari feared what might happen if those limits were tested. Torren was someone they never wanted to lose.
But for Torren, fear was a concept that had long since lost its meaning.
The Regenerari were a people who saw death as nothing more than an inconvenience. Their bodies could adapt to any environment, heal from the most grievous wounds, and evolve to overcome any threat.
They lived by the philosophy that the strongest beings weren't those who could dominate, but those who could endure. For the Regenerari, survival wasn't just about living—it was about continuously evolving, continuously regenerating.
And Torren Vialis was their ultimate weapon.
…
In the thick jungle of the Lucendi domain, a group of men tore through the forest, each radiating the aura of a grandmaster rank.
The tension in the air was thick as their eyes darted around the dense foliage. They all knew what they were hunting, and the weight of it pressed heavily on them.
Suddenly, one of the men skidded to a halt, eyes wide as he spotted a figure in the distance.
"There! I've found him!" he shouted, pointing toward the figure of a boy leaning casually against a tree.
Before the others could react, they too saw him. The same boy, but from different directions, appearing at multiple points within the jungle. Each figure was identical, all standing motionless with faint smirks on their lips.
The men froze, their eyes darting between the copies.
"He's tricking our senses," one of them muttered with frustration. "What a monster… to think he's already strong enough to fool grandmasters like this."