Shojiro's body exploded outward for a moment—skin stretching, muscles ballooning in every direction like a swelling storm of flesh and power. The earth cracked beneath his feet as his shadow swallowed the street.
Then, just as suddenly, his frame compacted.
The surge folded inward—dense cords of muscle knitting tighter, compressing beneath his skin until his size returned to normal. His veins pulsed with light, a faint crimson glow flickering across his body like molten cracks in armor.
He blinked down at himself, panting. "W-What the hell…? Thought it was some kinda… enlarging power or somethin'."
His body felt different—heavy but balanced, like every ounce of strength he ever had had been sharpened into something denser, more alive.
He clenched his fist experimentally, and his forearm bulged, muscles shifting and sliding beneath the skin like living cables.
"Alright… let's see what this does."
He swung a right hook toward the nearest Berserker.
For a split second—every muscle in his torso, chest, back, and legs moved at once, condensing into that one arm. His bicep doubled in width mid-swing, cords snapping like overstrung wires.
The punch connected—
—but at the same instant, his own arm detonated.
A flash of red light erupted from his shoulder. The entire limb blew apart in a violent burst of muscle and Vythra, fragments of flesh scattering like shrapnel.
"—GAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
Shojiro dropped to one knee, clutching the seared stump where his arm had been. Blood sprayed in heavy bursts, sizzling as it mixed with leaking Vythra.
He slammed his other fist into the ground, snarling through the agony.
"Dammit! What the hell was that!?"
His body twitched uncontrollably—his reconfigured muscles still spasming, struggling to stabilize after the overload. Steam hissed from his skin. His bones audibly creaked under the strain.
The Berserker he'd aimed at was gone—nothing left but a red crater and splintered chunks of bone.
Shojiro spat blood, grimacing through the pain. "Hah… so it works. Just… not built to survive it yet."
He looked at the smoking hole in his shoulder, then at the endless swarm closing in again.
"Guess I'll just have to learn real fast."
Shojiro's scream was still echoing when the wound began to heal in reverse.
Crimson veins snaked out from the stump—flesh reforming, bones knitting back together, fibers twisting like vines growing at hyper speed. Within seconds, his arm was whole again, steaming with residual Vythra.
He flexed his fingers, watching the new limb shimmer faintly red.
"…Instant regen, huh. Yggdrasil, you're still spoiling me."
But there was no time to celebrate.
Three Skulkers burst from the cracked asphalt ahead, sprinting on all fours, claws carving sparks. Shojiro's instincts kicked in—he swung again, this time focusing his strength not on brute force… but on control.
He felt it—his muscles shifting under his command. The fibers in his legs compacted, sending power to his hips; his chest tightened, forcing Vythra into his right arm.
The arm swelled slightly, veins bulging.
"Let's try… fifty percent."
The punch landed like a thunderclap. The first Skulker's body imploded, torn apart by the impact before its brain even registered death.
The recoil didn't destroy his arm this time—it only burned. A deep, satisfying ache.
Shojiro grinned. "Heh. That's new."
He ducked as another Skulker leapt over him, twisting mid-air. This time, he diverted power differently—muscles from his torso flowed into his back and legs.
"Thirty percent legs, seventy arms!"
He kicked off the ground with explosive force, launching upward faster than sound. The shockwave sent dust and corpses flying. He grabbed the Skulker midair, spun, and hammered it into the pavement headfirst, cracking the street wide open.
Vythra hissed off his body like smoke. His muscles pulsed, rearranging again—this time sliding mass from his left leg into his shoulders.
Another demon lunged from behind. Shojiro didn't even turn—his back muscles surged forward, shifting energy into his left elbow.
He fired the strike backward, blind.
The Berserker behind him exploded into a cloud of gore.
Shojiro blinked, realizing what had happened.
"…Muscle reconfiguration. I can send my strength wherever I want."
He tested it again—redirecting. His physique morphed, subtly changing shape depending on where the power went. His body was no longer a static form; it was an adaptive weapon.
The more he fought, the more efficient it became.
"Alright, let's see how far this goes."
He focused—tensing every fiber, guiding the flow like a living machine.
"Ten percent core, twenty to legs, fifty to arms, twenty to back."
The ground shattered beneath him as he lunged forward like a missile, his fists a blur of crimson. Every hit was surgical—bones breaking, demons bursting apart one after another.
"Okay… I'm starting to get this."
The next Berserker charged from behind — too fast, too close. Shojiro dropped low, shifting forty percent into his legs and twenty into his shoulders.
His knee shot up like a piston, driving into the Berserker's abdomen and launching it skyward.
"Reconfigure: fifty–fifty upper-lower split."
He leapt after it — a crimson blur. Mid-air, the mass redistributed again, every fiber in his legs collapsing into his core and arms.
He met the Berserker's falling body with a single overhand strike.
The impact cratered the street. The demon exploded in a rain of black blood and shattered bone.
Shojiro landed hard, steam rolling off his body. His muscles pulsed in steady rhythm — adapting, learning, responding to thought alone.
Each punch sent shockwaves through the city ruins.
Each kick left craters.
Each roar of his pulse echoed like war drums.
Shojiro's grin widened through the carnage.
"Finally… this body makes sense."
The battlefield was his gym, his experiment, his awakening.
He was no longer just fighting—he was engineering his own anatomy mid-combat.
He looked at his hands — trembling not from exhaustion, but power.
"This… this is perfect."
Another horde approached from the shadows.
He cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders.
"Alright… let's see how far I can push the percentages before I start breaking again."
And the demons? They were just data points in his learning curve.