Lone Cultivator In Another World

Vladimir stood over the body of a spetsnaz agent he'd managed to choke.

Michael had just entered the small concrete room and was now panting, dumbstruck.

Their wife and mother, Nadezhda Severniy, stood in the center of the room. Her glassy, unfocused eyes were wide open as she gently swayed as if she was caught in the middle of sleepwalking.

Around her, six men with the same facial expressions copied her movements. They were stuck in place, devoid of feeling, only able to sway their upper bodies. If the slightest breeze could blow in this stuffy room, they would be blades of grass following its direction.

"Freak! Monster!"

Michael came to his senses and noticed another Russian agent two meters to the right of him. The agent was aiming his gun at Nadezhda and muttering curses, clearly terrified the same zombie-like possession would happen to him.

His finger was already on the trigger. Michael didn't have time to reach for the guns he had tucked behind his belt, or even charge his limbs with World Tree energy. He could only push himself in the direction of the agent and use his hand like a whip to redirect his gun.

Bang!

The bullet went into the wall well above Nadezhda Severniy's head.

The shaken agent looked at his arm to see it broken at the elbow, unnaturally twisted at the joint. He opened his mouth to scream, but a super-powered punch with thrice the strength of a top boxer threw him on the floor.

"Serious concussion. Well done, son," Vladimir spoke up.

Michael let out a breath. 'Just in time.'

He came up to his mother and waved a hand in front of her face. Seeing as she didn't react, the teenager touched her face and sank his consciousness into her body.

Short and thin strands of grey Qi flowed in Nadezhda's bloodstream. They were less impressive than any Michael had seen so far. Interested in the glassy-eye phenomenon, Michael's consciousness traveled around his mom's body until it arrived in her head. There, he found a clear grey substance in the brain. It was almost transparent.

'Mental energy,' the cultivator realized. His mother's Altered trait was connected to a Psychic power. That explained the six people she'd managed to subdue.

However, supporting the ability for any period of time was dangerous for her, as she was in the earliest stages of awakening her powers.

"Let's shake her out of it, dad! I can take care of these guys if they wake up," he suggested, and brushed his Mental Power against his mother's. That was enough for Nadezhda to exit the trance state.

As he suspected, she was exhausted and fell into her husband's arms. The six hypnotized agents hit the floor.

"Nadya," Vladimir bit his lip. He picked up his wife and carried her to the elevator door, "Let's get out of here."

"Dad, let me help! You're not the one with super-strength."

Vladimir shook his head. Today, his wife had to protect him. Even if he didn't feel his arms, taking care of her afterwards was the least he could do.

Michael recognized that and decided not to push. If his father lost his grip, he could catch mom in time. Instead, he asked which of the men hit them on the video.

Vladimir nodded at the spetsnaz agent he'd choked.

"Crushed windpipe. Well done, dad," Michael grinned, copying his father's earlier comment.

He hit the button that turned on the elevator and looked back. Killing these people in front of his father wasn't an option, so Michael just searched them and crushed the barrel of every gun the agents had. He'd let Graves and his people take care of them.

The elevator worked even with its doors a little rumpled. Father and son made their way up, through the hall and outside the building. They didn't have to wait long – in two minutes, a motorcade of black vans swarmed the street. Principal Graves jumped out of the first one and ran to check Michael over.

"I'm fine, sir, only a little tired," the teenager dismissed him with a wave, "But my mom needs medical attention. And dad, have a check-up as well."

Vladimir nodded and carried his wife to the car whose interior was similar to an ambulance's.

"Michael, can you tell me what happened? What are we going to find in this and the other facility?" Graves held the teenager by the shoulders.

"Ah… Go into the elevator, underground floor. There are eight men, knocked out and disarmed. I broke their guns, so if they shoot you, the barrels will explode."

Graves nodded at Rosa by his side. The woman was in her office attire so that her agent status stayed secret for everyone but the principal and one nosy world traveler. She recognized the order and passed it to a strike team gathering outside the building.

"I told you about the other one already. There are six people, two dead. The tech in their lab room has a video of me losing…" Michael looked away to suppress a shiver. Confronting his inner demon was the hardest thing he'd had to do so far in this world.

Graves kept giving him a concerned look, so Michael confessed, "Losing control. I sort of went crazy and got violent."

"Was that because of the darkness?"

It was Michael's turn to give the principal a concerned look, except his was warier, "How did you know?"

The principal threw a glance at the people scurrying around and led Michael away. They got into an empty van, and Graves cleared his throat to collect his thoughts. "Khm. There is a concept that appears in literature, the force of will. It's something that allows people to overcome their limits. Have you heard of something like that?"

Michael nodded. He had lived as a shut-in for ten years, after all. The books he read and the shows he watched used to be an escape from reality for him. Among them, there were fantasy books that introduced many sorts of supernatural energies. More importantly, he was a cultivator himself, so Michael always kept an open mind.

"There is something like that in real life. Most people who have felt it call it bloodl.u.s.t, but there are fancier names, like killing intent."

"I've read about killing intent. I remember, it grows through killing people?"

Graves shrugged, "Not really. The ones who demonstrate bloodl.u.s.t, they are usually twisted individuals. Serial killers, psychopaths, murderers. Bloodl.u.s.t comes from an overwhelming d.e.s.i.r.e to kill, to take a life. Compared to these… animals in human skin, your typical mercenaries and soldiers possess it less often. The same with spies and victims of abuse."

Michael swallowed involuntarily. So the darkness in him was something others had experienced?

In a way, it was a relief. Knowing your enemy is like winning half the battle. If there were cases of people being overwhelmed by their bloodl.u.s.t, there had to be solutions, right?

"I've been meaning to talk to you about it, Michael. The day when agent Weismann threatened Anna in my office, you displayed a great amount of bloodl.u.s.t. I'm not sure I've ever seen such great hatred for life. If you are willing to share, I think I can help you."

The teenager sighed. Having an open conversation with Graves didn't seem too bad, but Michael had many secrets he was afraid of letting slip. He was considering the proposition when he noticed his father look for him.

"Sorry, sir. Let's talk about it another time." He opened the car door, jumped out and tried to reassure the principal, "My darkness is directed only at one person, sir." With that, he ran to his dad.

Left alone in the car, Graves shook his head, "Perhaps it was born that way. Not anymore."