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Chapter 16: The Rise of Soul Weapons
The dome was silent, lit only by the slow, pulsating glow of Soul Energy drifting around Unit 06.
Zane sat at the edge of the dome, chest rising and falling, sweat clinging to his body as he recovered from the storm he had unleashed earlier. His Soul Armor and weapon—the blazing fire saber—still shimmered faintly beside him, dormant yet present. His awakening had been chaos, beauty, pain, and clarity—all at once.
Now, the others followed.
They knelt. Breathed. Closed their eyes.
And let their soul speak.
Their minds entered the Soul Realm—each shaped uniquely by their past, their pain, their identity. The awakening had to be earned.
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Kayden POV
Kayden's soul space was a dark thundercloud hovering over a broken field. He stood barefoot, lightning streaking around him like living snakes.
He remembered the screams of his mother during winter—when there was no money for food. His younger siblings crying themselves to sleep. He remembered swearing, "I'll become a god if I have to."
His hands trembled.
And then they surged—lightning ripping through his arms, crackling across his chest.
The cloud above exploded, and from it dropped a hammer, ancient and jagged, glowing from its core. His body shivered as his Soul Armor assembled, thick and heavy like storm-forged steel. He grabbed the hammer, and the thunder obeyed.
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Devin POV
Devin's soul space looked like a lab. Wires. Gears. Holograms. It was organized chaos—his safe place.
He sat alone, surrounded by broken machines, each whispering fragments of his childhood: the orphanage basement, cold floors, metallic dreams.
"Nothing ever stayed," he whispered. "Except metal."
He pulled a blueprint from the air, and his soul responded. Circuits glowed across his skin, tracing patterns into his arms and chest. His Soul Armor built itself like a machine assembling under pressure—sleek, metallic, precise.
Then two pistols clamped into his hands—relics of the future, twin weapons born of energy and precision.
His eyes opened inside the dome, focused and cold.
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Henry's soul space was strange. A dusty marketplace in the sky. People laughed, moved, traded. But there were shadows in the corners—memories of pain.
He saw his parents. Tired. Shackled. Smiling through hunger.
And himself, younger, hiding behind a basket, muttering, "I'll make it better."
Wind gathered at his feet, rising in swirling gusts. His armor formed like wind-woven robes stitched in green and silver. It didn't weigh him down—it lifted him.
A tall staff floated into his grip, its top glowing like a living wind orb. The marketplace faded, replaced by the real world.
Henry opened his eyes, smiling through quiet tears.
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Kira POV
Kira's soul space was a frozen lake.
Underneath the ice, memories danced: her brother's laughter, her village burning, her scream as fire met snow.
She stood at the center, barefoot on ice, body trembling not from cold—but from restraint.
She inhaled.
"Let it go."
The ice cracked. Her armor erupted—crystalline, frosty, beautiful and sharp. Her breath turned to mist. In her hand formed a bow of ice and light, its string already drawn with a glowing arrow.
She exhaled.
The lake shattered.
Her eyes opened—calm, determined.
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Elliot POV
And then there was Elliot.
He stood in a world of shadows.
They whispered to him. Showed him his parents, dying again and again. The laughter of vampires. The helplessness. The blood. The screaming.
He dropped to his knees.
But something inside him spoke louder than the pain.
General Vos' voice. "You're not cursed. You're chosen."
He clenched his fists.
From the shadows rose a throne—and behind it, a katana, floating like it was waiting for centuries. His Soul Armor didn't burst into existence. It crawled across him like living darkness, hugging every muscle, silent but strong.
The katana settled into his grip—light, deadly, elegant.
His eyes opened, black flames dancing in his irises.
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Around the dome, Unit 06 stood together, transformed.
Zane watched them rise, pride slowly blooming in his chest.
Six warriors.
Six awakenings.
Six souls reborn.
And something… was coming.
Something bigger than training. Bigger than tournaments.
But for now, they stood—not as students, but as soldiers ready to shape their fate.
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