I’ll be the Red Ranger

- Oliver -

"Who is that?" he whispered, lifting a hand to touch his face. The reflection mimicked him, confirming that this remarkable figure was indeed himself.

Oliver stared in disbelief at the mirror embedded in the wall of the washroom. He could hardly believe how much he had changed with just a single evolution.

His hair was the most immediate and striking difference. While it had always been a deep shade of black, it now sported three distinct streaks of silvery white that shimmered subtly even under the harsh lighting. The rest of his hair appeared glossier and healthier, each strand reflecting light as if infused with a luminescent quality. It was as if evolution had not only altered his abilities but also refined his appearance.

He ran his fingers through the silken strands, the texture smoother than he remembered. 'When did this happen?,' he murmured. The white streaks gave him an otherworldly appearance, a stark contrast that was both unsettling and intriguing. They made him stand out, something he wasn't sure he was comfortable with.

But the changes didn't stop with his hair. His physique had also undergone a significant transformation. He had gained several kilograms of muscle mass, though he wasn't certain how much exactly. His clothes fit more snugly around his shoulders and chest. The fabric of his uniform stretched slightly over his biceps, and the sleeves were just a bit shorter than before. Clearly, the investment in his strength and constitution had yielded tangible results.

He flexed a hand, watching the tendons move smoothly beneath the skin, veins more pronounced. There was a newfound power in his grip, a strength that hadn't been there before. His posture had changed too, he stood a little taller, perhaps two or three centimeters more. It wasn't a drastic increase, but enough that the world seemed just a fraction different.

As he examined himself, Oliver realized he was slowly shedding the remnants of his youthful appearance. The soft angles of his face were giving way to more defined, sharper features. The boyish look was fading, replaced by the emerging visage of a young adult.

He leaned closer to the mirror, noticing for the first time the faintest shadow along his jaw and upper lip, the beginnings of what would be facial hair. They were sparse, merely a few stray hairs that one might overlook, but they hinted at what could become a beard in the future. He rubbed a thumb across his chin, feeling the slight roughness. It was a small change, but significant in its own way.

After a few more moments of scrutiny, he stepped back and let out a slow breath. The person staring back was both familiar and foreign, a blend of who he had been and who he was becoming. The transformation was more than physical; it was a manifestation of his journey, the trials he had endured, and that was reshaping him from within.

Oliver turned away from the mirror and made his way back to his quarters. At this hour, the fortress's corridors were quiet, and the usual bustle of activity was subdued.

Entering his room, he was greeted by the sight of his thin bed. Oliver lowered himself onto it, the springs creaking slightly under his weight. His body longed for rest, muscles humming with the residual energy of his recent evolution. Yet, despite the exhaustion that tugged at his limbs, sleep eluded him. A persistent hunger gnawed at his insides, a reminder that he hadn't eaten since before climbing the Silo.

Oliver closed his eyes, willing himself to ignore the discomfort. He tried to steady his breathing, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest. Tonight, however, it did little to soothe him.

He opened his eyes once more. Accepting the futility of lying in darkness, Oliver decided to examine the new boon he had obtained.

| Emperor’s Pressure [Bishop]

| Your [Energy Control] has evolved. You have learned how to use your Energy to limit your opponents. Generate a pressure field that will restrict the movements even of those trained to wield Energy.

Oliver read the description carefully, a spark of interest igniting within him. He pondered the possibilities, envisioning how this ability could turn the tides when facing multiple opponents.

At some point during his musings, exhaustion finally claimed him. He couldn't recall exactly when, but he drifted into a deep slumber.

The blare of the fortress's alarm jolted Oliver awake. Groaning softly, he rubbed his eyes and swung his legs over the edge of the narrow bunk. The cold floor sent a shiver up his spine as his bare feet made contact.

"Another day," Oliver grumbled, pushing himself upright. His stomach growled loudly, a sharp reminder of how famished he was. The emptiness gnawed at him, feeling like it might carve a hole through his torso.

Determined to fix that, Oliver dressed quickly and went to the mess hall. At this early hour, the corridors were almost empty. Upon entering the expansive dining area, the hum of machinery and clatter of utensils greeted him. He was among the first to arrive.

Grabbing a tray, he loaded with whatever they were offering today, no really caring to what was served, just that he needed a lot of it.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

In recent days, Oliver had limited his intake, wary of feeling ill during his grueling climbs. The Silo's relentless gravitational increase made even the lightest meal feel heavy. But the day had finally come to retire this tactic. Today, he would finally reach the first floor and no longer have to worry about his punishment.

As Oliver devoured the last bite, he felt a renewed vigor coursing through his veins. He pushed away from the table, the chair scraping against the floor with a hollow echo. The mess hall had begun to fill, voices rising with idle chatter. Oliver paid them little mind as he exited, his focus honed on the challenge ahead.

The central chamber housing the Silo loomed before him—a vast, cylindrical shaft stretching upward beyond sight. The spiral staircase clung to the center pillar, each floor a trial under the ever-increasing gravitational pull. His repeated attempts to conquer it had not gone unnoticed. Clusters of trainees lingered near the entrance, their curious eyes following his every move.

Whispers rippled through the gathered onlookers.

"How’s he so different?"

"Did he evolve?"

"Was it the effect of the Silo?"

Some of the younger recruits exchanged speculative glances as they watched Oliver begin his warm-up stretches.

"Let's do this!" Oliver muttered to himself, attempting to ignite a spark of enthusiasm. He stood at the base of the Silo once more.

The initial floors had never posed much of a challenge for him. Up to the tenth level, the gravitational force was merely double that of Earth's standard—a strain, but nothing he hadn't endured during his time at the Academy. His muscles, honed by rigorous training, adapted quickly as he began his ascent. He took the steps two at a time, sometimes even leaping up several stairs with effortless grace. The air was cool, and his breaths were steady, each exhale forming a faint mist.

As he approached the twentieth floor, the real trial began. The gravity intensified to four times the normal pull, pressing down on him with a weight that demanded respect. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but Oliver remained undeterred. This was familiar territory—the same level of hardship he had faced upon first arriving at the Silo.

From this point onward, the gravity increased exponentially with each floor, a nearly insurmountable obstacle designed to push him to his limits. The handrail became his anchor. He gripped it tightly with each step, his knuckles whitening under the strain. His boots felt like lead as they thudded heavily against each step. Every movement required immense effort, but he could feel the difference his recent enhancements had made. The surge in his strength allowed him to endure the next five floors without succumbing to exhaustion.

‘Only five more to go,’ Oliver thought, lifting his foot once more with herculean effort. ‘I don't want to reach the top crawling. But it's going to be tough.’

He no longer knew how much time had slipped since he'd left the lowest level. Minutes? Hours? It didn't matter. His world had narrowed to the rhythm of his laborious breathing and the relentless cycle of his movements: ascend, inhale, exhale, ascend again. His bones ached with a deep-seated pain, and his muscles burned as if they were on fire, but he refused to yield.

Step by agonizing step, he pushed onward. The oppressive gravity pressed down on him like an invisible vise, threatening to crush him. His vision blurred at the edges, but he focused on the next step, and then the one after that.

Finally, for the first time in thirty grueling days, Oliver's foot landed on the final step leading to the first floor. He stood there for a moment, swaying slightly as he adjusted to the comparatively lighter gravity of the landing. A flicker of triumph ignited within him. He had done it.

Glancing at the time displayed on his gauntlet, he noted the numbers glowing softly.

| 08:55

‘Fifty-five minutes—not bad,’ he thought, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Oliver straightened his posture. His uniform clung to his body, damp and heavy, but he wore it like armor. The echoes of his solitary ascent faded as he walked down the corridor toward the training room.

As he entered the training facility, murmurs rippled through the room. Several Rangers were already present, their conversations halting as they took in the sight of him. Eyes followed his movements, some wide with surprise, others narrowed in speculation. Near the entrance stood Dante, his instructor, and the architect of his punishment. The man's expression was a mix of astonishment and something Oliver couldn't quite place—perhaps fear?

"You were right," Oliver said quietly as he approached Dante, his voice steady despite the fatigue weighing on him. "Eight percent was the magic number."

Dante stared at him, momentarily speechless. His mouth opened and closed, resembling a fish gasping for air. Words seemed to elude him, and for a brief moment, the typically stoic instructor was disarmed.

That was the last time Oliver went through his punishment. He became known to all the students of the Sixth Division for having survived the greatest gravitational force ever used.

--

With his punishment lifted, Oliver was thrust back into the relentless grind of training. The program's rhythm grew steadily, each day introducing new subjects, teachings, drills, and exercises that pushed the rangers to their limits.

Days blurred into weeks, and weeks into months, time slipping away like sand through clenched fingers. The exhaustive regimen consumed them, encompassing every conceivable discipline. From advanced camouflage techniques that rendered them invisible to the naked eye, to methods of stealthy infiltration and hands-on hacking—nothing was left untouched. Every skill was taught, drilled, and applied rigorously, ensuring they absorbed the maximum knowledge possible to prepare for any situation that might arise.

But amid the ceaseless cycle of training, Oliver began to notice something in the recent days.

‘We're being trained at the pace of the Sixth Division,’ he mused silently, ‘but not to surpass the Sixth Division.’ The thought lingered in his mind like a shadow. ‘They want highly skilled soldiers, but not ones who could outshine their trump card. Just competent enough to ensure the mission's success.’

Oliver recognized one variable they hadn't accounted for, his unparalleled ability to absorb knowledge. Unlike the others, who needed to practice hundreds of times to recall and apply each piece of information, everything Oliver learned, saw, and practiced was indelibly etched into his brain.

At last, the six months drew to a close. The final day arrived without fanfare, the end of an arduous chapter marked only by the clock's ticking.