Vikram's lungs burned. With every breath, he drew the heavy, cold energy of the node into his body. His bio-electric field was acting as a magnet, pulling the dark photons into his nervous system.
He was trying to reach Band IV—the Wraith level.
To do this, he had to maintain shadow-folding while moving, not just standing still. He had to bend the light around his entire body seamlessly, matching the spatial refractive index of the darkness.
"Focus, Vikram," he muttered to himself, his teeth chattering.
He stood up and took a boxing stance. He threw a left jab. As his hand moved, the shadow on the ground rose, but it dissolved instantly, causing a sharp sting of Photonic Backlash to shoot up his arm.
He gasped, dropping to one knee. His arm felt numb, his veins burning with cold fire.
"It's too unstable," Rohan said, walking over with a flask of warm water. "You've been at it for hours. Your skin is turning pale."
"I have to do it, Ro," Vikram said, taking the flask. "Javed's enforcers are hunting our people in Mumbai. I can't protect them if I can't even hold a fold while moving."
He stood up again. He closed his eyes, visualizing his Prana flowing like electricity through his muscles, guiding the dark matter. He took a deep breath, and the cavern's temperature plummeted. Frost spread across the stone pillars.
Vikram stepped forward. He threw a combination—jab, cross, hook.
This time, his body didn't just blur; it vanished. He moved across the cavern floor, a silent ghost in the pitch black. The shadows followed his fists, solidifying into dark kinetic ripples.
"He did it," Rahul whispered from the shadows.