For 40 Months, Ninten remains within the deep, mysterious boundaries of the Haunted Forest. However, there is no dark torture or grim isolation here. Under the bright, encouraging guidance of P.M.T.V.C.S., his time is spent in intense, dedicated training to unlock the true nature of his identity.
Ninten is not a mere elemental warrior. He is the supreme Qadirun Maliqun of Games.
For a long time, his powers seemed completely useless in battle. How could game mechanics, digital logic, and fictional character stats protect him against raw physical destruction? But during these 40 Months, Ninten works incredibly hard to bridge the gap between fiction and reality. He doesn't become a cold, emotionless machine; he retains his classic, cool, charming, and highly humorous personality. He simply learns how to manifest the rule systems of legendary gaming universes into the real world.
By his side through every single hour is P.M.T.V.C.S. She is not a standard trainer, but a unique, powerful creature destined by ancient laws to marry the Qadirun Maliqun of Games. Her devotion to him is absolute, and her deep love fuels his motivation. Together, they treat the training not as an agonizing punishment, but as the ultimate cooperative quest to level up his hidden potential.
Now, the 40 Months are over. The gates of the Haunted Forest slide open, and the King steps out, ready to face his family once more.
THE CITADEL GATHERING
The grand reception hall of the Maliqun Citadel is a masterwork of structural engineering. The floor is composed of hyper-dense METAL plates, reinforced with shock-absorbing magnetic dampeners designed by Mark to withstand the weight of continental-class entities. High above, holographic arrays project real-time data feeds from across the planetary sectors, flickering with blue arrays of INFORMATIONS.
The Patriarch sits upon his high obsidian throne, his posture as rigid and unforgiving as the day he sent Ninten away. To his right stands Mark. Mark's physical suit has undergone a massive upgrade during the temporal gap; his armor is sleeker, woven with translucent MATERIALS that pulse with the quiet hum of quantum calculation circuits. His INTELLIGENCE matrix is constantly scanning the atmosphere, his eyes glowing with an array of active tactical HUDs.
The heavy blast doors slide open.
Ninten steps into the light of the citadel. He looks completely sharp, his posture effortlessly cool, and his signature charming smirk playing lightly at the corners of his lips. He is vastly more powerful than before, yet within the grand scaling of the family, he still sits just beneath the terrifying raw speed of Thunder and the absolute calculative supremacy of Mark.
"Forty Months," Ninten says, his voice carrying a cheerful, resonant ring. He walks forward with long, casual strides. "You haven't changed the decor, Father. Still cold, still gray, and still incredibly boring."
Mark taps his gauntlet, his sensors analyzing the data. "Fascinating. Your biometric signatures are completely different, Ninten. My THINKINGS suggest that your energy output has altered its fundamental structure. You don't even register as a standard elemental anymore."
Ninten glares at his brother, his smile widening. "Missed you too, pharmacy boy. I see you've added more plastic and wires to your suit. Trying to compensate for that lack of natural style, are we?"
The Patriarch raises his hand, and the entire room falls into absolute silence. He stares down at Ninten, his face showing no emotion.
"You return to my gates," the Patriarch says, his voice cold. "You think that spending time in the wilderness makes you worthy of the Maliqun name once more? You must validate your existence."
"I didn't just hang out, Father," Ninten replies, stopping at the center of the hall. "I mastered the grid."
"Power without public validation is nothing," the Patriarch declares, leaning forward. "If you wish to stand in this house, you will prove it today. The Monthly Tournament begins in precisely three minutes at the Central World Arena. It is a continuous, bracketless elimination structure. One hundred rounds. No breaks. You will compete. And you will win it with an absolute, unbroken streak. If you drop a single round, you are disqualified from our lineage. Do you accept, Ninten?"
Ninten doesn't even hesitate. He reaches up, casually adjusting his collar, his face filled with supreme confidence and complete freedom from any tension.
"One hundred rounds? That sounds like a decent speedrun. Tell the organizers to skip the cutscenes. Let's go."
THE TOURNAMENT: THE GOD-SLAYER METAGAME (ROUNDS 1–60)
The Central World Arena is a colossal structure suspended over a geographical chasm, scaled to the magnitude of a small moon. Millions of spectators occupy the stands, while billions more tune in across the global networks, their screens lighting up with the sudden notification of an unranked wildcard entry: NINTEN.
The rules of the Monthly Tournament are brutal. The gate opens, and opponents are deployed into the arena via high-speed transit rings. To win with a streak means Ninten must eliminate every single challenger instantly.
ROUND 1.
The gates drop. A squad of twenty high-tier mechanical gladiators, built from reinforced METAL and armed with thermal lances, rushes into the arena.
Ninten stands in the center of the stadium, his arms hanging casually at his sides. He has absolutely zero tension. He smiles and activates his primary authority as the Maliqun of Games, tapping into the character data of the ultimate god-slayer from a famous gaming universe: Kratos.
[SHRRRRRRK!]
Instantly, the reality of the arena alters to match the game logic. Two massive chains composed of fiery, red-hot energy manifest around Ninten's forearms. Completely relaxed yet immensely powerful, he swings his arms outward with physical kinetic force, ignoring standard human limitations.
The blades at the end of the chains carve through the titanium bodies of the gladiators as if they are wet paper. The shockwave from a single swing shatters the stone floor, rendering the robotic opponents completely obsolete in a single microsecond.
"Flawless victory," Ninten says, his voice calm, effortless, and fast.
ROUND 30.
The opponents are now elite elemental masters, conjuring continental-class blizzards and magma fissures to trap him. Ninten doesn't sweat or panic. He steps forward casually, utilizing the Spartan Rage mechanic. An aura of pure, blazing crimson energy expands from his chest, melting the incoming blizzards into harmless steam instantly. He leaps into the air, executing precise, high-frame parries against their attacks before unleashing a devastating ground slam that shatters their defensive fields entirely.
The global broadcast chat is moving so fast it is crashing the media servers. The commentators are screaming into their microphones.
"What am I witnessing?! Ninten has absolutely zero stress! He is treating world-class challengers like a casual tutorial level! He is playing a completely different game!"
ROUND 60.
The final stage of the first phase arrives. The challenger is a renowned planetary champion wielding an absolute gravity blade. He lunges forward, his blade warping space itself to guarantee a decisive strike.
Ninten doesn't try to outrun the attack or stress over the trajectory. He times his movement perfectly with absolute ease, a phantom shield of solid golden-red energy manifesting around his forearm—the ultimate parry frame.
[EXTREME BOOOM!]
The gravity blade strikes the shield. The kinetic energy is completely redirected. Ninten deflects the strike effortlessly, steps into the champion's guard, and delivers a quick, high-damage combo that sends the champion flying across the stadium, completely knocked out before he can even register Ninten's movement.
Sixty rounds. Zero damage taken. The world is in absolute shock. In the royal box, Mark's fingers fly across his holographic keyboards, trying to process the strange INFORMATIONS.
THE FINAL BOSS OVERLOAD (ROUNDS 61–100)
"Deploy the Apex Tier simultaneously!" the tournament director commands, terrified by Ninten's flawless progress.
The arena floor opens completely. Emerging from the depths are forty legendary world-bosses, ancient mythical beasts, and rogue experimental deities. The collective power output of these forty entities is enough to alter the planet's orbit.
Ninten stands alone in the center of the ruined stadium, looking around with a relaxed, casual smile. He has no anxiety about the massive threat. His fiery chains dissipate, melting back into his skin. He draws a deep breath, entirely tension-free, and decides to load the data of an incredibly famous, legendary action game character known for pure cosmic fury: Asura.
[SHRAAAAAAAK!]
From Ninten's back, four additional arms composed of solid, glowing gold-and-purple energy burst into reality. Six arms in total, each one vibrating with a frequency that alters the local atmosphere. The air around him begins to burn with high-density energy.
"ROUND 61 TO 100... ALL AT ONCE!" Ninten shouts, his voice echoing like a chorus of sub-woofers, completely confident.
He moves. He doesn't cross the distance; his game-logic allows him to instantly close the gap. Completely unbothered by their combined power, he unleashes an absolute barrage of rapid-fire punches with his six arms.
"[MANTRA BURST: SIX-ARMED FURY!]"
[BOOOM! BOOOM! BOOOM! BOOOM!]
Every single punch carries immense kinetic pressure. The punches hit the ancient beasts, their massive structures completely overwhelmed by the rapid combo scaling.
The remaining rogue deities attempt to combine their energies into a single, massive planet-killing beam of plasma to wipe Ninten off the map. The beam shoots forward, a mile-wide cylinder of absolute destruction.
Ninten stands his ground, perfectly calm and tension-free, all six of his glowing arms extending forward. He catches the planet-killing beam with his bare hands, treating it like a basic Quick-Time Event (QTE).
His muscles tighten, his gold-and-purple energy flaring to its absolute zenith. With a violent, cinematic twist of his six hands, he literally rips the energy beam in half, splitting the plasma column down the middle and redirecting it into the upper atmosphere, where it detonates safely in outer space, lighting up the night sky.
"Is that all you've got?!" Ninten laughs, his face filled with pure, exciting competitive joy. "Let's see the final health bar!"
He leaps high into the air, his six arms drawing back in unison. The energy around his body condenses into a single, colossal fist of golden-purple light that rivals the size of the stadium itself.
"[MAXIMUM FINISHER: CRUSH!]"
He drives his fists down.
[GLOBAL-SCALE BOOOOOOOOM!]
The explosion is so massive that the dust cloud covers the entire sector within seconds. The arena's remaining structures are completely flattened by the sheer aesthetic scale of the attack.
When the dust finally settles, the forty entities are all lying flat on the floor, completely defeated and incapacitated.
Ninten lands softly on the stone, his four extra arms slowly dissolving back into his shoulders. His cool, charming demeanor returns instantly, a bright grin on his face as he waves to the stunned crowd.
One hundred rounds. An unbroken, flawless winning streak on a global scale, accomplished entirely without pressure.
THE SHOCKING TRUTH
Ninten walks back into the royal box of the Maliqun Citadel, his outfit completely clean, his breathing perfectly steady. P.M.T.V.C.S. follows close behind him, her eyes shining with absolute love and adoration for her future husband.
He stops before his father's throne, tossing a metallic tournament medallion onto the floor at the Patriarch's feet.
"There's your streak, Father," Ninten says smoothly, leaning his weight onto one leg. "One hundred rounds, zero losses. Now, let's talk about my standing in this house."
The Patriarch looks down at the medallion, then up at Ninten. A faint, proud smile appears on the old man's face. He turns his head slightly toward Mark.
The Patriarch speaks, his voice clear and resonant.
"Mark... your plan also worked. He really became stronger."
Ninten's smirk vanishes instantly. His body goes rigid, completely caught off guard by the INFORMATIONS he just heard. He looks between his father and Mark in total confusion.
"What?" Ninten asks, his voice dropping its cool tone. "What do you mean, Mark's plan? What did you just say?"
Mark lets out a dry, mechanical chuckle through his suit's audio systems, adjusting his visor as his blue HUD lights flicker with amusement.
"Oh, come on, Ninten. Did your gaming sessions completely dull your analytical circuits?" Mark says, stepping down from the platform. "Let us look at the data with absolute INTELLIGENCE. Do you honestly believe Father would care about a single loss in a local stadium? Do you truly believe this entire family empire would discard its premier assets over a match where I clearly used experimental chemical cocktails?"
Ninten's eyes narrow. "Explain yourself, Mark. Fast."
"It was a setup," Mark says, his tone shifting into his classic, highly superior calculative vibe. "My THINKINGS mapped out your development trajectory forty months ago. You were getting soft. You were too charming, too effortless, relying entirely on your natural talents without ever expanding the conceptual boundaries of your unique gaming element. You were playing casual matches instead of evolving your grand sub-systems."
Mark taps his gauntlet, projecting a holographic timeline of Ninten's training metrics.
"I calculated that the only way to force your system to unlock the legendary character data sheets was through an extreme psychological catalyst. So, I engineered the scenario. I pushed you to the brink in our fight, forced Father to act out a script of absolute banishment, and even coordinated with P.M.T.V.C.S. so she would be exactly where you needed her to guide your true ascension."
Ninten turns his gaze to P.M.T.V.C.S. She blushes slightly, looking away with a shy smile. "He provided the exact coordinates and the perfect training logistics, Master Ninten. I only did it because I knew it would help you become the true King I am destined to marry."
Ninten looks back at Mark, his face a mixture of absolute shock and rising irritation. "So... my forty months of working hard, analyzing frame data, and fighting simulated world bosses... was just a line of code on your weekly checklist?"
"Precisely," Mark replies smoothly, folding his arms. "You required a major patch update, and I simply provided the environment. You're welcome, by the way. Your current output is highly efficient, even if you are still mathematically scaled just below my own capabilities."
THE BROTHERLY ARGUMENT
Ninten stands there for a long moment, the sheer absurdity of the revelation washing over him. Then, slowly, his charming smirk returns, though it is tinged with a highly competitive, hilarious energy.
"Oh, really?" Ninten says, stepping directly into Mark's personal space, bumping his shoulder against Mark's armor. "You think you're the ultimate developer, huh? You think your little TECHNOLOGY and your precious PHYSIC formulas can completely predict my playstyle? Let us test that calculation right now, pharmacy boy. Let us see how many seconds your new suit lasts against a six-armed boss rush."
Mark doesn't flinch, his blue visor glowing brightly. "My current structural MATERIALS are fully optimized, Ninten. Furthermore, I have already recorded your Kratos and Asura combat profiles into my database. Your attacks are no longer a surprise; they are simply entry lines in my spreadsheet."
"A spreadsheet?!" Ninten laughs loudly, completely breaking character to mock his brother. "I just wiped out forty global bosses with cosmic gaming logic, and you're talking about a Microsoft Excel file?! You are completely out of your mind!"
"It is a highly organized database, actually," Mark corrects him calmly. "And it proves that despite your massive increase in visual effects, your strategy is still entirely predictable. You are all flashy combos and no tactical defense. If I deploy a double layer of my newly formulated non-Newtonian jelly, your six arms will simply look like a very expensive, very shiny golden windmill stuck in a swamp."
"Don't you dare bring up that stupid jelly again!" Ninten snaps, his voice rising in a funny, dramatic irritation. "That was a cheap trick! A complete glitch in the system! Real warriors don't win matches with industrial kitchen supplies, Mark!"
"A win is a win, dear brother," Mark replies, his voice dripping with supreme smugness. "If the universe didn't want me to use high-viscosity polymers to humiliate global entities, it wouldn't have invented the laws of fluid dynamics. Perhaps your next training arc should focus on basic chemistry so you stop running into my traps like a beginner player."
"That's it! We are going into a custom lobby right now!" Ninten yells, his hands beginning to glow with that bright energy. "Father, clear the hall! I am uninstalling this tin can from the server!"
The Patriarch simply sighs, leaning back on his throne, completely ignoring his sons as they continue their loud, chaotic, and deeply competitive argument, the foundations of the citadel vibrating with the undeniable energy of the two strongest brothers in the OMNIVERSE.