Weapons of Mass Destruction

Chapter 514: Jean Durand

Flashback Jean Durand

A young man, no more than seventeen, victoriously thrusts both arms into the air with a loud, primal scream. His muscles tense as he basks in the exhilaration of winning, of competing, of putting everything on the line to push the limits of his body.

That feeling of victory, the reward for all his effort, etches itself deeply within him. And he knows that he’s found something to strive for the rest of his life just to have that experience again.

Three white lights illuminate the judges’ panel nearby as the referees confirm the validity of his final lift for the meet.

His heart beating wildly, he steps off the stage. He doesn’t even head backstage; instead, he takes a seat nearby, waiting for his only competitor to make their attempt to match his lift. He watches, a sense of elation flooding through him as he sees his efforts affirmed, watching as his opponent tries and fails to deadlift the weight, struggling to even pull it to his knees. As if the bar had been glued to the floor.

Jean’s brother and sister rush to him, hugging and congratulating him.

It’s not often you set a national record at a mere seventeen years old.

The stage is bigger this time. The referees seem less friendly, the lights more revealing. Every step feels unsteady, and the weight that felt so light in training now seems unbearably heavy.

But not for Jean.

The ever-present big smile fades from the nineteen-year-old boy’s face as he scratches at the beard he’s just begun to grow.

He adjusts his belt, applies a final dusting of chalk to his palms, and slaps them together, sending a white cloud of chalk bursting forth. The slap echoes sharply, and with it, all other sounds fade away.

A few short steps. Pause. Adjust stance. Deep breath in.

One last look at the audience, at his sister, his brother. The referees.

Then, there is only the weight. And it moves. It moves so easily.

His muscles tighten, his skin hugging them tightly. His grip on the bar remains secure, and in one smooth motion, Jean pulls it up, waiting for the signal.

When it comes, he gently releases the weight.

Three white lights.

Jean raises his arms into the air in a triumphant gesture. But this time, his shout isn’t nearly as primal or excited. He’s a bit surprised. Was it supposed to be so easy? Why hadn’t anyone else lifted it?

He shrugs it off with a smile. It’s time to celebrate, not ponder useless thoughts. There must be more opponents to draw his focus. More records to break.

At twenty-four years old, Jean Durand retires from powerlifting.

He built his body to compete in the open category and lift the heaviest weights. Every record he sought, he has broken. Every opponent he aimed to defeat, he has conquered. There is nothing left for him to accomplish here.

Striving to relive that first taste of victory, Jean gives up the sport and turns his attention elsewhere.

Strongman.

Sports like rugby, hockey, football, and golf may get higher ratings, but Jean doesn’t care. He never liked team sports to begin with, and he’s declined offers from more teams than he can count.

No, he relies solely on himself. Money doesn’t matter; he’s only interested in chasing that feeling of victory, even after all these years.

And the title of the world’s strongest man has a nice ring to it.

At twenty-seven years old, Jean Durand becomes the World’s Strongest Man. After three fruitful years of learning, adapting, and growing ever stronger. After mastering every event and facing an endless parade of strongmen. After losing his first strongman competition. After placing second in his second competition. He finally secures the win. Ꞧâ????ỖᛒƐʂ

Surrounded by cheers, Jean looks down at his hands. Covered in calluses, there’s even some bleeding. He stares down at them as the blood mixes with the white chalk.

That’s it? Did he do all this just to end up in the same place as before?

When his brother and sister rush to him again, he forces out a loud laugh and gently scoops them up, being careful not to hurt them.

Next year will be different.

Then he stands before me, punching my armor. The kinetic energy of his punch flows through its structure as I activate Counter Flow and take the blow head on. The resulting flood of energy winds up being much higher than expected. Far more than anything, he’s demonstrated so far, but I manage. I accept it, redirect it, and then I attack, throwing it back at him. His body is flung through the air, skipping across the ground like a flat stone on a lake.

Wraith Dance brings me closer, and I maintain the stance until I reach him as he finally recovers and begins to stand.

My fist meets his, and he punches me in the chest again. Counter Flow takes it all in, and my attack returns it. The forest behind him is torn, trees find themselves uprooted and sent flying, but he endures it, holding his forearms crossed in front of his body.

He punches, and I absorb it again, but this time, it’s stronger, and a crack forms in my armor. I restore it quickly, but before I can throw another punch, he hits me again, doubling the amount of energy I’ve absorbed.

My attack sends him flying and crashing into one of the pillars, burying his body within.

Quick Wraith Dance brings me back into range. I slow into walking, rolling my shoulders to warm up as I clench and unclench my fist.

Jean falls out of the pillar, covered in dust, scratches, and bruises. He moves his arm, and my head snaps back as he hurls a stone at my helmet, driving it with immense force.

The man smiles at that and pounds his chest, the dust falling from his clothes.

“Well, I don’t like using these skills, but what else can I do if you’re too scared to get close?” he smirks, reaching a hand toward me. “Pull.”

My [Eclipse] triggers multiple times, fighting the frequency of his skill, but my body still moves toward him at incredible speed. I cancel it and focus on absorbing my own inertia, coming to a stop right in front of him.

I duck under his swing and punch him in the chest, releasing kinetic energy as I do. Then I dodge an incoming kick and punch again, moving to the side to avoid another strike, delivering two of my own in return.

Each of his swings leaves a noticeable degree of damage in its wake. That incredible pressure would’ve surely torn my body apart without my armor and kinetic energy to blunt the impact.

“Pull,” he repeats.

This time, I’m ready to disrupt the effect, managing not to stumble for more than an instant.

All the debris he pulled in with me crashes against my body.

Resonance Flow activates, absorbing the energy of their motion in midair. But Jean’s already gotten a hold of my left arm.

“Got you.” He declares, squeezing down and crumpling my armor like tin foil, crushing flesh and bone in the process.

“It’s always the left arm.”

“What?”

Before he can ask more, I compress multiple tricolored orbs inside it and cut it loose, then kick him away. Teleporting through a [Ley Line] and searing the wound closed with thermal energy and recreating the arm from mana.

Something crashes against my armor at incredible speed, radiating a powerful mana signature.

It's my severed arm.

The moment I recognize it and teleport again, my arm explodes somewhere behind us, the shock waves crashing over me in rapid succession.

I allow my body to be pulled by Jean again and expand my armor around me, crashing into him at a speed boosted with kinetic energy. Two more arms form from my back, reaching out to restrain his arms while I press the attack with the remaining two.

Even so, I can’t hold him. That incredible strength swells inside his body, and he throws me off balance before punching me again, drilling a hole through my armor and body.

I shrink my armor, make it denser, and form a sword in my hand, slashing at his arm as he lifts it. The blade pierces his flesh only to stop as it comes into contact with his extremely durable bones.

A number of projectiles form above me and burst forth, each creating a booming shockwave as I boost them with kinetic energy. They pierce through his body, staggering him backward.

But there is no look of defeat to be found on his face.

None at all.

In fact, he just seems to be getting warmed up.