The familiar quiet of F-City after a monster check settled around me like a well-worn cloak. I sighed, the puff of air barely disturbing the dust motes dancing in the last rays of the afternoon sun.

  Another peaceful day. A part of me, the restless, adrenaline-craving part, always yearned for the thrill of battle, the focused intensity of a life-or-death struggle. But another, more pragmatic part of me, the part that understood the long game, recognized the invaluable worth of this lull.

  Today was for improvement.

  My recent orb harvests had been… substantial. The sheer influx of power was almost overwhelming, a stark contrast to the gradual, incremental growth I was used to.

  It felt like a dam had burst within me, flooding my being with raw potential. Strength, especially, had surged. More than half of the thirty-odd points I’d absorbed had gone directly into raw power, a fact that both thrilled and slightly unsettled me.

  The Biting Snake Fist, my foundational martial art, the very bedrock of my fighting prowess, felt almost… inadequate now. Its lightning-fast strikes, the hallmark of my technique, relied heavily on agility, a trait that, while still undeniably respectable, was no longer my dominant attribute. I was a coiled spring of immense power, and the subtle flicks and rapid jabs felt like trying to restrain a raging river with a series of small dams.

  I found a secluded clearing on the outskirts of the city, a patch of untamed green where the tall grass swayed gently in the late afternoon breeze, whispering secrets only the wind could understand. The air hummed with the drone of unseen insects, a natural symphony that provided a calming backdrop to my internal turmoil.

  Closing my eyes, I focused on the tangible feeling of the newfound strength thrumming within me. It wasn't a subtle hum; it was a vibrant pulse, a coiled spring, potent and eager to be unleashed. The Biting Snake Fist was about precision and rapid succession, a dance of calculated strikes.

  But this power demanded something more, something explosive, something that resonated with the sheer force now residing within my muscles.

  I began with the familiar forms, the ingrained movements of the Biting Snake Fist flowing almost automatically.

  Each strike was still a blur, a testament to years of dedicated practice. But consciously, deliberately, I tried to inject more force behind them. I focused on the point of impact, channeling the raw power into each punch and kick.

  The air cracked slightly with each blow, a sharp snap that echoed in the quiet clearing, the impact reverberating through my bones with a surprising intensity. It felt clumsy, less fluid than before. I was sacrificing the elegant speed that defined my style for brute force, but the transfer wasn’t seamless. It was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole, the edges grating against the intended form.

  Frustration flickered, a momentary spark of annoyance at my own perceived lack of grace. But I pushed it down, quashing the impatience with practiced discipline. This wasn't a game where stat points automatically translated into perfect skill.

  This was real life, a constant process of adaptation and refinement, and mastery required deliberate effort, countless repetitions, and a willingness to feel awkward and inefficient in the pursuit of improvement.

  I shifted my stance, my feet digging slightly into the soft earth, experimenting with different weight distributions. Instead of the quick, snapping movements of the Biting Snake Fist, I tried drawing power from my core, the very center of my being, channeling it into a single, focused point, like a blacksmith hammering steel.

  I imagined a charging viper, not just its swift, almost imperceptible strike, but the coiled tension in its body before the lunge, the sudden, explosive burst of force that propelled it forward. I mimicked this in my movements, my muscles bunching and then exploding outward in a punch aimed at a sturdy tree trunk that stood sentinel at the edge of the clearing.

  The impact was significant, a dull thud that shook the leaves clinging to its branches, a visible tremor running through the wood. It wasn’t graceful, not yet, but it was undeniably powerful. The raw force behind it was a revelation.

  I repeated the motion, again and again, refining the subtle nuances of the technique. I focused intently on my breathing, synchronizing the inhale and exhale with the build-up and release of energy, allowing my breath to fuel the power behind the strike.

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  I adjusted my footwork, ensuring a solid, unwavering base to channel the force from the ground up, preventing any dissipation of the energy. Slowly, painstakingly, a new kind of strike began to emerge from the familiar framework of the Biting Snake Fist.

  It retained a hint of the directness and focused intent of my original technique, but it was infused with a raw, visceral power that my previous style had lacked. It was a strike born of my current reality, a testament to my growing strength, a fusion of old and new. The training had just begun, but I could feel the nascent form of something potent taking shape.

  The memory of my frustrating encounter with the armored behemoth still lingered in the back of my mind, a nagging reminder of my limitations. I’d danced around it, a whirlwind of motion, a flurry of strikes from the honed techniques of the Biting Snake Fist, each blow landing with the speed I’d cultivated over years of rigorous training.

  Yet, against the sheer, unyielding defense of the monstrous creature, it had felt like pelting a stone wall with pebbles.

  The demon-level threats I usually faced were manageable due to their lack of speed or exploitable specific weaknesses. But against sheer, unyielding defense coupled with overwhelming size, my usual tactics had fallen woefully short. The lack of impactful damage, the inability to penetrate its thick hide, was a glaring flaw in my arsenal that I desperately needed to address.

  The newly acquired strength felt like the key, the answer to this persistent problem.

  But simply possessing it wasn’t enough. It was like having a powerful weapon without knowing how to wield it effectively. I needed to learn to translate this raw power into focused, devastating strikes, blows that could shatter bone and pierce even the toughest armor.

  The quick, shallow bites of my original style, while effective against weaker foes, wouldn’t even scratch the hide of a truly massive, heavily armored monster. I needed something that could penetrate, something that carried enough concussive force to break through thick scales or tough hides, something that could deliver a crippling blow.

  I visualized the armored beast, its massive form lumbering with an almost geological weight, its scales like overlapping steel plates, impervious to my rapid strikes.

  I imagined my usual flurry of blows bouncing harmlessly off its formidable hide, each impact a testament to my futility.

  Then, I pictured the new, power-infused punch I was developing, the weight of my entire body channeled into a single point. I focused intently on the point of impact, visualizing the force concentrating into a single, devastating blow, like a hammer striking an anvil. I needed to move beyond the rapid-fire approach and cultivate a technique that delivered significant damage with each connection, a strike that carried the weight of my newfound strength.

  I tried another strike against the tree, this time focusing all my intent, all my burgeoning power, on a single knuckle, extending it slightly beyond the others.

  The impact was different, more concentrated, more focused. A small section of bark cracked and splintered, the wood beneath showing a raw, pale gash. It was a start, a tangible sign of progress. I realized that the speed and agility of the Biting Snake Fist could still be an invaluable asset, not as the primary focus of my attack, but as a way to create openings for these heavier, more impactful blows.

  I could use my nimbleness to maneuver around a larger opponent, to find those fleeting moments of vulnerability, and then unleash the full, concentrated force of my enhanced strength.

  The training became more deliberate, less about the fluid dance of rapid movements and more about the controlled generation and delivery of immense power. I practiced different stances, experimenting with how shifting my weight and grounding myself could amplify the force of my strikes.

  I explored different ways to channel my weight and muscle into a single point of impact, visualizing the energy flowing from my core, through my limbs, and culminating in a devastating blow.

  I experimented with incorporating elements of other martial arts I’d observed in my encounters with other heroes and villains, focusing on techniques that emphasized power over speed, stances that provided a solid foundation for delivering forceful attacks.

  The sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, casting long, dancing shadows across the clearing, but I continued my relentless practice, the burning need to overcome my previous limitations fueling my tireless efforts. I wouldn't be caught off guard by another armored giant. I would forge a strike that could break through any defense, a testament to my evolution.

  A thought sparked in my mind, a thrilling possibility that sent a jolt of excitement through me. If I could successfully complete the upgrade of my Biting Snake Fist, infusing it with this newfound explosive power, it would be something entirely new, something far beyond its original form. This wouldn't be the swift, subtle strikes of the snake anymore. This would be something… greater.

  A grin stretched across my face, a flash of predatory anticipation.

  "If I can complete upgrading the Biting Snake Fist after adding more explosion power," I murmured to myself, the words hanging in the twilight air, "this will be no more Biting Snake Fist but Biting Dragon Fist."

  The name resonated with the raw power I was beginning to command, a fitting moniker for the evolved technique I was determined to create. The training continued, now imbued with a new sense of purpose, the vision of a Biting Dragon Fist fueling my every punch.

  When I went back home, I got news about a swarm of mosquitoes sweeping the surrounding countryside and forcing citizens to remain indoors in Z-City.