I'm Trapped Inside a Prince as the Most Powerful Entity-Chapter 49: Oliver ( incorrect - )

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Author’s Note: IMPORTANT - PLEASE READ!

Dear Readers,

I sincerely apologize. It has come to my attention that this particular Chapter contains significant errors and does not accurately represent the intended progression of the story.

Please DO NOT read this Chapter.

I have taken the necessary steps to correct this and have re-released the accurate and intended version of these events as the next published Chapter.

Unfortunately, due to limitations in how extensively I can edit this specific post after its initial publication, I was unable to simply replace the content here. Therefore, to ensure you get the correct story, I had to issue it as a new Chapter.

I am truly sorry for any confusion or inconvenience this may cause. Please skip this current Chapter and proceed directly to the next one to continue the story as it was meant to unfold.

Thank you for your understanding and continued support.

Sincerely,

[AlphaBoss]

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Adam moved deeper into the Spider Syndicate’s hidden base. The narrow, bloody corridors he, Alina, and Lucas had followed earlier started to change.

They opened up into a wider area, more like a storage or loading bay. It was dimly lit by a few caged work lights hanging from the ceiling, casting long, spooky shadows.

All around him, the signs of his unstoppable advance were clear. Syndicate thugs lay scattered on the concrete floor. Some were groaning, others were still and silent.

Their attempts to stop him had failed quickly and painfully. Adam wasn’t using fancy fighting moves or trying to be tricky. His way was simple and direct: pure, overwhelming strength.

They spread out quickly, trying to surround him, to attack him from all sides at once. Their plan was obvious.

The biggest man in the group, a huge brute with a neck as thick as Adam’s leg, let out a loud roar and charged straight at Adam. He swung a long piece of rebar – a thick metal rod used in construction – like a heavy club.

Adam met the charge head-on. He didn’t try to dodge or block like a normal fighter might.

As the heavy rebar whistled through the air towards his head, Adam’s left hand shot out. He didn’t try to push it away; he caught the weapon in mid-swing. His fingers closed around the cold, rough metal with incredible strength, stopping its powerful momentum instantly, as if it were a toy.

The big thug’s eyes bulged with disbelief as his most powerful swing was stopped dead in its tracks. Before the man could even think about what to do next, Adam yanked hard on the rebar. The sudden pull threw the off-balance thug forward, right into Adam’s waiting fist.

Adam’s right fist moved so fast it was just a blur. It connected solidly with the point of the big man’s chin.

The sound was sharp and ugly, like a dry branch snapping. The thug’s head whipped back violently, his eyes rolled up into his head showing only the whites, and he collapsed to the concrete floor in a heap.

He was unconscious before his body even realized it had been hit. Adam casually tossed the bent piece of rebar aside.

Two more attackers rushed him from his right side. One swung a steel pipe high, aiming for Adam’s head, while the other swung a heavy wrench low, aiming for his legs. Adam moved with a smooth, efficient motion that didn’t look flashy but showed his raw power.

He easily ducked under the high pipe swing, the air from the weapon rustling Eric’s hair. As he straightened up, he slammed his shoulder hard into the chest of the man swinging the pipe.

The man let out a grunt of pain and staggered backward, gasping for breath, his attack completely broken.

Without pausing, Adam’s right leg lashed out in a powerful side kick. It caught the second attacker, the one with the wrench, squarely in the ribs. A sickening thud echoed in the bay, followed by a sharp cry of pain.

The man clutched his side, dropping his wrench with a clatter, and stumbled away, out of the fight. Adam didn’t give the first man, the one with the pipe, any time to recover. A quick, straight punch to his nose sent him sprawling backward onto the floor, blood suddenly gushing from his face.

Adam was slowly, surely, pushing deeper into the Spider Syndicate’s hidden territory. Every fallen enemy was another step further into their secret base. The look of the place was changing subtly too.

The rough concrete walls and exposed pipes of the outer areas were starting to be replaced by corridors that looked more finished, though still very plain and grim. He could hear a distant, low hum, like heavy machines running.

The sound vibrated faintly through the soles of his boots.

Thwack!

A nail gun fired from his left. Adam barely turned his head. The sharp projectile whizzed past his ear and buried itself deep into a stack of wooden crates nearby. He located the shooter – a skinny, nervous-looking man peeking out from behind a large forklift.

Adam glanced around, spotted a discarded metal toolbox lying on the floor. Its contents rattled as he picked it up. With a single, powerful heave, he threw the heavy toolbox end-over-end towards the man behind the forklift.

The toolbox, which probably weighed a good thirty pounds or more, spun through the air like a missile. It crashed loudly into the side of the forklift, right next to where the shooter was hiding.

The man yelped in surprise and ducked down again. Adam used this distraction to move. He crossed the distance in a few quick strides.

By the time the nervous shooter peeked out again, Adam was right on top of him.

A swift grab, a hard twist, and the nail gun was torn from the man’s grasp. A sharp knee to the stomach made the man double over, gasping, and a quick chop to the back of his neck sent him falling face-first to the floor, unconscious.

He dealt with the remaining few Syndicate members in this loading bay with the same brutal, straightforward efficiency.

One man lunged at him with a crowbar. Adam met the attack with a precise block that also served as a strike, shattering the man’s wrist. A follow-up elbow to the temple dropped him instantly.

Another man, seeing his friends defeated, tried to turn and run. Adam brought him down with a powerful leg sweep that sent him crashing hard to the ground. A quick, heavy stomp to his chest made sure he wouldn’t be getting up again. Each movement Adam made was purposeful.

Each strike was designed to end the immediate threat quickly and decisively. There was no wasted energy, no fancy moves, just overwhelming force applied with cold, hard precision.

Adam continued his advance, stepping over the groaning or completely still forms of the men he had just defeated. The corridor in front of him opened into a larger, more complex area.

Several passages branched off from this central point. He listened for a moment, then chose the passage from which the hum of machinery seemed loudest.

The air in this new corridor felt cooler. There was a faint smell of oil and something metallic, like ozone after a lightning strike. He was clearly getting closer to a more important section of the hideout.

He followed a short, curving passage that suddenly opened into a very large, brightly lit chamber. The room was filled with rows and rows of tall metal racks humming with electronic equipment – server racks, it looked like.

There were also several stations that looked like places where sophisticated equipment was being assembled or repaired. In the center of the room, a large, see-through holographic display shimmered, showing complex diagrams and data streams.

And then, Adam saw a familiar figure. Standing near the big holographic display, with his back momentarily turned to Adam, was Oliver.

Oliver, the same calm, middle-aged Syndicate operative who had been with Bryan and Billy in that meeting room earlier, before he had left with the terrified thug.

He was currently touching the holographic interface, his fingers moving across the glowing images, seemingly completely unaware that Adam had silently and lethally approached.

Suddenly, Oliver’s head snapped up. It was a sixth sense that warned him, or perhaps the subtle stopping of the distant sounds of fighting alerted him that the intruder had gotten much closer.

He stopped interacting with the holographic display. He turned around, slowly, deliberately, not looking panicked or rushed. His pale, icy blue eyes scanned the entrance to the server room and immediately locked onto Adam, who stood silently at the doorway.

There was no surprise in Oliver’s expression when he saw Adam. There was only a cold, hard recognition. If anything, a flicker of something that looked like grim acceptance, as if he had been expecting this, crossed his face.

"Third Prince," Oliver said, his voice calm, almost unnervingly steady, cutting through the low hum of the servers.

It wasn’t the greeting of someone surprised to see an old acquaintance; it was the acknowledgment of an enemy whose arrival was, perhaps, something he knew was bound to happen eventually.

Without saying another word, Oliver took a firm step forward, moving away from the delicate holographic console and creating a bit more space between himself and the expensive machinery. He raised his right hand, palm facing Adam, his fingers spread slightly.

The air around his outstretched hand seemed to shimmer for a moment, as if distorted by an intense, invisible heat. Then, with a shocking, almost sickening suddenness, dark, thick tendrils began to erupt from his palm.

They grew rapidly, snaking up his forearm like living ropes. But these weren’t simple ropes; they were dynamic, writhing things, pulsing with an unnatural, dark life.

As they grew longer and thicker, extending quickly towards Adam, their surfaces, which were initially a dull, matte black, began to bristle. From all sides of each coiling tendril, razor-sharp, obsidian-like thorns, several inches long and wickedly curved like claws, sprouted forth.

They glinted menacingly in the stark, artificial light of the server room, catching and reflecting the light as hundreds of tiny, lethal points.

More and more of these thorny tendrils materialized, uncoiling from Oliver’s hand and arm like a nest of enraged, shadowy vipers emerging from their lair.

Within seconds, a dozen or more of these dangerous appendages, each easily fifteen to twenty feet long and as thick as a man’s arm, whipped and danced through the air in front of him.

They formed a terrifying, living shield and a deadly arsenal all at once.

The pointed tips of these thorny tendrils twitched and lashed out. Some of them scraped against the reinforced plasteel floor of the chamber, producing showers of brilliant orange sparks and a high-pitched, grating shriek, a chilling demonstration of how unnaturally hard and sharp their thorny surfaces were.

The very air in the chamber seemed to crackle with a dangerous, palpable energy coming from Oliver’s grotesque, living weapons.

Adam, who had remained utterly still, watching Oliver’s startling transformation, felt the immediate shift in the environment. The oppressive feeling coming from the thorny tendrils was a real force.

His entire focus, which had been quickly scanning the large, multi-leveled server room for other threats or good places to fight, now narrowed sharply. It converged with laser-like intensity on Oliver and the deadly, writhing mass of thorny ropes that now filled the space between them.

The sheer number of tendrils, their aggressive, whipping movements, and the obvious shredding power of their thorns made it unmistakably clear: this was not just another Syndicate grunt armed with a pipe or a crowbar.

Oliver was a specialized fighter, someone with a dangerous, ranged attack that could control a large area. This demanded a different response from Adam.

Adam registered the immediate threat. The tendrils were already beginning to spread out, some lashing forward like exploratory whips, testing their reach, their thorny surfaces a clear and present danger.

He took a single, almost unnoticeable step backward. It wasn’t a retreat because he was scared; it was a tiny, tactical adjustment. It was designed to give him an infinitesimal fraction more time to react, a sliver more space to move if Oliver launched an immediate, all-out attack with all his tendrils at once.

Adam’s posture, which was already one of coiled readiness, tensed further, his muscles primed for action. He raised his own left hand, extending it forward until it was level with his shoulder, his palm open and facing Oliver, his fingers slightly apart.

The gesture looked deceptively casual, almost relaxed, yet it held an undeniable undercurrent of power ready to be unleashed, an imminent action about to occur.

"Flash," Adam uttered. The word was spoken quietly, almost a whisper, with no dramatic emphasis, yet it seemed to possess a strange power, cutting through the charged atmosphere of the server chamber, hinting at an ability that was not entirely of this world, something beyond normal human speed or skill.

In the precise, immeasurable micro-second that the sound of the single word "Flash" left Adam’s lips, his physical form vanished completely from where he had been standing.

There was no blur of super-speed that the eye could barely follow. There was no tell-tale whoosh of displaced air that often accompanied rapid movement. There was no shimmer of dematerialization or rematerialization that sometimes happened with magical teleportation.

One moment, Adam was standing a good thirty feet away from Oliver, clearly positioned at the entrance to the server room, an ideal target for Oliver’s array of thorny whips.

The next instant, he simply wasn’t there. The space he had occupied was now utterly, inexplicably empty.

Oliver, who had visibly tensed his shoulders and was in the very act of mentally commanding his thorny tendrils to launch forward in a devastating, sweeping attack designed to ensnare, crush, and shred Adam, blinked.

The unspoken command died on his lips, unissued. His pale blue eyes, which had been locked onto Adam with predatory focus, now darted around in sudden, stark confusion, trying to comprehend the impossible disappearance.

His thorny tendrils, already coiling and uncoiling with aggressive intent, paused mid-lash, their deadly momentum momentarily arrested as their controller struggled to reacquire his vanished target.

Before Oliver’s mind could fully process what had just happened, before he could even begin to turn his head to scan his surroundings for Adam’s new position, he felt it – a sudden, chilling change in the air pressure directly in front of him, an almost unnoticeable shift in the way the air currents in the room were moving.

An overwhelming, suffocating sense of another physical presence, far too close for any defensive move, far too sudden for any rational response, flooded his senses.

Adam had reappeared. He had not run, nor leaped, nor teleported in any way that could be seen or tracked. He had simply materialized, silently and with absolute, terrifying precision, directly in front of Oliver.

They were now standing virtually toe-to-toe, their faces separated by less than a foot of air.

Oliver’s eyes, which had been wide with a mixture of aggressive intent and focused concentration just a moment before, now bulged with genuine, unadulterated shock and a rapidly dawning horror.

He found Adam standing deep within his personal space, well inside the effective striking radius of his formidable thorny tendrils. The tendrils themselves, still poised for a ranged assault on a target that was no longer there, were now awkwardly positioned.

Some pointed uselessly past Adam’s shoulders, others coiled ineffectually behind him or to his sides, utterly unable to strike at such an extremely close range without Oliver risking serious injury to himself from his own weapons.

Before Oliver could form a coherent thought, let alone make a sound of alarm or even attempt to command his bio-weapons to pull back and try to re-engage at this new, impossibly close distance, Adam’s right hand moved.

It wasn’t a blur of motion that was too fast to see; it was simply that one moment Adam’s hand was at his side, and the next, it was locked around Oliver’s throat.

Adam’s fingers, like individual bars of unyielding steel, clamped down with immediate, crushing force.

The grip was absolute, instantly sealing Oliver’s windpipe, cutting off his air supply and stifling any cry of alarm or pain he might have instinctively tried to make.

Oliver’s eyes bulged grotesquely, the whites rapidly turning bloodshot as the pressure on his throat mounted.

His own hands, a fraction of a second too late, flew up to claw desperately at Adam’s wrist, his fingers scrabbling for purchase, trying to pry the vise-like grip loose, but it was like trying to bend a solid iron bar.

Adam’s arm was an unyielding extension of his will, completely immovable.

Adam didn’t pause. There was no hesitation, no taunt, no moment of gloating or questioning.

His objective was singular: to quickly and decisively disable his opponent. With Oliver’s throat still firmly trapped in his crushing grip, Adam’s leg muscles tensed visibly beneath Eric’s simple clothing.

With a grunt of effort that showed the raw power he was exerting, he lifted Oliver – who, despite having a lean and wiry build, still had a fair amount of body weight – completely clear off the ground.

Oliver was raised by his throat alone, his feet kicking spasmodically several inches above the plasteel floor, his body thrashing uselessly against Adam’s immovable frame.

His struggles became more frantic, his face contorting in a silent scream, rapidly darkening to a ghastly shade of bluish-purple as the lack of oxygen quickly took hold.

Then, with a sudden, explosive surge of power that started from his powerfully planted feet and channeled up through his core and into his arm, Adam pivoted hard on his left heel.

The movement was brutally efficient, a perfect use of leverage and raw strength. He used the powerful rotation of his body to swing Oliver’s struggling, suffocating form in a wide, horizontal arc, treating him like a human club.

Oliver’s body was essentially a dead weight at the end of Adam’s extended, unbending arm, a projectile waiting to be launched.

At the very peak of this violent spin, when Oliver’s speed was at its maximum, Adam abruptly, and with perfect timing, released his grip.

Freed from Adam’s unyielding hold, Oliver was thrown sideways through the air with incredible, devastating force. He didn’t tumble or spin uncontrollably; he flew, his body rigid from the trauma of being choked and swung, like a missile launched from a powerful catapult.

His trajectory carried him across the width of the server chamber, a significant distance – easily twenty, perhaps closer to twenty-five feet.

Oliver let out a choked, gurgling cry – a sound that was part agony, part the forceful pushing out of any remaining air from his lungs – as his body absorbed the brutal, instantaneous stop.

He then slumped bonelessly from the point of impact, his form sliding down the mangled, sparking face of the server bank to collapse in a disjointed, unmoving heap on the floor amidst the debris of shattered electronics, twisted metal, and tangled, sparking cables.

He lay there, dazed and twitching feebly, a series of wet, ragged coughs shaking his body as he desperately, instinctively tried to draw air into his crushed and severely bruised throat.

The numerous thorny tendrils that had previously sprung from his hand and arm now reacted to his damaged, near-unconscious state.

Some of them pulled back rapidly into his flesh as if deflating like punctured balloons, while others simply went limp, dissolving into wisps of dark, disappearing smoke or falling heavily to the floor, where they twitched feebly for a few moments before becoming completely still and lifeless.

Adam remained standing exactly where he had thrown Oliver from, his right hand still slightly extended, fingers still partially curled from the force of the release.

He watched Oliver’s crumpled, unmoving form for a brief, emotionless second, his own expression unreadable. Then, his head began a slow, methodical sweep of the rest of the large, now alarm-filled and partially wrecked server chamber.