Battle Of Planets-Chapter 21: The Primes

The diary felt hefty—not just in its physical weight but in the knowledge and pain it contained. This was more than just a collection of theories and research. It was a window into the mind of a man who had faced the abyss and hoped, against all odds, to leave something behind for his daughter. It was also a reminder of the fragile line between hope and despair that every Ranger walked.

Tyson carefully opened the diary, flipping through its pages. The handwriting was neat and methodical, filled with diagrams, notes, and calculations. Some pages were devoted to theories about the tournament's mechanics, while others contained personal reflections—moments of doubt, determination, and love for his family.

One passage caught his eye:

"The tournament is not just a test of strength or skill—it's a test of the soul. Those who enter are stripped of everything they think they know about themselves. It's not the monsters or the environment that break you. It's what you see in yourself when all else is taken away. I hope, for her sake, Nancy never has to face that."

Tyson's chest tightened as he read the words. He thought of Nancy and her quiet determination, her longing to honor her father's legacy. But he also thought of the pain she carried, the burden of expectations, and the shadow of a man she had never truly known.

The Meta-Bots: We admit that these objects react to our emotions and act according to them. In some cases, they help us overcome obstacles, while in others, they become obstacles themselves. But that's not all there is to it. I believe there's something more—something deeper—even if the head of the Research Department disagrees with my reports. These Meta-Bots are not just with us; they are evolving alongside us.

Tyson paused, his eyes lingering on the passage. What does it mean, to evolve with us? Could this thing be alive?

He remembered vividly how his own emotions had triggered his Meta-Bot, sending it into a berserk state. While he admitted he had lost control in the moment, there had been something else fueling his anger—something internal, yet unfamiliar.

And then there was the way the Meta-Bot had reacted to Nancy and her mother. It wasn't just a random response; it was deliberate as if it recognized them. Unlike before, Tyson thought, when even Edward held it, it showed no reaction at all.

The words of the report lingered in his mind: evolving, reacting, recognizing. These Meta-Bots weren't ordinary machines. They were something more—something alive in a way that defied explanation.

Tyson shifted through his thoughts about the Meta-Bot—a marvel that continued to fascinate mankind yet remained an enigma. No one had fully unraveled how these objects truly functioned or operated. Driven by curiosity, he delved into topics related to evolution, hoping to uncover the concept her father had once mentioned.

The Primes or the pure ones,

I don't know what to call this phenomenon, but I've observed it in countless cases and armors across the world. Whether Rangers or even Rogues, our armors always exhibit combinations of colors. For instance, my own armor is white and black—a pattern shared by many. Purely single-colored armors has never been seen in modern times.

But that doesn't mean they never existed. I've come across historical accounts indicating that when Meta-Bots first appeared, there were at least three individuals...I named them the Primes, each with a single-colored armor.

Unfortunately, none of them survived. Since then, no one has ever received a Meta-Bot with such characteristics, even though these objects transfer to a new host upon the death of the previous one.

The three Primes—or Pure Ones—had unique armor. One had black, another had orange, and the third remains a mystery. We don't know who the third prime was or how they died. But there is one consistent detail: all their armor had a hint of gold intertwined with the base color.

I've tried to bring this subject to the attention of researchers, but we've found no credible evidence to suggest the Pure Ones were anything special. Yet I believe they were. They had to be different from the rest of us—stronger, perhaps. And one day, I'll prove them all wrong.

As Tyson delved deeper into the subject of the Pure Ones or Primes, he found himself intrigued. He had never heard of such a thing before—not from his master, nor from anyone else. It was as if no one knew about them.

The claim that Meta-Bots chose a new owner after the previous one died was widely accepted as fact. But why had these three Primes not resurfaced in modern times? If someone possessed a single-colored armor, they would undoubtedly stand out, drawing attention. Yet, Tyson had never encountered or even heard of such an individual.

Could there be more to this? Perhaps the Pure Ones were tied to something humanity still didn't understand—something about how Meta-Bots chose their hosts. What criteria did these objects follow? What laws governed their decisions?

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If the Primes had yet to choose new hosts, could it be because they were extraordinary? And if it was taking this long, could it mean their significance was far greater than anyone realized? Tyson couldn't shake the thought that these Meta-Bots—these Pure Ones—were waiting for the right moment or the right individual to wield them.

Tyson read the final passage regarding the Pure Ones, where Victor Winters expressed his frustration. Victor had found no evidence to support the idea that Meta-Bots evolved, yet he couldn't shake the belief that they must—evolve alongside their human hosts.

Victor had written: "I discovered information about the previous owner of my Meta-Bot. He nearly reached forty-five power points before he was killed in an ambush set up by the Rogues. It's unsettling to think that something so integral to me once belonged to someone else."

Victor continued: "If my Meta-Bot was trained alongside him and is now trained alongside me, surely it must retain some fragment of information, some trace of its previous host. There has to be something—anything—that would prove these Meta-Bots store memories or abilities from their past users."

Tyson's eyes widened as he read. He couldn't help but think back to the moment his Meta-Bot reacted to Victor's family. It had shown something—recognition, familiarity—but was that enough to believe it stored traces of its previous owners?

If Victor's theory was true, then why hadn't Tyson inherited Victor's power? When Tyson first acquired his Meta-Bot, he had started from a mere 3 power points.

Victor's notes grew more introspective: "I don't know where this research is leading me anymore. A friend of mine, one of the top members of the research institute, told me I'm chasing something that doesn't even make sense. I understand his skepticism, but I cannot abandon this path. I must follow it, wherever it leads."

"I've spent years developing this theory—that we can become one of the Primes or Pure Ones. I know how absurd it sounds, but it feels true. It must be true... unless I've missed something crucial."

Victor's notes were filled with frustration and determination: "Ever since I bonded with my Meta-Bot, I've dedicated myself to studying it, analyzing its patterns, its responses to my commands. Yet, all I've uncovered is an endless, unfathomable maze."

"But then again, how many of us have genuinely tried to understand these Meta-Bots? I bet no one. We've only sought to exploit their power for our own purposes, ignoring the deeper connection we share with them. We've failed to grasp their nature—and, in doing so, our own. Because whether we like it or not, we are now intertwined with them."

Victor grew impassioned as Tyson read further: "If anyone wants to ascend to the level of a Pure One, they must first understand themselves as much as they understand their Meta-Bot. Enlightenment is the key. I know how insane that sounds, but hear me out.

"What makes humanity truly unique? Our intelligence? No, there are countless intelligent species across the universe. I believe what sets us apart is our relentless hope. Even though we've never cleared the first stage of the tournament, we keep fighting, as if victory is inevitable. Our willpower is unmatched—it's something we can't fully comprehend. But what if we could harness it? What if that hope and willpower are the keys to enlightenment?"

Victor's last words echoed with a blend of defiance and hope: "I need to work on this. I know no one believes me, but I can still hope. After all, isn't that what makes us human?"

Tyson smiled, closing the diary. "Yes, we are indeed human." He chuckled softly to himself. "Stupid humans... we never know when to give up."

He tossed the diary onto his desk and fell back onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. "It's too much to process."