Jorge Garcia stood in front of them, his eyes cold and calculating, his hands clasped behind his back. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for him to speak. Jorge's presence was imposing, a blend of authority and something more ancient, something almost mythical. Josh Cruise felt a shiver run down his spine. This man was different, something deeper, more profound.

  Jorge began, his voice low and measured. "I suppose you're wondering how this all began—how people like us came to have these...abilities." He glanced around the room, his eyes lingering on each of them: Josh, Lauri, William, Lojan. Each met his gaze with defiance, suspicion, or, in William's case, a quiet weariness.

  Josh shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, that thought crossed our minds," he muttered, gripping the hilt of his mystical sword. Jorge's smile was thin, almost amused.

  "Most of you," Jorge continued, "are descendants of one man. A man whose true name is lost to history. All that remains is what he came to be called: The Great One."

  Silence filled the space like a thick fog. Josh shot a quick glance at his sister, Lauri, who looked equally puzzled. The Great One? He had never heard of such a figure.

  Jorge chuckled softly, sensing their confusion. "The origins of The Great One are shrouded in mystery. Was he an alien? A god? A demigod? Or maybe just a human who evolved beyond his time? No one knows for certain. But what is known—what is a fact—is that he is dead. Long dead."

  "Dead?" Lauri echoed, furrowing her brow. "Then how does that matter to us now?"

  Jorge's smile widened. "Because, like his children, I believe that all those who have inherited his gifts—whether through blood or circumstance—deserve to know how they came to be. How their powers are not a mere accident of nature but something... designed, intentional."

  William Dangerfield, leaning against the wall with an air of detached skepticism, folded his arms. "Cut the crap, Jorge. Why are you really telling us this? What's your angle?"

  Jorge nodded, as if he had expected the question. "Because, like The Great One, I have a vision for the future—a vision that requires the right people in place. People who understand their heritage, who embrace their potential."

  Josh felt a knot tighten in his stomach. "So, what is it you want from us?"

  Jorge's expression hardened. "I want you to abandon William," he said flatly. "Leave him to me, and I will let you walk away. You can even keep the ticket. Live to spend another day, richer beyond your wildest dreams."

  Josh's heart pounded in his chest. "And why the hell would we do that?"

  Jorge's eyes darkened, his voice becoming almost a whisper. "Because the Power Lottery was never just about money. It was a step, a tool to lure William back into the game. The Garcia family created the Power Lottery for that purpose—to bring William here, to this exact moment."

  William snorted, a mix of bitterness and frustration in his tone. "So this whole circus was just about me?"

  Jorge nodded slowly. "Yes. Because you, William Dangerfield, are the key to the return of Benito Garcia."

  Lauri's eyes widened. "Benito Garcia? The monster from the Power Royale? He's... dead, isn't he?"

  Jorge's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Dead? No. Merely... delayed. And with you, William, I can bring him back."

  Josh felt a cold sweat on his brow. "Why? Why would you want him back?"

  "Because Benito is my son. One of four, each with their own gifts. One can create force fields as large as cities; another can plant thoughts in people's minds, although he cannot make them believe them. The third... he can bring people back from the dead. And Benito... well, you know what he can do."

  Josh's grip on his sword tightened. "And if we don't take your deal?"

  Jorge's face was expressionless, but there was a hint of danger in his voice. "If you refuse, then you will face me. And my sons. And I promise you, it will not be a battle you can win."

  Lauri stepped forward, her voice firm. "You think we'd abandon William? After everything we've been through?"

  Jorge chuckled again, a dark, humorless sound. "I expected as much. But I had to make the offer. It's a pity you chose this path."

  Josh glanced at William, then at his sister. "So, you're saying if we stay with William, you're going to kill us?"

  Jorge shrugged. "Not necessarily. But you won't leave here alive if that's what you're asking."

  A tense silence settled over the room. Josh's mind raced, calculating their odds, weighing their options. William was the key to something much bigger than they had realized, and Jorge Garcia was a man with plans that reached far beyond the confines of this room.

  "I guess you've made your decision," Jorge said quietly, almost sadly. "So be it."

  Josh took a deep breath and raised his sword. "We're not abandoning William. So, whatever you're planning, Jorge, you're going to have to go through us first."

  Jorge's expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—was it respect, or perhaps disappointment? "Then we have nothing more to discuss. Prepare yourselves. You have made your choice."

  Josh nodded, resolute. "Yeah, we have. And we're not going to regret it."

  The room seemed to shift, the walls closing in as the tension mounted. Jorge stepped back, his face a mask of calm anticipation. "Remember this moment, all of you," he said softly. "This is the moment where the winding river meets the ocean. The moment when fate is decided."

  Josh felt his heart pound as he tightened his grip on his sword. The air felt charged, electric, as if it were vibrating with energy. He could feel the weight of what was coming, the storm that was about to break.

  Lauri placed a hand on his shoulder. "Together, Josh. We do this together."

  William cracked a small, wry grin. "You kids really know how to make a guy feel wanted. Let's give this bastard a fight he'll never forget."

  Jorge's eyes blazed with a fierce intensity. "Then let the river flow, and let the ocean rise.”

  The room erupted into chaos. Jorge Garcia stood at the center, a figure of unyielding calm amidst the swirling storm of activity. The air was thick with tension as Josh Cruise, Lauri Cruise, William Dangerfield, Lojan Mackimee, and Vlad Ivanov launched their assault, each leveraging their unique abilities in an attempt to bring down their formidable opponent.

  Josh swung his mystical sword with a fierce determination, each strike aimed with precision. His movements were fluid, but Jorge seemed to glide effortlessly away from each blow. The sword's blade, a relic of Josh's father, cut through the air, but Jorge's defenses were a blur of shifting air currents, seemingly deflecting the strikes with ease.

  Lauri, her eyes glowing with electricity, hurled arcs of lightning at Jorge. The crackling bolts of energy danced through the air, illuminating the darkened room with a harsh, strobing light. Jorge dodged and weaved, the electricity dissipating harmlessly around him.

  William, his metal manipulation powers in full force, sent a barrage of metallic projectiles towards Jorge. The metal shards whizzed through the air, each one sharp and deadly. Jorge deflected them with a wave of his hand, the projectiles veering off course and clattering harmlessly to the ground.

  Lojan, the ever-immortal ally, engaged Jorge with his usual flair. He flew through the air, his speed and durability making him a formidable opponent. He fired lasers from his palms, but Jorge twisted and turned, each beam missing its mark. Despite Lojan's relentless attacks, Jorge seemed to anticipate and counter every move.

  Vlad Ivanov, with his Eastern European sword, moved with a grace and precision that belied his lack of superhuman abilities. His attacks were swift and precise, but Jorge sidestepped and blocked each strike with an uncanny ease, as if he could predict every move before it was made.

  Despite their combined efforts, Jorge remained a nearly untouchable enigma. Each of their attacks seemed to be effortlessly countered or avoided. The room seemed to pulse with a mounting sense of frustration and desperation. Josh's grip on his sword tightened, his eyes narrowing as he observed Jorge's calm demeanor.

  As the fight raged on, Jorge's face remained impassive, a stark contrast to the frenetic energy of the battle. He moved with an almost casual elegance, as if he were merely observing a performance rather than engaging in a life-or-death struggle.

  It was during one of Josh's relentless sword strikes that something unexpected happened. As Josh swung his sword in a powerful arc, the blade grazed Jorge's cheek. A thin line of blood appeared, a small but unmistakable cut on Jorge's otherwise unblemished face. Jorge's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features.

  He stopped momentarily, his gaze fixed on the cut. "Interesting," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. "It seems I've underestimated the weapon."

  Josh, panting heavily, watched in bewildered anticipation. "What do you mean?"

  Jorge's eyes locked onto Josh's with an intensity that was both unnerving and calculating. "This sword—your father's sword. I know it well. I had the privilege of meeting its creator."

  Josh's eyes widened in shock. "You knew my father?"

  Jorge nodded slowly. "Indeed. Your father was a remarkable man, skilled in ways few could understand. This sword—it's a part of his legacy, and it carries with it a unique power. I can see now that it's more than just a blade; it's a testament to his craftsmanship."

  Josh's mind raced. "What does this mean for us?"

  Jorge's lips curved into a faint, enigmatic smile. "It means, my dear boy, that you have inherited more than just a weapon. It seems your father's legacy lives on in you. How fascinating."

  The revelation hung heavy in the air. The fight paused momentarily as Jorge's words sank in, the gravity of the situation becoming increasingly apparent. Josh's heart pounded in his chest as he realized that the connection between his father and Jorge was more significant than he had ever imagined.

  Jorge's gaze shifted to the others, his demeanor suddenly more focused and less casual. "It seems we've reached an impasse. You've proven that you are not to be underestimated. But know this: the true battle has only just begun."

  The room fell silent, the tension palpable as the combatants prepared for the next phase of their confrontation. Jorge's words echoed ominously, a reminder that their struggle was far from over.

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  Josh, Lauri, William, Lojan, and Vlad regrouped, their expressions a mix of determination and concern. The fight had revealed new layers of complexity, and the stakes had never been higher. As they prepared to face Jorge once more, they knew that they were not just battling for their lives but uncovering secrets that could change everything.

  "Ready for round two?" Josh asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil.

  Lauri nodded, her eyes flashing with renewed resolve. "Let's finish this."

  William cracked his knuckles, a grim smile on his face. "Yeah, let's show him what we're made of."

  Vlad adjusted his grip on his karabela, his gaze steady and focused. "I'm with you."

  Lojan's eyes sparkled with determination. "I'm immortal, remember? I'm not going down without a fight."

  As the combatants readied themselves, Jorge's gaze remained fixed on them, a mixture of curiosity and anticipation in his eyes. The battle was far from over, and the river of fate was still winding its way toward the ocean of destiny.

  Jorge Garcia's face twisted in shock as he stared down at the shallow wound on his side, blood seeping slowly through his fingers. His power should have made him untouchable—fate itself was his ally. But Josh's sword, forged by his father, cut through Jorge's control of fate like a hot knife through butter.

  "You think you can change the current, kid?" Jorge snarled, his eyes wild with fury. "Fate is like a river. You might have skipped a stone across it, but you won't change where it flows."

  Josh didn't flinch, gripping his sword tightly. "Maybe," he replied, "but a river eventually meets the ocean. And there's no controlling the ocean."

  Jorge's expression flickered with a moment of hesitation before the familiar smugness returned. "Big words for a child who doesn't know what he's up against." He clenched his fist, and the air around him seemed to shimmer, reality itself bending under his will. "But let's see how far you can go when fate turns against you."

  The ground beneath Josh's feet trembled. Lauri, still recovering from her earlier failed electric blast, shouted, "Josh, move!" But before she could react, William Dangerfield, always quick to act, thrust out a hand. Metal ripped from the earth—a barrier of steel rising like a wall between them and Jorge.

  "Keep moving, kid!" William shouted. "You're the only one who can make that blade count!"

  Josh nodded, understanding his cue. He sprinted forward, his sword glowing faintly in his hand. Behind him, Lojan Mackimee—seemingly undeterred by Jorge's manipulations—cracked a smile, his body already regenerating from minor cuts and bruises. "Hey, Jorge!" Lojan called out, voice mocking. "You ever wonder why the chicken crossed the road? Because it was tired of your ugly mug!"

  Jorge glared at him, irritation flashing in his eyes. "You think you're funny, Mackimee?"

  Lojan shrugged, dodging another burst of debris Jorge hurled his way. "Oh, I don't think. I know."

  Josh took a deep breath, his mind racing. If Jorge's control of fate was a river, then the sword—this mysterious weapon from his father—was the stone that could disrupt it. He needed to trust in its power and in himself.

  He lunged forward, swinging the blade. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Jorge raised his hand, confident his control over fate would protect him. But the sword cut through his defenses, and a slash appeared on Jorge's cheek. The shock in Jorge's eyes told Josh everything he needed to know.

  "It's impossible," Jorge muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "That sword... it was forged by your father, wasn't it?"

  Josh's heart pounded in his chest. "You knew my dad?" he asked, the words tumbling out before he could stop himself. Jorge's face darkened with a shadow of old memories, something dangerous lurking in his gaze.

  "I knew him well," Jorge said, stepping back. "Too well."

  Josh advanced, eyes locked on Jorge. "Then you know what happens next."

  Jorge's hand twitched. For the first time, Josh saw something resembling fear in his opponent's eyes. And then, without warning, Jorge turned and bolted, his form blurring with the power he wielded. Josh didn't hesitate; he broke into a run after him.

  William grinned, his metal manipulation still keeping their allies protected. "Looks like the kid's got him rattled. Time for me to join the fun." He sprinted after Josh, leaving Lauri and Lojan to regroup.

  Lauri called out, "Josh, be careful!" But Josh didn't turn back. His mind was sharp, clear. He had an opening, and he wasn't going to let Jorge get away.

  The chase began. Jorge's power warped the path ahead, altering obstacles, trying to trip Josh up, but the young man was relentless. He could feel something deep within him—something guiding him. His father's sword, his father's spirit. Whatever it was, it was telling him he was on the right track.

  Jorge glanced over his shoulder, sweat beading down his brow. "You won't catch me, kid. You don't have what it takes!"

  Josh smirked, his grip tightening on the sword. "We'll see about that."

  The wind rushed around them, and the ground trembled beneath their feet. Behind them, William followed close, his laughter echoing through the air. "Let's turn the river into a storm," he called, ready to strike at a moment's notice.

  And so, they ran—the chase of fate had only just begun.

  Josh and William chased Jorge through the darkened alleyways, their footsteps echoing against the cracked concrete walls of the abandoned office district. The rain had picked up, drenching their clothes and making every step feel like a heavy, labored task. Josh's mind raced with possibilities, with plans—anything that could help them navigate the unpredictable tides of fate that Jorge commanded.

  "He's leading us somewhere," William muttered, his voice barely audible over the downpour. His hand hovered just above a jagged metal beam sticking out of a crumbling wall, ready to manipulate it if needed.

  "No kidding," Josh replied, clutching the hilt of the mystical sword tightly, its blade glistening even in the dim light. "But this time, we have the upper hand. Remember, he can only place the rock... we just need to get past it."

  Jorge's shadow darted ahead of them, slipping through the doors of a derelict office building. Josh and William hesitated for a fraction of a second before rushing in. The lobby was cold, filled with the stench of mold and stale air. Jorge stood at the far end, facing them with a calm, unsettling grin.

  Behind him, three figures appeared—Griggy, Mott, and June Garcia, Jorge's sons. And next to them, a body bag, ominous and still. Jorge gestured towards it, his eyes never leaving Josh.

  "Welcome, boys," he said, his voice thick with a mix of triumph and resignation. "I knew you'd make it this far. And now, you're going to witness the final act of this little drama. But first, let me introduce you to the future..."

  He stepped aside, revealing Benito's body, now exposed, the body bag unzipped. Benito's face was still, lifeless, but in the eerie silence of the room, there was a feeling of anticipation, like a bomb waiting to go off.

  "Mott," Jorge ordered. "Tell them."

  Mott nodded, stepping forward with a sinister smile. "You see, Josh, William... I have everything I need. The body... Benito's cause of death..." His grin widened. "And the full moon."

  Josh's heart sank. The rain outside stopped for a moment, and the clouds parted, revealing a gleaming, perfect full moon. The light streamed through the broken windows, casting long shadows across the room. Josh glanced at William, who looked equally alarmed.

  "And now..." Mott continued, raising his hands. "Benito shall live again."

  Josh lunged forward, his sword slicing through the air, but Griggy intercepted him, planting a thought in his mind. For a brief moment, Josh was overwhelmed by a vision of his father, still alive, speaking to him in some warm, familiar place. Josh shook his head violently, breaking free of the illusion just in time to see Mott complete the ritual.

  A cold wind swept through the room, and Benito's body began to twitch. Jorge laughed, a triumphant, maddening laugh.

  "You think killing me will change anything?" Jorge taunted. "I've set the river on a new course. And you... you're all going to drown."

  Josh's eyes narrowed. "Maybe... but the river always meets the ocean."

  He surged forward, ducking under Griggy's attempt to stop him again and plunging the sword into Jorge's chest. Jorge gasped, his eyes widening in shock and pain. The room seemed to freeze for a moment, the sound of the sword piercing flesh deafening in the stillness. Then, with a sickening thud, Jorge collapsed to the floor.

  Before he could even process what he had done, William was moving, his hands shooting forward. He used his metal manipulation to rip a pipe from the wall, sending it hurtling toward June. It struck with a loud clang, shattering his concentration. The massive force field around the town flickered, then disappeared altogether.

  Mott's eyes went wide with panic, but before he could react, William flung another metal shard at him, piercing his heart. Mott fell, lifeless, the ritual incomplete. Benito's body lay still, motionless, as if nothing had happened.

  Griggy tried to flee, but Josh, fueled by a surge of adrenaline, caught him by the collar and drove the sword deep into his chest. Griggy gasped once, then fell silent.

  Josh stood over Jorge's dying body. The old man chuckled, coughing up blood. "You fools... you have no idea what you've done."

  But Josh's attention snapped back to the body bag. It was... empty. Benito's corpse had vanished.

  William's face paled. "No... no, no, no... He's alive."

  "Benito's alive," Josh whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination.

  And just like that, a new storm began to gather outside, the rain pounding against the windows as if the sky itself knew the chaos that was about to unfold.

  Benito Garcia sat on a park bench, staring at the world around him as if seeing it for the first time. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves rustling with a sound that seemed too soft, too distant. Children laughed in the distance, a mother called after them, and somewhere nearby, the rhythmic clack of a skateboard on the concrete. The world felt... hollow.

  His last memory before waking here was the feeling of his head swelling up, the pressure building in his skull as he faced William Dangerfield. And then—nothing. Blackness. An infinite, suffocating void.

  I died, Benito realized. The thought wasn't new; it had been echoing in his mind since he woke, but only now did it truly sink in. His hand went to his chest as if checking for some wound that had long since healed. He stared at his fingers, wondering if he was really here, alive and whole.

  How?

  He turned his gaze back to the park, trying to make sense of everything. He remembered Mott, his brother, with his strange and terrifying ability—resurrection, but with conditions. A body, a cause of death, a full moon. All three had been present. Benito's eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing with new realization.

  He brought me back.

  And for what? Did Mott know what he was doing? Was it an act of brotherly love, or was there something more sinister behind it? Benito chuckled softly. It didn't matter. He was alive, and that was enough. The Garcia family had always played dangerous games, and now, it seemed, he'd been given a second chance to finish what he'd started.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden rustle of footsteps on the gravel path. He turned his head, instinctively tensing. A man approached, his demeanor calm but purposeful. He wore a simple blue coat over a white shirt, his hair swept back in a way that suggested he didn't care how it looked. His eyes were bright, almost piercing, and they locked onto Benito with unsettling familiarity.

  "Benito Garcia," the man said, his voice carrying a note of confidence that was almost irritating. "I know who you are."

  Benito remained silent, his fingers twitching slightly at his side. The space between him and this stranger felt charged, like a coiled spring waiting to snap.

  "And I know what you want," the man continued, a sly smile forming on his lips. "The ticket."

  "Who are you?" Benito asked, his voice steady but his muscles tensed for a fight.

  "Lucidis Blue," the man replied, his grin widening. "Just landed in town, like a comet." He seemed to wait for some recognition, but when none came, he shrugged. "I'm here for the same thing you're after. But I have something you don't."

  Benito's eyes narrowed. "And what's that?"

  "Information," Lucidis replied. "I know what happened to you, Benito. I know why you're back. I know your brothers are dead." He paused for a moment, letting that sink in. "And I know you're going to try to finish what you started with William Dangerfield. But I also know... you want the ticket."

  Benito's lips curled into a faint smile, his eyes sharp with curiosity. "Go on."

  "You see, I'm not like the others who came before you," Lucidis continued. "I'm not some desperate soul with a grudge or a dream. I'm just a guy who knows a good opportunity when he sees one. I know you're planning something big, something that will change everything. And I want in."

  Benito laughed, a short, harsh bark that sounded more like a cough. "You think I need you?"

  Lucidis smiled wider, an eager glint in his eye. "No. I think you might want me. Especially when you realize that I have a certain... talent."

  Benito's mind raced. He could feel the space between them shifting subtly, the air around them tingling with potential. This man—this Lucidis Blue—was no fool. There was something dangerous about him, something unpredictable. Benito liked that.

  "And what would that talent be?" Benito asked, though he already had a hunch.

  Lucidis straightened up, his grin transforming into something more serious, almost reverent. "I can call down a 'Heavenly Blast' from the sky. A bolt of pure energy that could turn anyone or anything into dust in an instant." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "Or, if I need to... I can send it all at once. All of it. But I must shout the words to make it happen."

  Benito arched an eyebrow. "Heavenly Blast?"

  Lucidis chuckled. "Yeah, dramatic, I know. But it works."

  Benito considered his options, weighing the potential risks and rewards. He didn't trust this man—why should he? But there was something about Lucidis that felt... useful. Maybe even necessary. And right now, Benito needed all the help he could get. He needed allies. Tools. And this man was offering himself up on a silver platter.

  "Alright," Benito said slowly, leaning back against the bench. "You want in? You're in. But don't think for a second that I won't turn on you the moment you stop being useful."

  Lucidis grinned. "Fair enough. But trust me, Benito—I have a feeling we're going to make one hell of a fight!”

  The park was silent for a moment, the eerie kind of quiet that hangs in the air before a storm. Benito Garcia's eyes were sharp, scanning the open space with a calm yet calculating focus. His last memory was a searing pain and the sensation of his own head swelling up. Then, nothingness. Until he found himself standing here again, at the precipice of a new challenge, revived by his brother's mysterious ability.

  Benito felt a dull throb in his skull. Lucidis Blue stood several paces away, his expression a mix of determination and cocky innocence. The air around him was tinged with an ethereal light, the faintest shimmer hinting at the power he held.

  Lucidis smirked. "So, you're the infamous Benito Garcia. The big bad villain from Power Royale. They say you're tough... but I guess we're about to find out just how tough you are."

  Benito didn't reply. His mind was calculating, assessing the distance between them, the angle of the trees, the positioning of the sun overhead. He could feel the space around him, the minute vibrations of every particle, and he knew this was going to be an interesting battle.

  Lucidis's hands began to glow, energy crackling from his fingertips. "I don't have time for games," he declared, and with a quick breath, he flung a burst of pure energy straight at Benito. Benito remained still, watching, calculating.

  Lucidis's blast hit the ground where Benito had been standing, tearing up earth and stone, sending chunks of debris flying in every direction. But Benito had already moved, darting to the side with a speed that seemed impossible. Lucidis's eyes widened slightly. He hadn't even seen Benito move.

  Benito's voice was calm, almost serene. "You rely too much on the obvious, Lucidis. That's a weakness."

  Lucidis frowned, his brow furrowing. He wasn't used to missing, and his confidence wavered for just a second. "Heavenly Blast!" he shouted, summoning his full power. The sky darkened, and from the heavens, a massive beam of light shot down, targeting Benito with unerring precision. The air crackled with raw energy, and the ground trembled under the force of the blast.

  For a moment, there was only the blinding light, searing and intense, and then... nothing.

  Lucidis shielded his eyes, peering through the dissipating dust cloud. Benito was gone. "Did I... get him?" he muttered, lowering his hands slowly, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

  A soft chuckle came from behind him. Lucidis's eyes widened in shock as he felt a cold, firm grip on the back of his head. Benito leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper. "I simply moved out of the way."

  Before Lucidis could react, he felt a sharp, searing pain radiate through his body. He tried to scream, but his voice was caught in his throat. Benito's hand remained firm, unyielding. There was a sickening crack, and Lucidis's body jerked violently. His face contorted in agony, and his body seemed to split right down the middle, tearing apart as if an invisible hand had cleaved him in two.

  Benito released his grip, and Lucidis crumpled to the ground, lifeless, his body split in two perfect halves. The park was silent once more, the only sound the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind.

  Benito stood over the body, his expression unreadable. "I'm not here to play," he muttered, almost to himself. "And I don't have time for those who can't see what's right in front of them."

  He turned his gaze upward, looking beyond the horizon, his mind already moving to the next step in his plan. The power lottery was just a means to an end, a tool for something far greater. And he would stop at nothing to achieve it.