My Ultimate Sign-in System Made Me Invincible Chapter 487 Training Friends

When Liam called for the next volunteer, the group collectively pivoted and retreated. Their movements were in lockstep, as though they were following a script—eight individuals deciding, as one, that someone else should definitely step forward first.

The massive, frozen Antarctic terrain seemed to shrink around them. The assurance that their exosuits could withstand anything apart from a nuclear detonation offered remarkably little solace.

Alex pierced the tension with the question occupying everyone's mind: "Are you going to fling us like you did with Matt?"

His voice remained carefully neutral through the suit's comms, echoing the tone of someone trying desperately to sound objective while inquiring if they were about to be launched across the tundra.

Liam wore a truly comforting expression. "Unlikely. And you needn't worry—Matt didn't experience a shred of pain."

Every gaze veered toward Matt, who remained seated on the ice where he had impacted, showing no urge to rise. He flashed a thumbs-up to confirm, his faceplate mirror-reflecting the pale Antarctic sunlight.

"See?" Liam gestured toward him. "Perfectly fine."

Harper’s voice cut in, dripping with skepticism. "That might be, but it doesn't quiet our nerves. Intellectually, we realize these suits protect us. But witnessing Matt get tossed like a ragdoll forces our minds into a primal 'that definitely hurt' reaction that overrides all logic."

The others hummed in agreement. Perceiving one's safety and actually feeling secure are two very different states when confronted by someone who treats hundreds of pounds of armored humanity like light paper.

Liam’s smile stretched wider, though a hint of apology lingered in his features. "I understand your apprehensions. That is precisely why I intend to come to you instead."

A short silence hung in the air as they digested his intent.

"Wait, what—" Kristopher managed.

Before the sentence could anchor, Liam vanished.

His velocity was unfathomable. One moment he was thirty meters away; the next, he occupied their space, the displaced air striking them like a physical wall. Their helmet HUDs flickered with thermal warnings as the wind he generated pulled in the frigid Arctic air, plummeting the readout by fifteen degrees instantly.

Though their enhanced reaction times—bolstered by the exosuits' neural interface—meant they registered Liam’s arrival, detecting him there and managing to intercept that arrival were two different obstacles.

"Kristopher," Liam spoke with a casual, conversational air, "mind your legs."

Kristopher’s mind parsed the warning. His eyes scanned downward, seeking the threat, as his body engaged the neural commands to shift.

It was all too slow.

Liam’s heel hooked behind Kristopher’s ankle with surgical precision; a feather-light sweep that dismantled his equilibrium exactly when his center of gravity left recovery impossible.

Kristopher felt his balance shift, surrendered to the inevitable pull of physics, and began a backward fall with the slow-motion clarity that the exosuit’s perception provided, yet could not prevent.

He struck the ice flat, the crash perfectly dampened by the suit's dampeners, and lay staring up at the pale sky, his mind struggling to reconcile the fact that he’d been toppled without ever witnessing the strike.

"Your stance was overly narrow," Liam’s voice drifted down, calm as ever. "Exosuits grant superior strength, but they do not rewrite the rules of leverage or balance. If anything, that added mass makes proper posture more critical, not less."

Kristopher grunted, perhaps in agreement, or perhaps just processing the blunt educational critique while horizontal.

Liam was already in motion again.

"Alex, guard your back."

Alex’s eyes widened. His body pivoted, the exosuit firing to match his neural impulses with impressive speed, rotating his core to see what lurked behind him.

He had managed a thirty-degree turn before the impact arrived.

It was gentle—nothing like the force deployed against Matt. This was a precise, controlled pressure applied to a specific point on his back, sending his half-turned, unbalanced frame stumbling ahead.

The suit’s flight systems attempted to compensate, igniting internal thrusters to kill his momentum, but Alex’s panicked, conflicting neural signals caused the suit to misjudge his desire, interpreting his flailing as a command for acceleration.

He skimmed across the ice like a missile, unable to halt until he had covered nearly fifty meters. As he touched down, he stood hunched, hands on knees, coming to terms with the outcome.

"You over-compensated," Liam shouted across the distance. "The suit amplifies every motion. Minor adjustments become grand gestures. If you panic and throw your weight around, the suit treats it as intent and magnifies it. You must remain composed and make precise inputs."

Alex waved a hand, laboring for breath despite the suit handling all physical strain. The exhaustion was purely mental—his brain was simply not built to track movement this fast.

Liam pivoted to the final five. They huddled together by instinct, as though physical proximity might offer a shield.

"Harper," Liam said, almost softly. "You're telegraphing."

Harper froze. "I haven't moved an inch!"

"You shifted onto your rear foot. Your shoulders stiffened. Your hands rose slightly. Your entire posture is screaming that you intend to scramble backward."

Suddenly, Liam stood right there, within Harper's personal bubble, one palm resting softly on his chest.

Harper’s backward feint was already underway—body leaning, the exosuit systems priming to vault him away.

Liam’s hand exerted almost zero pressure, yet it intercepted the precise moment of Harper's movement cycle. The soft touch became a catastrophic interference; instead of a graceful leap, Harper’s feet slid, and he landed firmly on the ice, his momentum totally neutralized.

"Body language holds weight," Liam remarked, reaching down to helpHarper up. "Even in powered armor. Perhaps especially so. If I can perceive your intent, I can counter it before you commit a single ounce of genuine force. You must master these micro-movements, or any opponent with significant combat experience will anticipate your every maneuver."

Harper took the offered hand, was pulled easily to his feet, and promptly backtracked to realign with the squad.

They were down to five members, as Kristopher and Alex remained sidelined.

"Alright," Stacy said, her tone a blend of defeat and resolve. "This is actually constructive. Humiliating, yes, but valuable."

"Admirable perspective," Liam replied, his tone sharpening. "Now, let’s try another angle. All of you, together. Coordinate your assault."

The five exchanged glances. Verbal planning was off the table—Liam would hear anything said over the comms—but years of brotherhood meant they required no speech for basic tactics.

They dispersed into a loose arc around Liam, maintaining ten-meter intervals. The formation offered multiple striking lanes without crowding one another.

"Well-executed formation," Liam noted. "Now, engage."

Kristy led, triggering the flight system to crash inward, fast and low, hoping to force Liam into the others' path.

Liam sidestepped with minimal effort, and as she zipped past, his hand caught her shoulder, redirecting her vector vertically. She shot skyward like a projectile, her startled cry cut short as she battled to stabilize her flight systems.

Lana surged from the opposite flank while Liam was otherwise occupied with Kristy. Yet, he was already pivoting; her punch—augmented to hit with the force of tons—struck empty vacuum as Liam simply wasn't there.

His hand flicked the back of her helmet, a casual pat, and her own forward momentum—coupled with the neural panic of realizing she was open—caused her to stumble, her flight systems misfiring as she fought for order.

Elise played it patient, awaiting an opening, creeping in as Liam appeared preoccupied. But he was tracking her just the same; as she committed to a strike, he caught her wrist, spinning her in a graceful arc that deposited her softly onto the ice several meters away.

Stacy and Harper attacked in unison from opposite sides, their timing sharpened by watching the others' failures, synchronized through a brief nod.

Liam grinned.

He dropped low, letting both kicks whistle over his head, then surged upward between them with movements too blurred to follow. One hand shoved Harper left, the other bumped Stacy right, and the coordinated assault shattered under the simplest possible counter.

"Better," Liam observed as the five regrouped, winded despite the suits mitigating the physical load. "You coordinated. You leveraged multiple angles. But you are still thinking as people merely wearing strong armor. You must think as beings who ARE strong, who possess flight, who can absorb impacts that would shatter a mortal. Use your mobility. Exploit the vertical. Do not just dash at me—you possess thrusters. Stop fighting like you are chained to the earth."

Kristy, back from her unexpected aerial trip, landed with far more grace than moments ago. "That is genuinely helpful. We have been using the hardware, but failing to adapt our combat to three-dimensional movement."

"Exactly," Liam confirmed. "You can fly. Your opposition—should you face any—likely cannot. That is a massive advantage you are ignoring. Watch me."

He bent his knees, coiling, and launched himself vertically.

The shift was so abrupt and violent that the air-displacement left a visible shockwave on the ice, and Liam ascended like a cannonball. He hit two hundred meters in seconds, then hung motionless in the thin Antarctic air.

"Join me up here," his voice echoed over the comms. "All of you. And this time, utilize the space. Strike from heavens, from below, from angles I can't easily pin down. Test me."

Matt, back on his feet and having recovered his composure, chirped, "Alright. Now we are talking. Aerial dogfighting. This is what I joined for."

The eight activated their flight thrusters and ascended from the permafrost, spreading out, finally leveraging the three-dimensional battlefield Liam had demanded.

The endless Antarctic expanse stretched beneath them, a void of white, with Liam awaiting them as a tiny dot above.

"This is going to be epic," Matt declared.

"This is going to be agonizing," Kristopher corrected.

"Both things can be true," Alex observed.

They converged, eight armored silhouettes diving on a solitary target from eight separate vectors, and truly began to operate as the enhanced predators their exosuits intended them to be.

Liam’s smile deepened as they approached, and he moved to bridge the distance, navigating the sky with an ease that bordered on the divine.