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Russell's pulse thrummed with a cocktail of thrill and jitters as he uttered, "Arrogance." In an instant, a writhing pool of black-and-red liquid materialized before him, shimmering like some cursed brew straight out of a dark shonen arc. It surged forward with eerie purpose, slithering across his skin, seeping into every pore until it vanished, as if it had always been a part of him.
"Hello, Russell."
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The voice rasped like stones grinding in a storm, echoing right beside his ear—gruff, yet laced with a smug undertone that screamed I'm kind of a big deal.
Russell spun his head, only to meet the gaze of a grotesque black-and-red head sprouting from his shoulder. Its maw stretched in a toothy, ear-to-ear grin, a scarlet tongue flicking out like it was auditioning for a horror anime's final boss.
"You sound like you gargled razor blades and liked it," Russell quipped, masking his unease with a smirk. "Ever think about fronting a death metal band? You'd shred the mic—probably literally."
"?" Arrogance tilted its head, its glowing eyes blank with confusion. Earth's pop culture references? Light-years outside its cosmic wheelhouse.
The joke flopped, but Russell brushed it off, focusing inward. His mental feedback had always pegged him as average—fit enough from occasional jogs, but no action hero. Now, though, as he clenched his fists, a surge of raw strength coursed through him, like he could grapple a bear and make it tap out.
Arrogance cut through his hype with telepathic precision: Primary enhancement takes time, host. Maintain our bond for a month to unlock the full potential.
No biggie—Russell's mental reserves were deep enough to keep this symbiosis humming without breaking a sweat, as long as he wasn't playing extreme makeover with broken bones. "Alright, fair," he murmured, a grin tugging at his lips. "But let's see the real show, Arrogance. Impress me."
At his command, the symbiote erupted in a glorious burst, black-and-red tendrils exploding outward like ink in water, swallowing him whole. The lanky high schooler vanished, replaced by a towering beast of rippling muscle, veins pulsing with otherworldly energy. At nearly three meters tall, the creature loomed, its form a living weapon sculpted from nightmare fuel.
Russell's voice echoed from within, dripping with amusement: "Nice restraint—you didn't punch a hole through the ceiling. My landlord appreciates it." The symbiote's shape-shifting had capped its growth just shy of disaster, proving it had more sense than some of his other cards.
The sensation was surreal. His arms, now thick as tree trunks, thrummed with power. With a thought, they morphed into gleaming blades, sharp enough to carve through steel like it was tofu. Recalling the [Battle Master] trait, though, he figured Arrogance would shine brighter in a real brawl. Let the ancient goo handle the choreography, he decided.
Arrogance's raspy chuckle rattled in his mind: Feeling strong? Save some cash and get me chicken legs. Eons in the void left me peckish.
Russell snorted. The symbiote was already catching his sarcasm, and it hadn't even been a day. With a mental nudge, Arrogance flowed back, retracting seamlessly until only the unassuming teen stood in the living room once more.
"Stealth mode: flawless," Russell said, flexing his fingers with a satisfied nod. This card was a masterpiece—combat-ready, healing on tap, tanky enough to shrug off explosions, and sneaky enough to pass as a regular Joe. No one would clock a scrawny kid like him for hiding a cosmic monster inside.
Then inspiration struck like a lightning jutsu. "Yo, Arrogance, can you vibe with Pidgeot?"
No time like the present. He summoned his feathered mount, its sleek form materializing with a gust of wind. Pidgeot tilted its head, eyeing Russell with a mix of curiosity and wariness, sensing the predatory aura radiating from its master.
Arrogance's head popped out again, startling Pidgeot into a flurry of feathers. "No need for theatrics," it grumbled, its tongue flicking impatiently. The bird squawked but settled when Russell flashed a calm grin.
"Easy, buddy," Russell said, patting Pidgeot's beak. "We're running a little experiment." He'd initially planned to drape Arrogance over Pidgeot like a full-body suit, but the symbiote seemed cocky enough to handle it its own way.
Tendrils erupted from Russell's body—sleek, inky black, and pulsing with intent. They snaked over Pidgeot, weaving an armored exoskeleton of black-and-red plates. The bird transformed into a sleek, predatory machine, wings edged with razor fins, eyes blazing with feral intensity. Thin, pulsing tentacles linked rider to mount, anchoring them as one.
Russell smirked, running a hand along the connection. "Saddle? Obsolete. This is ride-or-die synergy." Wind, rain, or rogue lightning? No problem—Arrogance's shield would laugh it off.
One card, two game-changing uses: personal powerhouse and mount upgrade. Russell's grin widened. Four million credits? Worth every penny.
He recalled Arrogance and desummoned Pidgeot with a flourish. "Defense locked, ride upgraded. I'm basically a one-man shonen protagonist now."
The irony wasn't lost on him. A gleaming superhero suit like Mark 3 ended up in the hands of the Spirit Begging Society's weirdos, while his go-to was a morally gray goo-monster straight out of an anti-hero arc. He pictured future foes tearing through his card lineup, shattering his armor, only to face an unkillable symbiote with regen that mocked their best shots. Good luck, suckers—that's a despair combo.
His thoughts shifted to the next hurdle: storage. Pulling out his phone, he scoured trading sites for spatial materials. Hours later, he slumped back, empty-handed. Spatial abilities were the holy grail of card crafting—rare, high-tier, and way out of his bronze-level reach. For now, that dream was shelved, tucked away like an unopened gacha pull.
"All that's left is waiting for Misty's call," he said to himself, settling cross-legged on his bed to meditate. With school over a month away, Northgate felt quieter than a slice-of-life episode's B-plot. Sure, he could spice things up with some intense sparring sessions with his lady cards—Kiss-Shot and Nami were always game—but in broad daylight? Nah, that was more of a late-night vibe.
Days of calm rolled by until his phone buzzed with a notification.
[Misty]: Hey handsome. A girl's been missing you. Free to swing by the store today? ;)
A coded invite, no doubt. Russell tapped back a single word: [Russell]: Yes.
In his heart, he was already spoken for—by Kiss-Shot, Nami, and the growing roster of "sister" cards waiting in his deck. Real-world romance? Too much drama. The 2D world was his endgame, no contest. If Misty could read his mind, she'd probably roll her eyes and mutter, This kid's ditching my A-tier charm for card waifus? Rude!
THROW SOME POWERSTONES