Chapter 5: Temp V Temptation
The restricted lab was a sterile fortress, its air sharp with the antiseptic bite of bleach and the faint hum of machinery. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across stainless steel tables cluttered with vials and monitors. Landon's sneakers squeaked on the polished floor, each step a calculated risk.
The Temp V syringe in his hand was a forbidden prize, stolen from a faculty storeroom during a prank that had spiraled out of control. The liquid inside glowed a murky gold, like liquid ambition, the needle glinting with a promise of power—and pain. His heart pounded, a reckless urge drowning out the rational voice in his head. This wasn't just about gaining Heat Generation (F-rank); it was about proving he could outsmart Godolkin's system, could take what he needed to survive.
Sam, the lab assistant, was hunched over a console, his thin frame radiating nervous energy. His glasses slipped down his nose, his fingers twitching as he typed. Landon's meta-knowledge painted Sam as a pawn, a fragile catalyst for his plan: inject Temp V, provoke a desperate attack, die, revive, claim the power. But as he watched Sam's shoulders tense, a memory surged—an emotional override that nearly stopped him. Marie's voice, soft and pained , echoed:
"I don't want to hurt anyone again." Guilt coiled in his gut, sharp and hot, but he shoved it down. Survival demanded sacrifice, and he'd pay the price.
"Hey, Sam," Landon said, his voice laced with sarcasm to mask the tremor in his hands. He held up the syringe, the gesture flippant. "Just borrowing this for a sec."
Sam's head snapped around, his eyes wide with panic behind smudged lenses. "W-what is that?" he stammered, his voice high and cracking. "You can't be in here! I'll report—"
"You won't," Landon cut in, stepping closer, his boots echoing in the sterile silence. "Because you're going to get a taste first. Think of it as a promotion. You get to be the star."
Sam's panic erupted, his body jerking back as if burned. The air shimmered, a sudden heat radiating from him, unfocused but intense. Landon moved fast, plunging the syringe into Sam's arm. The assistant's scream was cut short as the Temp V surged through him, his hands glowing with a faint, pulsing heat. His eyes, wide with terror, locked on Landon's, and in that moment, Landon saw the cost of his plan—a human, fragile and breaking.
The heat exploded, a wave of kinetic energy that felt like stepping into a furnace. Landon's skin blistered, his blood boiling as the air screamed with heat. He tried to speak, to mock, but his voice was a choked gasp as his body incinerated, the pain a white-hot oblivion. The last thing he saw was Sam's horrified face, a mirror of his own guilt.
Revival was a brutal return, a lurch from nothingness to the cramped confines of a supply closet. The air was thick with dust and the stale scent of cardboard, a mop bucket pressing coldly against his skull. A splitting headache throbbed behind his eyes, each pulse a reminder of his death. His sarcasm was sharper now, a shield against the pain.
"Ugh. That was… an experience," he muttered, his voice hoarse as he stumbled to his feet. The closet's walls were lined with shelves, their edges worn, a faded label reading "Janitorial Supplies, 2019" peeling off. A new warmth pulsed in his core, a subtle, simmering power.
[Ding! Heat Generation (F-rank). Barely worth the pain, lab rat.]
The System's sarcasm was a cold comfort, but it couldn't drown out the guilt. Sam's face, etched with panic, lingered in his mind. "I did this," he thought, his fingers tracing the edge of a box, the cardboard rough under his touch. "I made him a killer. For an F-rank power?" The thought was a knife, twisting deeper.
In the lab, Sam stood frozen, the floor marked by a small, blackened burn where Landon had been. His hands still glowed, the heat a living thing he couldn't control. The realization hit him—he'd killed someone. A sob tore from his throat, raw and broken, as he stared at his trembling hands. The Temp V had turned him into a monster, and the weight of that truth crushed him.
Landon's dorm was a sanctuary, its walls bathed in the flickering shadows of a desk lamp. The air smelled faintly of burnt plastic, a residue of his earlier experiments. He sat on his bed, the sheets cool against his feverish skin, the Heat Generation power a low thrum in his veins. His ambition burned brighter than ever—a need to impress Marie, to be more than a reckless gambler. Merging Fire Control with Heat Generation was a gamble, but it could yield Enhanced Fire Control (A-rank), a power worthy of her respect.
He raised his hands, flames dancing between his palms, their orange glow shifting to a searing white as he pushed the Heat Generation into them. The air grew heavy, the scent of ozone sharp and electric. The powers clashed, a wrenching force that made his bones ache, his blood sing with heat. The room became a furnace, the lamp's plastic base softening, the air shimmering with heat waves. The merge was complete, but the cost was immediate—a fever that hit like a tidal wave, his body collapsing onto the bed, sweat soaking his shirt.
[Merge: Fire + Heat = Enhanced Fire Control (A-rank). Fever's a vibe, huh?]
The System's voice was distant, mocking, as Landon's vision blurred. His body was a furnace, too weak to contain the new power. The sheets clung to his skin, damp and suffocating, as he fought to stay conscious.
Marie entered, her sneakers soft on the carpet, her eyes widening at the sight of him. The air still held a faint haze, the dragon's breath of his merge. She crossed the room, her concern palpable, and placed a hand on his forehead. It was like touching a stovetop, and she winced.
"Landon?" she said, her voice soft, tinged with worry. "What did you do?"
She moved to the mini-fridge, pulling out a water bottle, its plastic cool and slick with condensation. Sitting on the bed's edge, she supported his head, guiding the bottle to his lips. He drank, the water a fleeting relief against the fire in his veins. The silence between them was heavy, intimate, a Quiet Moment that bound them closer. Marie's eyes, dark and searching, held a mix of fear and care. He's going to kill himself one day, she thought, her fingers tightening on the bottle. And I can't lose him.
The fever had broken, leaving Landon exhausted, his body heavy as if gravity had doubled. The dorm smelled of burnt coffee, the pot on his desk still warm from Emma's earlier visit. She sat in his desk chair, her legs tucked beneath her, a wry smile playing on her lips. Her blonde hair caught the lamplight, and her eyes held a warmth that cut through his lingering chill. Landon's sarcasm, usually a shield, was softer now, worn thin by vulnerability.
"So, the great Landon has a weakness after all," Emma teased, her voice light but laced with genuine concern. "Couldn't handle a little 'fever'?"
"Guess I'm just a normal, frail human after all," Landon quipped, a weak grin tugging at his lips. "She sees me," he thought, the realization warm and grounding. "Not the system, not the powers—just me."
Emma laughed, a soft, musical sound that filled the room. "Normal is a stretch for you, Landon."
"Maybe," he said, meeting her gaze. "But you're here, right? Can't scare you away that easily."
Her smile widened, a silent understanding passing between them. The flirtation was a spark, bright and alive, sealing their growing connection. The System's voice intruded, sharp and witty.
[Flirt success: Emma's hooked. Don't fumble this one.]
Landon ignored it, his focus on Emma's eyes, the way they crinkled when she smiled. The dorm's walls, scratched and faded, seemed to fade away, leaving only this moment—a boy and a girl, connected by a shared warmth in the chaos of Godolkin.
MORE POWER STONES == MORE CHAPTERS
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