Chapter 3: Sparring Stakes
The training arena was a cauldron of sweat and rubber, the air sharp with the acrid sting of liniment and the metallic tang of gym equipment. The lights were harsh, casting stark shadows on the rubber mats, the clang of weights and the sharp crack of punches a relentless soundtrack. Landon stood in the ring, facing Jordan Li, their female form a study in fluid, lethal grace, their eyes cold with annoyance. He'd provoked them with a calculated jab about their ambition, needing their strike for a new power.
"This is gonna hurt worse," he thought, faking a clumsy stance, his feet shifting too slowly, his arms held too low, a living punching bag.
"Don't waste my time, loser," Jordan snapped, their voice a whip-crack of impatience, their hands flexing at their sides.
Landon pushed harder, his voice a low taunt. "Don't you want to prove you're the best, Jordan? The one on top?"
Their eyes flashed, raw fury breaking through their composure. "You don't know who you're talking to."
Their male form shifted in a millisecond, a cannonball of kinetic energy that sent Landon flying across the ring, his body slamming into the mat with a sickening thud. Pain was a fleeting scream, then black.
He woke in a locker room, the air heavy with the metallic tang of old gym equipment and the faint musk of sweat-soaked towels. Vertigo hit like a tidal wave, his vision a blurry swirl, his stomach lurching as if he were trapped in a spinning carnival ride. He clutched the bench, its cold metal grounding him, his breath ragged. "C-rank's a bitch," he thought, fear spiking, raw and real. "How many times can I keep doing this before I break?" The debuffs were worse, the terror a living thing in his chest, clawing at his resolve.
[DING! SHAPE-SHIFTING (C-RANK). NICE MASK, COWARD. DON'T LOSE YOURSELF.]
[FULL HUD: LANDON. LEVEL: 3. POWERS: ENHANCED SPEED (E-RANK), ENHANCED STRENGTH (E-RANK), KINETIC FORCE (D+), SHAPE-SHIFTING (C-RANK). DEBUFFS: VERTIGO (3 HOURS), JOINT PAIN (2 HOURS). ALLIES: MARIE (TRUST: 60%), ANDRE (TRUST: 40%), EMMA (TRUST: 50%). ENEMIES: JAKE (HOSTILE), TARA (HOSTILE), JORDAN (DISTRUSTFUL).]
He stumbled out, his legs unsteady, the world still tilting. Marie was waiting, her eyes wide with concern, her hand hovering near his arm. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," he lied, his smile shaky, the words tasting like ash. "Just a copy ability. Kinda disorienting at first." "Please buy it," he thought, watching her closely.
She nodded, thoughtful, her brow furrowing. "Interesting." He's lying, she thought, her instincts tingling, but her trust held. He needs me, and I need him.
The bleachers were cold and hard, the arena's noise a dull roar in Landon's ears. Emma sat beside him, her legs tucked up, her smile a bright spark in the chaos. "You're a trouble magnet," she teased, her laugh a melody over the clang of weights.
"Hey, Jordan's the one with a stick up their butt," Landon quipped, his cheeks warming under her gaze. "They were way too serious."
"You made them lose it. It's kinda sexy," Emma said, her voice quick, her cheeks flushing pink.
"Oh, fuck," Landon thought, his heart doing a stupid flip. "Yeah, well, I'm just a guy who gets flattened and comes back for more," he said, his voice shaky but playful.
"You're funny, Landon," she said, her gaze warm, holding his for a moment too long.
[FLIRT SUCCESS: EMMA'S SMILING. DON'T SCREW IT UP, ROMEO.]
"No promises," he thought, his grin lopsided, his lip stinging.
The locker room's liniment scent was sharp, fueling Landon's mischief. He shape-shifted into a bland student, the process a dizzying shift of bones and muscle, like his body was clay being remolded. He swapped Jordan's bag with a duffel of silly props—a rubber chicken, a whoopee cushion, a pink tutu—his heart pounding with reckless joy. "Test the power, have some fun," he thought. He escaped, the air rushing past, and heard Jordan's door slam, followed by an angry laugh, a mix of fury and grudging amusement. Jordan's POV shifted: Annoying little shit, but clever.
[PRANK FAILED: JORDAN'S PISSED. GOOD LUCK WITH THAT.]
"Complicated's my thing," Landon thought, his smirk fading as he realized he'd escalated their rivalry.
The Quiet Moment was on the arena's edge, the stars bright above, the air cool and sharp. Landon sat alone on a bleacher, the metal biting his palms. A memory surfaced: his bike's rusty chain squeaking on Ohio's backroads, the freedom of the wind in his hair. "I was nobody then," he thought, his fingers tracing a nervous pattern. "Am I now?" The weight of his new family—Marie, Emma, maybe Andre—grounded him, a found-family tether in this brutal world. "I'll keep going," he vowed, his resolve a quiet fire.
MORE POWER STONES == MORE CHAPTERS
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