Chapter 2: Through the Stone
The cave trembled. The echoing thunder of the guards' boots and shouted commands vibrated through the stone, chattering Adam's teeth. Dust, fine and bitter, sifted from hairline cracks in the ceiling, coating his lips with grit.
His hands shook, still raw from the first kill, and he clenched his fingers repeatedly to try and still the quake. The system's electric hum, a nagging pulse in his skull, seemed to amplify the guilt. Guilt's fifteen percent felt like a heavy shadow weight, pressing him into action over paralysis.
"Why keep shaking? You chose life over death. One body's enough, but you can't let that one kill stop you. Prove you're more than a killer—prove you're the escape gear."
The forge's heat pulsed, a searing, dry breath against the stone's pervasive, wet chill. The acrid sting of oil mingled with the sharp tang of gunpowder wafting in from the main tunnel. The air was heavy, viscous with impending chaos.
Tony, completely composed now, crouched over a dirt-scratched map on the floor. His chains scraped quietly as he used a piece of chalk to bite a quick line into the earth. His whisper was sharp with urgency but perfectly steady with genius's calm.
"One trip, kid. That fissure in the back wall leads to the ventilation shaft. Get eyes on the exit. I need a clean run-down: guards, guns, gaps."
Tony paused, his gaze lifting, catching Adam's. "No fights. Absolutely no structural phasing if you can avoid it. You make too much noise and you risk collapsing our exit."
"Back in five, breathing. Or don't come back at all." Tony finished, his voice utterly pragmatic.
Adam nodded, his movement jerky. His throat was tight with the dust's scratch and the dry weight of expectation. His motivation burned: aid the escape, earn his absolute place, survive as an essential ally, not a dangerous accident.
"Why scout? To be the gear, not the glitch—to prove I'm worth keeping. My survival hinges on his escape."
The fissure loomed—a narrow, jagged gash in the rock behind the crates. Shadows pooled there like black ink, promising the quiet veil of peril just beyond the grim security of their cell.
"Phasewalk. Level one. Slip the code . Stamina check: eighty percent. Should be fine."
He focused, visualizing the atoms of the rock parting like a game's glitch, the intention sharp and surgical: through, unseen, quick.
The hum surged shrill again, ozone stinging his nose, a flash of blue static in his peripheral vision. His body blurred, the air vibrating violently as he stepped into the wall. The cave's chill instantly faded, replaced by the strange, absolute cold of the stone's embrace.
The resistance was immediate and shocking. It wasn't empty air; it was like wading through frozen, thick syrup, dragging against his skin, prickling intimately like a thousand tiny, icy needles piercing his body simultaneously. He felt the instant, massive draw: Stamina draining immediately, his limbs becoming heavy with a twenty percent toll.
He breached the first layer , his legs emerging successfully into the corridor-side, but he faltered. His torso snagged violently. His ribs felt clamped in the stone's absolute vise, his breath stolen in a disorienting, crushing moment of being caught between two states of matter.
"Glitch. I'm stuck in the damn wall. I overshot the density. I'm a sitting duck."
Panic flooded his chest, his heart racing with trapped-mouse frenzy. Blindness gripped him as the nearest torchlight flickered distant, the sporadic pop-pop-pop of automatic gunfire mocking his struggle from somewhere far away.
Why now? Because power's raw, untested. I pushed my limits when solid matter fights back with physics. The Phasewalk is not a free ticket; it's a terrifying, high-stakes tax.
He shoved his will harder, forcing the conclusion, not repelling the wall but completing the phase-slip. He lurched free, collapsing onto the dark corridor floor, gasping as fine, cold dust sprayed violently from the stone around him.
[Phasewalk Used. Stamina: 60% (-20%). Misfire Detected. Fatigue: +10%.]
The system's voice cut in, mocking sharp, a blade through his thoughts.
"Smooth ghosting, Pusher. Walls fight dirty—charm the next one, genius. And maybe eat something this century."
His throat burned, and disorientation spun his senses. The pungent, greasy reek of oil rose from barrels stacked haphazardly, crates looming like cruel, arbitrary obstacles set by fate.
He crept forward, boots grinding grit soft, the distinct feeling of claustrophobia's hot breath on the back of his neck. Gunpowder's tang was sharp and metallic in the air. The corridor's few dim torchlights cast jagged, shifting shadows that made every corner a threat.
"Intel. Map the exit. Arm the plan. Don't be the snag that sinks the entire operation."
A shadow shifted up ahead, boots scuffing a warning alert on the stone.
Guard B rounded the bend, his eyes widening to saucers at the dust-haze and the man who had just seemingly birthed himself from solid rock. The rifle whipped up immediately, a trained, lethal reaction. His scarf slipped, baring his teeth in a snarl of pure shock and kill-intent.
"Hey! Intruder!"
The lunge was feral and immediate. The bayonet gleaming under the torchlight aimed for Adam's collar. The grip was tight, aiming to subdue or worse. Another violation, sparking the familiar, terrifying ember of panic.
"Non-lethal. Mercy's math. I can't stack more Guilt. I have to spare the system's clean end, spare my own soul."
The Push bloomed, but this time it was controlled. It was a gust, not a storm. He channeled his will, focusing the kinetic force to the guard's shoulder and chest, deliberately sparing the vitals.
The guard spun, the force catching him completely by surprise, and he crashed violently into a haphazard stack of empty wooden crates. Wood splintered with a crack like breaking bones, triggering a domino collapse. Barrels rolled, oil spilling onto the floor, the metallic thunder swallowing the guard's pained groan.
[Push Initiated. Non-lethal. Guilt: +5%.]
"Why restrain? Because the first kill's echo is still screaming in my head. I have to maintain that thread of humanity in power's lethal loom. I can't become a weapon that only destroys."
Adam dove for the fissure he had just used. His phase was sloppy, fueled by panic's fraying edge, but he made it halfway through as a sickening smell wafted from the corridor—the rolling barrels had hit a pile of jerrycans, and the explosion was brewing, a chemical kiss waiting to spark. The roar of the explosion chased him like a howl of judgment.
"Phasing and explosives? Rom-com pitch, bombing hard."
The quip burst out, a hysterical, whispered utterance—humor, his desperate buoy against the rising tide of regret and fear. The Guilt's knife twisted, questioning his decision: Why hold back when total power begged release?
He burst into the cell, slamming the wall, chest heaving ragged. The ghost-cling of the acrid oil was sharp in his nose, and the fatigue of two Phasewalks was blurring the edges of his sight.
"Exit's a fortress," he gasped, leaning heavily on the cold stone, dust stinging his eyes and his chest burning from the exertion.
"Two guards, a mounted gun—a heavy one—and a clear line of sight down the approach." He paused, forcing more air into his collapsing lungs. "But… a utility hatch, small, knee-high, hidden behind a stack of explosive canisters. Kaboom bait if we're not ash first."
Tony moved instantly. The chalk scratched frantic, mapping out the new intelligence. Hope's focus was unbroken by the rumble and smoke filtering in. His fingers smudged black as the new strategy formed in his mind.
"Explosives? Perfect. Detonation on demand."
He etched a line, the chalk's scratch a focused, strategic song against chaos's din.
"Hatch at eleven—that's our dodge and spark. Yinsen, you're on the seal; that plate is begging to be torqued."
Yinsen's nod was calm, his hands moving with metal-caressing, precise grace. His gaze affirmed the immense risk, speaking silent volumes of the worth of this final gamble.
"Why his calm? He's the anchor. The still point when I'm fraying. He carries the weight of his family and his morals, so he can't afford to break."
Chalk scratched, the forge sparked, hope weaving itself desperately through the fraying edges of the plan. The cave's chill bit deep, but the pulsing heat of the forge promised defiance.
The explosion's echo shook the structure deeper, smoke wafting through cracks like a deadly warning's breath. Shouts crested into the thunder of boots closing in—the cascade of events had now locked them irrevocably into action.
In the brief, necessary lull while Tony marked his plans, Adam slumped further, resting his head on the cool, unforgiving stone. His eyes were veiled with dust, his breath slowing as he forced himself to recover. The system's grid bloomed again, the blue runes humming, its ozone presence buzzing in his bones.
[Adam Reed | Push Level: Ultimate (Fixed) | Fatal Push Events: 1]
[Skills Inventory]
Push (Ultimate) – No Stamina Drain (unless resisted)
Phasewalk Lv. 1 – Stamina Drain: 20%
[Locked Skills]
Mirror Push – Unlock: 5 Fatal Push Events
[Quests & Warnings]
Active Quest: Survive Ten Rings Ambush – Reward: Mirror Push Unloc
Warning: Stamina at 60% – Risk of Phase Misfire if used again without rest.
[Achievements]
First Push: Completed | Reward: Phasewalk Lv. 1
Guilt Metric: 15% (10% Fatal Push, 5% Non-Lethal Push)
"One scout, two pushes, one misfire—the rock's embrace nearly buried me. This power is a terrifying tease. I have wings, but they're clipped mid-flight, constantly draining me of energy."
"Why chase utility's ghost when solo chains tighter? I should save my power, run when I can. But I can't. This isn't my story, it's Tony's, and the price of my life is making sure he gets out in the suit. I have to be a shield."
The isolation of the Untouchable Law was sharpening, but the gamble of the two non-lethal pushes—the choice to risk more fatigue over more guilt—was the first step toward forging a new moral code. It justified the bond forming with Tony and Yinsen. The dust motes swirling in the torchlight mirrored his chaotic thoughts.
Shouts pulled him back, but the reflection lingered—the desperate thread of his humanity woven into power's lethal loom. The cave's grim pulse demanded action, and the forge heat beckoned.
MORE POWER STONES == MORE CHAPTERS
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