I pushed open the door to my apartment, kicking it shut behind me with my heel as I tossed my keys onto the small table by the entrance.
The place looked exactly as I'd left it yesterday morning—bed unmade, jacket still draped over the back of the couch, the faint smell of coffee lingering in the air from the pot I'd forgotten to clean.
Home sweet home... didn't matter how messed up I kept it.
I made my way to the kitchenette, pulling open the fridge and staring at its meager contents.
Eggs, bread, and a half-empty carton of milk.
Good enough.
I grabbed the eggs and bread, cracked a couple into a pan, and tossed two slices into the toaster.
Breakfast wasn't fancy, but it didn't need to be—just fuel to get me through the day.
While the eggs cooked, I leaned against the counter and let my mind wander.
My skills.
Two of them are genuinely useful in a fight. One of them... well, I'd figure out what to do with that one later.
But first, I needed to test them properly.
I flipped the eggs onto a plate, grabbed the toast as it popped, and ate standing up at the counter, my thoughts already racing ahead to what I was about to try.
Ten minutes later, I was standing in the small hallway of my apartment—the same spot where I'd first tested LightForce Connection I a few days ago.
It wasn't much of a space. But it was all I had, and it would do.
I rolled up my left sleeve, exposing my forearm.
"Let's see if it actually worked," I muttered to myself.
I was looking for the same cut I'd gotten from the bathroom sink—the one I'd checked when I first unlocked LightForce, hoping it had given me some kind of regenerative boost.
It hadn't.
Back then, the scabbed-over scrape had still been there, healing at a normal human rate, and I'd been disappointed.
But now?
Now I had Regeneration.
According to the system's description, that cut should be gone.
I turned my arm over, scanning the skin where the wound had been.
Nothing.
Not even a scar.
The skin was smooth, unblemished, like the injury had never existed in the first place.
"Whoosh," I said under my breath, grinning. "No more worrying about my looks before getting into fights."
The last time I'd gotten into a real fight—back in my hometown, three guys who thought they could jump me outside a bar—I'd walked away with a nasty gash on my face that took weeks to heal.
It had left a faint scar that stuck around for months, and yeah, it had affected the number of hookups I was pulling. Turns out girls weren't as into the "dangerous" look as I'd hoped.
I'd given more damage than I'd taken, though. Three on one, and I'd still put two of them on the ground before the third one ran.
But that was then.
Now?
Now I could take a hit and bounce back in minutes.
I shook off the memory and refocused.
Regeneration worked. That was confirmed.
But LightForce?
That was what I really needed to figure out more about.
Constructs would help me a lot in a fight—weapons, shields, tools—but only if I could use them to their full potential.
I needed to test the limits.
See what I could and couldn't do.
I held out my right hand, palm up, and focused.
A gun.
I wasn't sure if it would work—I knew from my earlier tests that projectiles dissolved the moment they lost contact with me. A bullet would disappear mid-flight, rendering the whole thing useless.
But I was curious.
Could I even make a gun?
The light formed instantly, white with that faint blue tint around the edges, shaping itself into a sleek handgun in my palm.
It felt solid and real. The grip fit perfectly in my hand, the barrel gleaming under the overhead light.
"Cool," I muttered, turning it over to examine it from every angle.
It looked exactly like a real gun. Down to the trigger, the grip texture, even the little details like the slide and the hammer.
But would it work?
I pointed it at the wall across from me, my finger resting on the trigger.
Then I pulled it.
Nothing.
I frowned, pulling the trigger again.
Still nothing.
No recoil.
No sound.
Not even a click.
The trigger moved, sure, but there was no mechanism behind it. No firing pin. No spring. Nothing.
For a moment, I just stood there, confused.
Then something clicked in my mind.
What if... it's not a gun at all?
To test the theory, I grabbed the gun with both hands and focused on splitting it down the middle.
The construct responded immediately, separating into two equal halves like I'd cracked open a toy.
I looked inside.
And there it was—confirmation of my theory.
Solid white filling.
No mechanisms or any internal structure.
It was just a block of light shaped like a gun on the outside, completely hollow and useless on the inside.
I stared at it, realization dawning.
The shuriken I'd made before. The sword. Those had worked because they were simple.
A blade was just a blade—a sharp edge with mass behind it. A shuriken was the same. Solid objects that didn't need internal mechanics to function.
But a gun?
A gun needed springs, firing pins, chambers, and mechanisms that worked together to create the force needed to fire a bullet.
And I hadn't known how to replicate that.
"Is this another limitation?" I said out loud, my voice echoing slightly in the small hallway. "Or am I missing something?"
I stared at the split gun in my left hand, my mind racing.
Then I had an idea.
I focused on the interior of the construct, picturing a small spring connected to the trigger.
The light shifted in response to my thoughts, and a tiny coiled spring materialized inside the gun's body, attached to the trigger mechanism.
Then, in front of the spring, I imagined a small ball—just a marble-sized sphere of light.
The theory was simple: pull the trigger, release the spring, and the spring would push the ball forward.
It wouldn't generate the same force as a real gun—not even close—but it might be enough to push the ball forward a little and test whether it works.
Right?
I reassembled the gun, lined it up with the wall again, and pulled the trigger.
Nothing.
I sighed, frustration creeping in.
But I didn't give up.
I tried again. And again. Adjusting the spring, changing the ball size, and tweaking the mechanism in my head.
After a few more attempts, I finally felt something from my makeshift gun.
The spring released.
The ball moved.
It didn't shoot out like a bullet. Hell, it barely moved faster than if I'd pushed it with my finger. It didn't even leave the barrel of the gun.
But it moved.
And that was enough.
I grinned, dismissing the construct and letting the light dissolve.
"So I just need to know how things work internally to create them, huh?" I said, nodding to myself. "That's a limitation, but it's better than not being able to create projectiles at all."
I paused, another thought hitting me.
"Does that mean I can create my own car or bike if I know exactly how they work?"
The idea was wild, but not impossible.
If I could replicate the mechanisms—engine, transmission, wheels, steering—I could, in theory, make a vehicle out of solid light.
It would dissolve the moment I stopped touching it, sure, but still.
"That's cool," I muttered. "What's the need to buy a car if you can just create one?"
And more importantly—this power was going to save me a lot of money.
That thought made me genuinely happy.
For the next several minutes, I threw myself into experimenting.
I created two swords, one in each hand, and clashed them together to see if they'd break each other.
They didn't.
Both blades held firm; the impact sent a faint vibration through my hands but caused no damage.
Then I focused on making one sword weaker than the other—less dense, more fragile.
I swung again.
The weaker blade shattered on impact, dissolving into particles of light before fading completely.
Interesting.
So the constructs' durability depended on how I thought about them. If I wanted something strong, it would be strong. If I wanted it weak, it would be weak.
That gave me a lot of control.
I dismissed the swords and stood there for a moment, thinking.
What else could I do?
Then an idea hit me.
What if I wore armor made of light?
A full suit of armor—covering my chest, arms, legs, and head. Something that would protect me in a fight while still letting me move freely.
I'd be damn near untouchable against normal threats if these constructs can withstand bullets.
And maybe it might boost my strength a bit?
Like, Tony Stark is just a human who can barely lift more than a hundred pounds, but when it comes to Iron Man? He can do the things that far surpass the normal limits.
"Let's test it out."
.....
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