The morning after his conversation with Curtis, Elias stood in his workshop examining the 2.5-meter length of SAE 4140 steel cylinder that would become his barbell. At thirty-five millimeters in diameter, the raw steel looked deceptively simple—just a long, straight bar of industrial-grade material. But he knew the specifications by heart now: tensile strength between 190,000 and 205,000 PSI, excellent fatigue resistance, and the kind of reliability that made it the standard choice for high-stress applications.
He would need to cut it down to the precise Olympic standard of 2,200 millimeters—trimming 300 millimeters from the 2.5-meter stock would give him the exact length required while providing some margin for error in his calculations.
The first challenge was immediately apparent. His forge, designed for blade work and smaller projects, couldn't accommodate a 2.2-meter length of steel. He'd have to heat and work the bar in sections, a process that would require careful attention to prevent uneven stress distribution that could compromise the finished product.
But first, he needed to cut the bar to its final length and relieve the internal stresses that the manufacturing process had introduced into the steel.
Elias fired up the forge and positioned the first section of the steel cylinder in the flames. As the metal began to glow cherry-red, he reflected on the irony of his situation. Here he was, capable of inscribing supernatural enhancements into tools, yet still bound by the physical limitations of his equipment and workspace. Some problems, apparently, couldn't be solved with ancient languages and mystical intentions.
Working methodically, he heated each section of the bar to stress-relief temperature, letting the molecular structure relax and normalize after whatever tensions had been introduced during the steel's original formation. The process was tedious but necessary—any internal stresses left in the material could manifest as weakness or failure points under the extreme loads a barbell would face. The heat treatment also left the steel softer and more workable for the machining that would follow.
After the stress relief was complete, Elias carefully measured and cut the bar to exactly 2,200 millimeters, ensuring the cut was perfectly square and smooth. The 300 millimeters of waste material would find use in future projects—good steel was never truly wasted in his workshop.
By midday, the stress-relief process was complete, and Elias carefully transported the precisely cut steel bar to the machining area of his workshop. This was where the real work would begin, transforming a simple cylinder into the precisely engineered tool he'd designed.
The lathe work required every bit of his skill and patience. Olympic barbells demanded exacting specifications that went far beyond what most people realized. The sleeves—the sections that would hold the weight plates—needed to be exactly 412 millimeters long on each end, with a diameter of precisely 30 millimeters to ensure proper plate fit. The central grip section would be turned down to 29 millimeters in diameter, providing the comfortable grip diameter that serious lifters preferred.
The most challenging aspect would be the transition zones between the grip and sleeves. Each transition required a 20-millimeter section that gradually increased from the 29-millimeter grip diameter to 35 millimeters before tapering back down to the 30-millimeter sleeve diameter. These transitions had to be perfectly smooth and precisely angled to distribute stress evenly while providing the structural strength necessary for heavy loads.
Hours passed as he carefully removed material, the lathe's cutting tool peeling away thin ribbons of steel with each revolution. The work was hypnotic in its precision—each pass removing exactly the calculated amount of material, gradually revealing the barbell's final form from within the raw cylinder.
When he finally shut off the lathe and stepped back to examine his progress, Elias's lower back was screaming in protest. The sustained forward lean required for precision machining had left him feeling like he'd aged a decade in a single afternoon. He straightened slowly, one hand pressed against the small of his back, wondering if perhaps he should have started his fitness journey before undertaking this particular project.
"Getting old," he muttered to himself, echoing his earlier self-assessment. The irony wasn't lost on him that he was building exercise equipment because his body couldn't handle the demands of his work, yet the process of building that equipment was proving to be the most physically demanding project he'd undertaken in years.
But the machined barbell was beautiful. The proportions were perfect, the surface finish smooth and professional. All that remained was the knurling and the inscription that would transform it from an excellent piece of equipment into something unprecedented.
The knurling pattern he'd chosen was called "volcano"—a series of diamond-shaped indentations that created an aggressive grip surface while still being comfortable for extended use. Creating the pattern by hand with a chisel was, as he'd expected, a thankless task that left his fingers cramped and his shoulders aching.
Each diamond had to be precisely positioned and uniformly deep. Too shallow, and the knurling would provide insufficient grip when hands became sweaty during heavy lifting. Too deep, and it would be uncomfortable to hold for extended periods. Elias worked with the methodical patience that his craft had taught him, creating thousands of tiny indentations that would ensure the barbell could be gripped securely under any conditions.
By evening, the knurling was complete and properly sanded. The barbell now looked and felt like professional-grade equipment, ready for the kind of heavy use that serious strength training demanded. But it was still, fundamentally, an ordinary piece of exercise equipment.
That was about to change.
Elias positioned the enhanced burin at the beginning of his chosen inscription area, just left of center on the grip section. The phrase he'd selected had taken considerable thought. He wanted something comprehensive, something that would enhance all aspects of physical training rather than focusing on just strength or endurance. After much consideration, he'd settled on English rather than Latin or ancient Greek—this would be the longest inscription he'd ever attempted, and working in his native language would allow him to focus entirely on the technical precision required for such an extensive engraving.
"All exercise has its effect improved" he murmured as he began the first letter. The phrase was carefully constructed to encompass every possible form of physical training while promising enhanced results from whatever effort was invested.
The enhanced burin moved through the steel with supernatural ease, each letter forming with the kind of perfection that would have been impossible with conventional tools. But the sheer length of the inscription presented new challenges. Maintaining consistent depth and spacing across such an extended text required absolute concentration, and the physical demands of holding the burin steady for hours at a time tested his endurance in ways his previous projects hadn't approached.
As the letters accumulated—"All exercise has its effect improved"—Elias found himself entering a meditative state similar to what he'd experienced during his previous inscription work. The rhythm of the cutting, the steady progression of letters, the gradual transformation of blank steel into meaningful text created a sense of deep focus that made the workshop and the world beyond fade into irrelevance.
Hours passed. His back ached from maintaining position over the long barbell. His grip hand cramped from controlling the burin with such precision. But the inscription continued to grow, letter by letter, word by word, until finally he carved the last character of "improved" and set down his tool.
The silence that followed was different from what he'd experienced with his previous enhanced tools. This inscription was longer, more complex, affecting a much larger piece of steel. For a moment, nothing happened, and Elias wondered if perhaps the enhancement required more time to integrate with such a substantial object.
Then came—not the sharp chime of his smaller tools, but a deep, resonant tone that seemed to emerge from the steel itself and vibrate through the workshop floor. It was followed immediately by the familiar knowledge, but speaking words that made his heart race with excitement and no small amount of apprehension.
"Rule Integrated: All exercise has its effect improved Effect: whoever uses it for exercises will have greatly improved results. Authority: Elias Thorn. Duration: Permanent."
Elias stepped back from the workbench, staring at the completed barbell with a mixture of pride and uncertainty. The inscription ran along the grip section in perfectly formed letters, each character cut to identical depth and spacing. It looked like the work of a master engraver with decades of experience, which he supposed, in a way, it was.
But the real test would come when he actually used the equipment.
First, though, he needed to complete the construction. Heat treatment was critical for a barbell that would bear hundreds of pounds of additional weight. He reheated strategic sections of the bar, quenching and tempering to achieve the perfect balance of strength and flexibility. The steel needed to be hard enough to resist deformation under load, but not so brittle that it might crack under the dynamic stresses of actual weightlifting.
The process took most of the following day, but when it was complete, Elias held a barbell that met or exceeded the specifications of the finest commercial equipment available. The enhanced inscription was now permanently integrated into steel that had been properly heat-treated for maximum performance.
The weight plates he'd ordered had arrived the previous week—simple cast iron discs without any special features. He'd briefly considered creating enhanced plates as well, but decided that the barbell itself would provide whatever supernatural effects the equipment needed. Sometimes, he was learning, restraint was as important as ambition.
Loading two forty-kilogram plates onto the bar brought the total weight to one hundred kilograms—about 220 pounds. For someone who hadn't lifted weights regularly since college, it was an ambitious starting point. But if the enhancement worked as intended, perhaps normal limitations wouldn't apply.
Elias secured the plates with rubber-coated clips and positioned himself behind the loaded barbell. The knurling felt perfect under his hands—aggressive enough for secure grip, comfortable enough for extended holds. The bar was perfectly balanced, the weight distribution exactly what twenty years of engineering experience had promised.
He took a deep breath, tightened his grip, and lifted.
The weight came up smoothly, almost easily. Too easily, in fact. What should have been a significant challenge for his untrained body felt manageable, controlled. He completed the lift, held the bar at full extension for a moment, then lowered it back to the floor with careful control.
The moment the barbell touched the ground, Elias felt it—a warmth spreading through his muscles, not unlike the sensation of a good workout, but more intense and somehow more purposeful. It was as if his body was responding to the exercise with an efficiency that defied normal physiology, building strength and adaptation at an accelerated rate.
He looked down at the enhanced barbell, then at his own hands and arms. The phrase "greatly improved results" suddenly seemed like it might be an understatement. If this single lift had produced noticeable effects, what would happen with a complete workout?
For the next hour, Elias experimented carefully with the enhanced barbell, performing the basic exercises Curtis had recommended. Each movement felt natural despite his inexperience, and each repetition seemed to build on the last in ways that normal training couldn't match. The warmth in his muscles intensified with each set, but rather than the burning fatigue he'd expected, it felt more like controlled energy, like his body was eagerly adapting to demands that would normally require weeks or months of gradual conditioning.
As he finally set the bar down for the last time, breathing hard but feeling oddly energized rather than exhausted, a new concern began to creep into his mind. The enhancement was clearly working—perhaps too well. If this single session was producing such dramatic effects, what would weeks or months of training with enhanced equipment do to his body?
Would he still be recognizably himself, or would he transform into some kind of muscular monster, as far from his current bookish appearance as his enhanced tools were from conventional metalworking equipment?
The question would have to wait for another day. For now, Elias was content to feel the warm glow of successful creation and the strange new sensation of muscles that had worked harder and more efficiently than should have been possible, and also the hunger that seems like he hasn't eaten for a week.
The enhanced barbell rested quietly on his workshop floor, ready to continue the transformation it had begun. While Elias ran to his apartment to get something to eat.