The training dome was silent at dawn, the artificial sky still painted in muted shades of gray. Floodlights hummed overhead, casting pale illumination over the empty pitch. Dante Anderson stood at the center circle, hoodie half-zipped, sweatpants tucked into worn cleats. Crimson sparks flickered faintly along his calves—his body restless, hungry for progress.
Across the pitch, Lionel "Stronghold" arrived in his own calm stride. Tall, broad-shouldered, carrying himself like a fortress in motion. Where Dante was restless energy, Lionel was stone and steel. His Titan Name aura radiated a pressure that felt heavier than the morning air.
"You asked me to help," Lionel said, folding his arms across his chest. His voice was steady, carrying no trace of arrogance—just certainty. "But I'm not here to pat you on the back. If Jörmundgandr is all you've got, you'll be torn apart by the first top-tier defender you meet."
Dante smirked, kicking a ball forward with one touch. "Then stop me."
Lionel's lips curved faintly. "Gladly."
The First Clash
Dante surged forward, lightning streaking along his limbs. His steps blurred into Vanishing Steps, leaving ghostly afterimages behind him. Twisting his body, he unleashed his serpent—Jörmundgandr.
The ball screamed through the air, a spiral of crimson lightning and vicious curve, the air splitting with the hiss of something alive.
Lionel didn't flinch. He planted his heel into the turf, Fortress Aura rippling outward like a shield. At the final moment, he pivoted a single step and absorbed the ball against his chest.
The serpent strike died against the wall.
Dante froze. "You didn't even—"
Lionel cut him off. "Your shot is too linear. Too predictable. You're announcing your kill a mile away." He dropped the ball at his feet and tapped it lightly. "A serpent that only knows one path gets its head cut off."
Pressure Training
For the next thirty minutes, Dante launched strike after strike. Each one faster, harder, packed with more sparks of crimson lightning. Each one, Lionel dismantled. He'd parry with a shoulder, deflect with a knee, or simply anticipate and step into the ball's path, his Fortress Aura neutralizing the force.
Dante's breathing grew ragged. His shirt clung to his back with sweat. Every miss grated on him. "Why… can't I break through?"
Lionel collected another ball calmly. "Because you rely too much on power. And power without disguise is nothing. Do you know why they call me Stronghold? Not because I block everything. Because I see through everything."
He bounced the ball once, catching it again. "Every time you shoot, your aura flares a heartbeat early. Your muscles coil the same way. Your lightning screams what you're about to do before you even move. Hide your intent. Make the serpent whisper."
Dante growled, planting his hands on his knees. "Hide my intent, huh? Easy for you to say…"
He tried again. This time he attempted to delay his lightning, then mask his windup with a feint. But Lionel's eyes tracked him as if Dante were moving in slow motion.
Blocked.
Another attempt—he twisted mid-strike, adding more curve.
Deflected.
Each failure tightened the knot in Dante's chest. His crimson aura flared erratically, sparks flying as his frustration boiled over. Finally, he screamed and hammered the ball into the sky. Crimson lightning exploded off his calves, the gust tearing through the dome as the ball slammed uselessly against the rafters.
"Damn it!" He clutched his hair. "I can't trick you!"
Lionel tilted his head. His gaze wasn't harsh—just steady. "Good. Because if you can't trick me, you'll never trick the defenders out there." He tapped his chest once. "My Fortress isn't about walls. It's about anticipation. I listen to your story before you finish telling it. If you want to win… learn to lie."
The Breakthrough
Dante collapsed onto the turf, sweat dripping down his chin. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe. A lie… how do I turn Jörmundgandr into a lie?
His Cosmic Telepathy flickered, faint and unrefined, but enough to sense Lionel's focus. Each time Dante prepared to strike, Lionel's aura shifted. His attention sharpened on the windup. That was the key.
He reacts to the story I tell him… so I'll tell him the wrong story.
Dante stood again, retrieving a ball. "One more."
Lionel raised a brow, but his posture said: Show me.
Dante charged. Lightning built up—predictable, just as before. His body twisted into the same familiar windup. Lionel braced, Fortress Aura tightening around him.
But at the final instant, Dante froze mid-swing, planting his foot. The serpent should have launched but instead he flicked the ball with his other foot. The strike veered away, curving sharply off the expected path.
The air screamed as crimson lightning licked the ball, spiraling in a chaotic, deceptive pattern.
Lionel dove to block—late. The ball slammed into the net, snapping it violently.
For the first time that morning, Lionel's eyes widened. "…You masked it."
Dante grinned through his panting, lightning still crackling around his shoulders. "Jörmundgandr… 2.0."
Lionel retrieved the ball and rolled it back. His lips twitched, almost a smile. "Not bad. You've added deception. But remember power corrupts technique. If you lose accuracy, the serpent is worthless."
Dante caught the ball, his chest heaving. "So I need to control it. Refine it."
Lionel nodded. "Exactly. Jörmundgandr 2.0 shouldn't just be a shot. It should be a story—a lie the defender believes until it's too late. Give them one tale with your body, another with your lightning, and the truth with the ball."
He stepped closer, his hand heavy on Dante's shoulder. "I won't always be here to test you. But carry this: the deadliest serpent isn't the one that roars. It's the one that whispers until its fangs sink in."
Closing Duel
They sparred again. Dante tested variations of 2.0—sometimes feinting a shot, sometimes disguising it until the last possible heartbeat. Lionel countered, adapting each time, forcing Dante to polish the serpent further.
The pitch echoed with the clash of lightning and fortress, each exchange sharpening Dante's resolve. By the time the dome's lights brightened with artificial sunrise, both of them were drenched in sweat.
Dante collapsed backward onto the grass, laughter bubbling up between gasps. "You're a damn wall, Lionel."
Lionel smirked faintly, crouching beside him. "And you're finally learning how to climb walls instead of smashing into them."
Dante's crimson lightning flickered weakly but stubbornly, alive with determination. He whispered to himself, "Jörmundgandr 2.0 won't just be mine… it'll be the move that changes everything."
Unseen from the stadium rafters above, a figure with long autumn-brown hair and sapphire eyes watched silently. Anastasia Lockwood twirled her lollipop between her lips, her expression unreadable.