Chapter 7 Part 2 – The Fluxite's Symbiotic Hunger
The night air shimmered faintly with residual Pulsar energy as Jean faced Roy, her crimson Pyrrion aura flickering with serious, controlled heat.
"Again," she commanded, the word a sharp motivator.
Roy raised his pistols. Instead of metal, the Fluxite Matrix flowed across his skin—a dense, liquid black biomechanical substance. It wasn't hard armor; it was fluid, shimmering material, tightening around his arms like powerful, living muscle fibers to steady his aim. He summoned his Zephyros Puls and fired a torrent of compressed wind blades through the practice dummies.
He pushed too hard. His core Puls burned out in a sudden, painful lurch.
In that instant of vulnerability, the Fluxite reacted.
A shocking, agonizing surge ripped through him. The liquid blackness pulsed wildly, autonomously. It didn't form plates; it enveloped. It rushed up his throat, over his jaw, and across his eyes, stopping just short of fully obscuring his vision, forcing a thick, protective mask over his face. His pistols didn't harden; they became extensions of the biomass, long, sharp tendrils of black matter flowing from his hands, tipped with razor edges.
Roy staggered, fighting for breath, the suffocating presence screaming control. It's drowning me! I can't breathe!
"Roy! What's going on? Fight it!" Jean yelled, her voice strained with alarm.
Roy collapsed to one knee, a low, guttural sound escaping the Fluxite-masked mouth. I didn't command this… The biomass was a terror—viscous, alive, and fiercely territorial.
Jean rushed forward, stopping just outside the range of the terrifying, extended tendrils.
"The Fluxite is protecting you!" she shouted, her voice cutting through his panic. "It senses your fatigue, your Puls depletion! It is symbiotic, Roy! It doesn't want to kill you; it wants to preserve the host! You are at your limit, and it is overcompensating, replacing your failing strength with its own!"
The black material retracted slightly from his right eye, allowing him a clearer, desperate look at his mentor. "But it feels… sentient! It feels like… hunger!"
Jean nodded grimly. "It is hunger! It's consuming your free will because it perceives your weakness as a risk! Your body, your Puls core—they are still infants compared to the raw power of the Fluxite it absorbed from those shards!"
Another figure raced onto the training field—Kael, their techno-specialist, carrying a bulky diagnostic rig. "Jean! His bio-signs are spiking! The Fluxite is overloading his sympathetic nervous system! He's going into systemic shutdown!"
"Roy, you have to fight the impulse! Command it to retract!" Jean pleaded.
Roy roared, a sound of pure anguish and exhaustion. He fought his hands, trying to clench them, trying to stop the horrifying black whips of biomass from lashing out. He strained his muscles, not against the world, but against the living suit trying to wear him. "I... I can't... move...!"
Kael activated the rig. "It's useless! The Fluxite's localized energy field is rejecting external commands! Only his central will can break its hold!"
Jean looked at the struggling boy, seeing the terror in his uncovered eye. She knew standard tactics wouldn't work. The Fluxite wasn't an enemy; it was an overzealous protector. It had to be shown that the host was safe and strong.
Her crimson Pyrrion aura exploded.
"Roy! Look at me!"
She unleashed a pulse of pure Pyrrion energy—not a blast, but an envelope of controlled, solar heat that radiated outward like an invisible cocoon. The heat didn't burn the Fluxite; it countered its cold, clinical fear with overwhelming, absolute strength.
Jean stepped into the blinding aura, her eyes fixed on his. "You are not weak! You are not prey! I am here! I am your anchor! Now, command your body to be stronger than its fear!"
She placed both hands firmly on the writhing, black biomatter covering his shoulders. The Pyrrion heat infused the Fluxite, not to destroy, but to overpower its defensive instincts with the sheer, stable force of her Puls. It was a symbiotic handshake, a powerful demonstration: The host is not alone, and the host is surrounded by superior strength.
Under the immense, focused pressure of Jean's will and the stabilizing heat of her Pyrrion Puls, the Fluxite's frantic energy started to subside. Roy's mind, no longer battling alone, found a tiny, desperate reserve of strength.
"RE-TRACT!" he screamed, his voice strained but commanding.
The black biomass shivered, then flowed back rapidly, receding from his face and body with a sickening, liquid sound, leaving him drenched in sweat, trembling, and utterly spent. The Fluxite settled back into the familiar, controlled patterns on his forearms, no longer autonomous, but quiescent.
Jean held him until the shaking stopped, her Pyrrion light slowly dimming.
"Control is earned, Roy," she whispered, her voice husky. "And you will earn it. I won't let the Matrix devour you."
The Fluxite Matrix pulsed beneath his skin—a powerful, alien ally waiting to follow his will, finally understanding who the true master was.
Jean waited until the Fluxite had settled and Kael confirmed Roy's vitals were stable. She dismissed the specialist with a sharp nod, then turned to Roy, who was still leaning heavily against the practice pole, his body aching from the forced expansion and sudden retraction of the Matrix.
"What happened just now was a warning," Jean said, her tone devoid of comfort, replaced by hard necessity. "The Fluxite is an incredible amplifier, but it's anchored to a failing structure. We fix the structure, or the Fluxite becomes the warden of your grave."
Roy pushed himself upright, his breath still ragged. "What do I do?"
"We ignore the Puls for now," Jean declared. "If your Puls fails, the Matrix takes over. We build your physical endurance and core strength until your body can handle sustaining your Zephyros Puls far past your current breaking point. We are forging the anchor."
The Regimen of Iron and Fire
Jean's new regimen was brutal, stripped down, and purely physical. It was designed to push Roy to the exact point of collapse—the point where the Fluxite reacted—and then force him to override its defensive impulse through sheer, grinding willpower.
Phase 1: The Core-Kill
The first challenge was the core. Roy had to maintain a low, staggered horse stance for hours, with Pyrrion-heated weights shackled to his wrists and ankles. Jean stood opposite him, her crimson aura radiating warmth that made the air thick and difficult to breathe, simulating the heat of intense battle.
"Hold!" she barked. "The moment you waver, the Matrix will sense the lack of balance and try to lock your joints. You must hold your form with your muscle, your will!"
Sweat poured off Roy. His legs burned; his back screamed. He could feel the familiar, sickening shiver of the Fluxite beginning to flow and solidify around his knees and lower back. It felt like being encased in hardening cement—an overwhelming instinct to make him immobile, thus 'safe.'
"No!" Roy roared through gritted teeth, pushing the sensation away. He channeled the pain, focusing on the rigid, unyielding discipline of the stance. The moment his muscle contracted with fierce, pure effort, the Fluxite, denied the weakness it sought to shield, would recede.
After an hour, he collapsed, but the Fluxite remained quiescent. A small victory.
Phase 2: The Endurance Run
The next part was a circuit of non-stop, high-intensity exertion. While Jean ran beside him, maintaining a steady, intimidating pace, Roy had to scale rocky inclines, sprint weighted laps, and then immediately move to grappling drills with heavy, sand-filled dummies.
During the third lap of scaling the sheer cliff face of the training canyon, Roy's fingers slipped. His Zephyros Puls was long depleted, and his grip was failing.
WHOOSH.
The Fluxite instantly responded, shooting out from his wrist as a thick, black cable, latching onto a jutting rock above. It pulled him upward, bypassing his struggle.
Jean stopped and glared up at him. "Did you command that?"
Roy hung from the cable, panting. "No… it reacted!"
"Then get down!" she snapped. "That is the Fluxite's strength, not yours! You are relying on a crutch! Again! Fall, fail, but never accept its help when your body can still fight!"
He had to repeat the climb a dozen times. Each time he neared his physical limit, he had to mentally suppress the Matrix, forcing his burning, screaming muscles to find one last inch of purchase, one last flicker of will.
Phase 3: The Puls-Anchor Drill
The final drill merged the physical with the energy work. Jean demanded Roy generate a stable, low-level Zephyros Puls shield, and then maintain it while performing exhausting calisthenics—hundreds of push-ups, burpees, and inverted rows.
The shield was a subtle thing, requiring constant, low-level focus. When his muscles failed and his mind wavered from exhaustion, the Puls shield flickered and died.
In that instant, the Fluxite didn't armor him—it simply re-ignited the Puls for him, creating a temporary, borrowed shield that was far too strong, too stable, and completely outside his control.
"Roy! Your energy signature is erratic! You didn't do that!" Jean cried, shutting down the drill instantly.
Roy looked at his hands, horror dawning. "It… it stole the control of my energy," he whispered. "It's not just protecting me from physical injury; it's protecting me from Puls exhaustion by taking over the core!"
Jean's expression was intense, almost reverent in its severity. "It will make you the most powerful puppet in the world, Roy! The only way to stop it is to make your own Puls stability greater than its protective instinct!"
The Master's Show of Support
That night, after hours of these torturous cycles, Roy lay sprawled on the ground, shaking, too weak to even lift his head. The Fluxite Matrix, for the first time, was completely still, recognizing the raw, self-imposed exhaustion as earned, not accidental.
Jean walked over and knelt beside him, her Pyrrion aura bathing him in a gentle, persistent warmth. She didn't offer to help him up.
"You fought the prison today," she said softly. "And you won far more often than you lost."
She reached out and laid a single hand flat on his chest, directly over his Puls core. She didn't push energy into him; she simply let her own enormous, stable Pyrrion Puls signature envelop his exhausted one.
It wasn't a show of force, but a show of support. It was a reminder of the infinite reservoir of strength and stability that existed in the world, and that he was capable of reaching it. Her energy signature—vast, ancient, and completely controlled—told the Fluxite Matrix, non-verbally: The host is safe. The host is supported. Stand down.
Roy felt the warmth sink in, not just physical, but mental. He was not alone in this fight against his own power. He had a master, and she had the strength to hold the entire world steady if she chose.
He finally managed to push himself up on his elbow, looking at the formidable woman beside him. "I'll break its instincts, Jean. I swear."
Her lips curved into a tiny, proud smile. "I know, Roy. Now, rest. You'll need every ounce of strength for tomorrow."
Deep beneath his skin, the Fluxite Matrix pulsed with a slow, powerful rhythm—no longer a dictator, but a colossal tool, its hunger finally being directed by the will of its exhausted, yet determined, master.