Chapter 9: Plasma Pulse
The campus patrol route was a quiet stretch, the night air sharp with a chill that bit through Landon's jacket. The quad's grass was damp, glistening under the pale glow of distant lampposts, the scent of ozone heavy, like a storm waiting to break.
Landon's breath plumed in the cold, his fingers twitching in his pockets, a nervous tic that matched his racing thoughts. His target was Ethan, a hot-headed freshman whose plasma bursts were as volatile as his temper.
Landon's meta-knowledge painted him as a prideful supe, desperate to prove himself. The plan was simple: provoke, die, revive, claim Energy Pulse (D-rank). The power would give him an offensive edge, a tool to survive Godolkin's escalating dangers.
Ethan stood by the founder's statue, its bronze surface pitted with age, a faint blue-white corona of plasma flickering around his hands. The light cast jagged shadows, illuminating the statue's weathered face—a stern, forgotten hero. Ethan's boots scuffed the gravel, his posture tense, his eyes scanning the darkness with a restless energy. Landon approached, his sneakers silent on the grass, his heart pounding. "Pride's his trigger," he thought, his lip-biting tic flaring. "Hit it hard, and he'll snap."
"Hey, hotshot," Landon called, his voice a calculated blend of mockery and nonchalance. "Lost your way? Or just practicing for the inevitable 'I'm a weapon' hero montage?"
Ethan's head snapped around, his eyes narrowing, the plasma flaring brighter, a crackling hum filling the air. "Piss off, freshman," he growled, his voice thick with a street edge. "Or I'll show you what a montage looks like up close."
Landon took a step forward, his grin sharp, a deliberate stumble in his step to sell the act. "Oh, I'm shaking," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "My bad. I guess I'm just not as… steady as a guy who can't keep his hands from sparking." He gestured at Ethan's glowing fists, the motion dismissive. "A real hero controls his power. You just look like you're about to blow a fuse."
Ethan's face flushed scarlet, his pride a raw nerve. A guttural roar tore from his throat as he lunged, the air distorting with heat. A plasma burst erupted, a blinding wave of blue energy that hit Landon like a sledgehammer. The force lifted him off his feet, his chest burning, the pain a searing, tingling numbness that spread to his limbs. His head struck the pavement, the world dissolving into a white-hot void. His last thought was a grim triumph: "Nailed it."
[Ding! Enhanced Speed (E-rank) has been consumed. Energy Pulse (D-rank) merge confirmed.]
[Energy Pulse (D-rank). Zappy, but don't fry yourself. You've got a real knack for this, you suicidal little freak.]
Revival was a brutal snap, yanking Landon back to a broom closet, the air thick with the stale scent of wood and cleaning chemicals. His fingers tingled, a low thrum of energy pulsing in his veins, a ghost of Ethan's plasma. His body ached, the numbness lingering like a bruise, his hands flexing instinctively as he tested the new power. "It's alive," he thought, his sarcasm sharp despite the exhaustion. "But God, this guilt's getting old." He pushed the door open, the hinges creaking, and stepped into the hallway, the fluorescent lights harsh against his sensitive eyes.
From Ethan's perspective, the patrol was a blur of confusion. He stood by the statue, his hands still sparking, his breath ragged. What the hell was that? he thought, his pride stung but his curiosity piqued. Landon had provoked him, taken the hit, and vanished. No body, no trace. He's not normal, Ethan thought, a grudging respect mixing with his irritation. Nobody's that reckless without a plan.
The quad was quiet, the grass damp under Landon's sneakers as he sat on a stone bench, the moonlight casting long shadows. Marie approached, her steps hesitant, her eyes heavy with worry. From her perspective, Landon was a walking contradiction—a reckless fool who somehow survived the impossible. She'd seen the plasma burst, seen him vanish in a flash of light, and the fear had clawed at her chest. She sat beside him, the bench cold, her hands trembling in her lap.
"Landon," she said, her voice raw, her Midwest twang thick with emotion. "What the hell was that? I saw… I saw you. You just let him hit you."
Landon shrugged, his grin weak, his eyes avoiding hers. "Yeah, well. I've got a flair for the dramatic, what can I say?"
"Good at surviving? Landon, that was insane," Marie said, her voice rising, her hands clenching. "You could have—"
"I'm okay, Marie," he cut in, his voice softer, the sarcasm fading. "I'm always okay." The words were a lie, and he knew it. The guilt was a weight, heavier with every death, every person he used. "I'm dragging her into this," he thought, his lip-biting tic flaring. "She doesn't deserve it." But her concern, her presence, was a lifeline he couldn't let go.
[Marie's worried: She's got your back. Don't waste it. You're such a sap, Landon.]
The System's taunt was a mirror to his guilt, but Marie's nod, silent and steady, was an emotional override. She didn't press, didn't demand answers, and that trust pushed him to act against logic, to promise himself he'd protect her, even if it meant risking his secrecy. The quad's silence, the damp grass, the distant hum of lights—it was a moment of connection, a vow sealed in the night.
The quad's edge was alive with students, their laughter a soft hum against the night's chill. Ethan stood by a lamppost, his phone dead in his hand, his knuckles sparking faintly with residual plasma. Landon approached with Andre, their shoulders bumping playfully, the air light with camaraderie. Landon's fingers tingled with his new Energy Pulse, a mischievous urge driving him. He focused, a subtle spark leaping from his hand to Ethan's phone, shorting it with a sharp crackle.
"What's got your panties in a twist, Plasma?" Landon asked, his tone cheerful, a grin on his lips.
"My phone's fried," Ethan grumbled, shoving it into his pocket. "Some kind of surge. It just… died."
"No way," Landon said, his eyebrows shooting up in mock surprise. "A supe with a busted phone? That's a tragedy, man. Did a pigeon crap on it, or something?"
Andre snorted, his pen spinning in a rhythmic click-click-click. "C'mon, man, let him have it. Probably just a case of bad luck. Or, you know, a plasma leak."
Ethan glared, but Andre's grin was infectious, a spark of warmth in the night. He's a prick, but he's got nerve, Ethan thought, his irritation softening into grudging respect. Landon's prank was a jab, but it was also an invitation, a way into the group.
[Prank success: Ethan's mad, group's amused. Your brand is solidifying. Good job, little sociopath.]
The System's approval was a sharp contrast to the warmth of the moment. Landon's grin widened, the quad's lights humming, the grass cool under his feet. A memory flickered—a high school prank, swapping a friend's locker with glitter, their laughter echoing. It was a Quiet Moment, a reminder of why he fought, why he endured. The group's laughter, Ethan's reluctant smirk—it was a spark of something real, a bond forged in chaos.
MORE POWER STONES == MORE CHAPTERS
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