Chapter 1: Stranded in Godolkin
Landon Vale woke to the distinct scent of fresh-cut grass and something else—the electric tang of supe energy, like ozone after lightning. Godolkin University's quad stretched before him, sunlight refracting off the pristine buildings as students with impossible abilities lounged on manicured lawns, their laughter carrying a predatory edge he recognized from his meta-knowledge of what this place truly was.
This is real. I'm actually here. In the fucking Gen V universe.
He sat up slowly, his heart thundering against his ribs. The crisp September air filled his lungs, but it wasn't enough—not when he knew what lurked beneath Godolkin's polished veneer. The Woods. The virus. Dean Shetty's experiments. Every horrific plot point from the show burned in his mind, a roadmap of horrors that his transmigration had somehow dropped him into.
A holographic interface pulsed at the edge of his vision, there and gone so quickly he might have imagined it. But he hadn't. The system had come with him, anchoring to his consciousness like a parasite with a twisted sense of humor.
Landon's fingers traced anxious patterns on the grass as students passed. Everyone had powers. Everyone except him.
Not for long.
The system's rules were clear, if sadistic: death granted abilities from whoever killed him. One death per person. The power to copy through sacrifice.
He swallowed hard, tasting bile. This world didn't forgive the powerless. If he wanted to survive—to navigate the lethal politics of Godolkin and perhaps even change the bloody fate awaiting these students—he needed power. Fast.
His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for the right target. Not too strong, not too weak. Someone with an ability worth dying for.
Jake Morris. Sophomore. Minor speedster with a major ego problem and just enough juice to be worth the trouble.
Landon's lips twitched into a humorless smile as he pushed himself up from the grass. Time to become the prey that hunts back.
"W-watch where you're going, man," Landon stuttered, purposefully stumbling into Jake outside the freshman dorm. His shoulder caught the speedster's arm, sending Jake's coffee splashing across his pristine Godolkin hoodie.
The corridor fell silent. A few onlookers paused, the air thick with anticipation and the sickly-sweet smell of spilled caramel latte.
Jake's face contorted, freckles standing stark against reddening skin. "You fucking serious, nobody?" His voice cracked with the particular entitlement of a low-tier supe who'd never faced consequences.
"S-sorry, I didn't see—"
"Look at this shit!" Jake gestured to his stained hoodie, coffee dripping onto squeaky-clean floor tiles. "First day and you're already dead meat."
Landon fought the urge to smile. That's the plan.
He put on his best terrified expression, backing up a step. "It was an accident, I can help—"
"Help? You think I need help from a fucking nobody?" Jake's eyes narrowed, the contempt in them almost comical in its predictability. "What's your power, huh? Being pathetic?"
Students gathered, forming that familiar circle of spectators that appeared whenever blood seemed imminent. Landon's heartbeat quickened. The stage was set.
"I d-don't have—"
"Don't have what? Balls? A brain? A reason to live?" Jake advanced, the air around him vibrating slightly as his speed powers activated. "Let me show you how we handle mistakes here."
Perfect.
Landon calculated his movement carefully, making sure to fake a desperate attempt to flee while actually positioning himself for maximum impact. When Jake's speed-enhanced fist came, he shifted just enough to ensure the blow would be lethal rather than merely painful—angling his temple toward the strike.
The last thing he saw was a blur of motion, felt was a crack that exploded through his skull, and heard was the collective gasp of the crowd.
Then darkness.
Consciousness returned with the disorienting rush of cold air filling empty lungs. Landon gasped, his body convulsing as it remembered how to be alive. He found himself sprawled in a janitor's closet, the sharp odor of industrial cleaner burning his nostrils. His hands shook violently against the concrete floor, his vision swimming with residual static.
[ENHANCED SPEED (E-RANK) ACQUIRED. WELCOME TO THE GAME, COWARD. DON'T TRIP OVER YOUR NEW SPEED.]
The system's mocking message flashed in his peripheral vision, its electric blue text seeming to sizzle with sarcasm. Landon blinked it away, pushing himself up to sitting position. His fingers explored his temple—intact, no blood, no fracture. But the phantom pain lingered, a ghost of his death rippling beneath restored skin.
E-rank. The lowest tier worth having, but a start.
He tested it cautiously, allowing the power to flow through him. The world slowed fractionally, the dust motes in the slanted light through the door crack hanging suspended. Not fast enough to be remarkable, but enough to dodge a punch. To run when running mattered. To survive.
His hands wouldn't stop trembling.
It worked. It actually fucking worked.
Landon bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, using the sharp tang of copper to ground himself. The death had been calculated, but the fear had been real—the helplessness as Jake's fist connected, the void that followed. He was playing with forces he barely understood, gambling with his life in a world where death was supposed to be permanent.
He needed allies. Needed to appear normal. Needed to survive.
Rising unsteadily, Landon reached for the door. It was time to test his new speed, to begin the long game of acquiring just enough power to change the bloody future he'd glimpsed.
The hallway outside the closet buzzed with the aftermath of his "murder." Students clustered in whispering groups, some glancing nervously at the spot where he'd fallen. No body, of course. The system had taken care of that, reconstituting him elsewhere.
Landon stumbled forward, playing disoriented—which wasn't entirely an act. His enhanced speed occasionally sent sensory information flooding in too quickly, making the fluorescent lights overhead pulse uncomfortably.
"Hey, are you okay?" A voice cut through the chaos—low, female, touched with a Midwestern accent.
Marie Moreau. Blood manipulator. Haunted by her parents' deaths.
She stood a few feet away, dark eyes narrowed with concern and something harder to read—suspicion, maybe. Her hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail, and she wore the standard Godolkin uniform with a distinctive red armband marking her as part of the med track.
"Y-yeah," he managed, testing his fake stutter. "Just... dizzy."
Marie stepped closer, the subtle scent of iron following her—whether from her blood powers or something else, he couldn't tell. "You should be more than dizzy. Jake hit you hard enough to..." She trailed off, studying his face. "There's not even a bruise."
Landon's hand flew to his neck, a nervous tell he'd cultivated for moments like this. "F-fast healer, I guess."
"That's not healing," she said flatly. "That's something else."
Careful now. She's smart.
He forced a shaky laugh. "Bad luck followed by good luck? Story of my life."
Marie's expression remained skeptical, but something in her posture softened. "You've got a death wish, provoking Jake like that. He's an asshole, but he's a connected asshole."
"Guess I-I'm still learning the hierarchy."
"Quick advice?" Marie leaned closer, voice dropping. "Stay away from the top ten. They're not just powerful—they're Vought's chosen ones. Cross them, and you won't get a second chance."
The irony of her warning wasn't lost on Landon. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
"Thanks," he said, the stutter momentarily forgotten. "I'm Landon, by the way."
"Marie." She offered no hand to shake. "Try to stay alive, Landon. Godolkin eats the weak."
As she walked away, Landon felt the first genuine emotion since waking in this world—a flicker of connection. Marie had no idea how right she was, or how determined he was to prove her wrong.
Not weak. Never again.
The lecture hall stank of chalk dust and ambition. Professor Brink's "Supe Ethics" class was mandatory for freshmen, though ethics seemed a generous description for what Vought considered moral education. Landon slid into a seat near the middle—not hiding at the back, not drawing attention up front.
Two students dropped into seats beside him: Andre Anderson on his left, Emma Meyer on his right. The magnetism manipulator and the size-shifter. Potential allies, if he played this right.
"Y-you mind if I sit here?" Landon asked, deliberately reactivating his stutter. "Still l-learning the unwritten seating chart."
Andre's dark eyes flickered over him dismissively. "Free country, man. Just don't expect conversation."
Emma offered a shy smile, her fingers fidgeting with the corner of her notebook. "It changes every class anyway. Brink likes to keep us guessing."
Landon nodded gratefully, taking their measure. Andre radiated the particular confidence of legacy supes, his father's reputation paving his way. Emma's nervous energy betrayed her insecurity, the burden of a power that made her literally smaller when she was frightened.
Professor Brink strode in, silence falling instantly. He was older than Landon expected, silver-shot hair cropped close, eyes sharp behind minimalist glasses. Every movement calculated, measured—the precision of a man who knew exactly how much damage he could inflict.
"Ethics," he began without preamble, "is what separates heroes from weapons. Today we discuss the responsibility of power."
Landon barely suppressed a snort. The hypocrisy was staggering.
"Something amusing, Mr.—?" Brink's attention snapped to him.
"V-Vale, sir. Landon Vale. And no, just... eager to learn."
Brink's eyes narrowed slightly. "Indeed. Perhaps you'd like to share your perspective on the ethical limitations of ability usage?"
The room tensed. First-day targeting was a Brink specialty, designed to establish hierarchy. Landon sensed opportunity.
"I think," he began, deliberately slowing his speech to control the stutter, "that p-power isn't what makes someone dangerous. It's entitlement. The b-belief that ability equals deserving."
A few students shifted uncomfortably. Andre's eyebrow raised a fraction.
"Elaborate," Brink commanded.
"The strongest s-supes aren't always the best heroes. Sometimes they're just the biggest egos with the l-loudest PR teams."
Emma's stifled giggle beside him sent a warm current through the nervous tension. Andre's lips twitched, the barest hint of respect flickering across his features.
Brink's expression remained neutral, but something calculating moved behind his eyes. "A provocative stance, Mr. Vale. One might wonder how someone with no apparent abilities would understand such dynamics."
Landon met his gaze steadily. "Observation, s-sir. Sometimes the sidelines offer the clearest view."
"Hm." Brink turned back to the board. "An interesting theory. We'll revisit it when you've demonstrated any power worth discussing."
The dismissal stung as intended, but Landon caught Andre's appraising glance. Not quite friendship, but recognition—the beginning of something that could become alliance.
Emma leaned slightly toward him. "That was brave," she whispered, her voice carrying a hint of admiration that made his chest tighten unexpectedly.
"N-not brave," Landon whispered back. "Just tired of bullshit."
Her smile widened, genuine and warm. First connection made.
[SOCIAL GAMBIT: ALLIES INTRIGUED. KEEP THE CHARM, LONER.]
Jake's room stank of cheap cologne and protein powder, the meticulously organized space speaking to his carefully cultivated image. Landon slipped inside with his newly acquired speed, heart pounding against his ribs as he eased the door shut.
Breaking in was stupid. But fun stupid.
The prank was simple: replace Jake's gym gear with ridiculous alternatives. Swapping compression shorts for a neon thong. Trading protein powder for glitter. Exchanging his Godolkin hoodie for one two sizes too small, emblazoned with "WORLD'S FASTEST DISAPPOINTMENT."
Landon worked quickly, testing the precision of his enhanced speed. He moved objects in controlled bursts, fighting the occasional vertigo that came when he pushed too hard. The power felt like an ill-fitting suit—functional but not yet comfortable, requiring concentration to use effectively.
A sound in the hallway froze him mid-motion. Footsteps approaching. Jake, returning earlier than expected.
Shit.
Landon darted to the closet, slipping inside just as the door handle turned. Through the slats, he watched Jake enter, tossing his bag on the bed with the casual disregard of someone accustomed to others cleaning up after him.
Then Jake paused, sniffing the air like a predator catching an unfamiliar scent. "The hell?"
Landon held his breath, heart hammering. Enhanced speed wouldn't help if he was discovered in a closet with nowhere to run.
Jake moved toward the bathroom, then stopped as his phone chimed. He checked the message, swore under his breath, and stormed back out of the room, apparently called away by some more pressing concern.
Relief washed through Landon, followed by a rush of reckless adrenaline. He finished the prank in a blur of motion, then slipped back into the hallway.
As he pulled the door shut, a soft giggle from across the corridor caught his attention. Emma stood there, books clutched to her chest, eyes dancing with amusement.
"Redecorating?" she asked, nodding toward Jake's door.
Landon's neck grew hot. "J-just evening the score."
"Brave and petty. Interesting combination." Her voice held no judgment, only curiosity. "He deserves it after what he did to you."
"You saw that?"
"Everyone did." Emma stepped closer, lowering her voice. "But not everyone saw you walk away without a scratch an hour later."
The observation hung between them, a dangerous thread Landon couldn't afford to unravel. He deflected with a self-deprecating shrug. "Like I s-said, weird luck."
Emma studied him, her gaze more penetrating than her shy demeanor suggested. "Well, weird luck or not, I'd get moving before Jake comes back." A pause, then: "Want to grab coffee later? The campus café makes a decent latte."
The invitation surprised him—genuine connection forming faster than he'd anticipated.
"S-sure. I'd like that."
She smiled, turning to leave before glancing back over her shoulder. "Landon? I'm glad your luck held out. It's nice not being the only one who doesn't quite fit here."
As Emma disappeared around the corner, Landon felt something unexpected bloom in his chest—not the calculated satisfaction of a plan falling into place, but genuine warmth. He'd come seeking power, prepared to sacrifice and manipulate his way to safety. He hadn't expected to find people worth protecting along the way.
[PRANK SUCCESS: MOOD LIFTED. DON'T PUSH YOUR LUCK, PRANKSTER.]
Landon traced a pattern against the wall, allowing himself a moment to absorb what he'd done today. Died. Acquired speed. Made first contact with people who might become friends or pawns or both.
The power humming in his veins still felt foreign, a constant reminder of what he'd done to get it. What he would do again, without hesitation, to survive this world.
One down. Many to go.
He pushed off from the wall, his new speed carrying him down the corridor faster than anyone could track, leaving only the faintest blur in his wake—and the lingering question of what he might become in pursuit of power.
MORE POWER STONES == MORE CHAPTERS
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