Chapter 3: Sparring Stakes
The campus had quieted by the time Landon made his way to the training facilities after hours. His newly acquired shape-shifting abilities made bypassing security simple—a quick transformation into a maintenance worker, complete with uniform and keycard he'd memorized during his daily observations.
Jordan's private locker was easy to identify, personalized with a magnetic name plate that shifted between masculine and feminine scripts depending on the angle of view. Landon worked quickly, his fingers still occasionally trembling from the disorienting after-effects of death and revival.
The sharp scent of liniment hung in the air as he replaced Jordan's meticulously organized gear with an assortment of ridiculous alternatives—neon pink hand wraps in place of professional ones, a water bottle labeled "Gender Fluid" (he was particularly proud of that pun), and a protein shaker containing nothing but rainbow glitter.
Landon paused, considering whether he was pushing too far. Jordan had killed him, yes, but without malice—simply responding to provocation in a system designed to reward aggression. Did that justify this pe
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tty revenge?
This isn't just revenge. It's strategy. I need them off-balance, distracted, unsure what to make of me. Besides, nobody gets hurt.
The justification felt hollow even as he completed his task, replacing Jordan's gym bag on the shelf exactly as he'd found it. He shifted back to his normal appearance, checking his reflection in the mirror to ensure every detail was correct—the shape-shifting power still felt alien, like wearing a costume made of his own skin.
A sound in the hallway froze him mid-motion. Footsteps, accompanied by the low murmur of voices approaching. One of them was unmistakably Jordan's.
Shit. Bad timing.
Landon slipped into a shower stall, pulling the curtain closed as the locker room door swung open. Through the gap, he could see Jordan enter, still in female form, accompanied by another student—one of the telepaths. Not Cate, thankfully, but still dangerous.
"—don't care what Brink says, there's something off about him," Jordan was saying, voice tight with frustration. "People don't just walk away from hits like that."
The telepath—Riley, Landon remembered—made a noncommittal sound. "Could be an undocumented ability. Vought's files aren't infallible."
"Or he could be exactly what he seems—a nobody with weird luck." Jordan moved to her locker, twisting the combination lock with practiced ease. "Either way, he's not worth my time."
Landon held his breath, anticipation building as Jordan opened her locker. Her reaction did not disappoint—a string of colorful expletives that echoed off the tiled walls as rainbow glitter exploded from her protein shaker.
"What the actual—" Jordan spluttered, glitter clinging to her face and hands. "Who the fuck—"
Riley's laughter cut through Jordan's rage. "Looks like your nobody has a death wish," she managed between gasps. "The 'Gender Fluid' bottle is actually kind of clever."
"I'm going to kill him," Jordan growled, shaking glitter from her hair. "Slowly this time."a different approach."
"You already tried that," Riley pointed out, still chuckling. "Maybe try a different approach."
Landon remained frozen in the shower stall, heart hammering against his ribs as Jordan continued to discover his modifications to her gear. The range of emotions crossing her face was fascinating—rage giving way to reluctant amusement at some of the more creative swaps, then settling back into determination.
"Vale," she said finally, certainty hardening her voice. "Has to be. No one else would dare."
"Bold move after what happened today," Riley commented, leaning against an adjacent locker. "Kid's either got a death wish or..."
"Or what?"
Riley's expression turned thoughtful. "Or he's playing a longer game than we realized."
The observation was uncomfortably close to the truth. Landon eased further back into the shower stall, careful not to make a sound as Jordan finished gathering her sabotaged gear.
"Let him play games," Jordan said, shoving the glitter-covered items into her bag. "Next time we spar, I won't hold back at all."
The pair finally left, their voices fading down the corridor. Landon waited a full five minutes before slipping out of the shower and making his escape, shifting briefly into a janitor's form to avoid security cameras.
Outside, the night air cooled his flushed face as he contemplated the results of his prank. Jordan was angry but intrigued—exactly the off-balance state he'd hoped to create. The prank had served its purpose, testing his shape-shifting abilities while establishing his reputation as someone unpredictable.
[PRANK FAILED: JORDAN'S PISSED. GOOD LUCK WITH THAT.]
The system's assessment flashed across his vision, its sarcasm oddly comforting in its consistency. Landon smiled despite himself. The system called it failure, but from his perspective, Jordan's anger was precisely the point—another thread in the complex web he was weaving around Godolkin's power players.
As he made his way back to his dorm, Landon couldn't shake the memory of Jordan's expression shifting from rage to reluctant amusement. There had been something almost human in that moment—a glimpse behind the competitive mask that all of Godolkin's students wore.
Remember why you're here. Powers. Survival. Changing the bloody future waiting for these people.
But as he slipped into his room, closing the door on the day's chaos, Landon wondered if perhaps survival might be more complicated than simply accumulating abilities. The connections he was forming—with Marie, with Emma, even the antagonistic relationship with Jordan—were becoming more than strategic assets.
They were becoming real.
And in a world where death was his constant companion, that reality was both comforting and terrifying.---
"That was quite a show earlier."
Emma Meyer sat alone on the bleachers overlooking the now-empty training arena, her petite frame partially hidden by the shadows. The late afternoon light slanted through high windows, dust motes dancing in golden beams that caught in her blonde hair.
Landon hesitated at the entrance, surprised to find anyone here after hours. "Emma. Didn't expect to see you."
She smiled, the expression genuine but touched with nervousness. "I come here sometimes to practice when no one's watching." She demonstrated by shrinking slightly, then returning to normal size. "Less pressure."
Landon understood the sentiment all too well. He climbed the bleachers slowly, giving her plenty of time to object to his company. When she didn't, he settled a respectful distance away.
"Sorry about the spar," he said. "Must have been... uncomfortable to watch."
Emma tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze direct despite her shy demeanor. "You're either incredibly lucky or there's more to you than you let on."
She's more perceptive than people give her credit for.
Landon gave a noncommittal shrug, though his neck still protested the movement. "Maybe a little of both?"
The clang of weights from the adjacent gym provided a rhythmic backdrop to their conversation, metal hitting metal in a steady cadence. Emma studied him, her blue eyes thoughtful.
"You know, when I first came to Godolkin, I tried to be invisible," she said, shrinking slightly as if to demonstrate. "I thought if no one noticed me, I wouldn't have to deal with... everything." Her hand gestured vaguely at the arena below, encompassing the competitive hierarchy that defined their world.
"Did it work?" Landon asked, genuinely curious.
Emma laughed, the sound bright against the arena's hollow acoustics. "Not even a little. Being invisible just made me an easier target." She returned to full size, her posture straightening with quiet determination. "So now I'm trying something different."
"What's that?"
"Being seen on my own terms." She met his eyes, a flicker of mischief surfacing. "Kind of like you with that prank on Jake. Everyone saw that, you know. Word travels fast here."
Landon felt heat rise in his cheeks—a genuine reaction that surprised him. "You saw that, huh?"
"Hard to miss the fastest disappointment on campus," Emma quipped, referencing the modified hoodie he'd left for Jake. "I'm impressed you survived his retaliation."
"Speed has its advantages," Landon admitted, allowing a fraction of truth into the conversation.
Emma's smile widened, dimples appearing in her cheeks. "Must be nice to be able to change your size," he added, nodding at her power. "Lot more versatile than people realize."
"Most people just think it's cute," she said, a hint of frustration coloring her voice. "They don't see the tactical applications."
"Their loss," Landon replied. "I'd rather be underestimated any day."
Something shifted in Emma's expression—recognition, perhaps, of a kindred spirit playing the long game. The weight room's clanging faded as they sat in comfortable silence, the afternoon light warming the space between them.
"Jordan's pretty upset, by the way," Emma said eventually. "No one's ever walked away from one of their lethal strikes before."
Landon's fingers traced a nervous pattern on the bleacher bench. "Guess there's a first time for everything."
"Guess so." Emma stood, gathering her bag. "You know, there's a coffee shop off-campus that makes amazing lavender lattes. If you ever want to... I don't know, talk strategy or something." She bit her lip, a blush creeping up her neck.
Landon felt something unexpectedly genuine stir in his chest. "I'd like that."
Emma's smile brightened the room more effectively than the slanting sunlight. "Good. Maybe this weekend?"
"It's a date," Landon said, then immediately backtracked. "I mean, not a date date, just—"
"I know what you meant," Emma laughed, though her blush deepened. "See you around, Vale."
As she walked away, Landon caught the blue flicker of text at the edge of his vision.
[FLIRT SUCCESS: EMMA'S SMILING. DON'T SCREW IT UP, ROMEO.]
The system's sarcasm couldn't diminish the unexpected warmth that lingered after Emma's departure. Landon remained on the bleachers, watching dust motes drift through emptying light, wondering when exactly his carefully calculated survival plan had started to include actual human connection.---
"You shouldn't be alive."
Marie's voice cut through the buzz of conversation in the hallway outside the arena. Students streamed past, many casting curious glances at Landon, who leaned against the wall looking pale but remarkably intact.
"I get that a lot," Landon replied, the stutter temporarily abandoned in his post-revival disorientation.
Marie's dark eyes narrowed, her jaw tight with unspoken accusations. "This isn't a joke, Landon. Jordan broke your neck. I heard it snap." Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "There was no pulse when Brink checked you. Then they carried you out, and twenty minutes later you're walking around with nothing but a headache?"
Landon rubbed the back of his neck, the gesture not entirely feigned. His body remembered the trauma even if it showed no evidence of it. "Must have just been unconscious."
"Bullshit." Marie stepped closer, the scent of iron following her. "What are you? Some kind of regenerator?"
Be careful. She's smart, and she's watching.
Landon bit his lip, letting vulnerability show through his facade. "Not exactly. It's... complicated. I can sort of temporarily copy abilities I've been exposed to." The lie was calculated, close enough to the truth to be believable, vague enough to cover his tracks. "But it's unreliable. Unpredictable."
Marie's expression shifted, skepticism giving way to cautious curiosity. "That's not in any of the Vought manuals. A copying ability?"
"That's why I don't advertise it. It makes people... uncomfortable." Landon met her gaze, allowing genuine fatigue to show. "And it takes a lot out of me. I'd appreciate if you didn't spread it around."
Something unspoken passed between them—a recognition of what it meant to harbor secrets at Godolkin, where privacy was currency and trust was rare.
"Fine," Marie said finally. "But you're not invincible, Landon. Whatever your power is, Vought will figure it out eventually. They always do."
The warning carried weight coming from her—a student who'd learned firsthand how Vought exploited vulnerabilities. Landon nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the danger they both faced.
"Thanks for caring," he said quietly, the words more sincere than he'd intended.
Marie's mouth curved in a half-smile. "Don't make me regret it."
As she walked away, Landon felt the familiar blue flicker of text in his peripheral vision.
[BONDING PROGRESS: MARIE MOREAU. ALLIES INTRIGUED. KEEP YOUR LIES STRAIGHT, IMPOSTER.]
The system's mockery couldn't quite extinguish the warmth of connecting with someone who seemed to genuinely care if he lived or died—even if she didn't know how many times he'd already crossed that line.---
Consciousness returned like surfacing from deep water—a disorienting rush of sensation as Landon gasped for air, his vision swimming with static. The locker room's fluorescent lights pulsed overhead, each flicker sending needles of pain behind his eyes. His body felt wrong, fluid in a way that went beyond discomfort into existential unease.
[SHAPE-SHIFTING (C-RANK) ACQUIRED. NICE MASK, COWARD. DON'T LOSE YOURSELF.]
The system's message burned across his vision as Landon struggled to sit up, his limbs responding oddly, skin crawling with potential. C-rank—higher than his previous abilities. The shape-shifting power flowed beneath his epidermis like quicksilver, eager to be used, requiring concentration to maintain his normal appearance.
Landon stumbled to the sink, gripping the porcelain edge as he stared at his reflection. For a moment, his features blurred, eyes shifting color, jawline softening then hardening as the power tested its boundaries. He focused, forcing his appearance to stabilize, but the effort left him trembling.
This death had been worse than the others—not from the physical pain, but from the disorientation that followed. His mind kept trying to shape his body into forms it remembered from his old world, from the person he'd been before.
Focus. Stay in control. This is who you are now.
He splashed cold water on his face, the shock helping to anchor him in the present. Shape-shifting would be invaluable—for disguise, for infiltration, for survival. But the power carried risks beyond the physical. If he wasn't careful, he might lose track of which face was truly his.
Footsteps approached the locker room door. Landon quickly dried his face and slipped into a shower stall, waiting until the student had retrieved something from their locker and left before emerging.
Time to rejoin the world of the living—and face the consequences of his latest "miraculous" survival.
The training arena smelled of sweat and synthetic rubber, underpinned by the tang of disinfectant that failed to mask the biological reality of dozens of supes pushing their limits daily. Landon stood at the edge of the combat mat, tracking Jordan Li's fluid movements as they sparred with another student. Jordan shifted between forms seamlessly—feminine to masculine and back again—each transition granting them a momentary advantage in reach, center of gravity, or muscle distribution.
That power would be useful. Too useful to pass up.
Landon's fingers traced nervous patterns against his thigh as he mentally rehearsed his approach. Shape-shifting was several tiers above his current abilities—the kind of power that might actually keep him alive when Vought's schemes inevitably escalated. The price would be steep: Jordan was ranked in Godolkin's top twenty, with combat training that made them lethal even without powers.
Dying to a trained fighter. This'll hurt.
Professor Brink's voice cut through the gymnasium. "Vale! You're up next. Li needs a fresh opponent."
Landon's heart skipped, his carefully laid plan suddenly accelerated. He'd intended to provoke Jordan more subtly, but Brink had just handed him the perfect opportunity.
"M-me?" Landon stuttered, injecting fear into his voice. "I don't think—"
"That's evident," Brink interrupted, his tone clipped. "Consider this educational. Perhaps Li can knock some ability into you."
Titters of laughter rippled through the observing students. Jordan stood in the center of the mat, their current form masculine, dark eyes narrowed with disinterest as they sized Landon up.
"Is this a joke?" Jordan asked, not bothering to lower their voice. "I need actual practice, not babysitting duty."
Brink's smile was thin. "Consider it an exercise in restraint. Not all opponents will be worth your full attention."
The dismissal stung, though Landon had cultivated his reputation as harmless intentionally. He stepped onto the mat, letting his posture broadcast uncertainty, his gaze darting nervously as he took position opposite Jordan.
"Basic sparring rules," Brink announced. "No lethal force, no permanent damage. Begin when ready."
Jordan sighed, settling into a loose fighting stance. "Try not to cry when I put you down, nobody."
Landon nodded, affecting a nervous swallow. "I'll t-try."
The gymnasium lights buzzed overhead, the sound mingling with the murmurs of spectators settling in to watch the mismatch. Landon flexed his fingers, feeling the lingering joint pain from his Kinetic Force merge—a constant reminder of the cost of his growing power.
Now for the tricky part.
Jordan lunged forward, movement precise and controlled. Landon allowed his Enhanced Speed to activate partially—just enough to read Jordan's approach without fully avoiding it. He deliberately stumbled, making his evasion appear clumsy and accidental.
"At least try to make this interesting," Jordan said, frustration edging their voice as they circled.
Landon managed a weak smile. "Not all of us were b-born special."
Something flickered in Jordan's expression—a nerve struck. Their next attack came faster, sharper, a kick aimed at Landon's midsection that he partially deflected with Enhanced Strength, disguising it as a lucky block.
"Nobody's born special," Jordan snapped, transitioning to female form in a fluid ripple of muscle and bone. "Some of us just work harder than others."
Landon saw his opening. "Must be nice," he wheezed, deliberately sounding winded, "having something to work with."
Jordan's eyes narrowed, her strikes becoming more aggressive. Landon let himself absorb glancing blows while appearing increasingly desperate, using his abilities just enough to stay conscious but not enough to appear competent. With each exchange, Jordan's frustration mounted—a top-ranked supe unable to decisively put down a supposed nobody.
"Stop holding back," Landon taunted between labored breaths, his stutter vanishing as he pushed Jordan's buttons. "Or is this all the mighty Jordan Li can do?"
The gymnasium had gone quiet, spectators leaning forward as the tone of the spar shifted. Emma Meyer watched from the bleachers, her eyes wide with concern. Marie stood near the wall, arms crossed, a furrow between her brows as she studied Landon's movements.
Jordan's form shifted again, returning to masculine, muscles coiling with deadly intent. "You want me to stop holding back?" Their voice dropped dangerously. "Your funeral, Vale."
That's the plan.
Landon braced himself, deliberately leaving an opening in his guard. Jordan surged forward, their movement a blur of practiced violence. Landon had a split second to position himself—to ensure the strike would be lethal rather than merely disabling.
The blow connected with terrible precision, Jordan's hand striking Landon's temple with shape-shifted bone density. The crunch was audible throughout the gym, Landon's neck snapping at an unnatural angle as his consciousness winked out.
The last thing he heard was Emma's horrified gasp, and the dull thud of his own body hitting the mat.
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