Chapter 5: Temp V Temptation
The restricted laboratory gleamed with the antiseptic sterility that Landon had come to associate with Vought's more sinister projects. Glass and chrome surfaces reflected the harsh fluorescent lights, casting no shadows where secrets might hide. The sharp bite of industrial disinfectant failed to completely mask the underlying chemical tang of Compound V derivatives—a scent that had become increasingly familiar as he'd explored Godolkin's hidden corners.
Landon checked his watch, counting down the minutes until the night security patrol would cycle past this section. The faculty storeroom had been pathetically easy to access with his growing arsenal of abilities—Shape-Shifting to mimic a janitor, Enhanced Speed to slip past cameras, and a judicious application of Fire Control to short-circuit the electronic lock.
The vial of Temp V sat heavy in his pocket, its contents glowing faintly blue even through the fabric of his jeans. Stealing it had been a calculated risk, but one with potential payoff that outweighed the danger. The temporary compound might grant rare abilities not naturally found in Godolkin's student body—abilities worth dying for, if he could find the right test subject.
Or it could fr
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y my nervous system beyond what the system can repair.
His fingers brushed the cool glass of the vial as footsteps approached from the adjoining room. Right on time. Sam Varner, a nervous graduate assistant who worked late cataloging inventory, had been Landon's target from the beginning—isolated, under-appreciated, and harboring a desperate desire to be special that radiated from him like heat from asphalt.
The perfect pawn.
"Hello?" Sam's voice wavered as he entered the darkened lab, flipping on the auxiliary lights. "Security? I thought I heard something—"
"Just me," Landon said, stepping from the shadows with his hands raised placatingly. "Sorry to startle you."
Sam's posture shifted instantly from nervous to defensive. "This is a restricted area. You shouldn't be here." His gaze dropped to Landon's Godolkin freshman badge. "How did you even get in?"
"I have my methods," Landon offered a disarming smile, edging closer. "I've been watching you, Sam. You're smarter than they give you credit for."
The lab assistant's eyes narrowed, but Landon caught the flicker of pride that crossed his features. "What do you want?"
"To offer you something." Landon withdrew the vial, holding it up so the blue liquid caught the light. "A chance to be more than Vought's lab rat."
Sam's breath hitched, recognition widening his pupils. "That's Temp V. Where did you—" He stopped, swallowing hard. "Do you know what happens to people who steal from Vought?"
"About the same thing that happens to people who never take risks," Landon countered, rolling the vial between his fingers. "They stay invisible. Forgotten."
The barb landed precisely as intended. Sam's gaze fixed on the compound, naked longing warring with fear on his face. Landon could practically see the calculations running behind his eyes—the potential for power against the certainty of punishment if caught.
"One dose," Landon pressed, holding out the vial. "Just enough to know what you could be."
Sam's hand trembled as he reached for it. "Why me? Why are you doing this?"
Landon shrugged, the practiced gesture of calculated nonchalance. "Maybe I like underdogs. Maybe I'm tired of watching Vought decide who gets to be special."
The moment Sam's fingers closed around the vial, Landon knew he had him. The lab assistant stared at the glowing compound with the reverence of a man glimpsing salvation, all caution forgotten in the face of transformation.
"How do I..." Sam fumbled with the cap.
"Injection is fastest," Landon advised, retrieving a sterile syringe from a nearby tray. "Just a few CCs. It'll hurt at first, then..." He left the sentence hanging, the promise of power more enticing when undefined.
Sam hesitated only briefly before rolling up his sleeve, desperation overriding common sense. The needle slid into his vein with practiced ease—Landon noticed the fading track marks of previous Vought "volunteers"—and the blue compound disappeared into his bloodstream.
For three heartbeats, nothing happened.
Then Sam screamed.
His body convulsed, veins bulging blue-black beneath his skin as the compound raced through his system. The lab's temperature spiked dramatically, the air shimmering with heat waves emanating from Sam's trembling form. Papers on nearby desks began to smolder, plastic containers warped and bubbled.
Heat generation. Rare and unstable—exactly what Landon had hoped for.
"What—what did you do to me?" Sam gasped, his voice distorted by pain and newfound power. The floor beneath his feet began to blacken, linoleum curling and melting.
"Gave you what you wanted," Landon replied, backing away with careful steps. "Don't fight it, Sam. Let it flow through you."
The lab assistant's eyes narrowed, comprehension dawning through his agony. "You used me as a guinea pig. You never—"
"Meant to help you?" Landon finished, calculating his position for maximum impact. "Not exactly. But you're special now. Isn't that what you wanted?"
Sam lunged forward with surprising speed, hands outstretched and radiating killing heat. Landon allowed the attack to connect, feeling his skin blister and blacken on contact, pain lancing through his system as his internal organs literally cooked within his chest cavity.
His last coherent thought before consciousness failed was that F-rank abilities rarely justified the pain of acquisition.
But sometimes you need the lesser power to create the greater one.
Landon revived in a supply closet, the smell of bleach and floor wax searing his restored sinuses. A splitting headache pounded behind his eyes, the fluorescent bulb overhead sending spikes of agony through his skull with each flicker. His body remembered the trauma of being cooked alive, muscles spasming with phantom pain as he curled into himself on the cold tile floor.
[HEAT GENERATION (F-RANK) ACQUIRED. BARELY WORTH THE PAIN, LAB RAT.]
The system's message burned across his vision, its mockery sharper than usual. F-rank—the lowest designation, barely worth the death that acquired it. Yet Landon felt a grim satisfaction beneath the pulsing headache. Heat Generation might be weak alone, but combined with Fire Control...
He pushed himself up, leaning heavily against metal shelving as vertigo threatened to topple him. Each revival seemed to extract a greater toll, the system rebuilding him with diminishing returns, like a photocopier creating increasingly degraded versions of the original.
Five deaths. Five powers. Still not enough.
The hall outside was mercifully empty when Landon emerged, though distant shouts and the blare of a fire alarm suggested Sam's newfound abilities had caused significant chaos. A pang of guilt registered somewhere beneath Landon's tactical calculations—he'd exploited the lab assistant's insecurities, knowingly unleashed dangerous power on someone ill-equipped to handle it.
Necessary sacrifice. I need these powers to stop worse from happening.
The justification rang hollow even in his own mind as he slipped through back corridors toward his dorm, every step sending fresh pain lancing through his skull. Using people had become second nature, each manipulation justified by the greater goal of survival, of changing Godolkin's bloody future. But the line between strategic necessity and becoming the monster he was fighting grew blurrier with each revival.
Landon's dorm room was bathed in the faint glow of his desk lamp, shadows pooling in corners like liquid darkness. Outside, night had fallen completely, campus security floodlights sweeping across the quad in the aftermath of Sam's incident. The distant wail of sirens suggested the damage had been substantial.
He sat cross-legged on his bed, focusing on his breathing as he prepared for the merge. Combining abilities was always risky—each fusion taxing his system beyond what single powers demanded. But Fire Control and Heat Generation shared a natural affinity, their energies harmonious rather than antagonistic.
Perfect components for something greater.
Landon closed his eyes, visualizing the powers as distinct energies within his body—Fire Control a controlled blaze centered in his chest, Heat Generation a diffuse warmth coursing through his extremities. With careful concentration, he drew them together, imagining the energies merging, transforming, becoming something new.
The reaction began slowly, warmth spreading through his core like liquor on an empty stomach. Then it accelerated, heat building exponentially until sweat beaded on his forehead, soaking his shirt. His skin flushed deep red, internal temperature spiking dangerously as the powers fused in a rush of searing energy.
[MERGE: FIRE + HEAT = ENHANCED FIRE CONTROL (A-RANK). FEVER'S A VIBE, HUH?]
The system's message flashed as Landon collapsed back against his pillows, a wave of feverish weakness washing over him. His entire body burned, not with flame but with something deeper—a cellular fire that seemed to consume him from the inside out. The debuff was immediate and severe, limbs leaden with exhaustion, head pounding with each heartbeat.
A-rank. The highest tier he'd achieved yet, powerful enough to actually matter in Godolkin's lethal hierarchy. Enhanced Fire Control would allow precision and intensity beyond what either component ability could achieve—fire that could burn through almost anything, heat that could be focused to pinpoint accuracy.
If he survived the fever long enough to use it.
Landon fumbled for the water bottle beside his bed, hands shaking so badly he spilled half across his sheets before managing a sip. The liquid evaporated almost instantly on his tongue, doing little to soothe his parched throat. His vision swam, the room's familiar contours blurring and shifting as delirium set in.
Worth it. Has to be worth it.
He lost track of time as the fever consumed him, drifting in and out of consciousness as his body adjusted to the merged ability. Memories—both his own and strange fragments he couldn't place—flickered through his mind like film projected on smoke. His mother's garden in Ohio, burning. Godolkin's quad, students screaming as flames consumed them. Luke Riordan's desperate eyes as he spoke of The Woods.
A knock at the door dragged him back to semiconsciousness.
"Landon? Are you in there?"
Marie's voice, concern evident even through the wooden barrier. Landon tried to respond, but his throat produced only a rasping croak. The door handle rattled, then the lock clicked—Marie apparently had talents beyond blood manipulation.
She entered cautiously, eyes widening as she took in his state. "Jesus Christ, Vale. What happened to you?"
"Fever," he managed, the word scraping past cracked lips. "Bad timing."
Marie crossed to him quickly, pressing a cool hand against his forehead. Her sharp intake of breath told him what he already knew—his temperature was dangerously high, even for a supe.
"This isn't normal," she said, her Midwest accent thickening with worry. "You're burning up. Literally."
Landon attempted a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Just need... rest."
"You need a hospital," Marie countered, already reaching for her phone. "Your internal temperature has to be over 104. That's brain damage territory."
"No hospitals." Landon's hand shot out, gripping her wrist with surprising strength given his condition. "Please. It'll pass."
Marie stared at him, the conflict evident in her expression—medical training urging intervention, instinct telling her there was more to this than a simple illness. After a long moment, she sighed, setting down her phone.
"Fine. But I'm staying to monitor you, and if your temperature keeps rising, I'm calling an ambulance whether you like it or not."
Relief washed through him, though whether from her decision or the cool cloth she pressed against his forehead, Landon couldn't tell. Marie worked efficiently, her movements betraying professional training as she arranged his limbs, checked his pulse, and forced small sips of water past his resistant lips.
"Why are you helping me?" he asked during a moment of clarity, the question escaping before he could filter it.
Marie's hands paused briefly in their work. "Because nobody else will," she said finally, a weight of shared experience in the simple words.
As darkness claimed him again, Landon felt something shift in his carefully constructed framework of allies and assets. Marie's presence, her unexpected care, had become more than a strategic advantage—it had become a tether, anchoring him to his fading humanity as the system's cold efficiency remade him death by death.
The fever broke on the third day, leaving Landon weak but functional. By the fifth day, he'd recovered enough to sit up and receive visitors—a development that surprised him almost as much as his illness had.
Emma perched on the edge of his desk chair, her small frame seeming to take up less space than physically possible. She'd brought coffee from the campus café, the rich aroma filling his still-stuffy room with something other than the lingering scent of sickness.
"You look better," she offered, studying him with careful eyes. "Still terrible, but better than yesterday."
Landon managed a genuine smile, the expression feeling unfamiliar after days of fever-driven grimaces. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Marie said you were delirious," Emma continued, her fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of her sweater. "Talking about fire and death and... Ohio?"
Landon's pulse quickened, though he kept his expression neutral. The fever had apparently loosened his tongue, memories of his past life seeping through the careful barriers he'd constructed. "Hometown," he said simply. "Fever dreams, you know?"
Emma nodded, though curiosity lingered in her gaze. "Must have been some fever. Half the dorm thought you were dying."
"Dramatic bunch," Landon deflected, reaching for his coffee. The warmth of the cup against his palm triggered a reflexive activation of his new ability, the liquid inside immediately beginning to boil. He quickly dampened the power, hoping Emma hadn't noticed.
Her raised eyebrow suggested she had. "Neat trick. Another one of your 'temporary copies'?"
The lie came easily, practiced over weeks of careful construction. "Yeah. Seems like my body picks up things at random, especially when I'm stressed or sick. It'll fade."
Emma's smile took on a mischievous edge. "Well, if you're collecting powers, I've got a good one for sizing up problems." She demonstrated by shrinking slightly, then returning to normal size. "Though I don't recommend the side effects."
The light flirtation caught Landon off guard, warmth spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with his new abilities. Emma's presence had been a constant during his recovery—brief visits between classes, small comforts left when he was sleeping. The attention felt... genuine, disconnected from his strategic cultivation of allies.
"I'll keep that in mind," he replied, allowing a hint of softness into his voice.
Emma's blush spread across her cheeks as she stood to leave. "Well, try not to catch any more mysterious fevers. Our coffee date's been postponed twice already."
"Third time's the charm?" Landon offered.
"It better be." Her smile lingered as she headed for the door. "Get some actual rest, Vale. Whatever you're doing to yourself... maybe ease up a bit."
The door closed behind her, leaving Landon alone with the lingering scent of coffee and Emma's perfume—a combination that inexplicably reminded him of Sunday mornings in his old world, of normalcy long since abandoned.
[FLIRT SUCCESS: EMMA'S HOOKED. DON'T FUMBLE THIS ONE.]
The system's message flashed briefly as Landon tested his Enhanced Fire Control, creating a small flame above his palm that burned with perfect stability, its heat precisely contained despite the power thrumming beneath. A-rank—a game-changer in Godolkin's deadly environment.
Worth the fever. Worth Sam's pain. Worth the fragments of humanity he sacrificed with each death and revival.
At least, that's what he told himself as he extinguished the flame, darkness rushing back into the spaces where light had briefly flourished.
[Landon Vale]
[Attributes]
[Strength]: 11.2
[Agility]: 11.5
[Stamina]: 10.8
[Intelligence]: 10.4
[Resilience]: 9.7
[Abilities] Enhanced Speed (E-rank) | Enhanced Strength (E-rank) | Shape-Shifting (C-rank) | Fire Control (B-rank) | Heat Generation (F-rank) | Magnetism (C+)
[Ability Vault]
Enhanced Speed (E-rank): Active | Stability: 93%Enhanced Strength (E-rank): Active | Stability: 92%Kinetic Force (D+): Active (MERGED: Speed + Strength) | Stability: 87%Shape-Shifting (C-rank): Active | Stability: 89%Fire Control (B-rank): Active | Stability: 85%Heat Generation (F-rank): Active | Stability: 76%Enhanced Fire Control (A-rank): Active (MERGE[Death Ledger] Death #1: Jake Morris (Speedster) | ED: Fire + Heat) | Stability: 83%Magnetism (C+): Active | Stability: 88%
[Death Ledger] Death #1: Jake Morris (Speedster) | Enhanced Speed (E-rank) Death #2: Tara Wilson (Strength) | Enhanced Strength (E-rank)
Death #3: Jordan Li (Shape-Shifter) | Shape-Shifting (C-rank) Death #4: Luke Riordan (Golden Boy) | Fire Control (B-rank) Death #5: Sam Varner (Temp V) | Heat Generation (F-rank) Death #6: Andre Anderson (Magnetism) | Magnetism (C+)
[Sub-Stats] Fatigue: 57% | Guilt: 63% | Power Hunger: 71% Next Revival Debuff Likelihood: 68% Telepathic Resistance: 42% (CAUTION: INSUFFICIENT)
[System Notes]
Six deaths in, still pathetic. Time to aim higher or die trying. Mental stability declining with each revival. Paranoia increasing. Feature, not bug. Your "friends" are getting suspicious. How long until they realize what you are? Remember: One death per person until system upgrade. Choose wisely, coward
The restricted laboratory gleamed with the antiseptic sterility that Landon had come to associate with Vought's more sinister projects. Glass and chrome surfaces reflected the harsh fluorescent lights, casting no shadows where secrets might hide. The sharp bite of industrial disinfectant failed to completely mask the underlying chemical tang of Compound V derivatives—a scent that had become increasingly familiar as he'd explored Godolkin's hidden corners.
Landon checked his watch, counting down the minutes until the night security patrol would cycle past this section. The faculty storeroom had been pathetically easy to access with his growing arsenal of abilities—Shape-Shifting to mimic a janitor, Enhanced Speed to slip past cameras, and a judicious application of Fire Control to short-circuit the electronic lock.
The vial of Temp V sat heavy in his pocket, its contents glowing faintly blue even through the fabric of his jeans. Stealing it had been a calculated risk, but one with potential payoff that outweighed the danger. The temporary compound might grant rare abilities not naturally found in Godolkin's student body—abilities worth dying for, if he could find the right test subject.
Or it could fry my nervous system beyond what the system can repair.
His fingers brushed the cool glass of the vial as footsteps approached from the adjoining room. Right on time. Sam Varner, a nervous graduate assistant who worked late cataloging inventory, had been Landon's target from the beginning—isolated, under-appreciated, and harboring a desperate desire to be special that radiated from him like heat from asphalt.
The perfect pawn.
"Hello?" Sam's voice wavered as he entered the darkened lab, flipping on the auxiliary lights. "Security? I thought I heard something—"
"Just me," Landon said, stepping from the shadows with his hands raised placatingly. "Sorry to startle you."
Sam's posture shifted instantly from nervous to defensive. "This is a restricted area. You shouldn't be here." His gaze dropped to Landon's Godolkin freshman badge. "How did you even get in?"
"I have my methods," Landon offered a disarming smile, edging closer. "I've been watching you, Sam. You're smarter than they give you credit for."
The lab assistant's eyes narrowed, but Landon caught the flicker of pride that crossed his features. "What do you want?"
"To offer you something." Landon withdrew the vial, holding it up so the blue liquid caught the light. "A chance to be more than Vought's lab rat."
Sam's breath hitched, recognition widening his pupils. "That's Temp V. Where did you—" He stopped, swallowing hard. "Do you know what happens to people who steal from Vought?"
"About the same thing that happens to people who never take risks," Landon countered, rolling the vial between his fingers. "They stay invisible. Forgotten."
The barb landed precisely as intended. Sam's gaze fixed on the compound, naked longing warring with fear on his face. Landon could practically see the calculations running behind his eyes—the potential for power against the certainty of punishment if caught.
"One dose," Landon pressed, holding out the vial. "Just enough to know what you could be."
Sam's hand trembled as he reached for it. "Why me? Why are you doing this?"
Landon shrugged, the practiced gesture of calculated nonchalance. "Maybe I like underdogs. Maybe I'm tired of watching Vought decide who gets to be special."
The moment Sam's fingers closed around the vial, Landon knew he had him. The lab assistant stared at the glowing compound with the reverence of a man glimpsing salvation, all caution forgotten in the face of transformation.
"How do I..." Sam fumbled with the cap.
"Injection is fastest," Landon advised, retrieving a sterile syringe from a nearby tray. "Just a few CCs. It'll hurt at first, then..." He left the sentence hanging, the promise of power more enticing when undefined.
Sam hesitated only briefly before rolling up his sleeve, desperation overriding common sense. The needle slid into his vein with practiced ease—Landon noticed the fading track marks of previous Vought "volunteers"—and the blue compound disappeared into his bloodstream.
For three heartbeats, nothing happened.
Then Sam screamed.
His body convulsed, veins bulging blue-black beneath his skin as the compound raced through his system. The lab's temperature spiked dramatically, the air shimmering with heat waves emanating from Sam's trembling form. Papers on nearby desks began to smolder, plastic containers warped and bubbled.
Heat generation. Rare and unstable—exactly what Landon had hoped for.
"What—what did you do to me?" Sam gasped, his voice distorted by pain and newfound power. The floor beneath his feet began to blacken, linoleum curling and melting.
"Gave you what you wanted," Landon replied, backing away with careful steps. "Don't fight it, Sam. Let it flow through you."
The lab assistant's eyes narrowed, comprehension dawning through his agony. "You used me as a guinea pig. You never—"
"Meant to help you?" Landon finished, calculating his position for maximum impact. "Not exactly. But you're special now. Isn't that what you wanted?"
Sam lunged forward with surprising speed, hands outstretched and radiating killing heat. Landon allowed the attack to connect, feeling his skin blister and blacken on contact, pain lancing through his system as his internal organs literally cooked within his chest cavity.
His last coherent thought before consciousness failed was that F-rank abilities rarely justified the pain of acquisition.
But sometimes you need the lesser power to create the greater one.
Landon revived in a supply closet, the smell of bleach and floor wax searing his restored sinuses. A splitting headache pounded behind his eyes, the fluorescent bulb overhead sending spikes of agony through his skull with each flicker. His body remembered the trauma of being cooked alive, muscles spasming with phantom pain as he curled into himself on the cold tile floor.
[HEAT GENERATION (F-RANK) ACQUIRED. BARELY WORTH THE PAIN, LAB RAT.]
The system's message burned across his vision, its mockery sharper than usual. F-rank—the lowest designation, barely worth the death that acquired it. Yet Landon felt a grim satisfaction beneath the pulsing headache. Heat Generation might be weak alone, but combined with Fire Control...
He pushed himself up, leaning heavily against metal shelving as vertigo threatened to topple him. Each revival seemed to extract a greater toll, the system rebuilding him with diminishing returns, like a photocopier creating increasingly degraded versions of the original.
Five deaths. Five powers. Still not enough.
The hall outside was mercifully empty when Landon emerged, though distant shouts and the blare of a fire alarm suggested Sam's newfound abilities had caused significant chaos. A pang of guilt registered somewhere beneath Landon's tactical calculations—he'd exploited the lab assistant's insecurities, knowingly unleashed dangerous power on someone ill-equipped to handle it.
Necessary sacrifice. I need these powers to stop worse from happening.
The justification rang hollow even in his own mind as he slipped through back corridors toward his dorm, every step sending fresh pain lancing through his skull. Using people had become second nature, each manipulation justified by the greater goal of survival, of changing Godolkin's bloody future. But the line between strategic necessity and becoming the monster he was fighting grew blurrier with each revival.
Landon's dorm room was bathed in the faint glow of his desk lamp, shadows pooling in corners like liquid darkness. Outside, night had fallen completely, campus security floodlights sweeping across the quad in the aftermath of Sam's incident. The distant wail of sirens suggested the damage had been substantial.
He sat cross-legged on his bed, focusing on his breathing as he prepared for the merge. Combining abilities was always risky—each fusion taxing his system beyond what single powers demanded. But Fire Control and Heat Generation shared a natural affinity, their energies harmonious rather than antagonistic.
Perfect components for something greater.
Landon closed his eyes, visualizing the powers as distinct energies within his body—Fire Control a controlled blaze centered in his chest, Heat Generation a diffuse warmth coursing through his extremities. With careful concentration, he drew them together, imagining the energies merging, transforming, becoming something new.
The reaction began slowly, warmth spreading through his core like liquor on an empty stomach. Then it accelerated, heat building exponentially until sweat beaded on his forehead, soaking his shirt. His skin flushed deep red, internal temperature spiking dangerously as the powers fused in a rush of searing energy.
[MERGE: FIRE + HEAT = ENHANCED FIRE CONTROL (A-RANK). FEVER'S A VIBE, HUH?]
The system's message flashed as Landon collapsed back against his pillows, a wave of feverish weakness washing over him. His entire body burned, not with flame but with something deeper—a cellular fire that seemed to consume him from the inside out. The debuff was immediate and severe, limbs leaden with exhaustion, head pounding with each heartbeat.
A-rank. The highest tier he'd achieved yet, powerful enough to actually matter in Godolkin's lethal hierarchy. Enhanced Fire Control would allow precision and intensity beyond what either component ability could achieve—fire that could burn through almost anything, heat that could be focused to pinpoint accuracy.
If he survived the fever long enough to use it.
Landon fumbled for the water bottle beside his bed, hands shaking so badly he spilled half across his sheets before managing a sip. The liquid evaporated almost instantly on his tongue, doing little to soothe his parched throat. His vision swam, the room's familiar contours blurring and shifting as delirium set in.
Worth it. Has to be worth it.
He lost track of time as the fever consumed him, drifting in and out of consciousness as his body adjusted to the merged ability. Memories—both his own and strange fragments he couldn't place—flickered through his mind like film projected on smoke. His mother's garden in Ohio, burning. Godolkin's quad, students screaming as flames consumed them. Luke Riordan's desperate eyes as he spoke of The Woods.
A knock at the door dragged him back to semiconsciousness.
"Landon? Are you in there?"
Marie's voice, concern evident even through the wooden barrier. Landon tried to respond, but his throat produced only a rasping croak. The door handle rattled, then the lock clicked—Marie apparently had talents beyond blood manipulation.
She entered cautiously, eyes widening as she took in his state. "Jesus Christ, Vale. What happened to you?"
"Fever," he managed, the word scraping past cracked lips. "Bad timing."
Marie crossed to him quickly, pressing a cool hand against his forehead. Her sharp intake of breath told him what he already knew—his temperature was dangerously high, even for a supe.
"This isn't normal," she said, her Midwest accent thickening with worry. "You're burning up. Literally."
Landon attempted a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Just need... rest."
"You need a hospital," Marie countered, already reaching for her phone. "Your internal temperature has to be over 104. That's brain damage territory."
"No hospitals." Landon's hand shot out, gripping her wrist with surprising strength given his condition. "Please. It'll pass."
Marie stared at him, the conflict evident in her expression—medical training urging intervention, instinct telling her there was more to this than a simple illness. After a long moment, she sighed, setting down her phone.
"Fine. But I'm staying to monitor you, and if your temperature keeps rising, I'm calling an ambulance whether you like it or not."
Relief washed through him, though whether from her decision or the cool cloth she pressed against his forehead, Landon couldn't tell. Marie worked efficiently, her movements betraying professional training as she arranged his limbs, checked his pulse, and forced small sips of water past his resistant lips.
"Why are you helping me?" he asked during a moment of clarity, the question escaping before he could filter it.
Marie's hands paused briefly in their work. "Because nobody else will," she said finally, a weight of shared experience in the simple words.
As darkness claimed him again, Landon felt something shift in his carefully constructed framework of allies and assets. Marie's presence, her unexpected care, had become more than a strategic advantage—it had become a tether, anchoring him to his fading humanity as the system's cold efficiency remade him death by death.
The fever broke on the third day, leaving Landon weak but functional. By the fifth day, he'd recovered enough to sit up and receive visitors—a development that surprised him almost as much as his illness had.
Emma perched on the edge of his desk chair, her small frame seeming to take up less space than physically possible. She'd brought coffee from the campus café, the rich aroma filling his still-stuffy room with something other than the lingering scent of sickness.
"You look better," she offered, studying him with careful eyes. "Still terrible, but better than yesterday."
Landon managed a genuine smile, the expression feeling unfamiliar after days of fever-driven grimaces. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Marie said you were delirious," Emma continued, her fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of her sweater. "Talking about fire and death and... Ohio?"
Landon's pulse quickened, though he kept his expression neutral. The fever had apparently loosened his tongue, memories of his past life seeping through the careful barriers he'd constructed. "Hometown," he said simply. "Fever dreams, you know?"
Emma nodded, though curiosity lingered in her gaze. "Must have been some fever. Half the dorm thought you were dying."
"Dramatic bunch," Landon deflected, reaching for his coffee. The warmth of the cup against his palm triggered a reflexive activation of his new ability, the liquid inside immediately beginning to boil. He quickly dampened the power, hoping Emma hadn't noticed.
Her raised eyebrow suggested she had. "Neat trick. Another one of your 'temporary copies'?"
The lie came easily, practiced over weeks of careful construction. "Yeah. Seems like my body picks up things at random, especially when I'm stressed or sick. It'll fade."
Emma's smile took on a mischievous edge. "Well, if you're collecting powers, I've got a good one for sizing up problems." She demonstrated by shrinking slightly, then returning to normal size. "Though I don't recommend the side effects."
The light flirtation caught Landon off guard, warmth spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with his new abilities. Emma's presence had been a constant during his recovery—brief visits between classes, small comforts left when he was sleeping. The attention felt... genuine, disconnected from his strategic cultivation of allies.
"I'll keep that in mind," he replied, allowing a hint of softness into his voice.
Emma's blush spread across her cheeks as she stood to leave. "Well, try not to catch any more mysterious fevers. Our coffee date's been postponed twice already."
"Third time's the charm?" Landon offered.
"It better be." Her smile lingered as she headed for the door. "Get some actual rest, Vale. Whatever you're doing to yourself... maybe ease up a bit."
The door closed behind her, leaving Landon alone with the lingering scent of coffee and Emma's perfume—a combination that inexplicably reminded him of Sunday mornings in his old world, of normalcy long since abandoned.
[FLIRT SUCCESS: EMMA'S HOOKED. DON'T FUMBLE THIS ONE.]
The system's message flashed briefly as Landon tested his Enhanced Fire Control, creating a small flame above his palm that burned with perfect stability, its heat precisely contained despite the power thrumming beneath. A-rank—a game-changer in Godolkin's deadly environment.
Worth the fever. Worth Sam's pain. Worth the fragments of humanity he sacrificed with each death and revival.
At least, that's what he told himself as he extinguished the flame, darkness rushing back into the spaces where light had briefly flourished.
MORE POWER STONES == MORE CHAPTERS
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