Corrie was conflicted. On one hand, she was having a blast. She’d been challenged once or twice. Either getting into a fight before she was ready or misjudging someone's strength. But no one had really pushed her. No one ever backed her into the corner.

Not until now.

She reached into her storage room, grabbing a handful of throwing knives. She already knew the tactic wouldn’t work.

She didn’t know how he did it, but the man was everywhere. It didn’t matter who she attacked. The shield was there to meet her almost instantly.

And he never seemed to tire either. There had to be some sort of drawback to that Skill.

She doubted it could take a hit from someone like Raph when he was charged up. The reason it was countering her so well was that she didn’t pack that much of a punch. That wasn’t a bad thing. It just wasn’t what her Class focused on. But it was screwing her now.

And the man either had a truly absurd range, or his shields were interacting with her portals.

Her mind drifted to her viewing portals as she rummaged around for another tool.

She had considered closing the viewing portals, but it was difficult to select one tiny portal from a distance to deactivate when she had this many set up.

And besides, cutting off his view would feel like admitting defeat. She was all for cheating. But acknowledging that she couldn’t overwhelm him? It didn’t feel like cheating to win. It felt like admitting defeat.

As the man blocked another volley, Corrie took another look at the fight.

She’d already had to pull Raph. He would be pissed later, but the man had already collapsed into an unconscious heap back at base. She hadn’t thought the man could lose, which was certainly a wrench in her plans.

Carl was getting overwhelmed. He was putting up a good fight, but the old man moved like something out of an action movie. Miguel wasn’t doing much better. His nose was bloody, and he wasn’t looking as steady on his feet.

I need more time to figure out this puzzle.

It wasn’t a loss, just a temporary retreat. The thought soothed her pride slightly, but it still burned her.

But excitement rose with the frustration. Finally, a real challenge.

~<>~<>~

Micheal never worked in a kitchen before. And he certainly never worked in this kitchen. So it took him an embarrassingly long time to find a fridge.

The slate gray metal opened as he pulled, revealing… Nothing. The fridge was empty. A nearby freezer revealed the same.

No!

He scrambled through the shelves as the sounds of fighting raged outside.

A stray fireball landed near his feet, bouncing off the tile before dissipating. He cursed and glanced over his shoulder.

Doris was playing a game of keep away as Wester hounded her with fire.

Anytime she tried to close the distance, he began to build up a bigger blast, forcing her to sprint away or risk incineration.

Micheal redoubled his efforts, scouring the shelves with every bit of speed desperation could give him.

He didn’t find any food, but he did find some fry oil.

Another 30 seconds of frantic scrambling revealed the fryer.

He stared at it, the scent of grease hanging in the air.

The hell was he supposed to do now? Did he just pour the oil in and hit a button?

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There was a second fryer right next to the first. If he screwed something up, he would bite the bullet and Google how to operate it.

He poured the oil in, and one desperate search for an on switch later, he turned it on.

He had dropped the basket into the oil when a fireball flew past his face.

He stumbled backward, slamming his lower back into a nearby counter with a gasp.

More fireballs flew past, and one landed dead center in the fryer.

There was a hiss, and oil flashed everywhere, including Micheal’s hastily raised arms.

Agony spread across his limbs, especially his already singed arm. He whimpered and let out a few other manly cries of pain as the oil dribbled down his forearms.

“Holy fuck!“ He turned his attention to the fight, only to freeze. The fryer was bubbling.

He was worried about how long it would take to heat up, but Wester solved the problem for him.

The fireball hadn’t bounced out of the fryer. It stayed in there before dissolving, and now the oil was boiling hot.

Probably far too hot for proper cooking, but he couldn’t care less right now.

He whipped out the cookie from his pocket, tossed it in the basket, and dumped the whole thing into the oil, barely slowing to avoid splashing himself with another round of the burning liquid.

The cookie popped and hissed, and the oil bubbled angrily.

Micheal waited as long as he dared before ripping the basket out of the fryer. He dumped it onto the counter and, with a grimace, stuck one hand around the hem of his shirt and snatched the cookie.

His cotton shirt didn’t do much to shelter his poor hand.

His palm screamed in pain, but he couldn’t take the time for it to cool off. That would defeat the entire point.

It smelled unreasonably good as he sprinted towards the door. Did the Skill-created flame change the taste? Would it have any effect on cooking?

He shook his head. Not now, Micheal.

He raced back into the food court, his hands screaming from the heat.

Doris flung a chair at Wester. The man dodged, returning a bolt of flame in her direction.

She jumped to the side and snatched another chair. The things were not light by any means. But the woman tossed them around like it was made of cheap plastic.

But despite her confident motions, Micheal could see several new burn marks on her arms and hands.

She hadn’t dodged everything.

She hurled another chair, and this time Wester didn’t bother dodging. He punched out, and flame followed the motion. It impacted the chair and sent it high, sailing right over his head to clatter into the ice rink.

“I got it!“ Micheal yelled to Doris.

Both fighters glanced at him, and Micheal felt his stomach drop.

Oh, right.

Wester cupped his hand, and red began to pool.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Micheal sprinted to the side, but Wester held the shot.

He saw the man throw out of the corner of his eye, and at the last instant, Micheal jumped, his Skill activating to give him a burst of speed.

His jump carried him five or six feet, and he nearly fell as he landed.

The fire impacted where he had been, and he still felt a painful surge of heat across his back and side. Doris ran to a nearby table and heaved. Its legs scraped against the tile as she spun, throwing it like a discus.

It didn’t come close to hitting Wester, but the man didn’t want to play around with a hunk of spinning metal. He threw himself into a dive rather than attempt to knock it off course.

Micheal reached Doris and deposited the cookie into her hand. She winced at the heat, her gaze briefly flicking his hand before she stuffed the cookie down in one bite.

She grimaced and winced in sympathy.

He could only imagine what that was doing right now. He hoped her Class protected her from the things she ate.

She swallowed, and Micheal saw a ripple travel across her body. Her muscles all shifted in place slightly. They didn’t grow or shrink, but it was like someone tapped the surface of a pond.

It was definitely not a motion human muscles were designed to make.

Doris coughed, and a puff of steam rose from her mouth. The steam shot out, wrapping around her limbs before putting away like a gust of wind.

She cracked her neck and turned to Wester, who was scrambling to his feet.

“Thank you, Micheal. That hit the spot.“

Micheal’s arms and hand pulsed with agony, and he wanted nothing more than to go curl up in a ball somewhere and fall asleep.

But he managed to dredge up enough strength to give her a grin.

“Do you need a distraction?“

She slammed her hands together in a deafening clap and shook her head, her bob cut swaying with the motion.

“Nah. I got this.”

Micheal believed her.

And from the concerned look growing on Wester’s face, so did he.