"You're not dead?" he blurted. “I mean—you’re alive?”

Her gaze became a scythe. "Excuse me?"

"Sorry, it’s just... Alex said..."

"Who the fuck is Alex?"

The room fell silent. All eyes locked on them.

Lance's pulse quickened. "Your coworker. At the office."

"Coworker?" She spat the word like venom. "I don’t know Alex, asshole."

Lance moved forward.

So did Elena. "Perhaps we should all take a deep breath—"

"No," Valentina snapped. "This guy’s disrespecting my turn."

Lance pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, that’s not it? We met at the Rusty Nail. We talked. And walked outside."

Her face contorted with rage. "Liar! I've never seen you before in my life."

Chaos erupted. Frank leapt to his feet. "I knew it! This whole thing's a setup!"

Diego moved to Lance's side. "Whoa, man. What's going on?"

Lance's head spun. Nothing made sense. He took another step forward. "I don't understand. We had drinks. We flirted. You challenged me to step out of my comfort zone."

"Boludo," Valentina hissed. She turned to Elena. "Is this what your support group is? A place for psychos to stalk women?"

Same exotic voice, he thought as his mind ran through the scenario.

Elena raised her hands. "Please, everyone. Let's calm down and—"

"Calm down?" Valentina's voice rose. "This freak’s been staring at me all night!"

Frank's voice cut through the chaos. "I say we teach this stalker a lesson."

A large pair of legs stepped between them. "Back off, man. This is just a misunderstanding."

Blood rushed all over Lance’s cheeks. Anger. Confusion. Hurt. "I'm not lying. We met. We talked…” He said while taking another step—

Valentina’s fist connected with his jaw.

Lance flew backwards, landing on his chair and tumbling onto the hardwood.

He saw the fist coming. He could've dodged. He could've even used 360-Degree Defense to block and restrain her. But as his mind cleared, he realized that might only make her angrier. So he took the hit, figuring it wouldn't hurt much. At first, it didn't. Then it did. The pain wasn't immediate, but this wasn't a simple punch. Something else was behind it. It burned.

"Stay away from me," she spat.

Then she turned and ran.

The gym doors slammed shut behind her.

And Elena was already beside him. "Lance, are you alright?"

His jaw throbbed and stung like hell, yet he managed to get up just as the other woman with black hair stood and left, so he quickly pulled himself together and scrambled up, brushing past Elena as she reached out to check on him.

Ouch—“Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow,"

“Please, Lance, just give her some space—”

But rubbing his jaw, he said, "Sorry for the trouble," while dashing for the door."

Lance charged across the gym, sneakers squeaking and sliding on the polished hardwood, the sweat, the Titan’s Den hoodie, breath rasping in his chest, blood thumping in his head. He stumbled and lurched to the side, nearly got his elbow caught in Frank's grasp, righted himself panting, scanning the chaotic basketball court.

"Get over here, let's play," Frank sneered.

“No time. In a hurry.” Lance instinctively used a Krav Maga redirect, twisting his arm to deflect Frank's attack. He followed through with a palm strike, aiming to push Frank away. It felt like shoving an oak tree. Instead of moving Frank, Lance propelled himself off. Not what he'd planned, but it worked. He stumbled, regained his footing, and kept moving.

Diego positioned himself between them, grabbing Frank's arm. "Whoa, man. Bad idea."

"Thanks, Beast!" Lance called as he crossed the threshold. The heavy fire door slowly closed behind him.

A quick glance back showed him their facilitator’s disappointed face.

"Tonight's session is over. Everyone needs to cool off.”

"Bravo. Best support group ever!" Frank slow-clapped.

Elena's firm voice carried through the gap: "That's enough, Frank—"

He ran down the hall. Exited the community center. Saw two figures in black who had to be the women he was after since they were literally the only people on the otherwise empty street because apparently the universe wanted to make his chase ridiculously obvious. Time to find out if this had all just been a fucking dream.

Lance's feet pounded the pavement. The two women ahead of him moved with purpose.

He pushed himself harder, closing the gap. The women's voices carried on the night air, indistinct but unmistakably agitated. His head replaying their conversation at the Rusty Nail. How could Valentina not remember him? Why did she react so violently? And magical burning fists… seriously?

In seconds, his feet got him within range, but was he chasing a ghost? A figment of his imagination? The gene therapy had done strange things to his body and mind. Could it have warped his memories too?

Lance's throat constricted. "Valentina!" he called out, his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry!"

The women stopped abruptly. One of them turned, her face half-hidden in shadow. "What did you call me?" she asked, the hood sliding back.

Lance skidded to a halt, his sneakers scraping against the concrete. He blinked, trying to process what he was seeing. She’d gotten a new haircut, but it was her. There was no doubt. Her hair was shorter, dyed at the tips. Her stance was different, more aggressive, maybe.

"Why don’t you remember me," Lance stammered, the gray matter in his head a mess of confusion. "You look like—"

"Like who?" the woman demanded, taking a step forward. Her companion grabbed her arm, whispering something urgently.

Lance studied her, doubt creeping in. Had he imagined their encounter? He searched for details to confirm her reality. The curve of her jaw, the glint in her eye. Was she real? He frowned, remembering. NARS had started the very night he met her. Not a coincidence.

"Like Valentina," he said, pulling courage. "Valentina Contreras Sabatini. We met at—"

Emotions flickered across the woman's face like a faulty neon sign, each one too brief for Lance to read. Anger buzzed. Pain sputtered. Confusion blinked on and off. Her voice crackled through the static: "You knew my sister?"

"Sister?" Lance echoed, his tongue suddenly dry. The pieces clicked into place - not Valentina, but her twin. He blinked rapidly, heat rising to his face. "I... shit. I'm sorry. I thought you were... God, I'm an idiot."

“There you go, boludo,” she said.

The woman's companion stepped forward. "Vicky, we need to go. Now."

Vicky. Not Valentina.

Lance's skull was on fire. He reached out, steadying himself against a nearby wall. “Damn, so it was true.”

"How did you know her?" Vicky asked.

"We met at a company event. The night before... everything." He gestured vaguely, “NARS.”

Vicky's companion tugged at her arm again. "We really need to go."

Vicky shrugged her off, her gaze never leaving Lance's face. "In a minute." She took a step closer, her voice low and intense. "What was she like? That night?"

"She was... vibrant. Brilliant. And she helped me...”

"Sounds like her," she said defensively.

Her companion shifted impatiently. "Vicky, please. We can't stay here."

She nodded and turned back to Lance. "Look, I have to go. But... come to tomorrow's meeting. If you can stop being weird, maybe we can talk about her."

Yes. He could do that. Not being weird was his specialty. He took a deep breath and donned his mask of confidence. “See you, tomorrow.”

Vicky's demeanor shifted, her face twisting as if she'd just tripped into something unpleasant. "Great," she said, the word dripping with as much enthusiasm as a week-old sandwich. Without moving her head, Vicky flicked her eyes towards her partner and the two women beat a hasty, if ungraceful, retreat.

***

[Day 12]

Lance's hand hovered over Marcus's bruised shoulder, trembling with concentration. Come on, work dammit.

It sadly didn’t.

The gym owner winced as he rotated his arm. "You sure about this arma thing, kid?"

"There’s no reason it shouldn’t work," Lance muttered, frustration seeping into his voice. He closed his eyes, focusing on the strange energy that coursed through his veins. The same power that had allowed him to pluck a bullet from his own flesh without flinching now refused to cooperate.

Useless.

"Maybe it only works on yourself," Marcus suggested, sounding like he wanted to wrap up the conversation and get back to work, while still attempting to be sympathetic to Lance. Who opened his eyes, shoulders slumping.

"I know it works on me. But I want to be able to help other people with it. With everything that's going on, there are a lot of folks who could really use it right now."

"And you think it'll heal my shoulder?" Marcus asked.

“Heal?” Lance blinked. "Uh, I don't think I can heal anyone yet. But I should be able to help with your pain, I can do it, I just need to figure it out."

Marcus shook his head. "Lance, pain's not always the enemy. Pain I can handle. It's the not knowing that gets to me." He stood up, wincing slightly as he moved to the cash register.

He ran a hand through his hair, the familiar gesture doing little to calm his racing thoughts. Why won't it work?

Lance recalled Ananya's words about arma. "It's like tapping into a wellspring of potential," she had said, her eyes alight with excitement. "Our research suggests that arma abilities might be limitless, constrained only by our understanding and control." She had emphasized the importance of breathing exercises, explaining how they seemed to act as a bridge between conscious thought and arma manipulation. "Think of it as tuning an instrument," Ananya had told him. "The right breathing pattern can harmonize your body with arma energy."

‘Ding’

The gym’s front door opened and fresh oxygen circulated throughout the unaired space.

Lance turned, expecting to see one of the usual afternoon regulars, but instead found himself face-to-face with Diego "The Beast" Ramirez. It was unusual to see him at this hour.

"Sup, hermanos?" Diego's booming voice livened up the quiet gym. He paused, dark eyes narrowing as he took in the scene before him.

"Lance, you alright man? I tried calling you after what happened last night, but you never picked up."

An awkward chuckle escaped his mouth. "Oh, yeah... my phone broke during the, uh... fire at my apartment."

"Whoa, there was a fire? I thought your place was under renovation or something," Diego said, eyebrows up.

"Yeah, nothing big," Lance replied, trying to brush it off. "But it's kind of unlivable until it gets fixed. No big deal."

Diego nodded slowly, then glanced between Lance and Marcus. "So what's going on here? You two look like you're trying to summon the ghost of Arnold Schwarzenegger or something."

Much needed laughter escaped his lips. "Just, uh, trying something new,” Lance said, beaming at Marcus.

"Lance here thinks he's developed healing hands." Marcus flexed his shoulder, grimacing slightly. "Can't say I'm feeling the magic yet, though."

"Healing hands? That's some new-age bullshit, man. Can you even do that?"

Lance's cheeks burned. "It's not... I mean, I thought..." He trailed off, unsure how to explain without sounding completely insane.

"No judgment here, bro," Diego said, holding up his hands. "We've all got our weird post-NARS quirks. Me? I can't stop eating protein bars. Like, seriously, I think I'm single-handedly keeping the entire industry afloat."

“That’s not just you. I’m eating like crazy, too.”

As if on cue, Diego pulled a bar from his gym bag and tore into it, gracing them with the smell of artificial chocolate and making Lance's stomach growl. He hadn't realized how hungry he was.

"At least your quirk is helping you bulk up,” Marcus said. “Lance here is trying to turn into either some kind of superhero or a televangelist."

"Not a superhero," Lance mumbled, heat creeping up his neck.

Diego swallowed a mouthful of protein bar, his expression turning serious. "Man, with all the crazy shit happening, we could use a few superheroes. Can you believe over two hundred million people are just... gone?"

“Two hundred?!?” Lance echoed. “That’s equivalent to all of Brazil.”

"Yeah, it's nuts. And what about the ones still sick? It's been almost two weeks now.” Marcus crossed his arms. "Can't imagine feeling NARS symptoms for that long. Must be hell."

"I follow this streamer, Dr. Zoe Blackwell, and she said they just can't produce the treatment fast enough." Diego's voice lowered. "High-risk folks are taking up every hospital bed. Everyone else is stuck at home, trying to hold on."

Lance bit back a grin. Of course Diego followed Zoe. He's a cultured man, after all. Her viewer count must be through the roof by now.

He imagined "The Beast” between sets of heavy lifts, sneaking peeks at his phone to catch Zoe's latest updates; furiously typing "First!" in the comment section.

The image of Diego fanboying over the same chirpy scientist Lance had been following religiously was both hilarious and strangely comforting.

"Shit. How long until everyone gets treated?" Lance asked, bringing his head back into the conversation.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"They're saying two months, maybe more." Marcus's jaw tightened. "It's a mess."

"At least folks have finally stopped drinking themselves to death,” said Diego. “Numbers are going down now."

"My doc says once you've had the NARS treatment, booze can't hurt you anymore," Lance said.

"Ha! I've heard that too, hermano. But you willing to roll those dice?"

"Nah, I'll pass." Lance bent down to grab his bag. It was still where he'd left it, leaning against the counter. "Don't need that drama in my life right now."

A deep chuckle blossomed from Marcus's chest. "Aight, you want to practice those moves, or not?"

"Thank god. Yes, let's go do that—" Lance paused. "Actually, Diego, would you like to learn Krav Maga with us?

“Huh. I was planning for a quick workout before heading to the community center, buuuut Crab-Maga sounds interesting.”

Did he just say 'Crab'? Lance wondered, but decided not to correct him.

They moved to the group exercise room, Marcus settling onto a bench to support his injured shoulder. Lance took Diego through the basic Krav Maga moves, with Marcus chiming in from the sidelines with occasional pointers. Diego picked up the techniques surprisingly fast, his movements becoming smoother and more confident with each repetition. Lance concluded that even though Diego didn't have visible stats like he did, the big guy must have some kind of hidden Mind stat that had been increasing behind the scenes. It was the only explanation for how quickly Diego was picking up these complex movements.

All in all, Lance was glad Diego seemed very interested in the martial art. Krav Maga was fun, so much fun that every day after his one-hour session with Marcus, he would continue practicing for an extra two hours. It was very convenient that the gym was now his home.

Lance circled Diego. The Beast’s eyes tracked his every move, a predator waiting to strike. They'd been at it for nearly an hour, and both were slick with sweat.

Let’s make it fun, conveyed the grin on his face.

Lance feinted left, then darted right. Diego's arm swung out, but Lance was already gone, slipping under the blow. He planted his feet, ready to counter-

Diego's leg whipped around in a devastating roundhouse kick. Lance's senses screamed danger, instincts firing rapid-fire assessments. The force behind that kick... if it connected...

Oh, shit.

Instinct took over. Lance's muscles moved without conscious thought, twisting away from the incoming strike. But he was a fraction too slow. Diego's foot grazed his ribs, and even that glancing blow sent shockwaves through Lance's nerves.

Crack.

The sickening crack of bone split the silence. But it wasn't Lance's.

Diego howled, collapsing to the mat. His knee wielding a distressing shape, and Lance's gut lurched. He'd done that. Somehow, in dodging the kick, he'd caused... this.

But what happened? He asked himself, trying to make sense of the situation. That kick would've shattered his ribs if it had landed square. His dodge was pure reflex—a slight step back, his elbow dropping instinctively. It must have caught Diego's leg at just the wrong angle, driving it into the mat with all that momentum behind it.

"Fuck!" Diego writhed on the ground, squinting through barely opened eyes. "What the hell, man?"

Lance recoiled back to reality. "I... I didn't mean to-"

"What's going on here?" Marcus rushed over. "Christ, Diego. Don't move, we're calling an ambulance."

Lance stood frozen, his ears ringing. The gym's overhead lights suddenly seemed too bright, the mat beneath his feet unsteady. He stared at Diego's unnatural leg, his own body numb.

"Lance!" Marcus's sharp tone snapped him back to reality. "What happened?"

"I... we were sparring," Lance said. "He threw a kick, and I just... reacted. I barely touched him, I swear."

Marcus's eyes narrowed, but he didn't press further. "Go get some ice," he ordered, turning his attention back to Diego.

Guilt weighed down Lance's steps as he approached the mini-fridge. Its hum seemed louder than usual, grating on his nerves. He pulled out a blue bag of ice, surprised when it didn't feel cold against his skin. The bag sat warm in his hand, matching the uncomfortable heat of shame cursing through his veins.

He'd wanted to learn control, to help people. Instead, he'd seriously injured a friend. Nothing has changed. I haven’t learned anything.

Returning with the ice pack, Lance knelt beside Diego. The Beast's face was pale, a sheen of moisture on his skin. "I'm so sorry, man," Lance said quietly. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

Diego's lips twitched, a ghost of a smile fighting against his clenched jaw. "S'okay, hermano. Accidents happen."

But it wasn't okay. Not even close. Yes, Diego's kick had packed serious force, but it was too slow—Lance had seen the tell—a slight shift in weight, a twitch of muscle. Despite only a week of Krav Maga, Lance's body reacted instinctively. He'd moved without thinking, exploiting the opening with beginner's luck and unnatural speed. But once again, his strength had betrayed him. What should have been a simple deflection became a devastating counter. He'd done it again—hurt someone because he couldn't dial back his power. And now Diego was paying the price.

"Looks like we can skip the ambulance, but I’mma need your help, Lance.”

The tension in Lance's chest eased, his breath escaping in a long, silent exhale. His eyes, fixed on Diego's leg, traced the unnatural bulge beneath the skin just above the knee. The joint looked wrong, misshapen. Lance stood motionless, awash in sudden relief. The world around him faded, leaving only the warm glow of Marcus's words.

Diego’s gonna be alright—

“Lance. Help. Now!”

"Come on, man," Diego grunted, shifting his weight slightly. A strangled cry tore from his throat. Each breath sounded like a careful negotiation, teetering on the edge of another outburst.

"Ah, yes! What should I do?" Lance asked, positioning himself on the right side of Diego's injured leg, mirroring Marcus's position on the left.

"Alright, we've got a dislocated kneecap here. Nothing too serious if we act fast."

Lance's heart loosened. A dislocated kneecap. That's fixable, right? Half-remembering first aid videos he'd barely paid attention to during ROTC.

But the moment was short-lived. Marcus continued, "Problem is, Diego's leg weighs a ton. We need to work together on this."

Lance nodded as fear retreated and determination rushed to fill the void. "Just tell me what to do."

Marcus looked like he’d done this a thousand times. "First, we need to straighten his leg. Slowly. Any sudden movements could make things worse."

Lance moved his hands to Diego's calf. The muscle felt like steel cable wrapped in skin.

"On three," Marcus instructed. "One... two... three."

They began to extend Diego's leg. The Beast's face twisted, a low growl escaping through clenched teeth. Lance could feel the resistance, the leg impossibly heavy.

Fuck, my estimate wasn’t far off, he thought, putting his back into the lift.

"Hold it there," Marcus ordered. "Now, Lance, I need you to apply gentle pressure to the outside of his kneecap. We're gonna guide it back into place."

Lance positioned his fingers on Diego's swollen knee. The skin felt hot, angry. He pressed gently. He was terrified of causing more damage.

"More pressure," Marcus urged. "Don't be afraid, kid. You won't hurt him."

But I already have, Lance fumed to himself. Still, he increased the force, feeling the misaligned bone start shifting beneath his touch.

From Diego came ragged breaths and a chant of "Fuck, fuck, fuck," each word punctuated by a sharp inhale.

"Almost there," Marcus encouraged. "Lance, keep that pressure steady. Diego, try to relax your leg muscles."

"They are relaxed," Diego squeaked.

"Really?" Marcus snorted.

"Have you felt his quads lately? Like trying to knead steel cables."

"Not helping, guys."

Lance focused entirely on his task, blocking out everything else. The world narrowed to just his fingers and Diego's knee. He could feel something moving, realigning.

‘Pop’

The sound was satisfying—Lance felt it more than heard it—and Diego let out a strangled yelp, then went limp.

"We did it," Marcus breathed. "Nice work."

Lance sat back on his heels with shaking hands while staring at Diego, whose eyes were closed and chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths—his leg now looking more normal.

"Is he okay?" Lance asked.

"Yeah, he just passed out from the pain. It's actually a good thing – gives his body a chance to reset."

He'd done it. He'd helped fix what he'd broken. But the guilt still gnawed at him, a constant reminder of his lack of control.

"You did good, kid," Marcus said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Quick thinking and steady hands. That's what we need in situations like this."

He managed to smile weakly, but inside, he was far from reassured. Yes, he'd helped, but only after causing the injury in the first place… A sudden, uncomfortable realization hit him. The truth was…

The truth was: he'd done it on purpose. Not maliciously, but he'd wanted to test his strength against Diego's. He'd thought Diego could handle it—the guy was built like a tank, after all—and had trees for legs.

As they waited for Diego to regain consciousness, Lance continued looking for solutions. There was no way he could trust himself in everyday situations if a simple Krav Maga practice could end like this? What if next time it wasn't just a dislocated knee?

What if he threw a pencil a little too hard?

That's what he was. A ticking time bomb of uncontrolled power. He needed to get a handle on this, and fast. Before someone got seriously hurt – or worse.

Diego stirred, groaning softly. His eyes fluttered open, exuding confusion.

"Welcome back, Beast," Marcus said, helping Diego sit up slowly. "How're you feeling?"

Diego blinked, focusing on his surroundings. "Bien jodido," he said. His eyes found Lance, and the smile that he managed to summon was weak but genuine. "Remind me never to spar with you again, hermano. You pack one hell of a punch. Uh, elbow."

Lance's stomach hit the floor. In what world could Diego joke about this? He'd nearly crippled the man. "I'm so sorry," he began, but Diego waved him off.

"Nah, man. It was an accident. Besides, I've had worse." He flexed his leg experimentally, wincing slightly. "See? Good as new. Well, almost."

Marcus stood up, stretching his back. "Aight, I gotta close up shop. Diego, rest up for a few more minutes if you can. Keep that ice on."

"Got it, jefe. We've got about ten before we need to head to the support group, that enough?"

"That's fine. Don't push it." Marcus nodded at both of them and headed out.

Lance slumped against the wall. "Some superhero I am."

"Nah, you're Captain Accidental Damage."

"Really? That's the best you've got?"

"Okay, okay. How about... Captain Klutz? The Incredible Bulk? Elbow-tron?"

"Those are all terrible."

Diego chuckled, then winced. "Speaking of super powers... you said something about healing hands, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Think you could work some magic on these legs? To be honest, this knee's nothing compared to how they feel every day. It's like they're on fire, man. Can't even sleep most nights."

"You're serious?"

"Dead serious, hermano. If you think you can take away pain, I'm all in."

"I... yeah, I know I should be able to. You really want me to try?"

"Por favor. Anything's gotta be better than this."

“Okay. Let’s do it!”

Wasting no time, Lance placed his hands on Diego's legs, closing his eyes to focus. The gym's background noise faded away.

Three breaths in. Long breath out.

A minute went by. Then two. Three. He started to feel silly. Until he didn’t. Lance felt something…

“It’s okay, if you can’t—”

"Shhh..." He pressed a finger to his lips. “Keep your eyes closed. Keep breathing.”

There it was. A sudden shift.

In. Out. Slow.

As he concentrated, he became aware of Diego's breathing, ragged and uneven, most likely from the pain. Absent-mindedly, Lance matched his rhythm to Diego's.

Inhale. Exhale. Another shift. Their breathing synchronized, each gasp perfectly matched.

The question remained: how to go about taking Diego’s pain? Lance visualized the now familiar process of activating his own ability, Pain Nullification. In his mind, it had always been like flipping a switch—simple, instant. But now, as he concentrated, he noticed something more. It wasn't just his thoughts doing the work; he sensed his arma activating, responding to his intent. He suddenly understood: his arma was the true mechanism, the "finger" that flipped that mental switch. If that was the case, then to take Diego's pain, he'd need to sense Diego's arma too. It had to be there, waiting to be found. That had to be the right course. He had to find a way to perceive Diego's arma, to connect with it. Only then could he hope to nullify the Beast’s pain.

The nagging shift intensified. There was no other way to describe it. It was a faint glow that seemed to pierce through his eyelids.

Colors.

New ability unlocked: [Energy Classification]

[Energy Classification]: Ability to perceive and categorize arma energy signatures.

Energy signature detected

[Human Enhancer (Nascent)]

His eyes flew open, a gasp escaping his lips. But what he saw wasn't the gym's fluorescent-lit interior. Instead, shimmering auras surrounded both him and Diego. Lance's own body glowed with a soft blue light, while Diego’s upper body radiated a vibrant green. His legs, however, screamed an angry sea of red. No, not his legs—it was his arma that was in pain. At least, that's what Lance sensed.

He quickly processed the system messages. New ability... so I can now identify arma? The dots started to connect. These colors must represent arma energy signatures.

Diego was the only other “human” around, so…

Is Diego an Enhancer, the way I'm a Nullifier? he wondered. He recalled reading online that Enhancer was supposedly the most common arma type discovered so far. The memory of his failed attempt at the "Spoon Bend Challenge" flashed through his thoughts, and he felt a pang of anxiety mixed with curiosity about how the two arma types differed.

Lance blinked, but the vision remained. He glanced down at his own hands, finding them wreathed in the otherworldly glow.

He tried to identify himself and… it didn’t work.

What the hell?

It wasn’t like the blue sheen enveloping him was new. He recognized the blue glow. It appeared every time he used Pain Nullification, but usually fainter, never this intense.

If he could now see arma energy, perhaps he could finally nullify someone else's pain. He was a Nullifier, after all—it made perfect sense. Flawless logic, really.

Instinctively, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the ethereal light surrounding Diego, drawn to soothe the pain. As his fingers brushed against Diego's aura, he felt a surge of... something. Power? Energy?

Oh shit.

Whatever it was, it flowed from Diego into Lance, mingling with his own arma in a dizzying rush, filling him with an indescribable sensation.

Genetic structure undergoing rapid reconfiguration

Attempting energy manipulation…

Unexpected energy interaction detected

New Core Power unlocked: [Appropriation (Alpha I)]

[Appropriation (Alpha I)]: Ability to assimilate, store, and utilize others' arma-based abilities under specific conditions. Can only assimilate abilities up to [Appropriation]’s rank. Assimilated abilities can be used individually or in combination.

Core Power: [Appropriation (Alpha I)] activated

Target: [Human Enhancer (Nascent)]

Assimilation in progress…

Without thinking, Lance grasped at that energy more forcefully and continued pulling it towards himself.

Assimilation complete

New ability acquired. Internalizing…

New Essence Power acquired: [Adaptive Limbs (Alpha I)]

[Adaptive Limbs (Alpha I)]: Ability to dynamically enhance lower body functionality.

[Mode: Saltatorial]

[Saltatorial]: Optimizes legs for powerful leaping and rapid movement.

Ho. Ly. Fuck.

Just when Lance thought he'd gotten used to the system messages, this happened. He didn't know where to begin processing it all; he really wished he had a notepad. Ananya had explained how to navigate through past system messages, but if he was being honest, that explanation had gone in one ear and out the other.

System messages aside, his body thrummed with newfound strength, his legs suddenly feeling as if they could propel him to impossible heights.

"Whoa, man. What did you just do?" Diego asked as if coming out of a trance.

"I... I'm not sure," he admitted.

Although, if he was reading this right, in a nutshell, he'd somehow absorbed Diego's ability to enhance his legs for jumping. Great. Because that's exactly what he needed right now - the power to leap tall buildings in a single bound. But he wasn't about to say that out loud. Instead, he asked, "How do you feel?"

Diego stared at his legs for a second. "Better. Way better. There’s no pain. None at all!”

Lance's chest tightened, his breath coming in short bursts. His hands trembled, still glowing with the mixed auras. A grin spread across his face, then a chuckle escaped his lips, growing into full-blown laughter. Excitement. Joy. Passion. He didn’t know which emotion to focus on. He'd done it. He’d helped someone. He could help people. He—

“But, I can’t…move them. I can’t move my legs.”

Lance's elation evaporated instantly. His stomach plummeted, and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead. "What do you mean you can't move your legs?" he asked.

"They're... I just can’t lift them, man. It's like they're too heavy."

Fuck me. His thoughts a chaotic whirlwind. What had he done? How could he fix this? He'd wanted to help him, not paralyze him. His hands shook as he reached out, desperate to undo whatever he'd accidentally done.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he babbled, his fingers hovering over Diego's legs. "I'll fix this, I swear. I'll give it back."

Appropriation: Undo, he broadcasted throughout his thoughts.

But Diego's hand shot out, gripping Lance's wrist with surprising strength. "Wait," he said, his voice oddly calm. "Don't."

"W—What? Diego, I’ll fix this. I know I can."

Diego shook his head, a strange light in his eyes. "No, hermano. Not yet. This... this is incredible."

"Incredible? Diego, you're paralyzed!"

"Yeah, but the pain’s gone. My legs don’t feel like they’re burning anymore," Diego countered. "For... since NARS started. It's gone, man. All of it."

Lance stared at the Beast, trying to comprehend what he was hearing. The auras had faded, but he could still feel the strange energy pulsing through his body. Diego's energy. He'd stolen it, somehow.

"But your legs—"

"Can wait," Diego interrupted. "Just for tonight. Please."

This was insane. He couldn't just leave Diego paralyzed, could he? But the pleading look in his friend's eyes gave him pause. He remembered Diego's earlier words about the constant pain in his legs, how he couldn't sleep through the night.

"Are you sure?" Lance asked.

"Yeah, man. I'm sure. Just... just let me have this for a little while. One night without pain. That's all I'm asking."

Lance swallowed hard, guilt and uncertainty warring within him. He'd caused this situation, but now Diego was asking him not to fix it. At least, not yet. It felt wrong, dangerous even. But who was he to deny his friend this respite?

"Okay," he finally said, the word feeling heavy on his tongue. "But first thing tomorrow, we fix this. Deal?"

"Deal," Diego agreed, his relief palpable. “Besides, you look like you haven’t slept in years. You should probably take a break.”

Silence fell between them. But theories, fears, and the distant hum of the gym's air conditioning played in tag in his brain. What exactly had he done? How had he absorbed Diego's... what? Power? Arma? More like arma ability, maybe? Core power? And more importantly, how was he going to give it back?

"So," Diego said, breaking into Lance's thoughts. "You gonna help me get to that support group, or what?"

"The group? You still want to go?"

Diego grinned. "Hell yeah, I do. This is some next-level shit, hermano. What time is it?”

[6:43 PM] read his smartwatch.

“A quarter till seven.”

“Good. Marcus has a wheelchair in the back closet. Would you get it for me?"

Reluctantly, Lance nodded. He still felt like he was making a terrible mistake, but Diego's enthusiasm was hard to argue with. Plus, he had to admit, the idea of talking this through with people who understood was appealing.

"Alright," he said, standing up. "I’ll be right back."

But as Diego beamed up at him, gratitude shining in his eyes, Lance couldn't shake the feeling that he'd done more than just ease his friend's pain. He'd taken something from Diego—something vital and uniquely his.

Stolen. Appropriated.

Lance flexed his legs, feeling the new power coursing through them. He'd always been fast, and even more so after the NARS treatment, but this... this was at a whole other level. A part of him itched to test these new limits, to see just how high he could jump, how far he could run.

But the cost...

As he returned, pushing the wheelchair, he looked at Diego, who was still smiling up at him, oblivious to what had truly transpired.

The guilt intensified.