Lance spun to face the threat, his shoulders going rigid. Something skimmed the edge of his vision. A fist flying towards his face.
Shit.
He ducked, barely avoiding the punch. His attacker—a well-dressed man in an impeccable suit—pressed forward with no intention of stopping.
Lance placed him now. Jenkins. Preston's assistant. The realization brought no comfort, only a surge of adrenaline.
The little prick…
Jenkins swung again, his movements fluid and precise. Lance blocked, feeling the impact reverberate through his left arm. Stronger than me, he thought grimly. But not by much.
Every Krav Maga move Marcus taught him surfaced at once. Last time, against Frank, it hadn't mattered - all that technique useless against raw strength."
Lance stepped into Jenkins's space, disrupting his rhythm. A quick jab to the solar plexus with his working arm. Jenkins grunted but didn't falter.
Tough bastard, Lance admitted as they circled each other, trading blows.
Lance's enhanced senses picked up every detail—the rustle of Jenkins's expensive suit, the faint smell of cologne, the slight widening of his eyes before each attack.
Pain blossomed across Lance's ribs as Jenkins landed a solid hit. He stumbled back, gasping. Keep your guard tight, he told himself. Use his momentum against him.
Jenkins snapped into motion, overextending. Lance saw his opening. He grabbed the butler’s arm, pivoting to throw the larger man over his hip. Jenkins hit the ground hard, the impact echoing through the empty warehouse.
Three breaths in. Four out.
Lance didn't waste time gloating. He followed up with a swift kick, aiming for Jenkins's midsection. But the man rolled, avoiding the worst of it.
In seconds, they were grappling again. Lance's muscles strained at their limit. Without his stolen powers, he was just an ordinary arma user—albeit a well-trained one—against an opponent who seemed to have no such limitations.
If only I'd been faster on that kick, damn it. Arma Cycling would've been handy, Lance thought. A thought that cost him dearly.
Jenkins's fist connected with Lance's jaw, sending him reeling. Stars exploded across his view. He tasted blood.
No more playing nice.
Lance unleashed a flurry of strikes, targeting vulnerable points—throat, eyes, groin. It wasn't pretty, but it was effective. Jenkins faltered, caught off guard by the sudden aggression.
Taking advantage of the momentary hesitation, Lance swept the enemy’s legs out from under him. They both crashed to the ground, rolling across the debris-strewn floor.
Dust choked the air. Metal scraps bit into Lance's skin. Vicky's crack about tetanus shots didn't seem so funny now. He ignored it all, focused solely on survival.
"Really? Taking orders from that rich punk?" Lance backed up a step. "What's he paying you - hazard bonus for butler duties?"
The butler said nothing, his face an impassive mask.
Right. Should've known money talks.
Diego and Vicky finally noticed the scuffle and rushed.
Lance feinted left, then struck right—pure instinct, muscle memory. Wrong move. His wrist brace couldn't stop the pop that followed. Jenkins blocked, but not cleanly. The impact shot fire through Lance's injured arm, but he pressed the advantage.
A knee to the stomach. An elbow to the face. Jenkins stumbled back, his composure finally cracking.
Lance felt a grim satisfaction. He might not have his stolen powers anymore, but he wasn't helpless. Far from it.
Jenkins rallied, launching a counterattack. But Lance was ready. He slipped under the man's guard and—this time remembering which wrist was busted—caught him with an uppercut just as Jenkins hurled himself across the space. The butler's momentum did the rest, launching him over the conveyor belt and into the mess of bent metal and burned debris beyond.
The butler didn’t move.
Sweat stung his eyes. He rubbed them. When they cleared, Diego at his left shoulder was there. The burn in his exhausted muscles was there. So was the steady throb under his wrapped wrist. A new arma signature, dark and threatening, was there. Same energy as Jenkins. Same toxic intent, but stronger. Deeper. Malicious. Death seeking.
Despite the blood in his mouth and his throbbing wrist and the burn of torn muscle in his ribs and the grinding sensation of bone against bone in his shoulder, Lance forced his body to turn and face it, but…
Something bounced toward him. Grey. Tennis-ball sized. Smoke poured out, thick and fast. Cute trick. His senses worked fine without sight. Besides, that malicious arma still pulsed nearby, waiting to strike.
He turned toward the smoke bomb anyway. His body moved before his brain could stop it. Idiot.
A black-gloved fist filled his vision. Not fast enough to dodge. Not fast enough to block. Not fast enough to counter. Not fast enough to do anything but watch it come. But just slow enough to catch Preston's smirk before impact.
I have to take it, he told himself. I have to take it and counterattack.
Activate Pain Nullification? Y/N
Yes.
He lifted his chin and met the incoming strike with unyielding resolve.
But the fist never connected.
The smoke cleared. Two hands appeared—Diego caught Preston's fist mid-swing while someone else grabbed the attacker's forearm.
Lance stood there, stunned. Diego and… Rick? When had Maverick Munson even arrived? And how had they moved so fast?
He hadn’t sensed Rick at all. Had his arma been completely obscured by Preston’s bloodthirst?
"What the hell?" Preston snarled, trying to wrench his arm free. Neither Diego nor Rick budged.
“Kid, you're better than this,” said Rick.
"Screw you!" Preston yanked at his arm. "Let fucking go!"
"Tranquilo, hermano," Diego said. "You're acting like my abuela when we hide her chanclas."
One swipe at his forehead, then the taunt: "nice fail, Preston,” Lance said. “What's wrong? Daddy's money can't buy you better henchmen?"
"You think you're so clever, don't you? Always one step ahead. But you're nothing. Just some nobody lucky enough to scraped together enough cash for an upgrade."
"Lucky?" Lance scoffed. "Funny, last time we met, you left with a broken nose. Want to quit while you still have all your teeth?"
"Quit, me?" Preston laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. "Y'all think this is over? I get stronger every day. Soon I'm gonna put you in the ground where you belo—" His smirk, all of the sudden, widened as he watched Lance. "Looks like you're getting weaker, huh? I bet it’ll get exhausting, always looking over your shoulder. Sleep tight."
Lance remembered how Preston's shoulder had felt like a sumo wrestler when it slammed into him at BioNova and how he'd only won their last fight because of the stolen powers he'd juiced up with beforehand yet now those powers were gone while Preston just kept getting stronger.
He yanked his arms free from Diego and Rick. "Get off me. I'm done with this fucking directive anyway."
'Thwack.'
A blast of déjà vu hit Lance like that glossy white delivery truck that had missed him by a millimeter last year - the kind that always seemed to be hunting down protagonists in the Japanese light novels Mike kept trying to get him to read.
Preston crumpled. One second he was standing there running his mouth, the next he was face-down on the concrete. Vicky shook out her hand, stepping over his unconscious body.
"What?" She glanced at Lance. "Kid talks too much. Besides, you had that same look from the other day when you two threw hands."
Lance almost smiled at her choice of words, but caught himself. "Thank you, Vicky… I guess."
"Yeah." Vicky nudged Preston with her foot. "He'll live. Might even learn something, but I doubt it."
Lance turned to Rick, who still hadn't moved from his spot. "You've got some timing. How'd you even know we were here?"
“Yeah, bro. You were like a ninja,” Diego said.
"Former drama teacher," Rick corrected. "We're quite good at making entrances."
Lance hadn't talked much with Rick outside their support group sessions, yet he'd always seemed like the sanest one there—which was kind of funny considering Lance saw himself as a complete mess and he was supposedly one of the stable ones. Still, something about Rick's presence just made everything feel less chaotic.
"Did you also get the system alert about this place?" Lance asked, gaze on Rick.
"I did. Actually, I was hoping I could join you guys?"
"Oh, um—" Vicky tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Of course you can join us."
"¡Claro que sí! More people means more fun!" Diego's grin filled his whole face. "But uh, hate to break it to you, amigo—we were just about to bounce. Place is dead empty."
"What a shame." Rick's voice carried just the right note of disappointment.
Lance's gaze drifted to Preston's unconscious form. "Actually, there was something I wanted to check before we got... interrupted."
"What's the deal with this pendejo anyway?" Diego asked.
"Long story. But he's the one who trashed my apartment."
"¡¿Qué?!" Diego took a step toward Preston, cracking his knuckles. "This little piece of—"
"Lance." Rick's calm voice cut through Diego's building rage. "What were you hoping to find here?"
At the prompt, he walked to the conveyor belt, forcing himself to move slowly. The dark liquid under the machine drew his attention, making it hard to focus on anything else.
"There." He pointed to the shifting mass. "Under the belt."
Vicky crouched beside him, her nose wrinkling. "What is that? Looks like dinosaur oil, but... wrong."
"It's alive," Rick said. His tone carried no doubt.
Diego shuffled his feet. "Man, that's some horror movie shit right there."
Lance focused on the substance, trying to parse the sensation it gave off. Not quite arma, not quite matter. Something in between, perhaps? The energy signature felt familiar, yet alien.
"What do you think it is?" Vicky leaned closer, her hand hovering near the substance. "Seems in pain, I don’t know."
"Careful." Lance caught her wrist. "We don't know what this does."
After saying those words, he did what came naturally.
Energy signature detected
[Human Shifter (1st Evolution)]
The substance rippled as if responding to their presence. Lance's arma classification ability tingled, untangling the readings it received.
Dark. Cold. Wrong.
Human? First time this skill’s ever given me chills, he thought, his hairs standing on end. Whatever this is, it shouldn't exist.
A groan from behind made them twist their necks. Preston lay sprawled on the floor, dead to the world.
"Speaking of which..." Rick gestured to Preston's limp body. "What should we do about our young friend there?"
Lance glanced at the crumpled figure. "Leave him. His butler will take care of him when he wakes up."
"Cold, bro." Diego grinned. "I like it."
They turned their attention back to the substance. Lance couldn't shake the feeling that it was watching them back, studying them as intently as they studied it.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
"So what's the play here?" Vicky asked. "We can't just leave this stuff lying around."
"Well spotted, Vicky. Always brilliant." Rick's melodious voice carried a hint of pride. "This could be why we're here in the first place."
At Rick's praise, her head dipped low, fingers fidgeting the edge of her sleeve.
Rick picked up a metal rod from the floor and stepped toward the mysterious puddle. "Maybe if we just-"
"Wait." Lance held up his hand. "Look at what it's doing."
The black mass had begun to contract, pulling itself together into a tighter configuration. As if preparing for something.
The mysterious substance bunched together, forming ridges and hollows in its surface. It writhed and bubbled and folded into impossible shapes. Features emerged - first a nose, then hollow eye sockets, finally a grotesque mouth. Within seconds, a full face - twisted and gnarled like bark, its surface cracked and weathered. The features looked both ancient and raw, as if carved roughly into wet clay. Lance watched the mouth stretch wider, its edges rippling with each movement.
But it didn’t stop there: the mass was in a constant motion, shifting, reforming like oil on water.
"H-hhelp... meee" The sound scraped out of its makeshift mouth.
Diego stepped back. "Did that thing just—"
"The hell kind of bullshit is this, boludo?" Vicky's boot scuffed the concrete as she stepped forward.
"Stop! No one touch it," Lance said. "Not until we understand what we're dealing with."
"Please tell me someone's recording this." Rick circled the mass.
Record this? It’s not the time, crossed Lance's mind.
"Everyone back up. We don't know what this thing is."
"But hermano, did you hear it? It's asking for help. We can't just leave it."
"What if it's not asking for anything and just mimicking speech?" But even as Lance said it, he knew better.
"Che, maybe we should listen to protein bar guy on this one."
"Think about it logically," Lance pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why would a sentient blob of tar be hanging out under a conveyor belt?"
Rick cleared his throat, his voice taking on a professor-like tone. "Perhaps we're looking at this all wrong. What if it's not the substance speaking, but something trapped inside it?"
"Holy shit, like in that movie with the black alien goo?" Diego's face lit up.
"What—no. No way we're dealing with..." Lance raked his fingers through his hair. “Let me think for a second.”
"Why not? Crazy shit's been happening lately," Diego said.
Meanwhile, Rick circled the substance, hands clasped behind his back. “Young Diego’s right. Life, dear friends, has a way of surprising us. Especially lately."
"Pleasssse..." The face in the mass stretched grotesquely into a sound that stopped their argument mid-breath.
"Okay, this is getting creepy as fuck." Vicky hugged herself, rubbing her arms.
Rick knelt beside the mass, his voice dropping to a whisper. "What are you?"
No response. The blob only moved like water in a wave pool, rising and falling in steady pulses.
Lance ran through his options. None of them had shown signs of the identify ability. Might as well tell them what he was seeing.
"I think he's a person. Or was a person, maybe," Lance said. He crouched closer to the face, opposite Rick. "So are... you... an arma user?"
The black mass quivered. "Y-yes... we all... met here. Every... week."
"All? How many others?" Lance asked.
"T-twelve... of us."
Vicky paced in a tight circle. "What happened to them?"
"Dead... all dead. Someone... one of us... killed..."
"Whoa whoa whoa. Hold up. You're saying one of your own group did this?" The words burst out of Diego. He knelt too. His hands hovered over the mass, fingers spreading and closing as if unsure how to offer comfort.
"Ye—ye… yes," it rasped.
Lance's thumb traced his wrist. "What brought you all together here?"
"We... had abilities. Like you. Met to... share stories. Practice..."
"And the one who did this... they were part of your group?"
The substance rippled inward on itself. "Must... warn others. He’s a… he’s a mons…ter. More will... die."
"Can you tell us who it was? What they looked like?" said Vicky.
The face in the mass contorted. "It… it was… no—can't... remember. Try but... nothing."
"Bro, that's messed up. Just take it easy, okay? We got you," Diego whispered.
"Hidden... room. Behind the... storage. Bodies..."
Rick rubbed his throat. "There's a hidden room? With more people trapped like you?"
"No... just bodies. I'm... dead too. Just... residual... arma… I gone soon..."
"Does that mean your ability—this is about to fade,” Lance said. Unless..."
Vicky twitched. “Hold up - are we really standing here negotiating with a talking puddle of tar?”
The system wouldn't bring us here for nothing, Lance thought.
"Vicky, think about it. Why else would we find the only survivor?"
The mass stretched toward Lance. "My power... won't last. Can feel it... fading."
"There might be a way to preserve it," Lance said. “I can take it.”
The mass rippled. "You can... take it?"
"Probably."
"That’s right, in therapy - you mentioned something about taking abilities?" Rick asked.
"More or less. Still figuring it out."
"But you can do it?"
"Wait—you're thinking of stealing a dead man's ability?" Vicky stomped her boot on the concrete. "That's messed up, boludo."
"Why not? They're already dead. Their ability could help us catch the killer."
Diego pressed his palms together. "¡Dios mío! I don’t like it either, buuut he's got a point though.”
"Would you... use it... to stop them?"
"Yes."
"Then... please. Stop them. Before... more die. Take... it."
Lance cracked his knuckles, stretched his neck.
"Of course."
His voice came out rougher than intended.
Vicky stomped her boot again. "This isn't you, Lance. Since when do we steal powers from dying... um, whatever this shit is?"
"Think of it this way, dear Vicky - their power could serve a greater purpose." Rick swept his arm in an arc. "Help prevent more deaths."
"Dead people, killers. Bro, this is getting dark real quick," Diego said.
"Exactly! And how do we even know this... thing is telling the truth?" Vicky crossed her arms.
The mass rippled. "Time... running out..."
"As I said, there's a reason the system brought us here. What if we're meant to stop this person?"
"There's gotta be another way, hermano."
"Name one. Right now."
"We call the police, bro. That's what normal people do," Diego said. "System just wanted us to check things out, ¿no?"
"A few days ago, I could stop bullets. Think about it - in a few weeks, what chance do the police have against people like us?"
Vicky scratched the back of her hand. "Lance, wait. Diego’s right, there has to be another—"
"Do we have time for another way?" Lance asked before she could finish her sentence.
Rick leaned forward. "The question isn't whether we can do this. It's whether we should let this power go to waste when it could save lives."
"...fine,” Vicky conceded. “But next time, we find a different solution."
Lance ran his tongue over his teeth. "Next time might be too late. We can’t wait for other directives."
"Just... do it already."
The black mass shuddered. "Thank... you..."
No one moved, watching Lance stretch his hand toward it, pull back, push forward again. He needed to deal with this, but how? A question nagged at him, one he hadn't considered before. Did he need physical contact to appropriate an ability? He'd always assumed so, but now, faced with this strange, formless entity, he wasn't sure.
"Wait," he said, pulling back slightly. "Do I need to touch you for this to work?"
The face morphed into what might have been a smile. Or a grimace. Lance couldn't tell.
"Touch... me?"
"Yeah, for the ability transfer. I think it requires physical contact."
"No... need. I am... extension."
"Extension?" he asked, his words scraping out at pocket volume. "What does that mean?"
The substance seemed to gather itself, as if mustering strength for a longer explanation. "This... not separate. Part of... my body. My power."
Makes sense…
This wasn't just some weird goop they'd stumbled upon. It was someone's flesh, transformed and liquefied by their ability.
“So uh... should we start shopping for Lance-sized puddle containers?” Diego asked.
The side effects of Frank's power surfaced. Wait—will I become this? Fuck that.
"So, you're saying this is actually... you?"
"Yes. Not my body... but still me. Extension of… my body.”
Lance sorted through the bizarre facts, piece by piece. He pressed his palms against his temples. The ripple effects wouldn't stop coming. If this was truly an extension of the user's body, what did that mean for the appropriation process? Would he be absorbing part of their physical form along with their ability?
The thought dried his mouth.
"La—Lance?" Vicky's voice came uncharacteristically soft."Hey... you're shaking. What's going on?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just... this is more complicated than I thought."
Rick gripped Lance's forearm with the kind of steady pressure that made everything else fall quiet so that Lance could finally hear his own thoughts through all the noise. Then he said, “listen to your gut on this one. It hasn't steered you wrong yet.”
My gut…
His gut said that these weird abilities had taught him one clear lesson: each power demanded its pound of flesh. Vicky's palms erupting in flame while her skin blistered beneath. Rony commanding electricity but ending each day blind with migraines. Even the trinity of Zack, Mack, and Frank—three minds sharing one body but wielding more raw power than anyone Lance had ever seen. But every single wielder had adapted, had pushed through, had made it worth the cost. And hell, we're all still changing, aren't we? Powers growing, shifting, becoming something new. If this ability wouldn't evolve on its own, Lance would make damn sure it did.
"Alright," he said, not to the others, not to the weird black oil spill, but to himself. "Let's do this."
The fingers on his left hand went into the black puddle. He was careful not to disturb the facial features. It felt oddly warm, like body temperature. The consistency was thicker than water but thinner than honey. When he tried to grab it, it slipped between his fingers, but it wasn't quite liquid enough to drip off quickly. It felt smooth and slick, similar to oil, but had a weird springiness to it, like poking a piece of raw meat.
He closed his eyes, reaching out with his senses, feeling for the familiar tug of arma energy. It was there, pulsing weakly like a fading heartbeat. Lance focused, drawing it towards him, willing it to flow into his own body.
Core Power: [Appropriation (Alpha II)] activated
└─Target: [Human Shifter (1st Evolution)]
└─Warning: Arma signature critically weak
└─Warning: Assimilation from depleting arma signature may have unforeseen consequences └─Indirect contact via biological extension detected
└─Assimilation in progress...
Damn, that's way more messages than usual, Lance thought, unable to keep the worry off his face.
Unforeseen consequences? “You can’t be serious…”
Vicky lunged forward, flames erupting from her hands to illuminate the darkened corners of the warehouse and Lance’s ashen face. "Boludo, stop. This is not a good idea."
“The blob's fading fast. Might be my only chance to take whatever power it has left.”
"You okay, hermano? I don’t like that look."
"I'm fine. Just... different than usual. Like swallowing ice water that won't melt."
He was anything but fine since something about this felt fundamentally wrong yet he couldn't stop now because backing down would make him look weak plus they needed whatever information this thing had even though he couldn't shake the terrifying thought that he might spend the rest of his life as a sentient puddle of tar.
"This doesn't feel right." She lowered her arms, the flames dimming.
"It never feels right, Vicky."
"Keep going, Lance. I won't let anything happen to you. Trust me. I'll keep our friend here alive long enough for you to finish.” Rick moved beside him, dipping his hands into the black mass.
Lance nodded sharply and plunged back into the darkness, all hesitation forgotten.
The sequence came as second nature now. A rush of cold, alien sensation flooding through him. It was unlike anything he'd experienced before – not the clean, crisp feeling of Diego's ability, nor the crazy surge of Zack's power. This was something else entirely.
Assimilation complete
└─New ability acquired. Internalizing...
New Essence Power acquired: [Morphoplasm (Alpha I)]
└─[Morphoplasm (Alpha I)]: Ability to generate and control dark viscous matter as biological extension
└─[Mode: Solidify] Appropriated
└─[Solidify]: Allows generation and hardening of limited morphoplasm muscle
Well, that's... something. Lance tested each joint in his hand, making sure everything still worked.
Something else came with the power this time - knowledge, maybe memories. Images flooded his mind: molecular structures, organic polymers, flesh twisting and reshaping itself. Are these his memories? Lance wondered, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar sensations. Some leftover piece of him in that residual arma? He saw visions of living tissue molding like clay, the power to become anything – or anyone.
Lance gasped, his eyes flying open. The black mass was gone, absorbed into him completely. In its place was a small puddle of clear liquid, quickly evaporating in the warehouse air.
"Holy shit," Diego breathed. "Did it work?"
Lance bobbed his head, still trying to catch his breath. "Yeah. Yeah, it worked."
Vicky peered at him closely. "You don't look any different."
"Trust me," Lance said. "I feel different."
Rick clapped his hands together, his eyes alight with excitement. "Marvelous! Simply marvelous. Lance, my boy, you've just opened up a whole new world of possibilities."
Lance wasn't so sure he shared Rick's enthusiasm. This one felt different from the others - not the usual rush of energy, but something that made his teeth itch.
But it was his now. For better or worse. And its owner was dead, so for the first time, there was no going back.
"So what now?" Diego asked, glancing around nervously. "We still got a killer to catch, right?"
Lance checked his phone. [9:19 PM]
"Right," Lance said. "But I think we can go home now."
And I have work to do, he kept to himself.
Physically, nothing felt different - no rippling skin, no weird sensations. But now he had two new abilities to figure out fast, and the thought was intoxicating and terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
"Let's hope I can figure them out before it is too late," he murmured.
They moved away from the conveyor belt while Vicky kept rubbing her arms like she was trying to get rid of an invisible chill, as Diego mumbled prayers under his breath while Rick's face settled into that blank drama teacher mask, until a new notification appeared.
[Arma Integration Protocol - Observational Directive #2 Complete]
Subject: Lance Lawthorn
Path Analysis: Antihero classification confirmed with 93% certainty
Analysis:
- Successfully identified and interacted with residual arma signature
- Demonstrated willingness to appropriate abilities from deceased user
- Prioritized practical results over moral considerations
- Showed strategic thinking in potentially dangerous situation
Key Observations:
* Subject's decision-making aligns consistently with anti-hero paradigm
* Appropriation ability shows adaptation to non-standard energy sources
* Subject exhibits growing comfort with morally ambiguous choices
Note: Unusual arma energy patterns detected during transfer process. Further analysis required to understand implications of post-mortem ability appropriation.
Recommendation: Continue monitoring subject's development along Antihero path. Current trajectory suggests optimal integration of ability growth and moral flexibility.
Based on your performance, the following potential ability augmentations have been mapped:
1. [Arma Parasitism (Emergent)]: Enables the user to siphon and temporarily borrow the active abilities of nearby arma users, without fully appropriating the powers.
2. [Essence Fusion (Emergent)] - Enables temporary combination of two appropriated Essence Powers.
3. [Dark Resonance (Emergent)]: Grants the user the ability to sense, track, and disrupt the arma signatures of other users, especially those with malicious intent.
Note: Accumulated arma energy from this directive is ephemeral. You have 24 hours to crystallize one augmentation before the accumulated arma energy dissipates.
Select wisely. Your choice will influence future arma-human integration protocols.
Continued observation and analysis of your actions will refine the understanding of arma-human symbiosis.
Lance stared at the notification until the words blurred together. Another directive complete, another set of choices to make. He'd seen Essence Fusion before, after the last directive - the ability to combine two powers had seemed too good to pass up. A thought struck him: combining Saltatorial with Solidify could mean creating platforms in mid-air, or extending his jumps with solid constructs.
But then there were the other options. Arma Parasitism and Dark Resonance. Just their names made him wince. They sounded like villain powers - stealing other people's abilities, tracking them down like prey.
Not this time, Lance decided, closing the notification. He wasn't about to let that human blob floating around in his system make a choice for him. He'd learned that lesson.
[Arma Energy Crystallization Initiated]