The next morning, Ava’s head throbbed. Everything hurt. She was not in a bed, or anywhere a human should sleep, but in a sort of bizarre upside-down position in front of the couch; a pineapple sat on its cushions, on its side. Ava briefly attempted to figure out what in God’s name had happened last night, and the best thing she could come up with was that she had attempted to balance a pineapple on her ass cheeks while blackout drunk.
Sam walked into the room, sipping a cup of coffee.
“I hate being alive right now,” Ava groaned.
“Yeah, I’m not feeling great either,” Sam said, groggy. “You, uh, you should probably use Scott and Luke’s bathroom.”
“…do I wanna know why?” Ava asked. “I could use a shower, I’m sweating my tits off.”
“No, trust me, you don’t wanna know why,” Sam said, holding his hands up. “Like, honestly, just… don’t even go near the door until the cleaning ladies come by.”
“Puke apocalypse, I’m guessing?” Ava pressed further.
“Uh… close, but worse,” Sam said.
“Shit apocalypse?” Ava asked.
“Warmer.”
“Puke and shit apocalypse?” Ava asked, starting to get a little annoyed at how cagey Sam was being about it.
“Yep,” Sam confirmed.
“Okay, good to know,” Ava said, attempting to rearrange herself to a standing position so that she could go take a shower in the other suite.
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When Ava got to Luke and Scott’s suite, still sweat-soaked and feeling like she looked quite unpleasant, Mr. Johnson was sitting in one of the armchairs with them; surprisingly, they were already showered, dressed and ready.
“Ah, Ava,” Mr. Johnson said. “I’m glad you’re awake.”
“Oh, yeah,” she muttered. “You said you had some thing you wanted to tell me or something. Not right now. Need shower.” She lifted up the change of clothes she’d brought in with her, as if to emphasize her point.
Mr. Johnson looked at Scott as Ava ambled into the bathroom, slammed the door shut, locked it, and turned the fan on.
“Is she usually like this in the mornings?” the rich benefactor of the team asked.
“No clue,” Scott said, shrugging.
The three heard the shower running for about five minutes, and it took about another two for Ava to turn the fan off and emerge from the bathroom.
“I feel better,” she said. She turned one of the armchairs backwards and climbed onto it, resting her head on the back. “So, what’s the deal?”
“How long ago did you get your parasites?” Mr. Johnson asked. Ava thought for a second.
“Uh, six days ago,” Ava said. “Why?”
“I got mine four days ago,” Luke added.
“Alright,” Mr. Johnson said. “That’s… more recent than I was hoping for, but I can work with that. Have either of you experienced any significant emotional trauma since receiving it?”
The two of them sort of muttered amongst themselves, Scott feeling a bit left out of the conversation as they did. Neither could really come up with anything.
“How much, exactly, do you two know about these parasites you have in your body?” their benefactor asked.
Both of them shrugged; all they really knew was the obvious.
“They’re attached to your pineal gland, and they respond to your emotions,” Mr. Johnson explained. “Ordinarily, this doesn’t mean much. With your Code of Fist, for example, Ava, if you were bored and depressed, you’d get a slight downgrade in your punching power; meanwhile, if you were having fun or terrified for your life, you’d be operating at essentially an overclock.”
“Huh,” Ava said. “I noticed it’s a little inconsistent, yeah. Seems like I splatter them harder the more I’m enjoying it, now that I think about it.”
“That’s the emotional factor at work,” Mr. Johnson confirmed. “Now, particularly large emotional experiences, however? Those essentially overdose the parasite with hormones.”
“Is that… good or bad?” Ava asked. Mr. Johnson waved his hand in a non-committal fashion.
“Not necessarily either. Sometimes good, sometimes sideways. Let me think for a second, what’s a good analogy your generation might get… you guys know Pokemon?” Mr. Johnson asked, trying to simplify it. All three nodded their heads. “Think of it kind of like a Pokemon evolving. Usually, you get stronger and more complicated; sometimes, you just get stronger, and sometimes, you just get more complicated.”
“So I’m guessing my Code of Fist is on the weak side, whereas something like Wolf’s Code of Squared Circle from yesterday is on the more evolved side?” Ava asked.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“…very astute, Ava,” Mr. Johnson said, blinking a little in surprise. “You’re getting the point perfectly. Wolf actually started out with the Code of Grapple, which just let him keep a really strong grip on people.”
“No shit?” Ava asked.
“Who’s Wolf? I honestly wasn’t watching yesterday after Luke and I got out,” Scott said. Ava looked over at him.
“Hulk Hogan impersonator. Pretty fun fight. Not too much gore,” Ava said. “You would’ve liked it.”
“Anyways, what made his Code evolve was… first off, his wife passed away from kidney cancer about a decade ago,” Mr. Johnson explained. “His rage and self-destructive feelings from that turned it into the Code of Suplex, which meant it was impossible to escape any of his grappling moves.”
“Shit,” Ava said. “That… really sucks for him. I’m about as sorry for his loss as I am glad I didn’t have to fight him when he had that.”
“Here’s the kicker, though,” Mr. Johnson said. “The Code of Squared Circle was stage three. After his wife died, he became an alcoholic, and it estranged him from his son; he’s a friend of Bill W. nowadays, but his son passed away in a car crash before they could ever reconcile. It made him realize that his self-destructive feelings were hurting everyone around him. What’s more, pro wrestling was pretty much all he had left. So his parasite evolved again, and got stronger, in that it could warp the laws of reality; but at the same time, instead of developing more combat strength, it actually hampered his combat abilities and gave him the ability to force any fight to be a pro wrestling match.”
“So… basically, if people I care about die, I go Super Saiyan?” Ava asked, unsure if she was understanding this correctly.
“Not… quite, as such,” Mr. Johnson said. “That does work, but it can be more or less any major trauma, or any major positive event. Graduating high school might make your parasite evolve. Going on a first date with someone you really like might do it. Having a kid can do it. Hell, I know someone whose parasite went all wonky when Trump got elected.”
“…what do you mean, went all wonky?” Ava asked, starting to get a little worried.
“Dude had the Code of Rearrange, which essentially meant he could shapeshift into anyone he was thinking about,” Mr. Johnson said. “Trump gets elected, and suddenly his Code shows up to our readers as the Code of Re-Orange, and he can only shapeshift into Trump.”
Ava burst out laughing.
“You’re shitting me?” she asked, incredulous. “He got Trump powers? Oh my God, that’s terrible. And it’s a fucking pun, too. Jesus, I feel bad for that guy.”
“Don’t, he rakes in money in the Bible Belt now,” Mr. Johnson said. “Half of the Trump rallies you see when it’s not an election cycle are actually just him booking a spot, adlibbing on the microphone, and running off with all the donor money he gets.”
“That’s honestly kinda genius,” Ava said. “I’m not gonna lie, I love that for him. I hope he’s living his best life.”
“So, anyhow. If… something big happens, your parasite’s gonna make a change. Your emotions at that point are gonna pretty strongly determine that change, and what form your Code ends up taking,” Mr. Johnson finished. As if to punctuate his statement, the red light in Luke and Scott’s suite started to go off, indicating that Luke would soon be fighting Maxim Konstantinov himself, the Iron Russian.
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“Thank God they’re not fucking reversing the order,” Ava said as she walked back into the suite where Sam had been waiting. While the other three had been dealing with Mr. Johnson, Sam was flopped back on the couch, a bag of Doritos by his side and one of the PlayStation controllers in his hand, playing Stray.
He looked at Ava and pressed the circle button to make the cat on the screen meow.
“Very cute, but c’mon, we gotta change the channel,” Ava said. “Luke’s probably about to get his ass handed to him, and if he does, I need to see what I’m fighting.”
Sam groaned in annoyance, picked up the remote, and put the live feed of the tournament onto the eighty-inch television. The crowd noise was enough to keep the announcer from being audible, with some people even breaking out vuvuzelas and one person inexplicably playing a set of bagpipes in the crowd.
Even without audio, however, he could see Luke and Maxim Konstantinov staring each other down, Luke holding the long, curved, blood-stained rib he’d lost at his side in a reverse grip.
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The arena smelled of sun-dried blood from the previous day’s fights. None of the corpses still remained, but the tile of the ring floor was still tinted a faint red, the pressure washers of the tournament workers having been rendered useless in the face of the carnage.
The crowd noise was even more deafening in person than it was over the television. Luke could not hear a single thing aside from a wall of human beings incoherently screaming. When the bell rang, however, he felt it in his remaining bones, and dashed to the side, ready to slash at Maxim’s midsection.
Right as he was about to connect with the rib, however, he felt Maxim stare at him, directly into his soul, and it stopped him dead in his tracks in fear.
“You’re not ready, boy,” Maxim said, and punched him in the center of his ribcage, sending him staggering back with a loud crack and causing him to spit up blood.
“Oh, I’m not?” Luke said, spitting out the rest of the blood that was in his mouth and assuming his fighting stance again.
“Nowhere near,” Maxim said. “But in order for the girl to be ready, you must die, so I will do as I have been ordered to.”
Wait. Ordered to? Luke thought to himself, hesitating briefly. That hesitation was all it took for Maxim to get another punch to Luke’s jaw in, dislocating it and sending him splayed out onto his back.
“One!” the announcer called out as Maxim approached his prone body.
Gotta get up, he thought. Fucker’s gonna kill me. He started to pick himself up, pushing his body off the ground with his arms through the pain of his shattered ribs and pierced lung. He just barely managed to get to his feet and hop back before Maxim could deal a finishing blow, and readied himself for another attempt at a strike.
“Go on, boy,” Maxim said. “Hit me.”
Luke dodged around Maxim, looking for an opening. He wasn’t the most agile fighter, but he was certainly more agile than the massive Russian he was faced with; he attempted to use this to his advantage, ducking and weaving around his opponent.
Maxim took a swing that Luke successfully dodged, the adrenaline keeping him moving through the pain. It was then that Luke saw his opportunity, and he took a swing at Maxim’s exposed arm, looking to sever it.
The rib struck Maxim’s arm, and shattered into powder and fragments at the impact point. Luke staggered back, and looked at the bloody fragments of bone in his hands in disbelief.
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Ava and Sam both stared at the television in shock. There was nothing either of them could do except watch as the events unfolded.
When Luke’s rib shattered, Ava began to tear up.
“Please don’t fucking die, Luke,” she muttered to herself.
They watched as Maxim advanced on Luke, who was at this point incapable of doing anything but cowering in fear.
Luke, however, opted not to do that, facing down his opponent with as much dignity as he could muster. Maxim looked at the drone that was filming the live feed, as if to stare Ava in the eyes, and then, without looking back, took hold of Luke’s face with one hand, and began to seemingly deflate Luke, his own body growing as he sucked all of the body mass from Luke’s body into his own: the Code of Absorption.
Ava screamed and sobbed, and the dead center of her skull suddenly felt like it was being stabbed as something grew within it. She wanted nothing more than to end Maxim Konstantinov.