The world exploded into motion.
Before Ben could even shift his weight forward, Henrik's right arm snapped up with mechanical precision, elbow pointing directly at Ben's face. In a horrifying display that made several spectators gasp audibly, the skin beneath Henrik's elbow split open like a grotesque flower, muscle and flesh peeling back to reveal—
A gun barrel, black and gleaming, emerging from the cavity of his arm as if it had always belonged there.
The shot came less than a heartbeat later.
Mateo's breath caught in his throat as the bullet struck Ben square in the jaw. The impact sent a visible shockwave through Ben's body, his head snapping back, feet sliding across the arena floor from the kinetic force. For a terrifying moment, Mateo was certain he'd just watched someone die.
But Ben straightened, rolling his jaw experimentally, that same easy smile still playing at his lips. Not a mark on him.
Jesus, Mateo thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. If that had been me...
Everyone else seemed to have these incredible, deadly abilities. Ben could shrug off bullets like they were raindrops. Henrik could literally grow weapons from his own flesh. And what did Mateo have?
No, he told himself firmly, hands clenching into fists. Not again. I'm not going to freeze up like before. Not when it matters.
Henrik's organic weapon retracted smoothly, flesh sealing over the barrel without leaving so much as a scar. His expression remained eerily calm, clinical, as if he were taking notes on Ben's defensive capabilities.
He charged forward with surprising speed, his right forearm splitting open. This time, a gleaming blade erupted from the opening—not a simple knife, but a curved saber that caught the arena lights with predatory gleam.
Ben barely had time to raise his arms before Henrik was on him, the blade cutting through the air in a vicious arc aimed at his midsection. The weapon sliced through Ben's shirt like tissue paper, fabric falling away in clean strips, but skittered harmlessly across his skin.
Henrik didn't pause. The blade retracted and reformed as something else—a serrated combat knife that he drove toward Ben's throat in a lightning-quick thrust. Again, the weapon found no purchase, but the force of the impact sent Ben stumbling backward, his boots scraping against concrete.
He's testing different approaches, Mateo realized, watching Henrik's methodical assault. Trying to find a weakness.
The pale boy spun away from Ben's attempted grab, his arm shifting again. This time, multiple gun barrels emerged—a cluster of smaller caliber weapons that fired in rapid succession. The shots came so fast they sounded like a single, sustained roar.
Ben absorbed each impact, his body jerking with every hit despite his invulnerability. The kinetic force was clearly affecting him—Mateo could see the strain in his posture, the way his feet kept sliding backward, how his breathing had become labored from fighting against the momentum.
"Come on, Ben," someone shouted from the stands, and suddenly the entire arena was alive with noise. Students cheered and called out tactical advice, the earlier quiet forgotten in the face of this display of raw power.
Ben pushed forward through the barrage, his face set in grim determination. His usual jovial expression had hardened into something more serious, more focused. Each step was a battle against physics itself, his body absorbing enough kinetic energy to drop a normal person. But he got up. He always got up.
My God, Mateo thought, genuinely awed despite his fear. He really is invulnerable.
Henrik paused, breathing hard for the first time, his arm trembling slightly as the guns retracted. Sweat beaded on his pale forehead, and Mateo realized that generating these weapons must be taking a toll on him too.
For several long moments, the two combatants faced each other across the arena. Ben, clothes shredded but completely unharmed, settled back into his fighting stance. Henrik's cold blue eyes darted across Ben's form, clearly calculating, searching for any sign of weakness or fatigue.
The silence stretched, broken only by the distant rumble of the arena's ambient sound systems and the collective held breath of dozens of spectators.
"Stop!" Commander Reeves' voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Combat terminated. Result: tactical stalemate."
Disappointed groans rose from the audience, students who'd been hoping for a more decisive—or bloody—conclusion. But Mateo understood the call. Henrik could produce an arsenal from his own body, but Ben could weather any assault. Without knowing the limits of either quirk, the fight could theoretically continue indefinitely.
As both combatants were escorted toward the medical stations, Mateo caught Ben's eye. The other boy flashed him a tired but genuine smile and a thumbs up. Even after absorbing enough firepower to level a building, he was still trying to encourage others.
How do you maintain that kind of optimism? Mateo wondered. After everything you just went through?
"Mendoza and Velez! You're up."
The announcement hit Mateo like a physical blow. His mouth went desert-dry as he stood on unsteady legs, following Commander Reeves toward the arena entrance. His heart was already racing, sweat beginning to bead on his palms despite the cool air.
Alex fell into step beside him, and Mateo snuck a sideways glance at his opponent. She moved with a predator's easy grace, all coiled energy and casual confidence. Her compact frame seemed to vibrate with barely contained power, and when she caught him looking, her grin was sharp enough to cut glass.
"Ready to lose?" she asked, bouncing lightly on her toes as they approached the massive arena doors.
Mateo tried to project more confidence than he felt. "Don't count on it."
The doors hissed open, revealing a sprawling urban nightmare that made Mateo's breath catch in his throat. This was chaos incarnate—a meticulously crafted simulation of a war zone that assault all his senses at once.
Half-collapsed buildings jutted from the ground at impossible angles, their broken windows like dead eyes staring down at the battlefield. Overturned vehicles created barriers across cracked and pitted streets, their twisted metal frames offering cover and concealment. Smoke drifted between the structures in lazy coils, carrying the acrid smell of cordite and burning plastic.
In the distance, the sounds of simulated combat echoed off the walls—gunfire, explosions, the metallic screech of rending metal. Sirens wailed somewhere in the maze of rubble, occasionally punctuated by the deep thrum of overhead drones. It was overwhelming, designed to simulate the chaos and confusion of real urban warfare.
This is where I have to fight, Mateo thought, his pulse hammering in his ears. In this maze, against someone who looks like she could take apart a tank with her bare hands.
"This environment replicates conditions at the eastern front," Commander Reeves explained, her clinical tone at odds with the chaos surrounding them. "Familiarize yourselves with the terrain. Combat begins in five minutes."
She left them at the entrance as a holographic countdown materialized in the air above the arena, its red numbers seeming to pulse in time with Mateo's heartbeat.
5:00... 4:59... 4:58...
"So," Alex said, stretching her arms overhead with deliberate casualness, "what's your plan?"
Mateo forced himself to focus on the battlefield instead of her taunting. The arena was easily the size of a football field, a three-dimensional puzzle of cover and concealment. Multiple levels offered tactical advantages—he could fight from the streets or try to gain the high ground in the ruined buildings.
But which approach would work against an opponent whose abilities were still a complete mystery?
"Silent treatment? Fine." Alex rolled her eyes, but Mateo caught something else in her voice—anticipation. Like she was looking forward to this. "But don't say I didn't give you a chance to forfeit."
3:47... 3:46... 3:45...
Mateo's mouth felt like sandpaper. Around him, the simulated sounds of warfare continued their relentless assault on his nerves. This wasn't like the controlled environment he'd imagined. This was meant to break people, to push them beyond their limits.
Alex cracked her knuckles with deliberate slowness, the sound somehow audible over the ambient chaos. When she looked at him, her eyes held that same predatory gleam he'd expect to see in a tiger's.
I survived before, Mateo reminded himself, hands trembling slightly as he tried to focus. I can do this. I have to do this.
But as the countdown continued its relentless march toward zero, all he could think about was how everyone else seemed so much more prepared, so much more dangerous, so much more...
More.
1:23... 1:22... 1:21...
The horn was going to sound soon, and then there would be nowhere to hide from whatever Alex was capable of. No more time to prepare, no more chances to back down.
Just him, and a girl who looked like she could probably end the fight before he even knew it had begun.
0:03... 0:02... 0:01...
The deafening blast of the starting horn shattered the air, and Mateo's world contracted to a single, crystalline moment of absolute terror and determination.
The fight had begun.