The plane dropped suddenly, a violent plunge that made my stomach twist as though the earth itself had reached up to grab us. The wings tilted, creaking like brittle bones, while the entire fuselage shuddered under the strain. We weren’t just descending; we were being ripped out of the sky.

  My body lifted against my will, gravity betrayed, and before I even understood what was happening, I was flung forward, crashing through the cockpit door. Metal scraped against my arm, and I slammed into the back wall behind the pilots. The two men at the controls had faces carved with tension, their knuckles white as they fought against the howling wind battering the aircraft.

  The cockpit smelled of burning metal and ozone. Warning lights blinked in a frenzied pattern, their crimson glow painting the pilots’ faces like masks of panic. The wind clawed at my cheeks through the fractured glass, pulling the air from my lungs until my expression twisted into something grotesque.

  For a moment, I couldn’t move. Fear had turned me to stone, every muscle locked. Is this it? I thought numbly. Is this how I’m supposed to die? A sophomore barely out of his normal life, suddenly regretting every choice that brought him here. Maybe I shouldn’t have joined the YMPA. Maybe I should’ve stayed in class, worrying about exams and cafeteria gossip instead of military-grade aircraft and weapons of unimaginable power.

  I had promised myself I was ready for this world. But the way the plane buckled beneath me—like a dying beast—I realized I wasn’t ready for any of it.

  The aircraft lurched again. Metal screamed. The wings tilted dangerously, banking so hard I was thrown sideways, clawing for something solid. The engines rattled violently, coughing out a mechanical roar that didn’t sound like survival—it sounded like death.

  The whole plane pitched, veering off course. My grip slipped, nails tearing skin, and the world spun around me. Desperate, I caught hold of a torn seat frame and hung on with shaking arms. The vibrations traveled up my bones, threatening to rattle me apart. Through the corner of my eye, I saw a cracked window just a few feet away.

  Without thinking, I lashed out with my boot. The glass splintered, breaking into a thousand glittering fragments. A blast of air roared inside. I didn’t wait. I launched myself through the opening.

  For a split second, weightlessness. Then the real world slammed back.

  I hit the ground hard. Pain exploded across my skull, disorienting me. My vision doubled, blurred, and the earth beneath me felt like it was spinning, though I knew it was only my head. Somewhere behind me, the plane met the ground. The impact was catastrophic—metal shrieked, fire bloomed, and the earth itself seemed to tremble.

  Debris rained down, tearing the sky into jagged streaks. Shards of glass and steel pelted me, and the shockwave punched the air from my chest. I tried to move, but rubble pressed against me, burying me in a suffocating cocoon of dust and ash. I clenched my eyes shut, forcing myself not to scream as smoke invaded my lungs.

  And then—silence.

  I don’t know how long I lay there. Seconds, maybe minutes. When I finally stirred, I realized I was trapped under the wreckage. A chair pressed awkwardly against my ribs. With a groan, I shoved it aside and clawed my way out of the debris, coughing violently.

  I staggered to my feet. My body ached, but survival was the only thing I could focus on. There was one thought burning in my head like wildfire:

  The Armonk. My mission, my responsibility. If it was destroyed, then all of this was for nothing.

  I looked around. Flames licked at twisted metal, smoke poured skyward, and glass glistened across the charred field like ice. Yet, unbelievably, there was no sign of the Armonk. My heart pounded. Then—there. Off to the side, half-buried in dirt, stood the container. Untouched. Unscarred.

  Relief surged through me so fast I nearly laughed. Of course it had survived. The container was built for this, designed to resist flames, blasts, anything the world could throw at it.

  I rushed forward, sprinting through the smoke. My hands wrapped around the container’s cold edges, and I pulled it free, hugging its impossible weight to my chest.

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  The plane groaned behind me, its skeleton collapsing further in on itself. As I turned to leave, I froze.

  A sheet of wreckage shifted, scraping against metal. From the shadows beneath it, a man crawled out. His clothes were torn, his skin streaked with grime, but his smirk was unmistakable.

  Rocke.

  His face was smeared with soot, his eyes alive with hunger. He brushed himself off casually, as though he hadn’t just crawled out of a grave.

  “Hey, little fellow,” he said with a low chuckle. “We’re not finished.”

  I tightened my grip on the Armonk, my throat dry. “I sort of trusted we were.”

  He laughed again, harsher this time, and stepped forward. “Hand me the Armonk, kid. Unless you want to die right here. Doesn’t matter to me if you’re five or fifty—I’m getting that thing.”

  I swallowed hard. “Why? Why do you want it so badly?”

  He didn’t answer. His eyes never left the container, like a predator fixated on its prey. His breaths grew heavier, more feral, the sound of hunger given form.

  “Give me the Armonk,” he said again, voice shaking with greed, his hands stretched out, eager to snatch it.

  I shook my head.

  We locked eyes, and in that unspoken challenge, the field seemed to shift. The burning wreck vanished into the background. What remained was the space between us—an arena with only one prize.

  “Alright,” Rocke growled, “if it’s a fight you’re craving, I’ll oblige.”

  He launched forward. His fist crashed into my jaw, and time fractured. Sound dulled, my ears ringing as I was hurled through the air. I hit the ground, rolling painfully before skidding to a stop. The Armonk flew from my hands, tumbling across the dirt.

  Panic lanced through me.

  Rocke landed in front of me, impossibly fast. His presence was crushing, as though gravity itself bent around him. “You’re not the only one with training,” he sneered. “I know how to guide people through their powers—better than anyone. A hundred percent.”

  “Then show me,” I spat, desperate for any distraction that could buy me time.

  He grinned wickedly. “Don’t be foolish, kid. I’ll take this, and you can deal with what’s left of your plane.”

  He lunged for the Armonk. I sprinted after him, but he was quicker, his fingers closing around it with maddening ease.

  The disrespect burned hotter than the wreckage around us.

  No. I wasn’t letting him win.

  With a burst of energy, I kicked out, slamming into his stomach with enough force to knock him sprawling. He hit the dirt face-first, groaning.

  By the time he pushed himself up, I was already there, standing firm, my Perk fully ignited. Energy hummed through my veins, wrapping my skin in a tingling glow.

  One hundred versus one hundred.

  “You’re focused on the wrong things,” Rocke said, his voice low and dangerous. “Try to take me on first.”

  He swung a punch, but I ducked beneath it, the air from his fist grazing my hair.

  A growl tore from his throat as he leapt high, and I mirrored him. We collided midair, the impact cracking the earth below as we landed in a storm of dirt. He chuckled, his grin wild.

  “You think you’re fast. Presumptuous, huh?”

  “Could you shush up already?” I snapped, surprising even myself. “You talk too much.”

  I darted forward, legs blurring, body weightless. Rolling, springing, channeling every ounce of my Perk into movement. A burst of energy surged past me, colliding with Rocke in a blinding flash. Dust erupted, swallowing him whole.

  When it cleared, he was smiling. “Using my own skills against me. Impressive. But I’ve never seen someone twist their powers like that before. You’re sharper than I thought.”

  Suddenly, the plane’s wreckage shifted again—not collapsing this time, but enclosing us. Jagged metal rose around us, forming a ring, a makeshift coliseum. At its center lay the Armonk, glowing faintly in its container.

  The prize.

  I struck first, slamming my fist into his jaw. He stumbled backward, spitting blood, but charged again with renewed fury. His strikes rained down like hammers, each one narrowly avoided. My body screamed in protest, but I refused to give in.

  Finally, his guard dropped. I twisted, snapping my leg into a roundhouse kick. His knee buckled. He snarled, but before he could recover, I seized his neck, pulling him forward and throwing him bodily into the wreckage. The metal bent beneath the impact.

  “Ha,” he laughed weakly as he dragged himself up. “You’re strong. But you’re weak where it counts. The Armonk can’t be tamed. Protect it, protect your nation, but in the end—it’ll consume you.”

  My anger ignited. My hands glowed with power, shaking with raw intensity. I roared and charged, slamming a fist into his jaw so hard it rattled the very wreckage around us. Explosions bloomed outward, scattering flaming debris.

  Rocke staggered to his feet again, blood streaking down his face. His eyes blazed with fury. “Enough games. I’ll kill you.”

  He lowered his head. For a moment, he trembled, then his eyes lit up—literally. Twin beams of scarlet energy tore from them, cutting through the air.

  I barely had time to move. The lasers sliced into the wreck, detonating fuel lines. A fireball erupted, swallowing everything in a wave of searing heat.

  The blast hit me like a wall. My body spun helplessly, crashing to the ground. Pain radiated through my back, sharp and merciless. My vision flickered, fading in and out.

  I tried to rise, but my bones felt like splintered twigs. My muscles screamed with every twitch. Blood ran freely, dripping from my nose, my scalp, soaking into my shirt. It pooled beneath me, darkening the soil like an unwanted sacrifice.

  And still, Rocke stood above me, the Armonk clutched in his greedy hands, his eyes burning with power.