"I'm not handing him over to you, Luthor, if that's what you're angling for," I said immediately.
"Now don't be so hasty," he replied smoothly. "The back-and-forth we've done so far has worked, but moving forward, it would be more efficient to share a lab space—"
"And the subject," I finished for him.
"One does go with the other," he said with his flashiest smile. I inclined my head slightly. Charm. Does he really think that'll work on me?
"We've hit a wall with the clones," he admitted. "We can't get them to consistently express their meta-gene, and even when they do, the results are vastly different from the boys. Unless you've achieved the breakthrough you've been hoping for, closer observation is the only way."
The breakthrough he was referring to was precision gene and DNA manipulation. Luthor and I had figured out a while back that we couldn't just copy and paste the gene expression of our subjects. Variance in meta-ability expression depended on countless factors—emotions, environment, even the source of the initial trauma. There were a thousand variables, and you could never predict what you would get when you forced the body to activate the gene for the first time.
That was why I planned to edit our clones' meta-gene post-expression, shaping them so they did precisely what we wanted. As you can imagine, that level of precision editing far exceeded my current level of control, even if I could manipulate the soul.
Luthor had somehow convinced himself that he could figure out the right combination of stimuli before I achieved the breakthrough I was chasing.
He wasn't entirely wrong—but he wasn't right either. I offered a compromise. A middle ground.
"I'll send you the scans my chief of medical staff took earlier today, along with everything I have on his initial trigger event. That should give you enough to tinker with for a while."
"I would like to talk to the boy at least," Luthor pressed. I nodded.
"I'll set up a remote call, though I doubt you'll find what you're looking for—even with torture," I cautioned. Not without hurting somebody close to him. And I already held those cards. I'd had the forethought to capture his foster mother and that annoying girl he let mooch off him.
"I understand the need for caution," Luthor said, "but you can't honestly believe I'd betray you."
"You'd sell your own mother if it got you closer to gutting Superman," I said plainly, "and I'd admire that about you. I'll deliver on what I promised, and forward new requests directly to me. If a tangible need should ever arise to see him in person, I will personally bring you here."
Luthor was quiet for a beat. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were attached."
I smirked, baring sharp teeth. "Of course, I am."
The boy was the future. His body was a treasure trove. In his mind lay the secret to integrating multiple techniques without the constant adjustments and monitoring that I required. His body was by far the most versatile and resilient I had ever encountered. If I could find a way to transfer those attributes to every recruit, we'd have the forces we needed for the great ritual in no time at all.
Luthor cut the call with a small frown. Moments later, Priya walked in, dressed in black scrubs and a white lab coat, wearing the same neutral expression she always did. She hid her emotions better than most, but I could always tell what she was thinking.
"You're still angry about Lily," I said.
"Why aren't you?" she asked. "We raised her. What's the point of all of this if we can't save the people we love?"
I was upset, albeit for very different reasons. Luthor had been right in his assessment. Lily had nearly destroyed us. And my plan to realign and salvage the Light's gambit had been desperate, though well put together.
She should've isolated him with George's help. Finished it with the full brunt of her army. Instead, she let her ego speak for her.
But Priya wasn't looking for a lecture; she was here for support.
"I am angry, but I am also grateful for the gift she's given us," I said softly, cradling her face. "She brought HIM to us, and she died a warrior's death. That's all we can hope for in the end."
She pulled away. "He will never be the messiah you want him to be."
"Certainly not," I agreed, looking down at the sparring ring, "but the sorcerers we make from his corpse will be. Imagine it, Priya. An entire army of sorcerers like him—able to hold multiple techniques, bounce back from any wound, poison, or affliction, ever-growing, ever-evolving. The world we're working toward is not so far away now."
Julius's POV
"Connie!" Ade yelled over his shoulder. "You're up."
The buff soldier woman stepped forward, escorted by cheers and claps. They had all wanted this, but she had been chosen. The rest of the sorcerers filed out of the ring, giving us a wide berth; only Ade remained.
"Hold nothing back. Remember, he can heal, you can't," he warned, then flickered away in a blur of movement so fast I barely caught the end of it.
To move so fast and so silently… Ade was the real deal, but he was no sorcerer—
Connie exploded forward, Curse Energy gushing through her inhumanly athletic body. One second, she was across the ring, the next she was slicing down with her dagger. I twisted just in time, calling on my own Curse Energy and retaliating with a burst of Overdrive, my knee pistoning into her chest.
Her arms came up in time, nullifying most of the impact by packing them full of Curse Energy. She shifted back a fraction, wide enough of an opening for me. I twisted, knee whipping back, and threw a feinted hook with Overdrive, forcing her to open her guard. My uppercut nailed her chin, snapping her head back and thoroughly shattering her stance.
She hopped back and slashed, trying to force distance between us, but I followed, palm meeting the flat of her blade with an absolute glut of Curse Energy channeled into it. I stole the blade with a flash of Curse Inventory and kicked her midsection, folding her in half. She slammed against the border of the arena with a loud crunch, cracking the wall, her body already swelling and shifting.
Two small horns emerged on her forehead, and she grew another foot in height. Her skin thickened and bulged as her muscles expanded and bones stretched. Her eyes glowed red, and she exploded forward, moving nearly twice as fast as before—but still nowhere near fast enough.
My base agility was well over 200, stacked on top of the 500% multiplier Cursed Reinforcement gave me. I could probably dodge her blindfolded. Her next few attacks were wild—claw strikes flowing into one another, each finger lined with a technique I couldn't quite make out.
I went low when she drove a spinning kick at my head after a particularly tricky feint, sweeping her off her feet the moment she landed. She collapsed, swiping at my forearm. Despite my reinforcement, her index and middle fingers cut deep enough to touch bone while the others barely pierced skin. I nailed her in the stomach, but she rolled with it, popping back up. I didn't immediately heal the wound, staring and thinking.
This was why I was here after all. To learn and replicate.
"Your technique. What's it called?" I asked.
"Ratio," she grunted. "I can only cut along a certain ratio on any surface I attack. Seven to three. If I had hit you with my dagger instead, you would've lost an arm to that strike."
Her Curse Energy flow spiked slightly, raising her overall output. She was revealing her hand to gain an advantage for the rest of the fight.
"How about you?" she asked, eyeing my wound. "Something wrong with your healing technique?"
"I'm fine," I said, surging forward with a fist.
She swatted it aside and slashed for my neck. I ducked and nailed her knee, destabilizing her stance. I feinted a punch but snapped out a push kick instead. She guessed right this time, catching it with one arm and swiping at my ankle. I raised it in time, wrapping it around her head and yanking her into a headlock before spinning and jettisoning her away.
We reset and went at it again—but this time, I let her hit me.
I took twelve more scratches, each one deepening my understanding of her technique. My torso was always spared, but my hands, lower abdomen, ankles, and even my neck were repeatedly slashed. I healed just enough not to bleed out and continued our contentious match.
The fight became interesting when she pulled out a simple domain and blurred briefly, nearly taking my head off. But I spiked my perception with Overdrive, buried her own knife in her gut, and wrenched her into the air and slammed her hard enough into the arena floor that it cracked.
I knocked her out with a stomp to the jaw, Overdrive flashing as I healed my wounds.
Connie had been better than Ernest, but only just. The fight would've been over much faster if I had Inverse to handle defense, but I was satisfied overall. I also got my first crack at copying a technique.
Copy told me I was about thirty percent through.
Cracking my neck, I looked to the orbiting sorcerers. They seemed at least impressed—or satisfied that they'd figured me out.
I was going to prove them all wrong, Artisan especially. I looked up, past the sorcerers, to an office with mirrored windows, and narrowed my eyes.
I knew she was watching.
Read ahead on Patreon.com/artandcreativewriting. Read up to Chapter 103