Want to read ahead? Read for free on RoyalRoad.com
And search: MOBA System
Down at the Underground Leaderboard, Ryker sat in front of River and Torvin, defeated. A recording of the match played on the wall for everyone to see — already looping back to the start before anyone asked it to.
"You've dropped in ranking," River said.
Ryker smacked his lips. Said nothing.
Ryker's teammate had recorded the whole match, and now River sat with his arms crossed, watching the replay frame by frame. On screen, Landen fought like something that had escaped containment — wild punches, no rhythm, no setup, just forward momentum and bad intentions. The headbutt was the worst of it: no windup anyone could read, just a sudden lunge and then Ryker folding.
River understood, watching it, why Landen had shown up to orientation in a red jumpsuit. It wasn't a costume. It was necessary.
They replayed the first headbutt. Then again. Then a third time, slowed down, frame-stepped through the windup.
"Whatever you do," Ryker muttered, rubbing his head like the memory of it still hurt, "avoid that head."
Over and over they played it. River leaned closer to the screen each time, like proximity would reveal something the footage wasn't giving him.
"This video is useless," River finally said.
Everyone looked at him.
"I have no idea what his abilities are." He turned to Ryker. "There's no proc animation. No cooldown tell. No cast time. Just—" he gestured at the frozen frame of Ryker mid-flinch, "—chaos."
Ryker gestured at the playback like the answer was painted on the wall. "It's the headbutt," he said, as if it were obvious. As if River were the slow one in the room.
River gave him a seriously? stare. "You really think the headbutt is his main ability?"
Ryker stood up too fast, chair scraping. "Are we not watching the same footage here? Just look at this." He replayed the hit one more time — Landen's skull connecting, Ryker crumpling. "Well, if you don't believe me, go experience it yourself. Be my guest."
Torvin, silent until now, snorted from the corner.
River didn't laugh. He turned back to the screen and watched it again, in silence, eyes narrowed, jaw tight.
I need more data.
— — —
Back above ground, Maledic and Landen stood outside a door labeled Fitness Center — Room 523.
The moment it slid open, sound hit them first — clanging metal, grunts, the hiss of something hydraulic resetting itself. The room was bright, loud, and packed wall to wall with machines Landen didn't recognize. A large, muscular boy strained against a cable stack loaded with what looked like nothing more than a column of coins. A few feet away, a broad-shouldered girl stood in front of a mirror, curling a bar that appeared completely empty — and grimacing like it weighed a hundred pounds.
Everywhere Landen looked, someone was straining against what looked like nothing at all.
Maledic scanned his wrist at the gate. A red light flashed and a loud BING! rang out.
Landen followed suit — except his light flashed blue, accompanied by a flat, deflating BUZZ.
Heads turned. Then came a heavy set of footsteps, stomping closer until a large, older man planted himself in front of them. White hair cropped into a flat-top, a trimmed goatee, muscles straining against a green tank top and matching pants. The tag around his neck read Professor Garrick Drex.
He looked Landen up and down. "Civilian. What are you doing in here?"
"Here to train, sir," Maledic said.
Drex kicked him in the chest without even glancing his way. Maledic hit the wall behind them with a dull thud. "I didn't ask you." His eyes never left Landen.
Landen gave a confident smile, like he hadn't just watched his roommate get launched across the room. "Training, sir."
Drex stared at him, unconvinced. Landen stared back, refusing to blink first. "What team are you two from?"
"Halvek, sir," Maledic answered, already crawling back to his feet.
"Halvek." Drex said it like the word left a bad taste. "Well. Supporter roles are not welcome here."
Landen's smile thinned into something sharper. "I'm not a supporter. Sir."
"Oh? That's not what the database just displayed."
"The database's wrong."
Drex's nose tilted up, sizing him up all over again. "That so." A faint, dangerous smile crept in. Then, without warning, he grabbed Landen by the collar and lifted him clean off the ground. "Prove it."
He turned, still holding Landen aloft, and called out to a blonde boy stripping weight rings off a bench press. "Hero! These two are jumping in on your set."
Drex's voice cut through the noise of the room, and one by one, heads turned. Students stopped mid-rep and began to gather. Everyone knew what was about to happen. Another Initiation.
Hero stood over the two of them, a full head taller than either. Handsome in the obvious way, the kind of build that came with zero trouble finding a date. His tank top stretched tight across a chest that had clearly never skipped a session. "A couple newbies, huh?" He smiled like he already liked them. "Alright. Let's see what we're working with."
Drex looked down at Maledic, studying him now instead of Landen. "Maledic Thorne. Top score on the freshman strength test, wasn't it?" He tapped the bar twice. "You're up first."
As Maledic took off his jacket, Drex had a few students change out the weight. They twisted off both ends to reveal a thin core threaded with rings the size of large coins. The metal rings were pitch-black, almost wrong to look at — they seemed to swallow the light around their edges rather than reflect it. Using a hooked tool, two boys lifted more rings from a rack and slid them on, one at a time.
Landen leaned toward Maledic, voice low. "Those little things are the weights?"
"Forty-five pounds a ring."
Landen's eyes went wide. "Forty-five? Each?"
Maledic nodded, like that was a normal thing to say out loud. "Singularium. 12,901 grams per cubic centimeter — 1,654 times denser than steel. Yield strength's north of 145,000 megapascal. 180 times stronger than high-strength battlefield steel and more than double the structural limits of solid diamond."
"...Okay. So it's heavy. You could've just said heavy."
"How many rings stacked on?" Drex asked.
"Five."
Landen did the math. "Five rings — that's—"
"495 lbs," Maledic answered, unfazed, and pulled his shirt off.
A few people gasped.
His body was carved in a way that looked almost unfair — a V-taper with wide shoulders and upper back. Tiny, blockless waist. Symmetrically balanced in every way. He walked confidently past Landen. "Watch and learn, brother."
He lay back. Hero took the spotter position behind the bar.
"Stand back," Maledic told him. "Nobody touches this bar but me."
The room had gone quiet by then; everyone gathered in close. Drex stood with his arms crossed, chin lifted, unreadable. Landen rubbed his chin, not the least bit worried for his friend.
Maledic lifted the bar without a sound — not even a ring of metal as it left the rack. Down to his chest. Up. Down. Up. Twelve reps, smooth and controlled, like the weight wasn't there at all. He set it back exactly as quietly as he'd picked it up.
A murmur rippled through the crowd, equal parts disbelief and respect.
Drex didn't look impressed. "Fine." His eyes shifted to Landen. "You're next."
As Landen shrugged off his jacket, Maledic crouched beside him, talking fast. "Center the bar over your head when you lie down. Elbows out, not in. Lower it to the bottom of your rib cage — not your throat, not your stomach."
"Bottom of the rib cage. Got it."
Drex studied him, arms still crossed. "You ever done this before?"
"No."
"Good. Less to unlearn." He nodded at the rack. "Strip it. We're ramping to max."
Landen lay back on the bench and repeated the instructions in his head like a mantra. Elbows out. Bottom of the ribs. Elbows out. Bottom of the ribs. More students drifted over to watch. Maledic took position to his left, Drex to his right, and Hero settled in as spotter at his head.
"A buck thirty-five, kid." Hero grinned down at him. "Should be a warmup for you."
"Should be," Landen muttered. "Never lifted a bar in my life, but sure. Warmup."
Landen pressed it up. The bar wobbled — forward, back, left, right — before dropping straight onto his chest with a hollow whump.
It just sat there.
"Come on! Push it!" Hero barked.
It became a race between his own arms. Left side crept up first. Then the right caught up and passed it. Then the left again, fighting back.
"Ooooo — one!" Landen yelled, racking the bar like he'd just won a championship. "Did you see that? I did it!"
Drex shook his head. "Don't get excited. We're not done."
One fifty-five came next. Same pattern — wobble, drop, the slow tug-of-war back up. One!
"You good?" Maledic asked under his breath.
"Never better." Landen's voice cracked halfway through the sentence.
One seventy-five. Then one ninety-five, which took everything he had, but it went up.
Then, finally, two fifteen.
"No," Drex said. "Next is two thirty-five."
A few students exchanged glances. Even Hero's grin faltered. "You sure, Professor? That's a big jump from—"
"Move," Drex walked around to the back of the bench. "This one's mine."
"Professor?"
"I said — move."
Landen looked up and found Drex's eyes locked on his, like the man was trying to send him a message through pure stare alone. Then —
"Go."
The bar barely cleared the rack before his arms started shaking.
"Control it," Maledic said.
"You've got this," Hero added, quieter than before.
The bar touched his chest. And then —
"Grrraahhh!"
Nothing moved. His arms shook harder, teeth grinding, face flushing red.
"Come on!" Hero shouted. "Push!"
Still nothing. Drex stood behind him, arms crossed, face unchanged.
Hero and Maledic both shot him a look, equal parts confused and alarmed.
The bar didn't budge. "Drex, he's not—" Hero started.
Drex only glared back. Said nothing.
Maledic stepped in to grab the bar. "DON'T!" Drex snapped, cutting him off without even looking. "Nobody touches this bar but him."
Landen's face had started turning a faint shade of blue, arms trembling so hard they blurred.
"LANDEN!Level up. Now!" Maledic's voice cracked through the noise like a whip.
Then something shifted like a wave of energy rolling through him from somewhere he couldn't name. A sound that tore out of him—a breath, like something breaking loose.
The bar climbed an inch.
"There it is! Come on, Landen!" Hero yelled.
A second sound followed the first, lower this time, dragged up from somewhere in his chest — less noise, more force given a voice.
Other students started joining in, the chant spreading through the room like fire catching dry grass.
"LET'S GO!"
"GET IT!"
"UUUGH—!"
Inch by inch, the bar kept climbing. Being dragged up through sheer collective will.
Landen screamed. It started as a gasp and built into a deafening, continuous wail that filled the entire room.
"AAAHHHHHH! Oooooooo — ONE!!!!!!"
The room erupted. Students swarmed him, slapping his shoulders, shouting over each other in celebration.
But Drex silenced it. He pushed everyone back, grabbed Landen by the head, and threw him toward the exit. Then, without a single word, he walked off.
Landen hit the floor with a thump and slowly pushed himself up, arms hanging limp at his sides like they were dead. "...I didn't pass?"
"Actually, you did." Hero jogged over, still grinning. "Trust me — if you'd failed, you'd have gone through that door, not just toward it. You're in."
Want to read ahead? Read for free on RoyalRoad.com
And search: MOBA System