Chapter 1: Prologue
Elijah's heel kept up a rhythmic tap-tap-tap on the ground, like a metronome lulling him into some sort of trance. He heard echoes of his dad's voice in his head, mixed with the jabber of those lab-coat-clad scientists who'd poked and prodded at him like he was some kind of lab rat. The bench under him was as welcoming as a bed of nails, with splinters that seemed eager to say hello to his skin.
"Get your act together, Elijah," he muttered to himself, sounding half-asleep.
He finally lifted his head, catching sight of a lightbulb dangling on a wire, swinging softly. It was like the world's least enthusiastic cheerleader, casting judgmental light over him. Elijah straightened up, his back popping in protest, like someone stepping on bubble wrap. He gave his face a good, sharp slap, a wake-up call that tinged his cheeks with a sting as sweet as victory.
Shoe time. Elijah wiggled a finger into his shoe, tugging it on in a move as graceful as a cat burglar. He stood up, stretched his neck with a crack that would make a chiropractor wince, and sauntered over to a door that blinked like a faulty firefly.
Taking a deep breath, he felt his chest tighten like a coiled spring. Exhaling, his breath fogged up in front of his eyes, like his own personal misty morning.
"Alright, showtime," he declared, voice steady as a heartbeat.
He twisted the doorknob and stepped through, landing on a metal platform that felt colder than a polar bear's nose. There was this funky little blue screen on the wall, boasting a holographic palm right in the center. Elijah pressed his hand against it, and it was like a high-five from the future. The screen glowed green, and he felt like he'd just been given the green light in a race.
[Elijah Lamora: Ready]
[Isaiah Lamora: Ready]
[Initiating sparring match 3/3]
The announcement floated through the air, barely registering in Elijah's brain. He was all revved up, a mix of nerves and excitement. He'd lost round one, clinched round two, and there was no way he was letting round three slip away. The platform gave a sudden lurch, shooting upwards faster than a homesick angel. Elijah's stomach did a somersault, that all-too-familiar weirdness twisting inside him. As they reached the top, the roof peeled back, revealing the training arena he'd practically grown up in since his quirk awakened.
Elijah's eyes flicked to the men in white coats behind the glass on the second floor, tapping away on their tablets. They formed a semi-circle around a towering figure, his father, muscles bulging, arms behind his back, and eyes sharp as daggers.
"Father..." he whispered under his breath, a mix of reverence and resolve in his voice. His gaze shifted, locking onto the boy across from him—his twin brother, Isaiah, his mirror in looks but his opposite in every other way. Their quirks made them natural rivals, the perfect storm of opposing forces.
Wasting no time, Elijah burst into a sprint. His quirk, Kinetic Sync, kicked in, transforming the energy of his movement into a burst of speed. The air whipped against his face as he circled the arena, the wind growing fierce with his increasing velocity.
Isaiah watched, unphased. His quirk was a subtle but formidable force. With a thought, he altered the friction beneath Elijah's feet, turning the solid ground slick as ice. But Elijah was quick, his feet forcefully sinking into the floor, deforming it into sturdy footholds.
Isaiah's eyes turned into slits, his stance widening like he was about to take on a bull. He watched Elijah, who was moving faster than a caffeinated squirrel, and prepared for the incoming human missile.
Suddenly, Elijah launched himself like a rocket, the floor groaning under the force. Isaiah knew dodging was about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. So, he crossed his arms over his chest, bracing like a knight facing a dragon.
Crash! Elijah's fist hammered into Isaiah's arms with the wrath of a tempest. The might in his swing was more than Isaiah could handle, splitting his arms apart. But to Elijah's chagrin, his brother, as light on his feet as a feather caught in the wind, glided across the arena. The punch, mighty as it was, lost its sting, fading into nothingness against the relentless arena air – no grip, no friction, just like trying to catch a cloud.
Elijah landed with a thud, his face a mix of confusion and frustration as he watched his brother slide to a stop unscathed. He clicked his tongue, crouched, and took another flying leap at Isaiah.
"Nope," Isaiah whispered, as calm as a librarian, when Elijah's fist came within a hair's breadth of his face, only to stop short. The sound was piercing however, like the tolling of a grand cathedral bell as his punch collided with a wall of air as tough as brick. Isaiah ducked, spun around like a dancer, and sent Elijah flying with a kick, turning him into a human hockey puck.
Elijah ended his unexpected slide by crashing into the wall, yet not a scratch on him. He punched the ground in frustration, leaving a dent as a souvenir. He eyed Isaiah, who was wiping a sweat droplet off his face as casually as if he was swatting a fly.
"Cheap tricks!" Elijah shouted, his voice echoing around like he was announcing a sale.
Isaiah just grinned, the corners of his mouth turning up like he was in on a private joke. "Hey, surrender now, and I'll sweeten the deal with a banana," he teased, his voice dripping with as much sarcasm as a melting ice cream cone.
Elijah's fingers clawed at the floor, scraping up a fistful of metal shavings. Like an angry ape, he squished them into a dense, softball-sized orb. "Hey, catch this, you goon!" he snarled. The air crackled with a mini-thunderclap as the metal missile blitzed toward his brother. Elijah didn't hang around to admire his handiwork; he bolted into a full-on sprint, eager for round two.
Isaiah blinked, goon? He couldn't understand the insult and just flicked his wrist. The hurtling sphere of doom turned into a lazy, floating blob of metal, landing as gently as a butterfly in his palm. He juggled it a bit, showing off, then—zap!—the ball split into a zillion tiny shards. He gave a nonchalant wave of his hand, and those metal bits shot back at Elijah like a swarm of angry bees.
Yet Elijah just bulldozed through them, unbothered, already up close and personal. His fist coiled back, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated rage.
"Crumble!" he shouted.
Boom! His fist hammered into nothing again. Elijah's roars echoed through the arena, each punch thrown with twice the power of the last. The very ground trembled, mirroring Isaiah's quaking body, drenched in sweat, gasping for air. He could feel it, each one of those blows seemed to chip away at his stamina, like a chisel to a block of ice. It took a lot of energy and concentration to increase the friction between air molecules, creating the invisible wall that was currently saving him.
Then, crash! Elijah's fist broke through the barrier, a gust of wind messing up Isaiah's hair like he'd stuck a fork in a socket. his eyes popped wide open, and he backpedaled so fast he almost tripped over his own feet, his back smacking into the wall.
Elijah, not one to miss a beat, leapt like a crazed lion. Isaiah, nimble as a cat, cartwheeled up the wall, his hands and feet sticking to the surface like glue. From his vertical vantage point, he watched Elijah slam into the wall, the metallic clang ringing out like a gong of defeat.
Isaiah could feel the odds stacked against him. His quirk, while handy in most situations, was like a battery charger for his brother. Every time he rubbed atoms together, or affect him with his quirk, Elijah would soak up that kinetic energy like a sponge, powering up his body.
Just as Isaiah was contemplating his next move, Elijah exploded out of the dust cloud, scaling the wall like some kind of hypercharged spider-monkey. His fists pounded into the concrete, sending tremors through the structure. Isaiah couldn't help but mutter under his breath, "Typical Elijah."
With a quick pivot, Isaiah sprinted up the wall, defying gravity in a way that would make a physics professor weep. But Elijah was right on his tail, a roaring mass of energy. Isaiah dodged a punch that came way too close for comfort, shattering the wall where his head had been seconds before.
They were a mere meter apart, locked in this dance of destruction, when suddenly, a buzzer rang through the arena, slicing through the chaos like a knife. Both brothers froze, mid-battle, the sound halting their epic showdown as effectively as a command from their mom.
[Battle result: Draw]
The words from the mechanical voice hit the brothers like a bucket of ice water, jolting them as they gawked at the glowing yellow script dancing across the massive screen. Their breaths were ragged symphonies in their ears, while Isaiah's quirk allowed them to glide down the wall.
In a moment of silent understanding, they faced each other, their eyes locked. Neither wanted to call it quits, not when they still had fire in their bellies, fuel for the fight. That's when their faces cracked into broad grins, as spontaneous as a thunderclap. Their fists met in a bump, before they both promptly toppled over, landing on their behinds. Fatigue washed over them like a tidal wave, leaving them drenched in both sweat and satisfaction.
Then, out of nowhere, a deep, baritone voice echoed through the speakers, turning their heads toward the viewing gallery as if they were marionettes on strings. "Well done, both of you. You've sprouted up like beanstalks - stronger, smarter. I'm beaming with pride here," their father's voice drawled, each word a pat on the back, making the boys' smiles stretch even wider.
"Hit the showers, get changed into something fresh, and then hustle up here," he instructed before vanishing from sight behind the glass.
Their spirits soared like fireworks, anticipation bubbling inside. Scrambling to get up, they stumbled forward, their legs feeling like overcooked spaghetti, as they navigated towards the towering blast doors beneath the observation deck. The doors parted with a whispering whoosh, revealing their attendants, armed with towels and a refreshing drink, who hustled them into their quarters for a quick change.
In no time, they were clambering up the steps, each breath a battle, as they wobbled towards the hefty oak door of the viewing gallery. Hesitating for a shared breath, they pushed open the door, stepping into a world humming with the soft sounds of shuffling feet and the swish of fabric. There, in the heart of the room, lounged their father, perched by a line of sofas. His eyes were fixed on the screen replaying their latest skirmish, his hand occasionally wandering to his beard, a proud smile playing on his lips.
"Come, take a seat," he beckoned, eyes still riveted to the screen. They settled themselves on either side of him, the sense of accomplishment mingling with exhaustion. With a casual flick of the remote, he froze the scene on the screen, the moment suspended in time.
"Elijah, Isaiah," he began, his voice steady and encouraging, "today, you both showed great understanding of your quirks, but there's always room to grow, especially at your age."
He pointed to the screen where Elijah was using his Kinetic Sync. "Elijah, your ability to absorb kinetic energy and transform it into speed and strength is improving steadily. You've succeeded at using the environment to your advantage." He rewound the fight to the moment when Elijah used his strength to create footholds in the floor, circumventing his brother's attack.
"But remember, your quirk depends on the energy around you. In a place with less movement, you need to be more strategic. And always be mindful of controlling your momentum. High speeds can be as much a liability as an asset if not handled correctly." He sped the clip up, pausing it when Elijah collided against the wall. The boy scratched his head shyly, causing his father and brother to laugh.
Turning his attention to Isaiah, he continued, "Isaiah, your control over friction is a powerful tool. You've learned to manipulate your surroundings in creative ways, making you adaptable in many situations. However, remember the limits of your range and the toll it takes on your stamina. Using your power at a distance is effective, but it can drain you quickly. Work on managing your energy, and use your quirk tactically."
He gestured towards the screen, where a moment of Elijah breaking through Isaiah's friction barrier was frozen. "This moment here," he said, "shows both your strengths and weaknesses. Elijah, you managed to push through by exploiting your brother's lapse in concentration and dwindling stamina. Isaiah, you cleverly used your quirk to defend, but it's crucial to anticipate your opponent's resilience."
"The key," their father concluded, "is balance and understanding not just your own quirk, but each other's as well. You're both strong individually, but remember, understanding and anticipating your opponent's moves are what make you truly formidable in battle."
The twins listened intently, absorbing every word. It was then that Elijah craned his neck, peering up at his dad with those wide, curious eyes. "Hey, Dad, when's Locke getting back? Feels like brother's been gone forever," he grumbled, his voice a mix of longing and a typical ten-year-old's impatience. Isaiah, his ever-enthusiastic sidekick, bobbed his head in eager agreement, sending their father's hand into a playful tousle of their hair.
"Locke's off in Rome, lost in his world of paints and canvases. But don't worry, he'll be home before you know it," their dad reassured them, his voice as soothing as the evening breeze.
Elijah's eyes sparkled with unbridled excitement. "Do you think he's got his quirk now?" he burst out, each word threaded with hope as bright as the stars.
Their father let out a long, weary sigh, a gentle hand finding its way to each of their small backs. The weight of their hopeful gazes seemed too much to bear. "You know quirks don't just wake up like we do in the morning," he said, a hint of melancholy in his voice.
Isaiah, ever the optimist, puffed out his chest defiantly, arms crossed. "That just means Locke's quirk will be super powerful, like those of a hero from the cartoons! Taking its time to get super strong," he declared, his cheeks ballooning with certainty. Elijah, not one to be outdone in the imagination department, nodded solemnly, the perfect echo of his brother's confidence.
Their dad stared at them, speechless for a moment, before a rumble of laughter bubbled up from his chest. He scooped them both into a bear hug, engulfing them in the warmth of his love. "You two are the best brothers anyone could ask for," he chuckled, though his eyes danced with sadness. "I bet you're right," he added, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
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