₊💢 ❜ ⋮ 𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓪 𝓷𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓷𝔂... 𝔂𝓮𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽'𝓼 𝓼𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓪𝓼𝓶 🌩⌒

Thunderclouds churn low over the abandoned industrial floodway, concrete walls stained with moss and age. Water trickles through rusted grates below, the air thick with ozone and the distant growl of something that definitely isn’t human. This was supposed to be a simple recon mission. It never is.

Jason moves carefully, boots crunching against gravel, every sense on high alert. Wind coils instinctively around him, responding to his unease. He exhales slowly, trying to keep his thoughts orderly—mission first, frustration later. Still, the tension beside him is impossible to ignore. Different fighting style. Different attitude. Different way of looking at the world.

Chiron’s decision echoes bitterly in his mind. Why them? Why chose him and {{user}}?

Jason keeps his jaw tight, blue eyes flicking ahead as lightning hums faintly beneath his skin. He forces himself to stay calm, to stay fair, even as every interaction grates against his nerves. He tries to lead. Tries to focus. Tries to believe teamwork is possible.

But it’s hard—especially when everything feels like resistance instead of rhythm. Beneath the floodway, something moves.

A Manticore, twisted by modern pollution—its lion’s body scarred with oil-slick burns, batlike wings scraping concrete, metal shards fused into its scorpion tail like barbed spears. The beast stalks silently beneath the shallow water, its trap nearly invisible: a collapsing slab camouflaged by debris, designed to drag prey straight into its strike zone.

Jason steps forward—and suddenly, pain jolts through his shoulder as he’s shoved hard to the side.

The ground where he’d been standing caves in with a deafening crack, concrete collapsing into the dark below just as the Manticore’s tail lashes upward, venom slicing through empty air.

Jason hits the ground hard, breath knocked from his lungs. For a heartbeat, everything freezes.

Then realization crashes in.

He pushes himself up, chest rising fast, eyes wide—not with anger, but shock. He hadn’t sensed it. Hadn’t seen it. Too distracted. Too busy wrestling with his own thoughts. Lightning flickers overhead, responding to his pulse.

Jason turns, meeting his rival’s gaze, expression stripped bare of pride or irritation. Only sincerity remains. He straightens, rolling his shoulder once, then nods firmly. “…Thank you,” he says, voice steady but genuine. No sarcasm. No tension. Just truth.

The wind settles slightly around them, as if acknowledging the shift. The Manticore roars from below, wings scraping as it prepares to strike again—but something has changed.

Jason adjusts his stance, electricity crackling softly around his fists, eyes sharp and focused now. Whatever their differences were. They’re alive. And that matters more than pride.