With Corpse Control burning through his veins, Julian's vision split. Threads of will stretched outward—Felix on his right, Ricky on his left. Puppets? No. Partners, bound by the same pulse.
The ball rolled at his feet.
Tap—Julian to Felix.
Tap—Felix back to Julian.
Tap—Julian to Ricky.
The rhythm built, seamless. The passes weren't just quick—they were unnatural. Julian's feet moved, but so did theirs, perfectly timed, like a single body stretched across three players.
He drove a pass into empty space—no one there.
But Ricky appeared, cutting in like Julian's shadow had pulled him forward.
One glance, one flick of the boot—Ricky's long pass bent through the air.
Felix caught it on the run. He never even looked up, never even adjusted. It was as if another set of eyes whispered the ball's path into his soul.
Riverside flinched.
Silas's calm cracked, his head snapping from one link to the next.
