[Combat Projection Trial A commencing.]
Lightning stirred beneath Izumi's skin again, faint and restless.
The first projection rushed forward. He moved before it even completed the step — heel sparking as he shifted direction.
Elbow strike. A sharp crack. The projection shattered into static and dispersed.
Two more appeared.
Izumi pivoted, swept one's leg, and slammed a current through his forearm into its chest. It dissolved in a burst of blue motes.
He kept the rhythm — fluid, fast, controlled. Every movement was deliberate, precise.
For the next hour, he fought bare-handed, focusing only on form and timing — using electricity to enhance impact rather than dominate the fight. Each strike carried a small burst of current, enough to disperse the projections without exhausting his reserves.
When the hour passed, he changed approach.
Lightning spread across his body in branching arcs, wrapping him in a faint blue-white glow. His speed spiked instantly — a blur across the dome.
In response, AURA adjusted the projections' parameters. Their speed matched his, forcing the system into overdrive.
The battle turned into a storm of motion and light.
Every impact rang with a sonic boom, followed by an explosion of lightning and dissolving motes. From outside, it would've looked like a storm trapped within glass — streaks of lightning twisting and colliding with blue flashes in constant rhythm.
An hour later, the chaos began to settle.
Izumi slowed his movements. The arcs around his body dimmed, fading from his skin until they vanished entirely. His breathing steadied as he shifted into a slower stance.
The projections mirrored his change in pace, returning to their baseline speed — still randomized, still armed with unique abilities.
Then, from the edges of the dome, several panels opened.
Dozens — maybe hundreds — of small autonomous units rose into the air, their spherical bodies whirring with faint blue light. They darted toward the projections. Upon contact, each drone merged seamlessly into the hard-light form, embedding itself within.
Moments later, the projections stabilized — no longer hollow light constructs, but semi-solid targets. Tiny drones pulsed through their bodies like mechanical blood cells, reinforcing their structure and allowing physical resistance.
Izumi tilted his head slightly and let out a low chuckle.
"The R&D department really outdid themselves this time."
[I agree.]
AURA's calm voice echoed overhead.
The projections turned toward him again — this time moving with unsettling realism. Their steps had weight now, each motion balanced by the drones flowing within their bodies.
Izumi's expression settled. He drew in a slow breath and lowered his stance — quiet, centred. No sparks this time. Just focus.
The first projection lunged, its arm expanding mid-swing. He pivoted to the right, feeling the gust of air brush past his cheek, then drove a clean right hook into its face. His knuckles hit something solid — the internal drone that had shifted there to brace the strike. The impact jarred his wrist, but the projection staggered, lost balance, and fell.
He moved to follow through, but heat flared at the edge of his vision. Without hesitation, Izumi dropped flat onto the ground as a torrent of flame roared over him, washing the air in a dry hiss. The temperature bit into his skin.
He rolled once, fluid and fast, rising into a crouch.
The flame user was still exhaling its attack — a mistake. Izumi darted forward, low and fast. His shoulder dipped as he slipped past the tail end of the flames, then he drove a roundhouse kick into the projection's midsection. The hit landed clean — a sharp, satisfying thud — folding the target before it collapsed in a burst of blue haze.
He didn't pause. Another projection came at him — this one armed with a blade of compressed light. Izumi stepped inside the swing, slammed his forearm against the opponent's wrist, and twisted. The weapon flickered out as he struck the solar plexus with a short elbow. The projection's body folded, its internal drones sputtering before scattering.
Every movement was sharp and deliberate.
His breathing steady. His rhythm tight.
No wasted motion. No lightning. Just instinct, muscle, and timing.
A projection with reinforced arms charged him next — heavier than the rest. He ducked low, swept its front leg, and caught its shoulder as it fell. He used the momentum to flip it over, slamming it down hard. The embedded drones whirred, trying to stabilize it, but Izumi was already moving again — picking up a cracked rotor that had rolled near his foot.
He turned it once in his hand, gauging its weight.
When the next opponent lunged, he met it halfway and struck the side of its head with the rotor's blunt edge. A sharp metallic crunch. The projection froze mid-motion before shattering into blue fragments.
Two more followed.
He blocked the first's jab, countered with a left cross, ducked beneath a sweeping kick, and kicked the second in the ribs, sending it stumbling back. His forearms burned. His knuckles were raw. But his focus never wavered.
The dome became a blur of motion — bodies striking, breaking, reforming. Izumi adapted to every rhythm, every angle. He fought using everything the environment offered — drones, debris, even the broken plating beneath his feet. When one projection fell, he used its wreckage to hit another, moving with mechanical precision and raw endurance.
Minutes stretched into an hour.
The only sounds were the thuds of impact, the hum of fractured drones, and Izumi's controlled breathing.
When the last projection lunged at him, he sidestepped and brought his knee up into its chest. The impact cracked through the air, the projection collapsing in on itself. The faint light inside it flickered once, then vanished.
Silence followed.
Izumi stood still for a few seconds, shoulders rising and falling with deep, ragged breaths. Then he sat down heavily, lowering himself onto the cold floor. His legs folded naturally — feet flat, knees bent, forearms resting loosely on his thighs.
All around him lay the wreckage of what had once been hundreds of drones — shattered casings, loose rotors, fractured lenses. The faint blue light of destroyed projections hovered in the air like fireflies before fading one by one.
His chest rose sharply as he exhaled, trying to steady the rhythm of his breathing. Every muscle burned, the dull ache settling deep in his limbs. Steam drifted off his skin, caught in the dim glow of the dome's recovery lights.
For the first time in hours, the space was still.
AURA's voice resonated through the dome, steady and clinical.
[Combat Projection Trial A: Analysis complete.]
[Phase One – Impact Discharge Combat]
Duration: 63 minutes
Eliminations: 118 projections
Neural synchronization: 59.8% → 62.4%
Assessment: Precision stable. Energy expenditure minimal.
[Phase Two – Full-Body Augmentation]
Duration: 58 minutes
Peak speed: Mach 7.2
Stable operational speed: Mach 5.8
Eliminations: 153
Neural synchronization: 62.4% → 65.1%
Assessment: Output exceptional. Physical strain reached warning levels.
[Phase Three – Quirk Less Combat]
Duration: 61 minutes
Neutralizations: 114 projections, 318 drone cores
Average reaction time: 0.07 seconds
Muscular fatigue: 88%
Assessment: Technique exceeded human parameter models. Endurance depletion near limit.
AURA concluded:
[Total duration: 3 hours 2 minutes. Overall efficiency rating: A-minus. Electrical reserves: 19%. Recommendation: Terminate training and begin recovery protocol.]
AURA's last line faded into the quiet.
[I recommend taking a break.]
Izumi nodded once, slow. "Yes. I will."
He pushed himself up, legs stiff from the long session and made his way toward the resting area. The chest plate clicked free from his sternum; he set it aside and opened his training bag. Soft steam drifted out of the food containers his mother had packed.
Rice. Chicken. Vegetables.
Still warm.
He sat on the floor, leaning back against the edge of the bench, breathing evening out as he began to eat. The silence after hours of constant motion felt almost heavy — but comforting. The dome's hum settled into the background, steady and faint.
AURA spoke.
[Current neural synchronization improved by 0.6 percent since last calibration.]
Izumi nodded between bites. "We're still a long way from the goal."
He kept eating, letting the warmth of the food settle into his body. His limbs felt heavy — not painful, just used. Earned. AURA monitored in silence until Izumi spoke again.
"We'll have to change the schedule soon," he said, tone quiet, thoughtful. "Once U.A. starts… time won't be this flexible."
AURA responded immediately.
[Adjustments can be made. Morning sessions shortened. Evening sessions optimized. Academic load accounted for.]
Izumi took a slow sip of water. "It won't just be academics. Training with others… it changes the pace. The environment. The expectations."
[Noted. Social variables increased. Unpredictability expected. This may hinder or accelerate progress depending on circumstances.]
Izumi huffed softly through his nose. Not quite amusement. Not annoyance either. "It'll accelerate it. It has to."
He finished the last of his meal and leaned his head back against the bench, eyes closing for a moment. Muscles loosening. Breath steady. The quiet inside the dome didn't feel empty — it felt earned.
Over the next hour, he stretched, rehydrated, and worked through the tension in his arms and legs. Pressure points. Slow movements. Rest where he needed it. By the time he stood again, the fatigue had settled into something steady and manageable.
He picked up the chest plate, wiped off a few spots of dried sweat, and clipped it back into place. The sternum-lock clicked with a sharp metallic snap.
Izumi walked back toward the centre of the dome.
"Load emitter sequence."
[Loading Emitter Trial Sequence.]
The dome lights dimmed in preparation, casting long shadows across the floor.
Across the dome, groups of conductive pillars rise from the floor — tall, uneven, arranged like a metallic forest. Their surfaces gleam faintly, already warmed by residual energy from earlier tests.
Izumi rolls his shoulders, steps forward, and extends his right hand.
The air vibrates. A low hum builds around his palm as current gathers.
The first bolt cuts through the nearest pillar like a white spear.
It strikes dead centre — the metal glows orange, softens, then dims.
Izumi doesn't pause.
Another bolt.
Another.
Different angles. Different distances. Each one clean. Precise. Purposeful.
He pauses as lightning begins to swirl in front of his palm, tightening into a spinning point of white-blue light. The hum grows sharper. The air thins.
A heartbeat later —
A compressed blast erupts outward.
The shockwave tears across the dome, punching through rows of pillars. Lightning crawls over the metal like living veins, conducting deep into their cores, making the entire structure shudder under the load. Some pillars vibrate so violently their bases grind against the floor, spraying sparks.
The blast dissipates — only for dozens of small, concentrated lightning orbs to flicker into existence within the horde of pillars. They glow like unstable stars, each one pulsing irregularly.
A split second later, they detonate.
A chain reaction of white-blue explosions ripples through the field, the force bending metal, bending supports, and warping entire pillars sideways. Some tear clean in half; others bow under the violent discharge like softened steel.
Izumi lifts his left hand.
Lightning forms between his palms as he brings both hands close to his chest. At first the mass is stable — a contained sphere of spinning light — but as it grows, the lightning begins to twist violently, threads snapping out in unpredictable directions. The air cracks loudly around him.
He shifts his left hand outward and grabs the unstable mass with his right. The sphere folds in on itself.
A second passes—
Izumi opens his palm.
The lightning vanishes.
Completely.
No sound. No residue. As if it had never existed.
He stares at his hand for a brief moment… then flicks his wrist toward a pillar.
A needle-thin streak of white lightning — almost invisible — shoots forward and connects.
The pillar obliterates instantly, split perfectly down the middle. Both halves slide apart, then slam violently into the pillars behind them, crashing through the formation with enough force to send echoes through the dome.
Izumi lowers his hand, breath steadying.
Across the field, an entire clump of pillars suddenly ignites with a net of branching lightning.
Blue-white arcs blanket them like roots spreading over soil.
The net holds for several seconds, sizzling softly… and then dissolves into the air with a faint whisper.
The smell of ozone thickens around him. His breathing grows uneven.
"This is… going to cause a lot of damage," he murmurs. "I apologise, AURA."
He raises both hands to his sides.
Lightning surges up his legs, across his torso, winding around him in spirals like coiling serpents. It avoids his head but covers everything else — a moving lattice of crackling light. The arcs grow brighter, sharper, louder.
Seconds pass.
The lightning intensifies — then begins pulling toward his arms, drawn inward like a tide reversing. Soon his arms are almost completely obscured, swallowed in a mass of violent white-blue current.
The build up peaks.
A multi-layered beam of lightning erupts from both hands — not a single trail, but dozens of intertwined streams coiling around one another as they blast forward.
The beam hits the pillars in less than a blink.
A thunderous detonation follows.
The shockwave sends a wall of light across his vision — everything goes white.
For several seconds there is only ringing silence.
Izumi blinks as his sight returns in fragments. Slowly, the devastation reveals itself:
— Pillars sheared clean off
— Others bent backwards against the walls
— Several blown across the dome entirely
— Metal warped into unrecognizable shapes
— Scorch marks spiderwebbing across the ground
Pieces still fall from above, clattering across the floor.
He waits for the dust to settle, then turns and walks toward the resting area. His steps are slower now, fatigue setting into his shoulders. He sits on the bench and leans forward, hands on his knees, regulating his breathing.
His chest rises and falls unevenly; each exhale laced with the faint crackle of dissipating charge.
AURA speaks.
[Your apology was appropriate. Structural damage to the emitter zone has increased by 38 percent.]
Izumi lets out a quiet chuckle under his breath.
AURA processed in silence for a moment before speaking.
[Emitter Trial Sequence: complete.]