As he went flying for the third time, Javon had to admit that he'd been wrong about Kurt. He rolled to his feet, his hand instantly reaching up to his aching ribs, but Kurt never gave him the chance to heal himself. He was on him again in a second, launching a flurry of fierce punches. His speed and reaction time were unreal, and his strength was certainly far above the average human's, even if it wasn't quite in the same tier as a Brute's. Javon was thrown back into the wall, narrowly dodging another kick that actually dented the metal.

Yet, despite all the punishment he had been subjected to, Javon was left merely gasping for breath.

"Not bad," Kurt said. "You can really take a hit."

"Not the most flattering compliment in context, but yeah. I don't have the kind of durability Brutes have, but my endurance levels are way beyond normal. I rarely ever get tired and I can keep this up for a long time, believe me. Especially since I can just heal myself."

"I see." To Javon's immense surprise, Kurt's advance halted and he visibly relaxed. "Then I suppose simple hand-to-hand isn't going to be enough, especially seeing as you're skilled enough to keep up with me, if only barely. I guess your time here hasn't been a complete bust, after all."

Despite the fact that he was sore all over, Javon managed to fix a cocky grin in place.

"Well then, how about this?" Kurt held out his hand, and as he did so, a sheet of pale red energy rolled down his arm, covering it in what looked a glove of blazing cerise fire. The energy was rather crude-looking as opposed to the smooth, velvety look of Charlie's gauntlet, but at the same time it looked far more dangerous, especially as it ended in a point that extended three inches below his fingers.

"A sword?" Javon said, flabbergasted. "How —?"

"Healers produce a vastly different kind of energy than most energy manipulators, true, but energy is still energy. It can be honed in other ways, even transformed. If you're skilled enough."

He took off again, this time with a spurt of speed that let him reach Javon before the latter could so much as blink. A sharp punch to the chest followed by a swing of his blazing wrist and Javon was on the ground once more, his cheek hot from the sudden, searing heat that had just crossed his face.

"Don't worry, I dulled the point. The blade won't cut you but, as my sister would put it, it still burns like a bitch."

A foot reached down, kicking Javon onto his back. "Call me old-fashioned but, I want to do this the proper way. Just grabbing your chip wouldn't be as satisfying so, two choices: we fight until you can't move, or you surrender. First option's already out so — do you yield?" Kurt asked, hand poised over his supine body.

Javon glared up at him, but otherwise made no response.

"Very well. Four minutes, you know the drill."

And the hand plunged, stabbing into his stomach. It stayed there, not piercing through the skin but jabbing hard into it, searing through the cloth. Javon fought to break free from his iron grip, but soon found that he couldn't move. The heat from Kurt's hand was radiating through his body, increasing in intensity with every passing second. Within a matter of moments, sweat was pouring down his forehead and he felt as if he had just walked into a furnace. If Javon had to guess, Kurt was doing something similar to what Charlie had described his powers as: injecting his own energy into Javon's body, causing a negative interaction with his nervous system, rendering him paralyzed. He couldn't move a muscle; all he could do was stare up at the boy currently holding him down.

He fought valiantly, but his body wouldn't give an inch. Slowly, as the seconds snailed by, realization started to sink in. He had lost, in a few more minutes he would drop out of this competition. . . .

Well, if that was the case, at least he had done more than he had expected to. . . . But there was still more he could do. A new voice had reared suddenly in his mind, protesting furiously. He found, with a sudden fierceness, that he didn't want it to end, not like this. Not until the roles were reversed and he was standing over Kurt's immobile form holding his third chip. It was dangerous — so much so that if it were any other student he wouldn't have dared even consider it — but he did have one last option.

Concentrating hard on the point of his body Kurt was making contact with, Javon took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting his body do the work. He still couldn't move a muscle, but he didn't need to move to do this. . . . And then it happened: a bubble of bright green energy, simular in texture to the one currently coursing over Kurt's arm, swelled upwards, expanding over his chest.

There was a hiss of pain, then Kurt was on his feet, several feet away. His back was turned and he was clutching his arm, completely motionless.

Javon rose after a few moments, finally regaining feeling in his limbs, and smoothed out the singed hole in his shirt. Kurt stood completely still for several long seconds, and Javon stood behind him, watching. He understood the shock, understood the need to process what had happened. It was the same for him the first time he had used that power too.

When Kurt finally moved, he shifted only his head, inclining his gaze towards Javon but keeping his body facing the other end of the corridor. When he spoke, his voice was quite calm. "How did you do that?"

"Your earlier words, 'I'm not just a healer.' They also apply to me too. In your case, it's because you found a way to use your powers in an offensive manner. In mine, it's because I'm literally not just a healer. I have a second ability, completely antithetical to the first. Whereas the first lets me heal someone, the second can completely destroy cells it makes contact with, as you just saw for yourself."

"Oh yes, I certainly did," Kurt said. He finally turned around. The hand he was clutching in the other no longer held any fingers, ending instead in a blackened, shriveled stump.

"Incredible you've managed to hide such a destructive ability in all your time here." Kurt was still holding up his black, ruined hand, speaking perfectly at ease as if they were discussing this new development over lunch. From his position several feet away, Javon could see the flesh slowly extending outwards as it began to repair itself. Kurt really wasn't kidding about the scope of his abilities. Javon had never known anyone to heal from his powers so quickly.

"I've never actively tried to hide it, I just couldn't use it. Surely you can understand why. Although I have been pushed into it on occasion: once, early in the semester when we had that underground trial. I used it to deal with Professor Duncan's black slime. And another time when we were having a pool activity with Professor Elliott, trying to repel some drones. It was just a bonus that no one ever found out, which I'm glad for. Most people don't react well when they find out."

"Makes sense." Kurt finally released the useless stump of his hand, letting it fall to his side. At the same time, however, he raised his other. "Must be hard, having an ability so powerful, yet forced to conceal it lest you hurt someone beyond conceivable repair. Branded all the time as 'useless' when you could easily defeat half the class."

"I'm used to it." Javon shrugged.

Kurt didn't seem to have a response to that, he merely narrowed his eyes. The earlier blaze of energy coated his arm, extending in an even longer arch, and taking a more defined shape as a blade.

"I was taking it easy on you. I can see now that that was foolish on my part, and I imagine a bit insulting to you. But now I know exactly how dangerous you are, and I certainly won't make that mistake again."

He was off like a rocket, barreling down the hallway towards him, the blazing arc of his left hand throwing shimmering light on the walls. Javon didn't move to dodge; for one, Kurt was far too fast for that to be an option. And for another, he didn't want to. He needed Kurt to come closer, that was the only way he could hit him. It meant getting hit himself, of course, but he could definitely take a few punches if it ultimately ended in victory. Kurt, however, seemed to have taken precautions against this. Just before he could reach within arm's reach, he veered to the left, striking out with his glowing arm. Javon tried to react, but he was still too slow. The blade nipped at his arm, sending droplets of blood spattering onto the floor.

He really was serious; the cutting power of the blade had increased tenfold. Biting back the scream of pain threatening to burst from his mouth, Javon tried to reorient himself, preparing for the final phase of this battle.

He threw an obviously telegraphed punch that was so easy to read Kurt might have considered it insulting, but it was merely a ploy to conceal the second, much fiercer punch behind it. As expected, Kurt dodged the first, then managed to parry the second with his elbow. He thrust his foot towards Javon's left leg, twisting his feet around his ankle, and heaved his feet out from underneath him. Javon crashed heavily to the floor, and as if Kurt had suddenly developed mind-reading capabilities, he clamped down on Javon's left hand, as if he had somehow known it was about to spring up and release more of that corrosive energy.

His right hand Kurt had a warmer time subduing, given that, as his fingers had only just started regrowing, he was still one hand short. Instead, he twisted them around, clamping down on his arm with his knee, coming in much closer than Javon had expected. Hands bound, Javon used the last weapon he had at his disposal: his face.

He smashed his head into Kurt's forehead, trusting that he would be able to heal the damage in time, and sent him reeling backwards, then instantly flipped to his feet, getting up in a swift, fluid motion that he had taken days to perfect under Wildfire's tutelage. He flipped Kurt over before he could recover, then summoned another surge of poison-green energy. Skin and fabric alike dissolved underneath the corrosive energy, and now a truly terrible scream of agony issued from Kurt's mouth. Javon intended to pull back before the damage was too extensive, but he had to be sure that he did enough that Kurt would be down for the count, so he maintained contact a little longer with his legs. His hands would have seemed a better target at first glance, given that he could use them for energy blades, but knocking out the legs would hinder his mobility, which Javon was aiming for. Regardless of what weapons he could conjure, it would be much easier to keep him down for four minutes if he simply couldn't get up again. A flicker of red energy was dancing around his throat, making it near impossible to reach up and grab the chip dangling around it. But even if it was an option, Javon wouldn't have considered it. After all the condescension and thinly veiled insults, he too wanted to defeat Kurt in a more satisfying way than simply seizing his chip.

"This fight is over," Javon said. To his surprise, Kurt was smiling. There was pain in his expression, no doubt. But he was smiling nonetheless.

"Funny. I was about to say the exact same thing."

He had managed to wriggle his hand free and now clamped it onto Javon's forehead. There was no warning, no time to react. In an instant, a flash of red light seared across his pupils, momentarily blinding him. The stream of energy pouring from his hands instantly dissolved, and both boys collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

"You really are a stubborn one, aren't you?" Charlie basically gasped the words out as his chest rose and fell in rapid succession, taking short, sharp bursts of air to his lungs. Sweat was pouring down his face beneath the blazing suit of energy coating his body, and he was standing several feet away from the shape-shifter, who, aside from breathing in a similarly ragged manner, looked perfectly fine.

It laughed its high-pitched laugh once more, but there wasn't much derision in its voice now. Now it sounded rather annoyed, and, unless Charlie's ears were deceiving him, slightly weary.

Charlie more or less felt the same. The energy armour around him was flickering ever so slightly: if this fight didn't end soon, it would eventually fade into thin air, leaving him entirely defenseless against a rabid, superpowered beast. He leaned forward slightly, balling his hands into fists, and took off again.

Charlie raced down the hallway, moving much more slowly than he had at the beginning of the fight. The prolonged armour usage was draining him, swiftly and steadily, and his slow advance gave him more time to appreciate the massive craters they had blown into the walls on either side of them. The shape shifter dashed forward to meet him, pressing its heel into the ground and springing forward so forcefully that its claws gouged fresh holes in the ground.

They clashed halfway down the room, the force of their colliding fists sending a shockwave ripping through the room.

The beast was powerful, there was no doubt about that, but the very thing that made it so fearsome was, ironically, Charlie's biggest advantage: it was still a beast. Perhaps the more docile personality that had retreated into the body cared more about the finer points of battle, but this creature that had emerged from the Shift was wild and brash. Strong, yes, but animalistic and predictable, with no regard for any form of tactics. Charlie, an accomplished Melee fighter, had a far easier time delivering and avoiding blows because of this. Still, just because he could read the animal's movements didn't mean he was always able to counter them. As unrefined as its fighting style was, it had speed and power to make up for it. Charlie only had power, which was fading with every passing second.

The armour's glow was still dimming: he could quite literally feel the energy being drained from him as if some kind of siphon was pulling it directly from his body. He could tell that, whatever the outcome of this bout, this clash would be their last.

Charlie executed a sharp uppercut that sent the creature reeling backwards. He had long since realized that the creature's skin was far too thick for his usual strategy of injecting paralyzing energy into its body to work, so he had to amp up the brute force behind his punches. Still, the unfortunate truth was that the thing could definitely take a hit. It recovered almost immediately, returning a vicious blow to Charlie's stomach.

The exoskeleton had weakened so much that it felt as if he had taken that punch with nothing between his stomach and the Shifter's knuckles but an extra fluffy blanket. Charlie stumbled backwards, coughing and clutching his midriff, and the creature pounced again. It rained blows all over, trying to force him to the ground. It seemed less intent on actually hitting a point to cripple his mobility than to simply tear him to shreds.

The worst part about this fight was that Charlie couldn't actually see the opponent's chip. It had sunken into the veiny, hardened skin as his body morphed, so that only a sliver of pearly white shone from around his neck area. There was no way to retrieve it without forcefully tearing it out of the skin, which was both too dangerous and too cruel a tactic to employ, not that he thought he could have actually pulled it off. The only way he saw fit to end this match was the alternative win condition: incapacitate him for four minutes. That, unfortunately, was so much easier said than done.

The shape-shifter slammed his head into the wall, following up with a powerful tackle that would likely have broken a few ribs if he'd been unguarded. The two rolled over onto the ground, its heavy body pressing him further into the ground.

Charlie pushed and punched, trying to force it off of him, but it clung to his skin like an angry dog, biting and scratching. Finally succeeding in hovering over him, it opened its snout wide and, predictably, went for his head again. There was merely an inch or two of distance between Charlie's face and the armour, so he saw quite clearly the enormous, saliva-lathered fangs trying to breach his defense and rip him limb from limb. Charlie gripped its head with both hands, which meant he no longer had any limbs free to deal with the rabid onslaught of the beast's claws. Charlie gripped its mouth and forced its jaws apart, all the while it loomed over him, roaring ferociously. He reached up, grabbed a fang, and snapped it off.

The creature gave a piteous yowl of pain as its fang broke free and immediately leapt off of him, whimpering in agony like a wounded dog. It seemed to be the first real bit of damage that he had dealt all morning, and while he didn't much like the idea of kicking an enemy while they were down, Charlie pressed his advantage.

He pummeled the creature mercilessly, bashing its head into the ground and the wall in quick succession, then flipped it over, pinning it under his weight. As he had expected, the creature continued to struggle, but Charlie was ruthless in his beatings, never letting up for even an instant, and all the while counting down in his mind. At last, when the four minutes had been up and the creature had remained dutifully restrained, Charlie jumped backwards off of it, a clever move in hindsight, given that the deadline was up on his armour as well. It faded away entirely, leaving the room considerably darker as the radiant coating vanished. Charlie collapsed heavily, falling onto his hands amd knees and taking in burning breaths that felt like scorching winds searing his lungs. It was finally over. He could rest now, regain his strength and —

With a gasp he shot bolt upright, then instantly fell back onto his hands again. A massive shadow enclosed him like a dark cloak. The shifter was standing above him, glaring down at him, and there was no amusement in its eyes, only an ice-cold fury as it snarled.

"You were down for four minutes," Charlie said, hoping that his words would reach, not the vicious animal staring down at him, but the reasonable personality that must still be in there, somewhere. "Even if I didn't get your chip that definitely counts as elimination."

The Shifter's mouth split open and he roared a bone-rattling roar that reverberated through Charlie's very being. He felt it pass through him, like an actual physical force, as blood — thick, dark green rivulets — oozed from the broken fang hole. Charlie's mouth had fallen open and he stared in undisguised horror as the immense figure loomed over him. It raised its paw and swiped, ready to tear into him. His eyes closed instinctually, bracing for impact, but the claws never made contact. The creature was grunting in effort now. If he didn't know better, he'd say it actually sounded confused.

Charlie cracked open an eye, and for a moment couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. A thick wall of dense black slime had completely covered the creature's body all the way up to its neck, restricting its movements entirely.

The slime slipped over its head, then it disappeared from view. Only muffled noises punctuated the scene now, and those too were quickly extinguished. The seven-foot tall mound of slime dissolved into a black puddle right in front of him. It rippled, then a familiar figure emerged from its murky depths.

"You okay, kid?" Professor Duncan asked.

Charlie didn't immediately respond. He was so thoroughly shocked by this unexpected turn of events that his tongue seemed to have lost its ability to function. Eventually he managed to speak, stuttering as he did so. "I don't — where did you — how —?"

"I've been sticking close to Peters all morning," Professor Duncan interrupted, cutting smoothly through the babble. "There are quite a few students in your year group who pose a certain . . . flight risk, if you know what I mean. We couldn't actually exclude them from the test unless it was absolutely critical, but we couldn't afford to leave them unsupervised either."

"So you were there the whole time?"

The Head of Poseidon nodded. "And I have to say, while I am supposed to remain a neutral party, you definitely did good, kid. I've never seen you fight like that before; definitely an improvement. And you've even managed to increase the lifespan of your armour a bit. So at least two good things came out of this crapshow."

Charlie tried to stand, but found his lower body aggressively uncooperative.

"Easy there, Tiger. I don't think you're gonna be moving any time soon. And about that, listen." For the first time, Professor Duncan hesitated, looking uncomfortable. "I know you won't like hearing this, but the safety of the students is above any test score. I know firsthand how taxing your powers are on your body, and I also understand that while it poses a powerful shield, its not unbreachable. You definitely felt some of Peters' hits and it shows. As a Professor, and more importantly as the Head of your Dorm, I believe it pertinent to remove you from this environment."

"W-what?" Charlie cried, trying, and failing, to stand up again. "But this was my first opponent. Even if I won, this still won't be enough to pass."

"Weren't you listening, Dawson? A good grade ain't worth your life. I told you, when I was introducing myself to the first years, that I was a retired superhero, right?"

Charlie nodded, unsure why he felt that necessary to bring up at this time.

"Well, there are many things that I saw out there that haunt me to this day, including the loss of a good deal of friends. Some of them were relentlessly beaten into oblivion, but others could have been saved if they'd just swallowed their pride, admitted to themselves that they couldn't do the job anymore, and removed themselves from the field to take care of themselves. Rest. Recover. You really want to end up like them?"

There was a long silence as Charlie pondered his response, keeping his eyes on the ground. Then, at last, he pushed himself up, managing to stay upright, albeit barely. Balancing with his hand on the wall for support he looked directly into his Head of Dorm's eyes and said, "I don't. But I also know that my performances so far have been nowhere near my best. This is my chance to make up for it, and to live up to my mother's hopes for me. I can still keep going. I want to keep going."

Professor Duncan sighed and shook his head. "Stubborn fool," he said, perfectly audibly. "Thing is, unless you actually break examination protocol or are in critical condition, I can't force you to leave. So if you want to stay, then stay. But if anything happens, it's on you. Got it?"

Charlie nodded.

"Good. Last thing I want is Valkyria on my tail because her rock-headed son went and got himself hurt. I'll be taking Peters up to the Medical Wing now, but you, at the very least, need to stay here for a while. Take a rest and get your strength back, and that much is not optional." He flicked his arm up, tossing something at Charlie. The latter caught it, and realized that it was the Shape-shifter's chip. "Earned it fair and square. Oh and kid?"

Professor Duncan turned, shooting him a very serious look. Then he smiled, a wicked thing that looked more like a smirk, but a smile nonetheless. "I say this in the most neutral, unbiased way possible. . . . Give 'em hell from Poseidon."

He dissolved into black slime, which swept out of the hall like a torrent of umbral water, leaving Charlie alone in the hall at last, smiling to himself.