Withering World 2: MUTATE [MCSM Fanfiction]

Jesse

"Hey, it's Jesse!"

"Oh my gosh, Jesse!"

"Jesse, you're in a rush today."

I don't have time to stop by and chat to the people who see me. Sure, I'm drawing a ton of attention, kicking up dust and stomping the ground with my sprint in an attempt to redeem a little more time. At the same time, I know for sure my best friend is gonna put me through agony with training as my punishment.

Unknown to Lukas, I do this a lot more often than he accounts for. One day, Petra visited my office, dragging me out to spar in the training room still in the building process. No matter what, she would always argue that polishing my skills is what I should prioritize as Hero In Residence.

'You spend all your time dealing with papers. If something happens to Beacontown and you're unprepared, you can't just rely on muscle memory,' she once said.

My training became more frequent, almost as frequent as the days I put my wooden sword to use when living in Endercon before the Witherstorm chaos went down. Petra won't let me miss a day of fighting - ever. And if I was to be late... well...

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I leap down from stair to stair, skipping a step (which I forget there are practically millions of).

Near the bottom, I hear faint grunts and cries of action from different warriors that poke at armor stands.

"Jesse..." an accusatory voice pierces through the air, somehow making it into my disaster of a landing. Petra's arms are folded, and her austere expression bans me from staying for a while to catch my breath. She leans against a wall. "You're getting later every time I see you, and you know I hate poor punctuality."

Each word I huff out. "Sorry. I lost track of time."

"Again. Where were you?"

"I was helping Lukas with his book in the Order Hall; he's publishing it next week."

The warrior couldn't care less about reading books. It's why my shoulders roll forward defensively in question of her personality change. Usually, she would've shrugged and moved on whenever she heard about Lukas's books, but now, her interest perks, lips puckered uncharacteristically. "Lukas, huh? You guys have been spending a lot of time together lately."

Oh, so it's not about the book.

"I guess so. You're not jealous, are you?"

"No, of course not. Just speculating... obviously." That's gonna get me thinking about her misleading smirk for the rest of the day. If she's implying what I think she's implying, I might quit training altogether to save myself from the teasing.

Our conversation continues as we traverse to the lowest levels, where the spawners sit in different mini-arenas, gloomy and mostly unlit.

We warm up, starting with zombies. Petra and I execute simple slashes to rid them from existence. When I feel stretched enough, my movements extend, jabs more swift to knock the mobs out in two punches.

Getting flashier. On my cue, we insert jumps into our kicks and upgrade our dynamics.

Petra drives her elbow into the side of a zombie's head, using her foot to thrust its scrawny, failing legs upwards so the monster flings up horizontally as she runs her sword down its abdomen. Gravity is on her side, sucking the zombie down with its almighty force and running its stomach through the blade Petra doesn't even have to move. Smoke shrouds the dead creature before it touches the floor, and it disappears before my eyes.

"Where'd you learn that?" I ask, hitting one with a swipe and another behind me when I turn and spin my weapon.

"Creativity, Jesse. You gotta be spontaneous on the battlefield."

A new wave spawns and we vamp up our attacks with teamwork. At this stage, when our chests burn and there's a pounding in our ears, we put our signature handshake into play. I wait for Petra to glance back at me, then pitching my idea. "Time for a grand finale!"

"Let's do it!"

Both of us outrun the horde and find a vacant corner to hide our swords in our inventory. We connect hands, grip tight, touch hot and sticky from the built-up friction caused from the hilts of our blades. My knees come out of their lock, and we play ring-a-ring-o'-roses, the game ending instantly when the momentum lifts Petra from the ground.

But my balance. Something feels off when I shift from foot to foot, as if I need to do it faster than usual to keep myself upright. But my balance. Did Petra lose weight? That's quite a loss since the last time I saw her, which was only around a week ago.

But my balance.

"Whoa, Jesse. You're going too-"

I don't want to add to the awful pace I'm swinging her anymore. I'm losing my spot. Finding the blurred smears of green and blue, I release and send her soaring.

Success! Like an invincible human power drill, she annihilates the entire horde with a single swish, graceful and potent.

Then, a gut-wrenching scream.

Unable to stop, she uncontrollably dives right past the slain and into the stone wall, where she turns so that it's her back that hammers against it. As she falls to the floor, rolling one or two times before landing on her side, her sword slithers out of her hand, sliding across the floor, a lost treasure.

"Petra! Oh my gosh, are you okay?"

Sporadic coughs, rough and sharp, afflict painful-looking jolts to her body, yet when I approach in a panic, she pushes herself too hard to stand. There's a quiver in her arms and a stiffness in her legs. From experience, I know the impact of the blow she took and how non-ideal it is to force herself to get up, but her stubbornness stands.

"I'm fine, I've- I've had worse."

I seize her by the shoulders. They rise and fall, high and deep, uncontained, though she tries her hardest to make it look as if it was no big deal.

"I'm so sorry." It comes out as a powerless squeak.

"It's okay just- maybe a little less hard next time. Hoo," she wheezes, tucking her elbows in and resting her hands on top of mine, "you're- you're stronger than I remember."

"I don't get it. I've always done it the same way."

More zombies dread us with their presence, so we both agree to lay them off for a while, a visible ache engulfing Petra as we amble to the exit. "Ready to move up to skeletons?" She asks, closing the door.

"I just threw you into the wall, and you still wanna fight?"

"Come on, it's not that bad. And aches are good. It tells me I'm getting stronger."

As much as she wishes for it to be, Petra isn't titanium. She has a pumping heart, fragile lungs, and a brain that needs to be protected every second of the day like everybody else. That's where I come in, making sure her wants don't turn into needs for injury treatment.

"We can try something different," I say. "What if I teach you how to shoot with a bow and arrow instead?"

It wouldn't be her first choice, but for now, it's her only choice. I've only seen her shoot once in a blue moon in training, and when I do, I could always tell that she wished she wouldn't need to use it in a real-life situation. The bow and arrow: her weakness; her most intimidating hurdle.

"I can shoot, Jesse. My aim isn't that bad."

In fact, whether I'd been watching her or not, I believe she never got a bullseye once. Even if she didn't throw tantrums when not getting it right, the sulk in her eyes is the biggest giveaway of her disappointment.

"Yeah, but let's face it: against me and Lukas, you don't stand a chance."

"Ouch."

After a subtle pause, her face drops, rounded eyes turned thin, brows lowering. She puts a palm to her head. "Fine," she agrees, and a smile overtakes her stroppy expression. "Let's see how good of a teacher you are."

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