Chapter 2: A day in the life of a rock (part 2)

  Food plopped onto the tray with a soft splat, the tomatoes settling in a perfect arc, a crimson garnish atop the heap of mystery meat and mashed potatoes. The lunch lady’s hands moved with mechanical precision as she added another handful, the red orbs scattering across the food like seeds of some forgotten plant.

  The line stretched out behind Connor, a sea of students milling about, some chatting, others impatiently tapping their feet. He moved up, his eyes glazed over as the monotonous hue of cafeteria sounds washed over him. “No tomatoes, please,” Connor muttered, his voice flat, as if the request didn’t matter.

  But the lunch lady didn’t hear him—or maybe she did and simply ignored it. Tomatoes were sprinkled on top anyway, their plump redness mocking his simple plea.

  The voice within Connor, low and insistent, whispered within him. “You can’t let that slide. Don’t be a pushover. You need to let that lady know you said no tomatoes.”

  Connor looked down at the offending tomatoes, the pulpy fruit mocking him with their perfect symmetry. For a second, he almost considered arguing, but then he sighed and moved on. He wasn’t in the mood for it.

  “Thanks,” he muttered to the lunch lady, barely registering her gaze as she watched Connor slide in his student ID card into the computer with a tired expression.

  “Hmm,” she sat there, her fingers moving with a practiced slowness, her screen displaying Connor’s less than flattering -$6.22 balance. “You’re in debt, hon. Can you pay tomorrow?”

  Connor didn’t respond right away. He simply slid his card back into his pocket and walked past her without a second glance.

  “Oh… Sorry,” he said, as though the question hadn’t even registered.

  The lunch lady didn’t try to stop him as he made his way through the bustling cafeteria, toward his usual spot. Jay and the new kid were already seated at the table, their trays in front of them.

  Jay grinned as Connor slid into his seat. “Jeez, you sure took your sweet ass time,” he said, elbowing the other kid lightly. “Look, now this first-year is following us. Like, he’s R2-D2 or something.”

  The small gremlin who had been trailing them muttered under his breath, “But I’m not a first year…”

  Connor barely acknowledged him, simply pulling his tray closer and starting to pick at his food. His gaze flickered to the kid, who stood there awkwardly, hovering on the edge of their table like a ghost.

  “That’s okay,” Connor said casually, extending a hand. “I’m Connor.”

  The kid hesitated for a moment before shaking it. “I’m Zibwick.”

  Jay snorted from across the table. “Zibwick? Seriously? You’re naming yourself after a character from a bad sci-fi movie? Look, man, I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you should find another table.”

  Zibwick blinked at Jay, clearly taken aback by the sharp tone, but Jay wasn’t done.

  “You’re the reason Jumanar has it out for us. You think you can just waltz up here and be all chill with us? This table’s already got a target on its back. Not to mention—” Jay’s voice dropped, full of mock seriousness—“This table is now a pure, automatic female repellent because of you.”

  Connor gave Jay a barren look. “Why does that matter?” he asked, his voice devoid of devotion, as if his mind was already wandering elsewhere. “You should chill out, man.”

  Jay rolled his eyes, but before he could retort, a loud clatter interrupted him. Across the room, a goblin’s tray slipped from his hands, sending his lunch crashing to the floor with a series of splattering sounds. The goblin stared at it in horror, his face contorted in frustration, and Jay is quick to make note of it. “See? Bad luck. He’s a literal walking time bomb!” He jabbed a finger toward Zibwick. “All this stuff? It happens because of gremlins, man. It’s not just a coincidence. No offence to you, Connor.”

  Zibwick’s voice trembled as he spoke up, his eyes darting between Jay and Connor. “B-but I can’t control my curse. And also. Connor is a gremlin too, and y-you’re around him…”

  Connor blinked slowly, then met Zibwick’s gaze, unbothered. “Oh. I don’t have that curse,” he said, his tone flat and dismissive.

  The voice in his mind was far less calm. It hissed in frustration, permeating through his thoughts. “You idiot, of course you do.” Then-

  BRRRRRIIIIING.

  The bell rang with its familiar, sharp tone, signaling the end of lunch. Students scrambled from the cafeteria, spilling out into the vast courtyard that stretched before them like an open expanse, a place for conversations, arguments, or anything in between. The sun was high, but the cold air still held its grip on the day, sending a light shiver through the crowd.

  Connor moved with the same detached indifference that seemed to define him, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his pace slow and even as the others around him fumbled to find their rhythm. Zibwick walked a few paces behind, his small steps tentative, as though the world was still something to be cautiously navigated. Jay walked with his usual buzz of energy, his words falling like rapid-fire chatter. The noise of his servos whirring rapidly

  “Yo, Connor, look! The school tried to put up ‘quiet zones’ in the courtyard, but now,” he pointed out. “There's a rogue tendril weed growing there, nobody’s ever going near there until someone deals with that.”

  “Hmm,” Connor responded minimally, his eyes focused straight ahead.

  Jay grabbed a water bottle from his bag and took a brief swish of water. “Is it getting hotter out here, cause I feel like I might need to go inside.” He said, sweat visibly seeping into his servos.

  Zibwick said nothing; he was just as nervous but simply shook his head, swallowing his breath.

  “Not really,” Connor stated flatly. “You’ll probably be fine.”

  Jay took a deep breath. “Fine, fine. You’re right. It is a pretty big area, there are lots of people. We should be fine as long as we just keep a low-”

  “Where do y’all think you’re going?” Behind them, a deep voice rumbled, breaking through Jay’s chatter and the ambient noise of the crowd.

  Connor’s head turned slightly, his gaze shifting just enough to catch sight of the looming figure of Jumanar. The troll’s presence was impossible to ignore—massive, intimidating, like a boulder rolling through a crowd of ants. He sized them up, his eyes narrowed into slits of barely contained menace.

  Zibwick flinched, his posture stiffening. The other students around them seemed to scatter, moving away from the growing confrontation with the speed of someone who knew exactly what was coming. The air around them thickened.

  “Look what Jumanar picked up from my locker,” a second voice chimed in, this one sharp and cold. A Djinn, Jumanar’s goon, followed close behind, his eyes gleaming with malice as he gestured toward the spiked wooden club slung over Jumanar’s broad shoulder. The weapon was an intimidating sight—spikes jutting out like fangs, as if it had been crafted for nothing but destruction. “This’ll teach you.”

  Connor’s eyes flickered to the club for a brief moment, then back to Jumanar, his expression unchanged. His hand slowly rose, a single finger lifting in a lazy, almost bored wave. His lips barely parted as he spoke.

  “Hey,” he said, the word a mere breath in the open space. Then, without another glance, he turned and kept walking, his pace unhurried, unaffected by the threat behind him.

  Jumanar’s face contorted, his anger flaring like a wildfire. His voice dropped, dark and low. “Don’t you dare keep walking away from me.”

  The words landed like a punch, but Connor’s shoulders barely twitched. He didn’t stop, didn’t flinch. It wasn’t worth his time.

  But Zibwick, wide-eyed and terrified, looked from Jumanar to the open doors of the school, a clear path to escape. Without a second thought, he turned and bolted, his small legs carrying him back into the building with desperate speed.

  Jay, never one to shy away from self-preservation, didn’t need any more convincing. His eyes went wide, and before Connor could even register what was happening, Jay was already sprinting in the opposite direction, darting through the crowd, weaving between students who had already parted to make room.

  Connor didn’t move.

  “Cowards,” Jumanar growled, and with a sharp flick of his hand, he gestured toward Zibwick’s retreating form. “Maliker, after him!” His Djinn goon, still grinning wickedly, took off after him like a storm, a whirlwind of smoke weaving through his lean form, chasing down the smaller gremlin like a wolf on the hunt.

  Connor watched them go, his hands still stuffed in his pockets, his pace unbroken. He didn’t bother looking back at Jumanar, but he could feel the troll’s eyes on him, heavy and full of rage.

  A pause stretched between them, a moment where Jumanar sized Connor up. His expression softened into something more calculating, a decision being made behind his deep-set eyes.

  “Well,” Jumanar rumbled, stepping forward, his massive form casting a shadow that seemed to stretch over Connor. “Looks like it’s just you and me, gremlin.”

  Connor slowed, finally turning to face the troll, his movements deliberate but lacking urgency. The corners of his lips quirked ever so slightly, a faint hint of something almost… bored.

  “Yep,” Connor replied flatly, his voice barely cutting through the tension. “Just me and you.”

  For a moment, there was only the sound of distant chatter, the shifting of feet, and the low sound of students still pretending not to notice the confrontation unfolding in the courtyard. Jumanar’s grip tightened on his spiked club, and Connor’s dark eyes narrowed

  slightly—there was something beneath the calm. Something that the troll would come to learn soon enough. But for now, it was just them.

  The courtyard, usually a place of idle chatter and bustling students, had become a battlefield. Jumanar’s massive form surged forward, a mountain of muscle and rage. He swung his spiked club with the force of a wrecking ball, the wood crashing into Connor’s chest with a sickening thud. The impact sent Connor flying, his body sailing upward as if he were nothing more than a ragdoll caught in the wind. He slammed into the ground with a bone-rattling crash, but there wasn’t a mark on him. Not a scratch, not a bruise.

  Jumanar didn’t pause, not even for a second. The troll advanced, club raised high, his eyes blazing with fury. He swung again, and then again, each strike coming faster, more forceful than the last. The club whistled through the air, striking Connor’s chest, his arms, his legs—each blow landing with enough power to knock a normal person into oblivion. Connor didn’t budge.

  The barrage of attacks seemed to have no effect on him. His body absorbed the blows, but Connor remained upright, unfazed. His face was unreadable, as though the beating meant nothing at all.

  “Fight back!” the voice in his head snapped, sharp and furious, like an angry storm. “Damnit, Connor! FIGHT BACK!”

  Connor’s expression didn’t shift. He didn’t even acknowledge the voice, instead letting the blows rain down on him without so much as a flinch.

  Meanwhile, hidden far above them, Zibwick crouched behind a stack of books in the library on the second floor. His breath was shallow, eyes wide, heart pounding in his chest. He peeked over the edge of the railing, barely daring to move. Above him, Maliker loomed like a shadow, his dark eyes scanning the area for any sign of the little gremlin.

  Nearby, a group of girls were gathered around a vending machine, kicking it in frustration as it refused to dispense their snacks.

  “This thing must be out of order,” one of them muttered, her foot connecting with the machine in an angry thud.

  Zibwick held his breath, hoping to stay unnoticed, but the girls’ voices grew louder. One of them glanced up and froze when she saw him. Her eyes narrowed in disdain, and she scoffed.

  “No wonder,” she muttered, pointing a finger in his direction. “Look at that freak.”

  Her words cut through the air like a knife, and Zibwick’s position was compromised. His heart skipped a beat. Panic surged through him as he bolted from his hiding spot, tearing down the narrow aisles between the shelves. But his escape was short-lived.

  With a snap of his fingers, Maliker summoned a flurry of blades, each one shimmering with dark energy. They flew through the air, cutting through the library with terrifying speed. Zibwick didn’t have time to think—he dove toward the window, feeling the blades whiz past him. With a final desperate push, he crashed through the glass, the sharp shards scattering like rain as he plummeted toward the ground.

  The librarian, sitting quietly behind her desk, didn’t even flinch. She stood up slowly, a disapproving frown crossing her face, before simply uttering a soft, drawn-out “shhhhh.” She then returned to her seat, picking up her book without a care in the world.

  Zibwick’s fall was a blur of bad luck—or perhaps fate—was on his side. He collided with Jay, who had been idly walking outside. “Seriously? You’ve got to be kidding me.“ Jay groaned, sprawled across the ground, his limbs tangled with Zibwick’s.

  Back in the courtyard, Jumanar’s fury was palpable. His blows continued to land, each one harder than the last. The troll was relentless, shouting above the sound of the crashing club.

  “What’s the matter, huh? You wanna act all tough?” Jumanar growled, his voice thick with contempt. “Not gonna use your annoying little curse on me?”

  Connor remained still, his gaze steady and unblinking, even as Jumanar’s club swung toward him once more.

  “Nah,” Connor said simply, his voice flat and unconcerned. “I don’t have that.”

  Jumanar’s eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face. “Oh, come off it! All gremlins have the curse!” he roared, his grip tightening around the club’s handle. “I guess I’m just gonna have to beat it out of you, punk!”

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Connor didn’t move. He didn’t fight back. He didn’t flinch.

  His dark eyes held Jumanar’s gaze, distant and unreadable, as if the world around him had no meaning at all. It was as though he were waiting for something—something beyond the violence, beyond the confrontation.

  The troll raised his club one final time, his face twisted in rage. And Connor—Connor simply stood there.

  Connor’s voice echoed in his mind, persistent. “Come on, Connor, let me out. Do something. You wanna be seen as a helpless doormat for the rest of your life?”

  For a moment, the words fell on deaf ears. Connor stood there, unmoving, his face still a mask of calm indifference. But as the blows continued to rain down on him, something inside him shifted.

  With one swift motion, Connor’s heel shot up and collided with Jumanar’s face, the impact sending the troll stumbling back a step. A small, fresh mark appeared on Jumanar’s cheek, red and raw.

  Jumanar’s eyes widened with rage, his expression darkening into something far more dangerous. “That’s all you got?!” he bellowed, the words dripping with fury. “Well, now you’ve done it.”

  Jumanar’s next attack was faster, more brutal. The ground shook beneath each blow, the air thick with the sound of cracking stone. Each strike was designed to break Connor down, to push him to the brink, but Connor remained unfazed. His posture barely shifted; he was a rock in a storm, steadfast, unyielding.

  Jumanar’s massive frame surged forward, his primal roar filling the air as his club, once again, swung through the air toward Connor. But this time, there was a shift in his approach. His eyes burned with a new kind of fury, something more personal than ever before. He wasn’t just fighting to beat Connor—he was fighting to break him.

  With a twisted grin, Jumanar stopped short. The club lowered, his hand clutching it loosely, and he took a step back. Then, his head lowered like a battering ram as he charged, his voice a guttural growl. “This is it for you!” Connor’s eyes didn’t even flicker.

  Jumanar’s skull collided with Connor’s, a deafening knock resounding in the air as the force of the headbutt reverberated through the courtyard. The two foreheads slammed together, the moment hanging in the balance, both of their bodies frozen in the raw energy of impact.

  For a brief second, everything went quiet. The chaos, the distant murmurs of the students, the sounds of battle—everything seemed to pause. It was as if time itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to give. Jumanar, his face twisted in a fierce snarl, leaned into the collision, expecting Connor to stagger, to show at least some sign of weakness.

  But Connor stood still, unmoved. His dark eyes, the only part of him still present in the moment, remained empty, apathetic. His body didn’t give way, didn’t even register the pain that should have come from such a brutal strike.

  But then-

  CRACK.

  The tiniest of a fractures appeared on Connor’s forehead, the surface of his skin chipped like a hard shell. From within the crack, something darker began to seep out—a presence, a force that seemed to curl and twist beneath his skin, like something waiting to be unleashed.

  Meanwhile, Jay and Zibwick were caught in their own struggle. Maliker, still floating above them with a mocking grin, unleashed another barrage of krises, their jagged edges cutting through the air in rapid succession. Zibwick dodged, his body weaving and ducking in an attempt to evade the deadly blades, but it wasn’t enough. He was no match for Maliker’s ethereal speed.

  Jay, gritting his teeth, rushed forward. His fist swung, aiming for the Maliker, but the creature merely swirled around the punch, laughing in that haunting, otherworldly way. Jay’s blow landed in thin air, Maliker unaffected.

  But then, something changed. A sound, a crash. The vending machine from earlier suddenly came crashing through the building, as if it had been thrown with impossible force. It landed with a thunderous crash right on top of Maliker, its metal frame breaking apart upon impact. Maliker’s form disintegrated, the ethereal figure dissipating like the wind, the twisted krises fading into nothing.

  For a moment, there was silence.

  Connor looked over at Jay and Zibwick from a distance, unfazed by the chaos around him. The fight was far from over, but Connor’s expression—now tinged with something darker—said it all.

  Something was changing.

  The small crack on his face widened, the dark force emerging from within him, and the storm was about to break.

  Jumanar’s eyes narrowed, his face contorting with a mixture of disbelief and growing dread. The sinister aura emanating from Connor was impossible to ignore, a thick, pulsating dark energy that seemed to crackle in the air around him. For a moment, the world seemed to quiet, the wind itself halting, as if even nature was taking a step back.

  “What the hell?” Jumanar’s voice was low, tinged with confusion. He squinted, leaning in as if trying to see through the storm of energy swirling around Connor’s body. “Is that… your curse?”

  Never before had he seen the gremlin curse manifest in such a tangible, visible form. It was more than just an oppressive feeling now—it was a living, breathing darkness, wrapping around Connor like a shroud, consuming the air with a power that felt otherworldly.

  Suddenly, a gust of wind swept across the courtyard, playful at first, but with a quick intensity, it tore through the air, scattering papers from the hands of a nearby girl. “Oh no!” She yelped in surprise, reaching out for the flying sheets, but in her scramble, she lost her footing, her knee scraping against the hard pavement as she fell.

  The stack of papers whirled toward Jumanar, and just as they neared, something strange happened. The papers didn’t drift like a simple breeze—they turned into sharp, cutting blades, slicing through his skin with deadly precision, each one lacerating Jumanar as if it were paper itself. The troll’s rugged, thick hide, which had shrugged off countless blows, seemed to do nothing against this assault.

  Jumanar’s face twisted with disbelief and pain as he staggered back, hands instinctively reaching for the wounds. “How is this curse so strong?” he muttered, his voice rising with panic. He looked around wildly, as if searching for some answer, some way to halt the destructive force. His eyes darted over the students scattered around the courtyard, their fear palpable. “I have to put a stop to this,” Jumanar thought to himself, dread pooling in his stomach. “Everyone! You all need to get out of here!” He bellowed, voice shaking the ground beneath them.

  But the words were lost in the roar of cursed energy that erupted from Connor.

  In an instant, Connor’s eyes shifted. What had once been deep, unsettling black pupils now blazed with pure ethereal darkness, filling his eyes completely, an abyss where there should have been nothing. The ground trembled as his power surged, his movements swift and violent. Without warning, he bolted toward Jumanar, his body moving like a storm incarnate.

  The very air around Connor seemed to crackle with destructive energy, as if the space itself couldn’t contain the fury within him. As he ran, his presence left a trail of chaos in his wake: buildings shuddered, windows shattered, and debris was swept into the air, tossed aside like toys.

  Jay and Zibwick, caught in the crossfire, were sent tumbling by the force of the blast. Jay hit the ground with a painful grunt, rolling to shield himself from the barrage of flying stones and shattered glass. Zibwick scrambled to his feet, ducking behind anything that could offer shelter, but there was nowhere safe from the storm Connor had become.

  Jumanar, despite his immense size and strength, couldn’t keep up. The troll roared in fury, swinging his club, but each strike was met with an explosion of cursed energy that sent him flying backwards. His body was no match for the raw power Connor wielded now. It was as if Connor was a force of nature, completely uncontainable. Each blow Jumanar tried to land was met with even greater force, and the once-confident troll was rapidly overwhelmed.

  The ground around them cracked open, as if the foundation of the planet itself was beginning to tear under Connor’s weight. But Jumanar’s resistance faltered—he was nothing more than a ragdoll in Connor’s wake, tossed around helplessly.

  Just as it seemed the devastation would consume everything in its path, a figure stepped into the storm.

  Mr. Vaelion.

  The teacher rushed in, faster than lightning, amidst the destruction, his figure a sharp contrast to the chaos around him. Followed shortly by other teachers and staff fighting to restrain Connor swiftly. With a flick of Mr. Vaelion’s hand, a pulse of enchanted energy surged outward, a bright, clean wave of power that cut through the darkness surrounding Connor.

  In the space of a heartbeat, the torrent of cursed energy that had consumed Connor’s body condensed, swirling into a single point on his cheek where the crack had formed. A shimmering seal of golden light etched itself across the dark fracture, glowing with an intense heat that seared the air.

  Connor stopped in his tracks, his body shuddering as the crack on his face sealed over, the dark energy withdrawing from the air like water draining from a sink. His eyes returned to their normal, dull shade, the ethereal blackness vanishing as quickly as it had come.

  For a long moment, Connor stood there, his chest heaving, his mind reeling from the sudden return to clarity. He blinked, looking around at the devastation he had caused.

  The school was a mess of broken windows, shattered stone, and scattered debris. His friends—Jay and Zibwick—were still on the ground, battered and bruised from the crossfire. His eyes fell to them first, then to Jumanar, who lay unconscious a few feet away, still breathing but clearly defeated.

  Connor’s gaze drifted, and the full weight of the destruction pressed down on him. The whispers of his inner voice had faded, replaced now by the growing realization of what he had just done.

  His hands trembled slightly as he looked at the carnage, then at the faces of those who had been caught in his chaos. There was no immediate anger in his expression, no harsh self-judgment—just a subtle, sinking sense of shame. “What have I done?“

  Then, unexpectedly, the voice in the back of his mind answered, its tone calm, almost satisfied. “You’ve done a good thing.”

  Connor’s heart skipped a beat. He blinked, his hands instinctively reaching up to touch the crack on his face, now sealed by Mr. Vaelion’s enchantment, but the dark presence of his curse still lingered within him, swirling like an invisible storm. The voice continued, its tone dripping with a quiet sense of power. “You’ve done what I always knew you would. You let me out. You finally gave me the agency I deserve.”

  “But… the school… my friends,” Connor muttered, his gaze drifting back to where Jay and Zibwick were slowly getting to their feet, their faces etched with confusion and hurt. The weight of his actions hit him harder now, more tangible than ever. “I hurt them…”

  The voice was unwavering, no trace of guilt or hesitation in its response. “Forget about all of that…”

  Connor froze. The words felt like a cold gust of wind, sharp and cutting. He blinked, feeling a strange emptiness seep into his chest. “They’re just collateral damage. You’re not like them, Connor. And you—you need to think about yourself for once. You don’t need them to hold you back… You’re strong… powerful, and if you’re being honest with yourself, a part of you liked it.”

  Connor’s heart pounded in his chest, the conflict within him spiraling out of control.

  The school was still shaken by the echoes of Connor’s unleashed power. Dust swirled lazily in the aftermath, the destruction slowly starting to settle into an unsettling calm. Connor’s eyes, still glazed over in that faraway way, drifted across the scene—bodies beginning to rise from the wreckage, students whispering in hushed tones, and Jumanar lying motionless, his massive form sprawled on the cracked ground like a discarded toy.

  Then, from the periphery of his vision, a voice broke through the silence—low, hesitant. “Hey.”

  Connor’s head turned, and there, standing a few feet away, was Zibwick. The small gremlin was a mess of disheveled clothes, his eyes wide and uncertain, but there was something different in his stance—less guarded, perhaps even grateful. He shifted on his feet, his hand resting lightly on his shoulder as if bracing himself.

  “Thanks,” Zibwick said, his voice quiet but steady. “For—you know… defending me.”

  Connor blinked slowly, his gaze still clouded, but his expression softened just the slightest bit. He could feel the weight of the words, their significance lost somewhere between the shattered windows and the remnants of broken stone. “Yeah,” he murmured, the words coming out slower than he intended, as if each syllable required more effort than the last. He didn’t look at Zibwick for too long—his eyes dropped back to the cracks in the pavement, the subtle shifts of the world around him.

  The silence between them stretched, comfortable in its own way, neither of them rushing to fill it with anything more. The weight of what had just happened hung in the space, unresolved, like the air before a storm. But for now, there was nothing more to say.

  As the dust settled in the school, Connor stood amidst the wreckage. The power that he had once felt like a force beyond his control now lingers within, a constant reminder of the darkness he struggles to contain. For Connor, the storm inside him hasn’t passed—it’s only just begun.