Conscious, Conscientious

Phillip felt life itself leave his body.

“W…what?” he managed out.

Irma’s teasing smirk softened a bit. “Sorry. Your determination to save her is sweet; any girl would want that,” she said. “But I don’t know how else to say it: Pang’s not here. She hasn’t been for a while.”

She dusted off her clothes and stepped away from the wall of the building, ignoring her new scratches and bruises.

“Honestly, she was never even supposed to be here. They called Benton and me back for this Azvaylen crap while we were in the middle of our mission to get her,” Irma elaborated. “We had to drag her with us while we caught Zayza and the others—it was such a pain. So she was only here for a few minutes, until Benton had time to drop her off. You’re two days late.”

Drop her off?? Phillip repeated in his head. None of this made sense: if they didn’t keep her here in Azvaylen like the others…

…Then what did they need her for?

“Where did you take her?!” Phillip roared. “What did you do to her?!”

Irma raised her hands as if to insist innocence. “So like, I can’t tell you any of that. I’m not allowed. Blame it on the job description,” she replied calmly. “Just relax; she’s alive. But just so you know, we won’t be giving her back. Like, ever.”

Fuming, Phillip jammed his hand back into his pocket. His finger brushed another stone cube.

“You know,” continued Irma thoughtfully, “I always think it’s funny when I see people talking up these top Leaguers in the media like they’re gods—know what I mean? ‘Cuz like, when Pang tried to fight back, Benton and I had her down in seconds. She didn’t even come close to landing a hit. Let’s be real: it’s all a joke. Maybe her life before the League was better for her.”

“Shut up,” growled Phillip.

“I have to say, though…she’s a little firecracker, isn’t she? She’s got attitude. I like Pang,” Irma admired. “I bet she and I are gonna be besties. I’m so glad we get to keep her.”

“SHUT UP!!” Phillip shouted. He ripped another stone cube from his pocket and chucked it.

But mid-motion, his sense returned: an explosion too close to the buildings would annihilate them, along with anyone inside. With the very tip of his fingers at the last of his grip, he redirected the throw.

The cube descended towards the center of the street. Irma darted out of the way as it burst into a fiery golden display, leaving a smoky crater behind. The buildings only suffered minor cracks and busted windows.

Phillip grit his teeth. I can’t be reckless! he thought. And I can’t afford to waste any more of these!

He felt his pocket: only four of six left.

If I can’t get to Pang now, he contemplated, then I still have to win to make Irma talk.

His heart hurt.

Phillip jolted when Irma flipped up from the walls of nearby buildings and joined him, only roofs away. She patted down a small flame that had caught on her shoulder from the attack.

“I knew it…that’s definitely Emovert energy,” she confirmed, observing the new burn. “What the heck is going on? You’re an Illusionist.”

“I have multiple powers, like you,” Phillip lied.

Taking a powerful step, he launched another cube. His eyes locked onto Irma’s feet: they turned to the right in a split second before zipping into motion.

Aiming carefully, Phillip threw the cube in her path. But her speed surpassed the force of his throw: the cube only nudged her hand as she passed by, bouncing higher into the air. Its explosion was delayed compared to the first two, but it carried enough force to catapult her forward. Irma lost footing and spun over two roofs, then crashed onto another building. Its steeper slant than the surrounding structures slowed her to a stop.

Phillip didn’t waste a moment: he’d already begun charging her way. He pounced from building to building, and then once again in range, prepared to throw.

Irma recovered a bit slower but jolted back into action with a curse.

She’s weakening—she can’t take much more of this, Phillip knew.

Irma bolted to the side of her roof and jumped towards another in attempt to dodge once more.

But this was precisely what Phillip was waiting for. The damage to the roofs would be minor if he didn’t have to aim their way. And in midair, as with the first bomb, Irma couldn’t change directions.

Phillip launched his fourth cube of energy between the two buildings.

This time, however, Irma leapt into a spin. She caught the cube, and as she turned, redirected it back in Phillip’s direction.

But streaks of gold light had already begun piercing through it as it left her fingers. The cube burst, sending Irma slamming against her targeted rooftop. The impact bounced her off the building, and she collapsed onto the one behind it.

Phillip touched down onto the roof across from his injured opponent and watched. Perhaps now he could convince her to spill information.

Irma moved slowly against the unforgiving slated surface. She reached out and felt both legs again, and then brushed multicolored locks away from her face.

“You little punk…how are you doing that?” she grumbled.

“As I said, I’m not just an Illusionist. I have multiple types.”

He regretted playing his hand so heavily when Irma shook her head. “I’m not falling for that. My dampening isn’t able to cancel out your attacks, or even weaken them. If they were your powers, you wouldn’t be able to use them right now.”

She figured it out, Phillip noticed.

Initially, he’d been just as confused when Hiroko proposed the plan: create Emovert bombs using Deon’s imagining for the encasing, and Kotono’s energy for the blast.

First, there was the question of whether or not it would work. But Deon could imagine stone into permanent existence in small quantities, and it turned out Kotono found the right balance of power: not so much that they would become unstable and explode in everyone’s pockets, but powerful enough to generate a devastating detonation.

But it still took Hiroko’s tactical mind—and persuasiveness—to get Phillip fully on board. The plan was simple: if Irma or Benton relied on Dampener to cancel out the use of consciousness powers, the bombs would still work. And not only that, but their destruction could force Irma and Benton to switch to another type to fight back…

…Thus opening up the opportunity to use actual consciousness powers against them.

Now, it was time to find if Irma would take the bait.

“How many of those stupid things do you have?” she inquired.

“A lot more.”

He only felt two in his pocket.

Irma moaned. “Screw this. All I want is to go make my lasagna. You’re in my way.”

So she’s not giving up, Phillip noted. Then she won’t answer my questions yet.

But the next best outcome unfolded before him: Irma stubbornly rolled her eyes back. They returned one red and one gray.

Thoughtfeeder.

Phillip grasped his head as a pressure suddenly befell him, briefly obscuring his vision: Irma was drawing from his mind for heightened power.

Despite the increased threat, confidence flooded Phillip: Hiroko’s plan worked. Irma couldn’t use more than one consciousness type at once—which meant at last, he could now fight using illusions.

Irma stood lazily, but her eyes locked onto her target like a predator.

“I’m over this,” she uttered.

But Irma’s true target was now plummeting off the roof: Phillip had acted quickly, as he knew he’d have even less time to dodge her speed than before. He rolled roughly against the ground and ran: the more distance he could create, the better.

Phillip heard Irma groan in annoyance from the rooftops: she’d just tried to attack the illusionary copy of himself he’d left behind.

It makes sense that she’d switch to Thoughtfeeder next, he analyzed. After taking damage from the explosions, she probably needs extra strength to keep moving. I’ll just stay out of her vision with illusions so she can’t draw power from me.

But in that moment, an unsettling pressure returned to his head. He stumbled to a stop to let it pass.

She can still feed on my thoughts when she can’t see me?! he realized. Then as long as I’m in proximity, there’s no resisting it…This complicates things…

After almost eighteen years trying to understand and master his own singular power type, he’d assumed someone with four couldn’t possibly excel at all of them.

But he’d already seen her ability as an Illusionist, and now he’d experienced her Thoughtfeeder skills. Somehow, she was a master of both.

“Seriously, get back here!” Irma’s voice echoed against the many walls. “There you are!”

Phillip broke back into a run, immediately regretting his hesitation. He forged another illusion and cut onto a swerving side street. Five other false Phillips emerged from his body and all dashed in different directions.

He didn’t look anywhere but straight ahead as he dashed down the winding road and reached another main street. Right now, all he could do was buy time.

“Stupid fake!” cursed Irma far behind. Phillip could barely make out her voice: she fell for the deception farthest from him.

“This one, too?!”

She’d chased the next farthest one.

“Ugh, another one?!”

Phillip almost lost his footing as his heart skipped. This time, her voice was closer.

Much closer.

She cleared all of that space THAT instantly?! he worried. Then she’s moving so fast it’s practically teleportation! Her Thoughtfeeder powers…they’re too strong. I have to—

His vision went white. Spiking pain began in his ribs and surged through the rest of his body. He didn’t even realize he’d crashed and scraped against the road until his senses woozily recovered.

The plain gray sky was above him.

Phillip desperately rose from his back, but sucked in air—the pain shot through his ribs.

“Found you, finally. Your self-illusions are pretty darn good.”

Irma stood many paces away in the center of the road, arms crossed.

Judging by the source of Phillip’s pain, Irma had hit him from the front. And yet, he couldn’t even see her coming—all he remembered was a vague blur.

He winced and clutched his core. He couldn’t keep fighting like this.

Phillip reached into his pocket.

He still had two left. And this street was just wide enough.

Lunging to his feet, Phillip ripped out his penultimate Emovert bomb and chucked it at Irma with all his remaining might. His aim was flawless.

“Enough of that crap.”

In a blink, Irma zipped straight towards the flying stone cube. She kicked it into the air with unnatural force.

Phillip watched, hope depleting, as the cube took to the sky. It had begun glowing gold from the impact, but it was too late—or rather, Irma was too fast this time.

The Emovert bomb exploded high above the city like a firework, leaving Irma entirely unscathed.

Her red and gray eyes landed back on Phillip as her first foot touched down. He knew she wouldn’t give him another chance.

There was no time to plan. She was coming straight for him the instant her other foot found the ground.

He needed to do it: the only move she wouldn’t expect him to make.

Phillip grasped the final Emovert bomb and said a prayer to whoever might be listening. As he pulled the weapon out, Irma’s feet planted. She pounced.

Phillip slammed his palm against the cube and turned his face away, tossing it forward.

Sound vanished instantly. He kept his eyes jammed shut. Everything came to an abrupt, silent pause.

Then came the heat.

Then the searing pain all over.

Finally, the faint Azvaylen breeze returned to his ears. Phillip opened his eyes. Smoke stung them immediately, rising from both the ground and his clothes. It seemed some of the fabric had melted to his arm.

Phillip lifted his face from the coarse stone of the street. He climbed to his hands and knees, all of which shook violently.

I survived.

He still couldn’t determine the extent of his injuries, but at the very minimum, he was conscious. He could move. He’d managed to toss the cube far enough away that he avoided point-blank impact.

It was no question why Skrili almost perished trying to tame Kotono’s energy in the championship. This power was devastating.

Had he been too reckless?

“Ow…ow…ow…please, God…please don’t, God…”

Irma’s hushed utterances were close. Phillip’s legs gave out, but he caught himself into a kneeling position. Most of the smoke lifted, revealing Irma mere steps away. A small crater in the street was all that separated the two fighters.

Irma lay on her side, her face buried in her hands. It appeared she’d received the lesser of the outward damage, with less fresh burn marks and cuts than Phillip felt on himself. But the sudden impact from the blast, combined with her injuries from before, had clearly taken its toll. She remained still, aside from the rapid rising and falling of every breath.

Only her continued mutterings proved she was still cognizant.

“No…please, God…”

One hand lifted from her face and felt for her leg, just as before. She massaged it, and then the other.

Irma let out a long, relieved sigh.

Then she swore up a storm.

“Ugh…Will you just RELAX?!” she shouted across the crater, her breathlessness gone as she suddenly shot Phillip a jeering gaze.

He couldn’t help but recoil.

Irma sat up unevenly, cursing all along the way. “Aren’t you after info? What makes you think trying to blow my limbs off will get you anywhere with that?!” she criticized. “And what good is blowing yourself up in the process gonna do?!”

Phillip winced as he discovered a new cut on his shoulder. He couldn’t think of any other method in time: she was too fast to defend from. But she wouldn’t expect him to detonate the blast with himself in range. It was the only way to counter her.

It was sloppy—perhaps even shameful—but it was the only reason she hadn’t defeated him right then and there.

“Tell me where Pang is,” he replied plainly.

Irma spat into the crater between them. “Shut up, kid. You keep acting like you have me on my heels,” she retorted. “As much as I’d love to stop and go home, unfortunately for both of us, this won’t be over until I kill you.”

Phillip’s eyebrows furrowed. The severity of her declaration didn’t nearly match the dispassion in her voice as she said it. He had to believe her: his intent to ruin Proscious’s plans didn’t seem to matter to her—not nearly as much as the simple fact that he was keeping her from her personal time.

Either way, it didn’t change the daunting reality: Irma wasn’t done yet. Despite barely being able to move, intent remained on her face.

Phillip felt the same. He couldn’t stop yet—not until he found out where they took Pang.

So even still, the fight wasn’t over.

Irma reached for her big white sunglasses and pulled them over her eyes. Phillip immediately understood: she was aiming to conceal any type changes. Both combatants waited in silence for many moments.

Then, the environment all around Phillip began to transform before his eyes.

The streets turned from stone to short, light green grass. Phillip could even feel its softness comfort his scratched-up hands. Then the buildings exploded—but not violently—rather, into thousands of tiny bubbles, with towering sets of bleachers taking their place.

Irma’s next consciousness type had become all too clear. This new domain appeared and felt remarkably real—Phillip could even smell the grass—but this was his specialty. Irma had switched to Illusionist.

He watched, mostly out of alarm but partially out of appreciation for her craft, as the world shifted. Streetlamps popped and became towering tennis rackets. The sky above was no longer plain: it had darkened, and objects floated aimlessly as far as he could see: hearts, bills of money, golden medallions, and countless tennis balls.

It was a classic Illusionist technique: drawing from deep within one’s own heart to yield the most believable complex illusions. It took minimal time for such advanced results.

But…tennis? Phillip wondered. Why is this her theme?

He’d already begun shifting and attempting to stand. Irma had disappeared, shrouded behind the illusion, as he expected. This grandiose disguise granted her the ability to take her time approaching him, and do it entirely undetected. Considering her injuries, it was a wise choice.

Phillip had to move.

He climbed to his feet, hunching over. But it would mean little if he couldn’t stumble away any faster than her. It was time to fight illusions with illusions.

Phillip dug within his mind and summoned memories of his home city. As he’d trained, he released their essence into the outside world.

He trudged forward even faster, knowing Irma was now trapped in a false realm of pitch-black midnight and heavy rain. He’d considered creating something more complex like Irma, but needed to conserve his focus for yet another move.

There were likely no other options left: it was time to prepare his final offensive.

Phillip turned towards what appeared to be an alleyway disguised as grass between two sets of bleachers. But he bumped into an invisible brick wall instead.

She crafted the illusion to confuse me from the city’s true layout, he realized.

Urgently, he tried to cancel out Irma’s false images. A small hole of reality opened up, but it caved back in just as swiftly. Irma was skilled—she was reinforcing the illusion to protect from such attempts.

To ward off the panic, Phillip reminded himself she was equally disoriented: just as her, he continued to strengthen his illusion of darkness.

“Not bad…but not good enough,” Irma’s voice bounced all over, thrown to hide her location. “Don’t you remember last time?”

He remembered the courtyard faceoff.

Then she’s still able to cancel it out! Phillip’s mind raced.

He felt through the false bleachers against the true structures they masked, brushing everywhere until he felt the corner of the building: the start of the actual alleyway. Phillip practically dove forward, passing through massless metal and images of tennis rackets. He jogged deeper into the alley, his strength subtly returning if only due to adrenaline.

In that moment, he sensed his illusionary domain disappear.

“There,” Irma’s voice echoed. “Crap—but where’d he go?”

To Phillip’s surprise, the grass, floating tennis balls, and bleachers all faded and gave way to reality. He could finally see the narrow alleyway he’d struggled to hide within.

She’s abandoning her camouflage? Did she switch powers? he contemplated. It can’t be Thoughtfeeder—her injuries can’t handle the energy anymore, otherwise she wouldn’t have switched from it in the first place. Then…

He grit his teeth. He should have thought of it quicker.

In a blink, Phillip was no longer in his own body.

He stood back in the main street, not far from where he’d just dragged his feet. He saw through eyes that didn’t obey his command. Long, soft hair brushed against his neck.

No—not his neck. Irma’s.

Substitutor—her fourth type, Phillip recognized.

He let out a pained gasp, but couldn’t hear or feel himself make it. All he felt was the pain he’d inflicted on Irma throughout the fight. Her injuries were far more severe than his, stinging and exhausting. Yet somehow, she stood tall.

That wasn’t the only surprise: occupying a foreign body was a strange enough sensation already, but something was particularly odd about her legs. He was certain he’d seen cuts and burns on them before, but right now, he could barely feel them. The pain everywhere else was sharp, but all the way up her legs, it was nothing more than a dull ache.

“Thank God. Looks like you didn’t get very far,” he felt himself say in Irma’s voice.

Though Phillip couldn’t feel his heart, he was certain it sank.

It was the nature of the Substitutor type: just as he now sensed all of Irma’s senses, she’d gained access to all of his.

And that meant she saw exactly where Phillip’s body was hiding. She was there within it.

“Alright. This is it, finally. You were supposed to be the weak one,” Phillip said—or rather, Irma said to him with through the mouth he occupied.

Then, the steps began. Irma’s body was in motion, and there was nothing Phillip’s mind could do about it. Still, it almost felt like floating: the sensation of Irma’s legs and feet walking was even duller than the subtle wind against her hands.

“Hey, me! This way! Warmer! Warmer—wait, colder…Warmer!” Irma’s voice shouted.

She can hear herself from my perspective and use it to guide herself, Phillip realized. So she can control her own body remotely from mine, even without being able to feel it?

Then maybe…

He took his own steps, with no way to know if they were successful. But he found out quickly enough: he felt Irma’s smile spread.

“Nice. You’re just walking straight into a wall,” she chuckled. “It takes a lot of training to do what I’m doing, kid.”

Phillip cursed in his head. Irma’s body was getting closer and closer to the exact alley he’d snuck away to. In moments, she would be standing before him. And there was no way he could take her on in direct hand-to-hand combat—especially not now.

He had to abandon all other efforts. Reluctance casted a shadow on his mind: it was time to focus solely on Disambiguation, his final technique. Nothing else stood the slightest chance.

I haven’t used this since defeating Skrili months ago. And even then…I was holding back.

It was hard to think about. He’d unleashed such devastation on Skrili when she was only trying to get back what was rightfully hers. Then despite that, she went on to fight for his life. He'd even almost relied on it against Deon.

Now every time he saw them, he wished he could take that brutality back. He promised himself he’d never use Disambiguation again.

But right now was different.

He wasn’t acting out of selfish preservation—he was saving the most important person in his life.

The window to release the attack would be slim. He had to strike the instant she reached the alley, before she could potentially switch back to Dampener.

Phillip had been preparing this illusionary storm since beginning this attempt to sneak away; with years of training, he’d taught his mind to ready it automatically as he managed other techniques. Now, as Irma’s body forced him forward, he poured all of his attention into finishing it.

“Warmer…Oh. It’s totally this one,” Irma’s voice discovered.

Her eyes were on the corner leading to the exact alley where Phillip hid himself.

“Your heart’s, like, going nuts,” she added, moving her body closer.

I’m ready, Phillip knew. I just have to time it…

Irma’s body entered the alleyway. He saw himself standing at the end, a wounded, defiant creature.

Now. Disambiguation.

Irma screamed. He could no longer feel her voice—now, it came from across from him. Blinking, Phillip found himself back in his own body.

She switched back on reflex, he noticed. She’s trying to escape the pain.

But he knew she’d quickly realize it was in vain: illusions couldn’t attack the senses. They merely deceived the mind’s perception of reality.

Undoing her Substitution couldn’t free her from the agony Phillip cast upon her.

Phillip saw nothing of his attack; only Irma as her legs buckled and her hands squeezed her head. But he knew exactly what she was experiencing: the darkest of blackness and the whitest of light blinking viciously in her vision. Flashing images of blood, graves, guillotines…and endless, deafening screams, roars, and crashes.

“STOP!!! MAKE IT STOP!!” Irma screamed.

He watched in disgust at his own doing. No mind could withstand this for long.

But then, he felt its illusionary energy weaken. It was being suppressed—Irma had switched to Dampener.

No…

“Come on…why won’t it go away?!” Irma hissed.

By her clearer speech, Phillip could tell its effect had lessened. If he tried a physical attack now, she could potentially cut through due to his divided focus. He had to keep pushing.

Sweat trickled down his neck.

Then the nature of the suppression changed: instead of dulling, Phillip felt his energy reversing.

She’s cancelling it out with Illusionist powers now?! he worried.

He tried to keep fighting it, but Irma’s defense was masterful. After having weakened Disambiguation with Dampener, now, it became easier to undo as an Illusionist.

She’d bested him.

Despite his grandest effort, Phillip felt his attack vanish into nothing.

He gasped and took a weary step to catch himself.

Irma stood silently across from him, her hands no longer pressing her head. Now, they hung from sheer fatigue. Her sunglasses continued to mask her eyes.

With no fight left, Phillip leaned against the brick wall.

I’m sorry, Pang, he thought.

“You’re the first to resist Disambiguation,” he told Irma breathily. “And you’re the only one who’s remained standing after it. It seems…I truly can’t defeat—”

Irma swayed, and with a thud, collapsed facedown.

The city was soundless.

Phillip waited, but Irma didn’t stir. Then as he walked closer, he noticed her run her hand sluggishly against the ground.

“Ugh…” she moaned in repugnance.

Phillip crouched before her. She made no attempt to defend herself, so he reached down and lifted her into a sitting position, propping her up against the wall.

Irma’s sunglasses had slipped down. Her green and black eyes stared hazily back at him.

“Don’t ask—” she muttered.

“Where is Pang?”

“So he asks.” She tried to reposition herself, but lacked the strength. “I can’t tell you. And I don’t really want to, either.”

“Where…is…Pang?”

“You’re wasting your time, kid,” she fought. “You’re gonna stand here and keep asking the same thing, and it’s not gonna go anywhere. Meanwhile, all your other friends are gonna die. Are you really okay with that?”

Phillip stiffened. They still had to face Wei, or nobody would be saved. Skrili, Hiroko, Kotono, and Deon couldn’t win without his help. They needed him, or they couldn’t rescue their loved ones.

His heart twisted. He’d come this far. Irma was directly in front of him. His answers were right here.

But it had to wait.

He reached behind Irma’s neck and performed a series of pinches and twists. With a brief grunt, Irma’s body relaxed. Then he straightened his hand and chopped her neck. Her eyes closed as she sunk to the ground.

Even if she regained consciousness from the strike, his pressure points would keep her paralyzed for hours. And considering the mental fatigue of Disambiguation combined with her physical injuries, she likely wasn’t moving for quite some time.

Phillip stood slowly, unable to ignore the pain all over. For a moment, he observed the most formidable opponent he’d ever encountered.

“Dream of your lasagna for now,” he said. “I’ll be back. And I will get my answers.”

With everything he had left, Phillip dashed away, leaving Irma in the alley.