James sat with Hope, the twins, and MG, blending in as the "new hydrokinetic guy." His shoulder ached faintly from yesterday's claw graze, but water had soothed it overnight.
Alaric paced the stage, crossbow slung over his shoulder. "We've got a situation at the high school. Missing students, suspicious injuries. Sheriff Donovan's sniffing around, and we can't let this spill into exposure."
He scanned the room. "I'm sending a team undercover. Hope, Lizzie, MG—you're in. Blend as transfers or cheer squad hopefuls. And Landon…" His eyes landed on James. "Your water tricks could come in handy. You're going too."
Hope glanced sideways, a small smile tugging her lips. "Field trip with the squad. Fun."
Lizzie groaned dramatically. "Cheer tryouts? Again? My hair hates humidity."
Josie patted her sister's arm. "You'll survive. I'll hold down the fort here with Dad."
The team piled into Alaric's SUV after lunch, uniforms borrowed from the drama closet—Timberwolves gear for the guys, cheer skirts for the girls.
James tugged at his letterman jacket, feeling absurdly normal. Mystic Falls High loomed like a relic from a 90s teen movie: brick facade, bustling halls, lockers slamming.
They split up: Hope and Lizzie to cheer practice, MG and James to "blend" in the cafeteria, eavesdropping.
The vibe was off immediately. Cheerleaders moved in eerie sync, eyes glassy, bite marks peeking from collars. One girl—Dana—smiled too wide when MG flirted, her voice monotone. "Join us later. In the basement."
James whispered to MG, "Compulsion? Or worse?"
MG's fangs itched. "Worse. Smells like venom."
Hope texted the group chat: Found webbing in the old pool drains. Meet at gym basement.
They reconvened in the shadows of the abandoned wing, flashlights cutting through dust. Silken threads draped the walls like morbid decorations, cocoons hanging from ceilings—two missing kids, alive but paralyzed, parasites wriggling under skin.
The arachne dropped from above: a grotesque hybrid—woman's torso fused to massive spider body, eight legs skittering, mandibles dripping venom.
Compound eyes glinted, fangs extended. "Fresh hosts," it hissed, voice layered like chittering echoes.
Fight erupted.
Lizzie blasted first—siphoner magic pulling from the air, fireballs scorching legs. The arachne screeched, webbing shooting in sticky strands.
Hope dodged, hybrid speed blurring, knife flashing as she sliced a strand mid-air. MG vamp-sped in, punching a leg, crack echoing, but the chitin held. James hung back initially, assessing: webs flammable, body vulnerable to piercing.
The creature lunged at Hope, fangs aiming for her neck. James acted—water surging from pipes overhead, bursting in a high-pressure jet that slammed the arachne sideways, pinning it against a wall. Steam rose as Lizzie added fire, singeing hairs on its abdomen.
It broke free, tail stinger whipping. MG took the hit—venom injecting, body stiffening as he collapsed, eyes wide. "Can't… move…"
Hope growled, leaping onto its back, knife plunging toward the thorax.
The arachne bucked, throwing her off, webbing her legs to the floor. Lizzie siphoned more, hands glowing, but fatigue slowed her.
James stepped forward. Fire ignited in one hand, water in the other. He combined them—scalding steam lances piercing joints, legs buckling as superheated vapor cooked from inside.
The arachne thrashed, weakened, mandibles clicking futilely. Hope broke free with a strength surge, knife raised for the kill.
The creature staggered, venom pooling, body convulsing.
Time froze.
Flashlights suspended mid-beam, dust motes halted, Hope's knife inches from the heart. The screen appeared.
WOULD YOU LIKE TO STORE THE ARACHNE IN INVENTORY?
James didn't hesitate. "Yes."
Time resumed.
No portal this time. The arachne glowed, body shrinking rapidly—legs folding inward, torso compressing, silk cocooning it in a swirl of light.
In seconds, it transformed: a red-and-white sphere materialized, hovering, seams glowing. A Poké Ball—classic design, but larger, containing the arachne within.
It dropped into James's waiting palm, warm and humming faintly.
The team stared. Hope lowered her knife slowly. "Landon… what was that?"
He pocketed the ball casually, feigning confusion. "I… don't know. It just… happened. Like the water."
Lizzie blinked. "Did the spider just turn into a… Poké Ball?"
MG, thawing from venom, sat up groaning. "Tell me I didn't hallucinate that."
Back at school, debrief was chaos. Alaric examined the ball under wards—no escape, creature alive inside but contained. "Another anomaly. Like the gargoyle portal."
In his dorm that night, James sat on the bed, inventory pulsing. He focused: the gargoyle shifted first—stone form compressing, light swirling, reforming as a gray-black Poké Ball dropping into his hand.
Then the dragon—scales folding, wings tucking, emerging as a fiery red-orange ball. Three now: arachne (classic red-white), gargoyle (stone-patterned), dragon (flame-etched).
He lined them up on the desk, spheres inert but alive with potential. Release commands intuitive—mental toss, and they'd burst free, loyal? Hostile? Ready for battle.