The "Warfare Through the Ages" exhibit loomed before them, stretching across two sprawling halls,

  its towering displays of swords, spears, and shields arranged with an almost reverent precision.. The air felt heavier here, as if the weight of centuries of violence clung to the artifacts themselves.

  The dim lighting threw elongated shadows across the polished floors and glass cases, reflecting ghostly and distorted images of the artifacts upon the imposing timeline of conflict and innovation.From primitive stone tools to sleek modern firearms, and mannequins in tactical gear posed as if frozen mid-mission. the exhibit painted a stark picture of humanity’s obsession with conflict.

  The group moved cautiously, their footsteps echoing against the polished floors.

  “Stay together, let move quickly and don’t touch anything!” Mr. Davis barked, his voice sharp with stress.

  “Miss Hart, cover the rear. Mr. Vaughn, stay up front with me.”

  “Yes, Mr. Davis,” Izzy Hart replied, her tone calm and measured. She adjusted her bag over her shoulder, glancing back at the students with a careful eye.

  “Of course,” Dare Vaughn said smoothly, his hands tucked into his pockets. He kept his voice light, almost conversational.

  “Come on, Jace said, glancing back. “Let’s just keep moving.”

  His tone carried weight, grounding the group with the same easy confidence he brought to every huddle.

  Behind them, the nervous chatter tapered just enough to feel like momentum again.

  As the group moved deeper into the exhibit, Jace slowed, his eyes snagging on a medieval display. A two-handed claymore rested on a simple stand behind a glass case. He paused.

  Then—without hesitation—he flipped the latch and pulled the weapon free, the steel singing against the air.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Mr. Davis snapped, turning sharply.

  Jace shrugged, testing the weight of the dull blade. “It’s just a replica.”

  “That’s museum property!” Davis growled, his voice constrained with frustration. “Put it back. Now!”

  Jace kept the sword on his shoulder. “Feels useful to me.”

  “Turner, I’m not going to ask again,” stepping closer, his face red with anger.

  “Alright, alright,” coach Dare interjected, stepping between them with a placating gesture. “Let’s not get worked up here.”

  Dare placed a hand lightly on Davis’s shoulder, and stepped in closer, his tone low—pitched like a private word between professionals—but every ear in the group could hear it.

  “You really want to measure dicks with a teenager right now?” he said, not unkind, but unmistakably sharp. “Weren’t you the one that said we needed to move.

  The words landed like a quiet slap.

  A few students shifted. Someone coughed to cover a laugh.

  Davis froze, his face tight, but he said nothing. The moment had passed—and it hadn’t passed in his favor.

  Jace turned without a word, the claymore still resting on his shoulder, and walked.

  The group followed.

  Dare waited half a beat, then fell in behind them.

  The group reached the emergency exit near the modern soldiers’ display.

  “Finally,” Samantha Jenkins. muttered, stepping aside as Tyrell approached the door.

  Tyrell gripped the horizontal bar and shoved, expecting the door to swing open. It didn’t budge.

  “What the hell?” he muttered,

  shoving harder.

  “Let me try,” Davis said, stepping forward. He pressed his weight against the bar, his expression tight with effort. The door still didn’t move.

  “This doesn’t make sense,” Davis said, stepping back. “These doors are designed to always open from the inside. It’s illegal for them to be locked.”

  “Maybe they’re not locked,” Jace said, smirking. “Maybe you’re just weak.”

  “Let me handle it,” Marcus Lee said, stepping forward with a confident grin. “This is my thing.”

  “What are you talking about?” Samantha asked, frowning.

  Marcus flexed his arms, the muscles in his biceps bulging slightly. “I’ve got strength,” he said proudly. “My ability makes me stronger. Like, a lot stronger.”

  “Seriously?” Elijah asked, his eyes widening.

  Marcus grinned wider. “Watch this.”

  He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, loosening up like he was preparing for a game. “Alright, stand back. This is what I’m built for.” He squared his stance in front of the double doors, planting his feet firmly like he was bracing for a defensive line push. His hands gripped the horizontal push bar, and with a guttural roar, he heaved forward. his muscles bulged visibly, veins pulsing as his strength activated. His chest and arms expanded like a bodybuilder flexing on stage, straining the seams of his shirt until small tears appeared.

  “Holy shit,” Samantha whispered, taking a step back.

  Marcus heaved against the bar, his enhanced strength causing the metal to groan under the pressure. The door shook in its frame, but it didn’t budge.

  “Okay, fine, door: one. Marcus: zero.” He stepped back several paces, shaking his arms out. His eyes locked on the door, calculating his next move. “Let’s try this again.”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Backing up even farther, Marcus muttered, “Unstoppable Charge,” and took off like a missile. His body moved with blinding speed as he threw himself shoulder-first into the door, channeling the force of a linebacker in full sprint.

  The impact was seismic. The metal shuddered, a thunderous boom echoing through the corridor. The door buckled inward slightly, the edges curling like crumpled paper. A jagged indentation marred its center, the metal rippling outward like the surface of a pond struck by a stone, but it refused to give way.

  Marcus staggered back, rubbing his shoulder and shaking his head. “Alright. You want to play rough? Fine.”

  Marcus’s breathing grew heavier. A ripple of unease passed through the group as he cracked his knuckles, and clinched his jaws in determination. “Alright. Last round. I’m taking you down this time.” He crouched low, his fists clenching at his sides as energy seemed to radiate off his body. His muscles tensed and bulged even further, his already torn shirt threatening to give way completely.

  The group instinctively stepped back as the tiles beneath him cracked—first a hairline fracture, then a web of shattering stone racing outward. The ground vibrated with a low, hungry hum.

  Then came the growl. Not from his throat—but from the air itself.

  “Shockwave Slam!”

  Marcus surged upward and slammed both fists down like twin hammers from the gods. The instant his knuckles met the earth—BOOM—it detonated.

  The floor erupted. Tiles shattered. Chunks of debris launched forward in a violent cascade. Cracks spiderwebbed through the foundation, and rubble hurled itself at the steel door like a battering ram made of earth and rage. The metal groaned under the barrage, deep gouges carving into its surface, whole sections peeling back like jagged petals of rusted iron. Dust choked the air. Marcus staggered back, legs buckling. He caught himself against the wall, breath ragged, sweat pouring down his brow.

  “Still… standing?” he rasped, frustration bleeding into the words. Not at the door—but at himself.

  Marcus slid to the ground, his exhaustion evident.

  Dare moved toward him, his steps purposeful but calm. He crouched beside Marcus, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “You did good,” Dare said, his voice steady and grounding. “Now let’s make sure you’re ready to give even more when it’s time.”

  “Commanding Presence,” Dare said aloud, his words clear and deliberate.

  The effect was immediate. A wave of confidence seemed to ripple outward from him, like a subtle shift in the air. Marcus’s breathing evened out, his shoulders relaxing as some of the tension ebbed away. The exhaustion in his eyes dulled slightly, replaced by a faint spark of determination.

  But it wasn’t just Marcus who felt it. Around the group, heads lifted, backs straightened. Jace glanced at Dare, his sharp gaze now carrying an edge of curiosity and approval. Even Davis, who had been pacing tensely, seemed to pause, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction.

  You know what this feels like, Marcus?” Dare said, his voice steady but sharp as he leaned closer. “It’s overtime. One yard to the end zone. The whole team’s counting on you to get a stop. You don’t back down—you push harder.”

  Internally, Dare activated Touch of Clarity, brushing past the surface of Marcus’s abilities. the flicker of energy coursed through dare before a notification flashed through his vision.

  Name: Marcus Lee

  Class: Brute

  Abilities: Enhanced strength and durability during physical exertion.

  Weakness: Susceptible to stamina drain after prolonged use.

  “Impressive,” Dare said to himself. “You’ve got some serious power there Marcus.” he said.

  Marcus’s chest puffed out, his pride clear. “Damn right I do.”

  Dare smiled faintly, stepping back.

  “You’re not alone in this,” Dare continued, his voice resonating with a steady authority that seemed to anchor everyone. “This ain’t a solo play. You’re part of a team. So take the time you need now, ‘cause when shit hits the fan, we’ll need you at your best.”

  Marcus blinked up at him, remembering past football victories from the coach’s impromptu speech reigniting in his tired eyes. “Alright, Coach,” he said, sitting up straighter. “I hear you.”

  Dare gave him a quick nod, then glanced back at the group. “Everyone else? Same goes for you. This is just the first quarter, so get your heads right. We’ve got a lot of game left to play.”

  “What now?” Jace asked, his voice cutting through the group’s murmur.

  “We find another exit,” Davis said firmly. “Stay together, and no more messing with the exhibits!”

  Oh my god bruh, we know already Jace replied with aggravation in his voice.

  “This isn’t a joke, Jace!” Davis snapped, his voice rising. “Do you think this is some kind of game?

  “And you think yelling at us is helping?” Emily Shaw muttered under her breath.

  Pointing a finger at her, Davis shot back, “The last thing we need is chaos.”

  “Relax, Mr. Davis,” Dare said, stepping into the circle with a calm smile that seemed to soften the sharp edges of the tense room. It was the kind of smile that warmed like a sunbeam breaking through the clouds, immediately taking the edge off the situation. His honeyed voice dripped with reassurance, the stark opposite of Davis’s frantic energy. Those around him seemed to breathe a little easier, his presence alone disarming the rising panic. “Everyone needs to just take a deep breath, he said eyeing Davis with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. We’re just figuring things out William.” he said Calling Davis by his first name.

  “Figuring out what?” Davis snapped, rounding on him. “This isn’t your football practice, Vaughn. These are children, not players for you to boss around.”

  Dare’s smile didn’t falter, but his tone turned sharper, though still measured. “I’m not bossing anyone around, Davis. I’m just trying to help.”

  “Well, don’t,” Davis said, his voice trembling. “The last thing we need is you filling their heads with whatever garbage you’re spouting.”

  You really think standing here shouting orders is the answer?” Dare asked, his voice smooth. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re losing your shit.”

  “Enough!” Mr. Davis snapped, his glare cutting through the group. “We’re going to find security, get some answers, and locate an exit.”

  “What’s the point?” Tyrell Hayes asked, arms crossed. “You think the security guards know more than we do? They’re probably just as clueless.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Davis said firmly. “What matters is keeping everyone safe—and there’s safety in numbers. Let’s just keep moving, and nobody touches anything else.” He cut his eyes at Jace as he spoke.

  Dare turned away from Davis, dropping back to walk with the students as they began to shuffle forward. His voice was low, easy—like he was talking shop after practice.

  He clapped Marcus on the back with a sharp grin, then turned just enough to let his voice carry—not loud, but clear.

  “Good thing we already have the numbers,” he said, letting Davis’s words roll off his tongue like a private joke. “And now we’ve got powers too. So unless Davis is planning to bench the starters…”

  He let it hang, just long enough.

  A few of the kids chuckled. Jace didn’t smile, but his chin lifted slightly. Tyrell tilted his head, amused.

  Even Marcus gave a low grunt that could’ve passed for agreement.

  Dare eased through the shifting group, drifting closer to Izzy with the same casual grace he used on the field

  “Miss Hart,” he said, his tone low and intimate, like a trusted coach mid-huddle. “You’ve always been the steady one. Smart, observant. What’s your read?”

  Izzy didn’t answer right away. Her gaze swept the group—their faces, their postures, the tension coiling just beneath the surface. Her jaw was tight, her mind obviously working.

  “I think,” she said slowly, “people are scared. And scared people make mistakes. So whatever’s happening, we need to stay ahead of it.”

  Dare’s smile widened, slow and deliberate, the kind he used when lining up a perfect play. “Of course,” he said smoothly, his tone dripping with reassurance. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, his touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

  Name: Isabella HartClass:     Equipment Enhancer

  Abilities: Analyze, repurpose, and enhance tools, weapons, and structures. Limited by environmental materials.Weakness: Limited direct combat ability.

  The flicker of information danced across Dare’s vision like a spark in the darkness, illuminating new pathways in his mind. A thrill surged through him, almost like the first taste of lightning, and his smile widened ever so slightly.“You’ve got good instincts. The group’s going to need that.” “They’ll look to you, even if they don’t know it yet.”

  Izzy gave a small, nervous laugh. “Thanks, I guess.”

  Dare’s hand slipped away, and he stepped back, keeping his discovery to himself. His mind raced with possibilities.