Three days later, Caine returned to Silas's black market workshop while torrential rain continued to pour over Sector 7, washing the grime of the lower city into the drainage grates.
Old Man Silas was waiting for him at his central workbench beneath the dim yellow glare of overhead lamps. Resting on a soft velvet pad was a pair of sleek, charcoal-black fingerless tactical gloves. They looked like standard military-issue gear at a glance, but upon closer inspection, microscopic, glowing blue threads could be seen woven tightly into the synthetic leather, pulsing in soft, rhythmic harmony.
"The Conductive Weave," Silas said proudly, gesturing with a greasy wrench for Caine to take them. "I processed the Dread-Tusk shards you brought me into ultra-fine crystal fibers. I then hand-wove those fibers into the inner lining of these gloves."
Caine picked up the gloves and slid his hands into them. The fit was immaculate, wrapping comfortably around his palms, knuckles, and wrists. The moment his skin made contact with the interior lining, his internal core reacted, automatically aligning its natural vibration with the crystal fibers without a single spark of energy leaking outward into the room.
"Try channeling ten percent of your density," Silas instructed, pulling down his thick welding visor and stepping behind a heavy steel blast shield.
Caine closed his eyes, drawing a smooth, controlled stream of compressed energy from deep within his chest core. He pushed it down his right arm, directing the flow straight into the black glove.
HUMMMMMM.
The glove didn't burst into bright light, nor did it manifest a visible weapon form. Instead, the air immediately surrounding Caine's right fist began to distort violently, warping the light like heat rising off a summer highway. The localized density was so intense that the heavy steel workbench beneath his hand began to creak, its surface bending slightly downward under the sheer, localized pressure field.
"Incredible," Caine whispered, flexing his gloved fingers. "There's zero structural feedback on my wrist joint. The gloves absorb the entire kinetic recoil."
"They don't just absorb it—they direct it," Silas corrected, stepping out from behind his shield with a wide, toothless grin. "With those gloves, you can use your Phase 1 Flesh Reinforcement at twenty percent power without destroying your own clothes or revealing a visible energy signature. To anyone watching, you're just delivering a physical punch. But the actual impact... will hit with the force of a falling meteor."
Caine lowered his hand, the air distortion vanishing instantly as he suppressed his core. He pulled his hoodie sleeves down over the glove cuffs, concealing them completely from view.
"How much do I owe you for the fabrication, Silas?" Caine asked.
"Consider it my personal contribution to the tournament," Silas said, his single good eye shining with an old, dangerous fire. "Just make sure when you step onto that stage in three weeks, you show those arrogant aristocrats from Sector 1 what real density looks like."