Lukas opened and closed his fist.
The motion was simple — the kind of thing a person does without thinking, a reflex check, a way of confirming that the hand still responds the way it should. But what answered the movement was not what had answered it an hour ago. The strength that moved through his fingers, through his palm, up through the architecture of his forearm and shoulder, was not an upgrade of his previous physical output. It was a different order of thing entirely — seven hundred kilograms of raw force packed into a frame that looked, from the outside, exactly as it had before.
He held the fist closed for a moment and thought about what it meant practically.
