Physical Conditioning class was hell.
I wish I was exaggerating.
If hell on Earth existed, it would have taken the form of that class.
Instructor Reichardt, in all his sadistic glory, ordered us to run a hundred laps around the field.
To be fair, that part wasn't too bad. Most of us breezed through it without even breaking a sweat.
But it was what came after that turned us into unwilling participants in his personal sadist Olympics.
"Warm-up's over," Reichardt barked, grinning like a man who'd just found new ways to ruin someone's day. Specifically, our day.
Then, with a flourish, he summoned his Origin Card and revealed his ability — moderate control over gravity and the density of objects.
We didn't even get a moment to process the implications before he snapped his fingers, and the world suddenly changed.
It wasn't just our bodies that felt heavy. Oh, no. It was as if the very air was pressing us down against the ground.
