I lay on my bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling above.

A good nights sleep had done nothing to further any sort of nebulous ritual needed to attain Armsmasters tinker bits. I was no closer to figuring out how I actually gained new sets than I was previously. At best guess I had to 'beat the opponent' if Rune was anything to go on, but that further didn't explain how I had gotten my first two original powers.

Speaking of...

To Run Away; Lv 8

-Allows the user to transfer their bodily mass into a non physical state.

-Allows the user to change the visual effect upon transferring their bodily mass into a physical state. Available effects; Nothing; Smoke; Static; Glitter; Powder -White, Red, Navy, Yellow, Green-; Flicker; Papercraft.

-Dampens Non Critical emotions whilst active. 13%

-Increases ephemeral movement speed whilst attaining non physical state. (94)% of normal speed.

-Allows the usage of maneuvering through 3D space. Movement speed is decreased further whilst airborne by (23)% until recomencement of ground based travel, or otherwise contact overlap with a physical object.

- +7 Dex

- +4 End

- +2 Str

The weird numbers at the end had gone up again, but I didn't really feel any different. Actually trying to puzzle out the mathematics that it displayed didn't make my poor noggin feel any better, if I was reading it right I should be completely stationary if I left the ground in a shadow state. Which, seeing as I actually could move -albeit slowly- in the air, I was obviously missing something.

Beyond the numbers, I noted it said I had a visual effect called 'Papercraft'. Only similar to the name in the effect that both were made from paper, staring at myself in the mirror and activating Papercraft ended up with me peering warily at a mass of moving paper that might have been in my general shape. Each surface was constantly moving, looking like an ever undulating origami monstrosity. At the very least I'm fairly certain no one would ever be able to connect this to Shadow Stalkers powers.

To Fight Back; Lv 3

Allows the User to manifest a weapon from internal energy.

Increases the distance variable.

Allows the User to change the variance of (?); Green, Blue, Yellow.

Unlocked additional Frames from TT (1) Melee.

- +3 Str

- +3 End

I had managed to bump up a level by copying some knife trick tutorials I had found online. Pricked my fingers too many times to count, but at least I could now change the size of my knives to somewhere around dirk length. I could even tweak their angles, creating almost sickle or kama-esque blades.

Surprisingly, the easiest of my abilities to ramp up seemed to be my newest one.

Dancing With Him; Lv 5

User can control the 3D movement of (10) items, after having touched said item. MP expenditure increases with mass.

Allows the marking of an item to control in a (15) foot radius.

Objects can move at a speed of (3) miles and hour, at an acceleration of (?).

Objects of (3) pounds and under can be held indefinitely with no MP loss.

Objects held can be charged with visual effects held by To Run Away for (130) MP per object. Certain effects may not be transferable.

Just floating some marbles above my head in an oscillating halo seemed to be enough of a workout to make it decide it was worth an extra level or two. Adding some old beads once I ran out of my meager ready supply of marbles, and further tossing up a couple wedge erasers once I unlocked the extra 'object slots'. I had thought I would easily lose track after adding so many little bits, but somehow I was able to intrinsically know where each of my held items was floating.

It was like having eyes in the back of my head, being able to make my trinkets dance above me. Oh! Maybe that was where the 'dancing' aspect came from? Maybe?

I had a near panic attack when my dad walked in earlier, flinging and freezing my wayward projectiles above the door frame just out of sight. A wave of frozen dread had hammered along in my chest to the beat of my heart, barely managing to let out a timid 'what's up'.

He had just wanted to let me know breakfast was ready.

After he left-and making sure he had gone downstairs based off the sounds of his footfalls-, I slumped back onto my bed and lost control of my halo as it clattered to the floor in an unorganized mess. I'll have to work on that, wouldn't want that to happen randomly in the middle of a fight.

Pancakes are gods gift to the bereaved, I swear.

It was... odd. I honestly couldn't remember the last time he had made anything special for us, and with him taking long nights at work I had quickly become an expert into the finesse required for thawing frozen chicken and grilling it on our pitiful little George Foremen. Rub some spices into it before cooking? Vary them enough and you'd never get tired of boring old chicken.

Okay, so that was a blatant lie. But chicken was cheap, and easy enough to prepare. Also, after I had started loading up on peppers and marinating the meat in their caustic juices... Well let's just say the minute amount of satisfaction I got from watching Sophia eat my sandwich right in front of me and then go howling down the hall as she desperately searched for something to quell the burning heat alighting upon her tongue?

Pricelless. They hadn't even been able to spin that one to their benefit, either. She'd passed it off as 'accidentally' eating my sandwich. Accidentally. When the schools provided meal for the day had been lasagna. Idiots, and assholes the lot of them.

"So..." my dad broke the silence, a fork idly tracing his plate as it etched designs in the leftover syrup in swirling, ever arching patterns. "Uh... How's it going? How's school?"

'Just as tortuous as ever' I wanted to reply, but managed to squash that bit of bitterness under a pile of metaphysical weight. He didn't deserve that vitriol.

"Ss-fine," I muttered, smothering my words in another bite of pancakes.

"So where'd you go last night?"

I'll admit, I had a less than graceful response to that. Coughing up half my lung, spewing the contents of my mouth across the table, and ungainly struggling to breathe hardly lends itself to the image of one of poise and grace.

"That was an interesting little trick with the smoke stuff too," he stated matter-of-factly in a dry tone, fixing me with a humorless stare.

"When exactly were you going to tell me that you had powers?"