The afternoon faded golden over Hargrove Manor, the low sun painting the sky a burnt orange and soft pink, as if Erick's own elemental fire had decided to tint the horizon before retiring. The Olympic-sized swimming pool, built in the east wing of the property, shone like a liquid mirror in the dying light. The crystal-clear water, maintained at the perfect temperature of 28°C by a geothermal heating system he himself had designed, reflected the high clouds and the outline of the mansion's Gothic towers. Around the pool, Erick had installed a veritable arsenal of invisible security: high-definition cameras camouflaged in ornamental stone posts, infrared motion sensors embedded in the marble edges, vibration detectors in the surrounding floor, and, above all, a network of sensors pointed at the sky—short-range radars, thermal scanners, and energy signature detectors that swept the airspace within a three-kilometer radius. Everything is integrated into Natasha's central system, ready to alert her to any drone, aircraft, or flying threat even before it crosses the property's perimeter.
Erick stood at the edge of the pool, wearing only tight black training shorts, the fabric clinging to his muscular thighs from the light sweat that was already beginning to bead on his skin. Shirtless, his defined torso gleamed in the setting sun: broad shoulders, a chest marked by hard lines, perfectly sculpted abs that contracted with each controlled breath, subtle veins tracing paths across his biceps and forearms. Old scars—marks from fire tests, falls in virtual training, real battles—marked his skin like silent war maps. He swung his arms slowly, shoulders rotating in wide circles, fists clenched and relaxed alternately, feeling the elemental fire warm the center of his chest like an internal furnace, ready to be directed.
A few meters away, reclining on a dark wooden chaise lounge with white cushions, was Artemis. She wore a tiny black bikini—the triangular top barely containing her firm, rounded breasts, the thin straps crisscrossing her tanned back, the Brazilian-cut bottoms hugging her wide hips and pert buttocks, revealing almost all the soft, toned skin of her long thighs. Dark sunglasses covered her green eyes, but didn't hide the lazy smile on her full lips. In her right hand, she held a tall glass of fresh coconut water, drops of condensation trickling down the chilled glass. Her blonde hair was loose, falling in waves over her shoulders, shining golden in the sun. She drank slowly, her lips closing around the straw, her eyes—even hidden by the sunglasses—fixed on her boyfriend's body, following every movement of his muscles, every flex of his shoulders, every contraction of his abdomen when he took a deep breath.
"Come on!" she shouted suddenly, her light, teasing voice cutting through the warm afternoon air. "Didn't you already do that on the last mission? Stop stalling and fly already, handsome."
Erick turned to her, a tired half-smile appearing on his lips. Sweat was already trickling down the valley between his chest, running in a straight line down his abdomen until it disappeared at the waistband of his shorts. He shook his head, his damp black hair sticking to his forehead.
"It's not that easy," he replied, his voice deep and hoarse from the initial effort. "That situation was a pure emergency. If I had fallen from any height uncontrollably… I could have died. It's not the same as flying with the full suit. Here I'm testing only with the elemental suit, without the wings. It's raw. It's dangerous."
Artemis gave a lazy smile, tilting her head to the side, her glasses slipping slightly down her nose. She took another sip of coconut water, her lips closing around the straw in a deliberately slow motion, her gaze undisguisedly traveling over his body from head to toe.
She murmured, dragging out the word with an almost purring tone. "But you can do it. I know you can."
Erick held the gaze for a second, feeling the heat rise—not just the elemental kind, but something more primal, more urgent. He took a deep breath, turned to face the pool, his bare feet firmly planted on the warm marble edge. The muscles in his back visibly tensed as he flexed his shoulders one last time. Then, without another word, he leaped powerfully.
His feet left the ground. The instant his body began to rise, orange and gold flames exploded from his palms and the soles of his feet—intense, controlled jets, like living propellers. The air around him trembled with the sudden heat, waves distorting vision like a mirage. He ascended quickly, his body leaning forward, the flames from his feet forming a continuous, powerful column that propelled him upward, while those from his hands served as lateral stabilizers, small flame adjustments to correct his trajectory.
The feeling was wild.
The wind lashed his face, the roar of the flames filling his ears like a rocket engine. He rose ten meters, fifteen, twenty—his body swaying in the air, his arms outstretched for balance, the flames at his feet burning steadily, brightly, throwing sparks that extinguished in the wind. But stability was difficult. The human body wasn't made to fly like that. Each gust of side wind made him spin slightly, forcing quick corrections with his hands—short, precise flames shooting from his palms to push the air and realign his torso. He rose, descended a little, rose again, like a bird learning to glide, his shorts clinging to his body in the wind, the muscles of his legs and abdomen contracted to the maximum to maintain his center of gravity.
Artemis slowly removed her sunglasses, her green eyes fixed on him, a proud and slightly worried smile on her lips. She leaned forward on the sun lounger, her breasts pressing against the thin fabric of her bikini, watching his every move.
At one point, Erick misjudged the angle of his right hand—the flame shot out stronger than necessary. The lateral momentum was excessive. His body spun in the air suddenly, uncontrollably, like a plane in a spin. He tried to correct, but it was too late. He fell straight into the pool, the impact creating a water explosion that shot up several meters, his body sinking deep, bubbles rising around him.
He emerged seconds later, coughing, his black hair plastered to his face, water running down his chest and abdomen. He took a deep breath, his broad chest expanding, and looked at Artemis with a tired smile.
"See? It's not that simple."
Artemis chuckled softly, lifting her body slightly on the sun lounger, her breasts swaying gently with the movement, her bikini barely containing them. She took another sip of coconut water, her lips glistening.
"Try again, buddy. I know you can do it."
Erick spent the entire afternoon there.
Attempt after attempt.
Each jump was better than the last. He soared higher, stabilized for longer, corrected his turns with greater precision. The elemental fire responded to his command with greater fluidity—the flames from his feet became more constant columns, those from his hands more subtle and precise for fine adjustments. He learned to tilt his body like an airplane, to use the wind to his advantage, to reduce or increase the intensity of the flames in milliseconds. By late afternoon, he could hover for almost thirty seconds without falling, his body suspended in the air, controlled flames emanating from his feet in thin, constant jets, his hands making micro-corrections.
And then came the real test.
Baymax — the main prototype, white, inflated, with gentle eyes but arms capable of launching with surgical precision — positioned himself at the edge of the pool. In his mechanical hands, he held training balls: heavy spheres of reinforced rubber, thrown at high speed and with extreme force, with millimeter precision.
Erick went up again.
Baymax launched the first ball — a fast projectile, cutting through the air with a whistle, aimed directly at his torso.
Erick reacted at the last instant: he dramatically increased the power of his feet, creating an explosive vertical impulse, and spun his body in a perfect loop in the air. The ball grazed beneath him, missing by centimeters. He completed the spin and stabilized again, smiling.
Baymax didn't stop. He threw two balls at the same time — one to his chest, the other to his legs.
Erick spun in the air like an acrobat, his body rotating horizontally, the flames from his feet and hands creating a spectacle of light and heat. The two balls passed by him without touching, one on each side, the precision of the movement impeccable.
He looked down at Artemis and smiled—a wide, proud, victorious smile.
Artemis took off her sunglasses, her green eyes shining with admiration and desire.
"So, buddy... with that you can fly in that state?"
Erick descended slowly, the flames dwindling until they were extinguished, his feet touching the bottom of the pool. He was panting, his chest rising and falling, sweat running down his entire torso, his muscles glistening.
"Let's see."
They walked together to the underground laboratory. Erick donned the full suit—the Cloak v2.1, the sealed helmet, the utility belt, the magnetic shield. Everything adjusted, everything ready.
They descended to the underground hangar — a spacious area with vehicles lined up: the armored SUV, the camouflaged electric motorcycles, drone prototypes. The high ceiling, the automatic lights turning on in sequence.
Erick stopped in the center, looking at the exit tunnel — a long, sloping ramp that led to the surface through a door camouflaged in the garden.
"To accurately calculate my speed, I'll have to fly at high speeds out there with the highest speed and force I can muster."
Artemis crossed her arms, leaning against one of the motorcycles, her bikini still wet from the day at the pool, her body glistening slightly.
"Alright, handsome. Show me how you can do it."
Erick activated the helmet—plates sliding and sealing his face with a soft click. He flexed his fingers, feeling the elemental fire concentrate in his hands and feet. Then, with a thought, he released it all.
Flames erupted from his feet and hands with brutal force—far more intense than in the pool test. The impulse was immediate, violent. From 0 to 100 km/h in less than a second. His body was launched forward like a human missile, the air roaring around him, the tunnel blurring past. Artemis's eyes widened, the wind from his passage ruffling her hair.
"Holy shit... he's going fucking fast," she murmured, impressed.
Erick burst out of the hangar like a rocket—the camouflaged door opening at the last instant, his body shooting into the Gotham night sky, orange and gold flames leaving a bright trail behind him. He ascended in a straight line, accelerating without stopping.
"Natasha, speed report."
The calm AI voice responded in the helmet:
"You are currently traveling at 500 kilometers per hour."
Erick smiled beneath his visor.
"I can go faster."
He increased the intensity of the flames—more elemental fuel, more power. His body accelerated violently: 300 km/h… 400… 500… 550. His helmet began to tremble with the friction of the air, the joints of his uniform vibrating, the wind howling like a hurricane around him. He climbed higher and higher, the sky darkening, the lights of Gotham shrinking below.
It reached 600 km/h.
The display flashed with warnings of structural stress.
He continued, pushing the limit. 700 km/h. His helmet creaked, some internal plates heating dangerously. The altitude increased rapidly—the air thinned, the cold beginning to bite into his armor. Parts of his boots and gloves began to form thin ice at the edges, the elemental fire fighting against the extreme freezing.
He stopped climbing.
"This is incredible," he murmured, his voice hoarse with adrenaline. "It's the best feeling in the world."
Then he tilted his body downwards and reignited the flames at full force—now taking advantage of gravity during the fall. His body plunged like a comet, accelerating even further. 750… 800 km/h. The world became a blur of light and darkness. His helmet trembled violently, red warning lights flashing, but he maintained control, gradually reducing the flames' power to stabilize his descent.
He returned to the mansion like a flash, stabilizing his flight a few meters above the ground, hovering over the garden before descending smoothly to the hangar.
Artemis was already there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a proud smile on her lips.
"Hey, handsome... how did it go?"
Erick deactivated his helmet—the plates retracting with a soft click, revealing his sweaty face, disheveled hair, and blue eyes gleaming with pure euphoria. He approached her with quick steps, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her forcefully, deeply, hungrily. Then he lifted her off the ground with ease, his strong arms encircling her waist, her feet leaving the ground.
"It was incredible," he murmured against her lips, his voice hoarse with adrenaline and desire. "One day you'll experience that feeling too."
Artemis blinked, confused, still in mid-air, her legs reflexively wrapping around his waist.
"What? I'm just a regular human... you're going to have to carry me. But how are you going to do that if your arms are busy directing the flames?"
Erick gave a wide, almost predatory smile, and squeezed her buttocks with both hands, pulling her closer to him.
He carried her like that—her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, their mouths meeting in wet, urgent kisses—to the master suite bathroom, the door closing behind them with a final click.
The night was still young.
And they had much to celebrate.
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