BHA post

As the chop came down, he became a blur, whizzing by Jack in a fraction of a second, the wind kicking up behind him as he became airborne. Each hero attire was tailored to the specifications the students requested, hence the overall design. The metal of the jets was orange with heat, the first target within sight. Normally his hands would be needed for stabilization, but as he took to the air, the keen edges of the wings to his suit would extend out, and further increase his flight maneuvers. His left hand cut off, causing him to veer slightly, but his compensation to the first post to the right was calculated quite perfectly, as his hand fought the force to reach and snatch the first flag, the pole wiggling violently to the forces that followed.

He worked quickly to stuff the flag into the pocket of the bomber jacket that covered the torso of the suit, before forcing both hands forward to rapidly decrease his speed. He made a noise unheard, a small grunt as he experienced the G's that would make Newton's law a reality, and after catching his breath, twisted to face the next post. As soon as he was aimed, the back-thruster exploded with another roar of the jet, launching him toward his next objective. The first objective was surely one to be impressive, a simple straight shot, but the next pole would be the entrance to a much bigger challenge. To make it difficult for heroes similar to him, the second pole would be the marking point that would lead to the third, a lower pole, hidden among an obstacle course of various traps and machinery that would surely test anyone's perception. But he was not one to give up the dogfight so easily. Just like with the first pole, he made it a point to accelerate quickly towards it, to try and give him some breathing room in the third hurdle. The same song and dance, left hand reaching to grip the next flag, but his thrusters quieted down to slow himself as he descended downwards into the course. Keep your head in the game.

Careful. While speed was important, not becoming red paste to any tricks was also key. Gears clicked to life, as padded walls began to erupt from their holders, the Pilot narrowing his eyes as he twisted out of the way, and zipped between the openings he saw. His helmet was rattling, deep, hard breaths kept his lungs from collapsing, and his heart racing as thrusters burned hot. Of course, he had gained a bit too much speed, possibly from wanting to make an impression, as one of the walls shot upwards, and clipped his foot. One might think this to be a trivial issue, but for a plane, any miscalculation could spell disaster. Gritted teeth to hide a shout, as he flipped about, he caught himself thrusting his arms towards the ground to keep from making an impact, and soon after, his back-burner kicked in and saw him kick back forward. The pole sat between columns of spinning protrusions, which would put him at a severe disadvantage. But he only had a moment to think, a brief opening at the speeds he was pulling, and rather than slow down, he sped up. His arms narrowed, shooting for the clearing, and at the nearest moment, he killed his thrusters and retracted the wings. Like a bullet, he shot through the narrow gap between poles. He kept his eyes on the prize, and as soon as he was clear, he was off again. Wings extended, and thrusters shot him forward to snag flag number three.

The course went upwards, to the last flag, high above the rest of them. For Heroes who needed to climb, there were ruts that stuck out to allow them as such, but for Aiza, they were just another means to block him. Come on. He tilted his wrists to move vertically along the pole. Come on! He corrected his course to avoid ruts, the wind ahead of him bunching up as more and more of his energy was used to get him the speed he wanted. The Final Barrier. And yet, he seemed to hesitate. Come on! Soon as the flag was in sight, his hand reached towards it, fighting the barrier, fighting sound itself. But soon it was in his hand, and he shot further upwards, slowing in speed as he looked at it, flashing a grin as the setting sunset the mood for victory. That was, until, he tried to use his thruster to correct him downwards, and found that-

"Crap...I stalled..."

Suddenly he began to fall, gravity's call back to Earth. His breathing was rapid inside the helmet, having to adjust himself to face the ground as the flyer became a diver. The Engines puttered as he attempted to compensate himself. He bit down on his teeth, hard, struggling to get himself to fly again. The ground was becoming clearer and clearer, but all at once, the afterburners kicked back on, and moments before impact, he burst upwards and flew along the ground. A low sigh was given, raising himself to not give his torso a wicked rash, as he made his way back towards the starting point, and once close enough, he pushed his hands forward, then down as he lowered himself to the ground, landing with slightly shaky legs, but overall, he was safe. Taking his helmet off, he took a long breath and began laughing, holding his gut, perhaps also in pain as he fell back onto his ass and let his hysterics calm down, turning his head towards Jack, lifting up a bundle of flags towards him. "How'd I do, wingman?" He was sweating, blonde hair matted to his face, but the stupidest grin was upon him, cheeks red from the rushing blood, and massive pride.