In a dim and empty office, one could find a familiar woman, garbed in a fitted suit as she sipped coffee from her mug.
It was early, much too early, but she enjoyed being punctual even though none of her patients would arrive until seven.
Adjusting a strand of her blonde hair, she let out a breath, her blue eyes locked on a figure seated on her window frame.
"Miss Amethyst, to what do I owe the pleasure," she said, dropping the mug on the table behind her.
She appeared guarded, her form straightening as she crossed her arms, her hands caressing her elbows.
Amethyst, garbed in a form-fitted white blouse and palazzo pants, hummed at those words, "And good morning to you, Little Carla. How have you been?"
"I'm fine, though I'd be better if I didn't have to replace the window frame," Carla chuckled, her tone forced, her eyes focused as she added, "Did you have to rip out the bars?"
"How else do you expect me to create a dramatic entrance?" Amethyst responded, her voice calm as she finally looked towards Carla, her blood red eyes glowing faintly in the dim. "I assume you know why I'm here?"
"I've told you everything I know about the boy," Carla responded immediately but-
"Hush!" Amethyst interrupted, placing her fingers on Carla's lips.
She had moved like a phantom, covering the distance between them in almost no time at all.
"I can hear your heart pounding even from this distance," Amethyst continued speaking, a smile spreading across her face. "I'm almost offended, after all we've been through together-"
"You turned me into a freak," Carla breathed, her face unnaturally stiff as was her breath.
Tilting her head at such a reaction, Amethyst shook her head. "I had no hand in what you have become. Even before me, you've always had... a strange preference. I simply gave you power, and yet you still chose to be here, you could be out there, dominating-"
"What do you want," Carla cut her short, swallowing hard. "Take it and leave."
"Now now, Little Carla, I'm beginning to sense that you're afraid of me." Amethyst pulled back, walking towards the window.
Carla remained quiet, watching intently.
"Valen, he managed to survive," Amethyst continued, staring out the window. "I had thought that being her only student would make him outstanding in some way, yet his first mutation has proven to be quite weak."
"You turned him," Carla asked, her eyes trembling slightly. "Of course you did. What do you want me to do with this information?"
"I've decided to keep him as a pet of sorts," Amethyst continued, tilting her head. "I need not explain myself, do I Miss Carla?"
Carla took in a breath at those words, and before she could say anything, Amethyst was gone.
---------
Meanwhile, back at Mr. Valen's home, he breathed in the air of the room a mix of old blood and the faint, sweet odor of fever-sweat that had long since dried.
When he opened his eyes, he felt different, more complete like whatever was happening to him the day before had settled.
He stared at the ceiling, embracing this feeling until...
'I feel restricted,' Mr. Valen thought, strangely conscious of the simple cotton sheets he had used to cover himself, so he pushed them off, a simple reflexive act.
But the fabric tore, and a long, clean rip echoed in the quiet room, the sound startlingly loud.
Mr. Valen stared, dumbfounded, at the frayed edges of his best set of sheets, which was to say, any sheet that was clean.
'Do I have to do laundry?' He thought as he observed his hand, turning it over.
It looked the same, pale, with a faint tracing of veins, 'Is it just me, or are my arms denser?'
With that thought, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, where he planted his feet on the worn hardwood floor.
Yet, as he stood, he misjudged the force entirely, putting too much power into the simple act of rising.
"Whoah," Mr. Valen groaned as his body shot upward with a swosh, his balance reeling for a terrifying second before he caught himself against the window.
His fingers, splayed for support, pressed against the glass, and then he heard a faint crack prompting him to pull his hand back.
"Hmm," Mr. Valen groaned as he noticed a delicate web of hairline fractures where his fingertips had been.
"I feel even stronger than yesterday," the man spoke, a slow, disbelieving breath escaping him, but then a faint sting caught his attention.
He looked down at his body, his gaze falling on his left calf where the greyhound had bitten him, and then he reached down, rolling up his pajama pant leg.
'That's odd,' he thought, his eyes narrowing. He expected to see a mess of bruised, swollen flesh and angry red skin, but instead, he found only a faint, pinkish mark, like a scar that had healed over months, not a day.
His skin was smooth and whole and when he pressed a thumb against it, there was no tenderness, only the firm resilience of fully mended muscle.
'I could punch a man, I could kill a man, I could kill many men,' he thought as a feeling of nervous excitement coursed through him, only to be suppressed unnaturally by his instincts.
But he was still excited.
He took a step, carefully, then another, pacing the short length of his simple room (a bed, a wardrobe, a small desk).
Then he increased his speed; his normal, shuffling gait was gone. This time, each step was a precise, powerful piston movement.
He reached the far wall in what felt like a single heartbeat, his body covering the distance with an effortless, predatory grace that was utterly foreign to him.
'I could easily outrun that greyhound now,' he thought, his brows furrowed as he sank into the chair at his desk, the old wood groaning under his new weight.
He needed to think, to process, to goon, his laptop was already open, and it was not password protected, all he just had to do now was open the browser.
His fingers, clumsy with newfound strength, jabbed at the keys, threatening to punch straight through the plastic, but he forced himself to type slower, to barely touch them.
The first thing that popped up was porn, two to three tabs open at once, seeing this Mr. Valen clicked on a few more tabs, 'My step uncle's thick long pole? What is a step uncle?' he thought, observing an absurd title in one of the tabs.
Of course, Mr. Valen was not really addicted to pornography; he simply wished to create the illusion to his parents, as research had led him to believe that such was natural for men his age.
Such would raise the question of which part of the Internet Mr. Valen had conducted his so-called research.
Opening a new search engine, Mr. Valen began searching for things on his mind: Superhuman strength, Rapid healing, and Amethyst. His questions were many, but the answer remained consistent.
Demon, Demon, Purple Demon, of course, this wasn't credible information as most of them seemed to be a response to the Pope's announcement, hell, one of the articles quoted "The demons are hiding under your beds."
This prompted Mr. Valen to turn back, peering into the bottom of his bed, his eyes narrowing slightly.
What he saw could only be described as a shadowy humanoid crouched in such a way that its limbs bent in odd angles, its vortex-like eyes peering at him.
"Hmm, I don't see any demon," Mr. Valen mused, his breath calm. "All I see is a retard."
He had long since gotten used to his abilities to see avatars, and though some like his were a little unnerving, he viewed them as natural entities, entirely different from demons.
"I shall know a demon if I see one," Mr. Valen muttered, shuddering slightly at the abomination Amethyst had summoned two nights before.
With that, he just scrolled up and down through news headlines and celebrity gossip.
"How dare you call me a thief?" a loud voice tore through the silent morning, prompting Mr. Valen to raise a brow. 'Amanda?'
With those words, he moved, descending the stairs, each step taken with the extreme caution of a man walking on ice so as to not damage anything
He was so focused on controlling his descent that he didn't register the other sound at first.
It was the low, rhythmic murmur of voices, it would seem that whoever had been speaking had realized their tone and reduced it.
But he was curious nonetheless, so he peeked only to see his stepmother and a boiling father debating someone in the living room.
The air was heavy.