This fanfic is created for entertainment purposes only. I do not own characters from existing franchises. I only own my original characters.
Enjoy Chapter 6!
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The White House - Situation Room - 3:47 PM EST
President Marcus Caldwell slammed his open palm on the table. It wasn't a hard hit, but the sound cut through the whispered conversations filling the room.
"Enough." His voice came out dry, irritated. "Give me the numbers. The real ones."
The aides exchanged nervous glances. Caldwell was a burly man of fifty-eight, with impeccably combed-back gray hair and a jaw that seemed perpetually clenched. He'd risen to office promising to "restore American order," and now the world had gone completely mad in a matter of hours.
Sarah Chen, deputy director of the CIA, was the first to speak. She unfolded a tablet on the table, projecting holographic charts that floated in the center of the room.
"Mr. President, so far we've confirmed approximately two hundred fifty thousand awakened individuals in U.S. territory." Her voice was professional, devoid of inflection. "The numbers are increasing every hour."
"And how many of those are real threats?" Caldwell leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against the armrest.
Chen swiped her finger, changing the image. Categories with percentages appeared.
"Seventy-two percent have manifested low-level abilities. Slightly enhanced speed, strength equivalent to two or three men, expanded sensory perception, minor changes in appearance. Useful, but not destructive." She paused. "Twenty percent showed intermediate capabilities. Basic elemental manipulation—fire, electricity, ice on a small scale. Telekinesis, flight, enhanced jumps capable of moving objects up to a hundred kilos. Improved physical durability."
"And the rest?"
"The remaining eight percent…" Chen swallowed hard. "They're problematic, sir."
Another aide, General David Brenner, stood. He was a lean man with scars crisscrossing the left side of his face, a memento from Afghanistan.
"We have individuals capable of transforming into animals. Wolves, bears, things that shouldn't exist. Some retain their rationality, others… don't." He changed the image, displaying blurry security footage. A man morphing into something with too many limbs, attacking civilians in a parking lot. "This one completely lost his humanity after the transformation. We had to neutralize him with heavy artillery."
Caldwell observed the screen with a neutral expression. "Next?"
"Individuals with what we can only describe as… magic." Brenner sounded uncomfortable saying the word. "They can create objects out of nothing. Generate weapons in large quantities. Others have perfect aim. One froze an entire lake in Montana. Another makes plants grow at unimaginable speeds."
"And the dangerous ones?"
"We have five confirmed individuals capable of destroying entire structures. One split an apartment building in two with a sword. Literally cut it like butter." Brenner clenched his fists. "We captured him, but we lost twelve agents in the process."
The president rubbed his temples. "Tell me you have good news."
Chen spoke again. "The distribution of powers seems to follow a curve. For every high-level awakened, there are approximately twenty mid-level and a hundred low-level. The truly dangerous ones are statistically rare."
"Statistically rare?" Caldwell let out a humorless laugh. "Do you know how many 'statistically rare' there are in three hundred million people? Do the damn math."
An uncomfortable silence filled the room.
The president pressed a button on his console. "Bring in the top brass. Now."
…
Ten minutes later, the room was packed. Representatives from every military branch, intelligence agency directors, national security advisors. Twenty serious faces watched the screens displaying the collapse of global order.
"Situation," Caldwell ordered.
Admiral Richard Torres spoke first. "Mr. President, we're experiencing massive migrations of mutated wildlife. Herds of animals that would never naturally group together are attacking civilian populations in a coordinated manner. Idaho, Montana, parts of Alaska… they're being evacuated."
"Casualties?"
"We estimate three thousand civilian deaths in the last twelve hours. And that's being conservative." Torres didn't break eye contact with the president. "We've expended more ammunition in half a day than in a month of operations in the Middle East."
A woman across the table—FBI Director Amanda Price—added, "Cities are on the brink of total collapse. Mass looting. Groups of awakened forming militias. Chicago reports entire neighborhoods where police can no longer enter."
"And our own awakened?" Caldwell asked. "The ones we've recruited."
General Brenner coughed. "They're… adapting. Some responded to the call immediately. Others are scared, confused. Two turned against our forces, and we had to eliminate them."
"Damn it."
Chen raised her hand. "Sir, we have information from our international operations."
"Speak."
"China cut all communications six hours ago. But one of our agents—an awakened with the ability to transfer consciousness to birds—managed to send a message."
She displayed a satellite photograph. Large areas of darkness where city lights once shone.
"An awakened in China sabotaged their technological servers. Collapsed their entire communications infrastructure. The Chinese government is operating completely blind."
Caldwell leaned forward. "A single individual did that?"
"It appears so, sir."
"I need more information on that individual. Name, location, exact capabilities. Yesterday."
"Yes, sir."
The president looked around the room. "What else?"
There was a prolonged silence. The attendees exchanged glances.
"Tell me." Caldwell's voice dropped dangerously.
Chen spoke, her voice softer than before. "Colombia, sir."
Caldwell's jaw visibly tightened. "What happened in Colombia?"
"Part of Medellín was… destroyed."
"Define destroyed."
Chen swallowed audibly. "The historic center no longer exists, sir. A crater hundreds of meters in diameter. We estimate between three and five thousand civilian casualties."
The noise in the room died completely. Even breaths seemed to stop.
"A bomb?"
"No, sir." Chen changed the image. Satellite photographs showed the before and after. A vibrant city turned into a lunar landscape. "It was a confrontation between two awakened. One with gravitational control. The other…"
"The other?"
"Helena Krüger."
Caldwell blinked. For the first time in the meeting, he seemed genuinely surprised. "The German? The one working with Colombia?"
"Yes, sir. She neutralized the gravitational threat, but the cost was…" Chen gestured helplessly at the images. "This."
The president stood slowly. He walked to the holographic screen, observing the crater with narrowed eyes.
"And Krüger?"
"She entered a coma due to extreme overexertion. Reports indicate she's recovering quickly."
Caldwell's eyes gleamed. His expression wasn't hard to read—he was calculating.
"General Brenner." He turned abruptly. "Send our elite awakened to Colombia. I want Krüger eliminated while she's vulnerable."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Brenner cleared his throat. "Mr. President, with all due respect, I wouldn't recommend—"
"I didn't ask for recommendations. I asked for orders to be followed."
"Sir." Brenner's voice hardened slightly. "Helena Krüger demonstrated the ability to destroy an entire city. Our best awakened can barely destroy buildings. If we send them against her and she survives…" He let the implication hang in the air.
"Then what do you suggest? That we let a foreigner be the most powerful?"
"I suggest we wait until we better understand our own capabilities before wasting resources on a tactical suicide."
Caldwell clenched his fists. The veins in his neck bulged. "What's the damn point of that elite team if they don't function when we need them?"
No one responded.
The president took a deep breath, trying to control his temper. When he spoke again, his voice was forcibly calm.
"Fine. Then can someone explain to me how the hell a German—not even with a Colombian name—ended up being the most powerful awakened in that country?"
Chen consulted her tablet. "We have her full file, sir. Helena Krüger, born in East Berlin. Served in Russian special forces after reunification. Participated in conflicts in Chechnya, Georgia, Ukraine."
"And how did she end up in Colombia?"
"After the Crimean War, Russia let her go. She was… burned out. Severe PTSD, alcoholism issues. Decided to move, seeking retirement." Chen paused. "She met a Colombian on a trip. Also a military man. Carlos Méndez. They fell in love, and she moved to Medellín."
Caldwell raised an eyebrow. "She moved for a man?"
"They were together for four years. He died in combat against drug trafficking. A stray bullet pierced his vest." Chen continued reading. "The Colombian government covered all funeral expenses, gave Helena a full pension. She… didn't take it well."
"What did she do?"
"Tracked down the operation commander who let that bullet slip through. Killed him. Then she showed up at the military base and requested to rejoin, but with the Colombian army." Chen looked up. "She wanted to die doing the only thing she knew how to do."
"Jesus," someone murmured.
Caldwell stared at Chen, dumbfounded. "Are you telling me this whole situation—that Colombia has the most dangerous awakened in the hemisphere—is because a woman fell in love?"
"Essentially, yes, sir."
"All because of a damn dick!" Caldwell exploded, slamming the table again. "I thought there was something deeper. That they saved her life as a child, that she grew up there, something with strategic sense."
Chen shrugged slightly. "Mr. President, human behavior remains unpredictable. We also thought there were more complex reasons."
Before Caldwell could respond, the room's doors burst open. A young technician rushed in, his face pale.
"Mr. President, I'm sorry, but—"
"How dare you interrupt?" Caldwell spun, his face flushed.
"Sir, it's urgent!" The technician almost shouted. "We're detecting massive ether accumulations in multiple locations."
The room fell silent.
"Explain. Now."
The technician ran to the console, his fingers flying over the controls. New images appeared—heat maps showing energy concentrations.
"The ether is gathering in specific points around the world. It's not natural dispersion. It's as if… it's being intentionally collected."
"Where?"
"The largest concentration is in the Pacific Ocean. But there are other significant ones in…" He consulted his tablet. "Colombia, Brazil, South Korea, Japan, Russia, and here, in the United States. Specifically in Yellowstone."
Caldwell felt a chill run down his spine. "Yellowstone? The supervolcano?"
"Yes, sir."
"Shit," someone in the room muttered.
The president returned to his seat slowly. He suddenly looked older, more tired.
"Keep me constantly updated on those concentrations. I want reports every thirty minutes. If anything changes, wake me no matter the hour."
"Yes, sir."
There was a moment of silence as everyone processed the new information. Then the Secretary of State—a bald man named Howard Mills—raised his hand timidly.
"Mr. President, regarding the classification of awakened. How will we officially categorize them?"
Several attendees began speaking simultaneously, offering different systems. Letters, numbers, colors.
"One moment!" A young man with thick glasses stood enthusiastically. "What if we use the mutant classification system? Omega, Alpha, Beta, Delta, Epsilon. It's already established in pop culture, it'd be easy to—"
"What's your role?" Caldwell interrupted, staring at him with a stony expression.
The young man blinked. "I… I'm the cultural trends analyst, sir. My job is—"
"You're fired."
"What?"
"Security, escort him out. Immediately."
Two guards appeared, taking the young man by the arms as he protested. The door closed behind them, cutting off his cries of indignation.
Caldwell looked at the rest of the room. "I don't need comic book fans in this room. I need professionals." He paused. "But we'll use his classification system. It makes sense."
No one dared point out the irony.
"Omega for city-destroyers like Krüger. Alpha for building-level threats. Beta for intermediate capabilities. Delta for low-level abilities. Epsilon for minimal manifestations." He added, "Keep in mind that powers are still developing, so classifications may change."
Caldwell listed them off. "Any objections?"
Silence.
"Good. Implement the system. I want all our awakened cataloged by tomorrow."
Mills raised his hand again. "Sir, should we consult with the Colombian government about these changes? Given the situation with Krüger and—"
A vein pulsed visibly on Caldwell's forehead. "Are you suggesting that the United States—the most powerful nation in the world—ask a third-world country how to classify threats?"
"Sir, I just thought that since they have direct experience with an Omega-level threat—"
"Helena Krüger." General Brenner's voice was soft but firm.
Caldwell looked at him. "What?"
"Krüger is with them, sir. And she's proven she can annihilate entire armies. If we enter a diplomatic conflict with Colombia now…" Brenner let the sentence trail off.
The president closed his eyes. He breathed deeply once, twice, three times.
"You're fired too, Mills."
"Sir!"
"Out. Now."
Mills stood, his face red with humiliation and anger, but he left without another word.
When the door closed, Caldwell sighed deeply. He suddenly looked exhausted.
"Someone… someone contact the Colombian government. Discreetly. Share the information about the classifications. Ask for… ask for their cooperation."
The words seemed to physically pain him.
Chen nodded. "Yes, Mr. President."
"This meeting is over. Everyone to your posts. I want updated reports in six hours."
The attendees began to rise, gathering tablets and documents. The murmur of conversations filled the room as they headed for the exit.
Caldwell remained seated alone, staring at the screens showing the world crumbling.
"God help us," he muttered to himself. "Because we clearly don't know what we're doing."
…
Elsewhere…
Jhon felt the weight of the crocodile shift beneath him as they moved through the ravaged streets. The world passed in a gray blur of damaged buildings and distant screams, but his attention was entirely elsewhere.
The holographic screen glowed before his eyes, invisible to everyone but him. And there it was.
- Brandon Sampson - [Jupiter's Legacy (TV Series)]
He swallowed hard. His fingers trembled slightly.
After gaining Intuitive Aptitude, the first thing he'd done—amid all the chaos—was download information. Series, comics, anime. Everything he could before the internet started failing in sectors. Novels and fanfics were still pending. If the world ever stabilizes, he thought bitterly, maybe I'll have time.
He knew Jupiter's Legacy. The comic was one thing—brutal, dark, with characters reaching ridiculous power levels. But this wasn't from the comic; it was from the series.
A watered-down version of Superman.
The information flowed into his mind as he touched the card to assimilate it.
'Brandon Sampson from the TV series. Son of The Utopian. Strong, but not at his father's level. The important thing was that Brandon never fully developed his capabilities. It was like having a Ferrari running at fifty percent capacity.'
If he based it on what he'd seen of his father in the series—city-level destruction easily—then Brandon operated at maybe half of that. How much was that in concrete numbers? He couldn't be sure. Between two thousand and ten thousand tons of brute force, he estimated. Enough to lift small buildings, tear tanks apart like tin cans.
Resistance to the vacuum of space, though not as developed as his father's. Durability that allowed him to take hits that would pulverize concrete. Supersonic speed. Laser vision. Flight. Hearing capable of detecting sounds kilometers away.
It was exactly what he needed right now.
Especially when out there was a woman capable of wiping cities off the map.
If he combined Brandon's durability with what he already had from Loki… his mind raced through the possibilities. Asgardian physiology gave him considerable base durability. With Brandon on top of that, he could survive in the vacuum of space. Extreme cold wouldn't kill him—his Frost Giant form already partially protected him from that. And lack of oxygen… well, Kryptonians could hold their breath for ridiculous amounts of time. Brandon likely inherited some of that.
Technically, he thought as the data organized in his head thanks to Intuitive Aptitude, resistance to extreme environments comes from cells that can store and process solar energy incredibly efficiently. The Kryptonian body—or in this case, Kryptonian-like—functions as a biological battery. As long as it has solar charge, vital processes can continue without external oxygen for extended periods. Comparing Brandon to a Kryptonian would be an insult to them, but it's the closest analogy.
Plus, Loki, compared to Thor, was trash. His brother had withstood the direct impact of a dying star. Loki seemed like the adopted kid they found in an alley.
But Loki had something good too, just like Thor: resilience through cunning and, frankly, surviving falls from ridiculous heights. Hundreds of meters, blows that would turn normal humans to paste, and the bastard kept getting up. It didn't give you stellar strength, but it gave you versatility. Asgardian magic, illusions, sensory manipulation.
'Though the MCU version only used illusions,' Jhon frowned. 'Supposedly the best mage in the Nine Realms, and all he did was enhanced parlor tricks.'
He opened his character sheet mentally.
Name: Jhon Ariza Montoza
Race: [Hum&#&$]
Gacha Points: 1/30
Purchased: 0
Character Assimilation:
- Brandon Sampson (Jupiter's Legacy - Series): 5%
- Loki (Earth 199999): 50%
Assimilated Characters:
- Jason Todd: 100%
Summoned Characters:
- T-1000 (Terminator 2) - Loyalty 10/10
Powers:
- Stand: Echoes ACT2
- Intuitive Aptitude
- Accelerated Regeneration
- Extreme Thermal Resistance
- Biological Manipulation (Minor)
- Telekinesis
Equipped Items: None
Five percent of Brandon. Fifty percent of Loki.
The jump in Loki's assimilation had been significant. He could feel new memories filtering in—not exact memories, but knowledge. How to cast more complex illusions. How to create projected clones that could physically interact for short periods. How to manipulate light to become invisible without needing Echoes.
And the strength. His base strength had increased by several tons. Maybe ten, fifteen tons of lifting capacity now. It was nothing compared to what would come as Brandon developed further, but for now, it was a considerable boost.
'I'm still an ant compared to her,' he thought, recalling the satellite images of Medellín broadcast on television. 'But I'm growing.'
---
Point of View: Miriam
The gorilla moved with surprising smoothness beneath her, each stride eating up meters of distance. Jhon's telekinesis created an invisible bubble around the group, deflecting the wind that would otherwise have torn them from their mounts at this speed.
Miriam watched the city pass by. Buildings with shattered windows. Overturned cars burning slowly. Occasional bodies on the sidewalks—some human, some mutated animals, impossible to tell who attacked whom first.
'Will any of this ever be normal again?'
The question floated in her mind like a lost balloon, with no answer in sight.
She turned her head to where Jhon rode the armored crocodile. He was doing that thing again—going completely still, staring at something only he could see, his lips moving occasionally as if talking to someone invisible.
A pang of worry pierced her chest.
She'd noticed a long time ago that he acted this way, even before all this power business.
It hadn't always been like this. Before, when she only watched him from a distance at university, Jhon was different. More present. More… connected. He talked with his classmates, laughed, complained about professors like any normal student.
Then his parents died.
Miriam had seen the change. Slow at first, like ice spreading over a lake. The way he isolated himself. How his eyes sometimes got lost staring into nothing. The conversations he had with himself in a low voice when he thought no one was listening.
It hurt to see him change. To see something fundamental in him break and reconfigure wrong.
That's why she stopped just watching.
She had approached him. She knew he liked her—she'd seen how he looked at her when he thought she didn't notice. How his eyes followed some other women too, which made something dark twist in her stomach.
'I had to become the best woman for him.' The certainty burned in her chest. 'The only woman he'd need.'
Jhon was her sun. The only one who had illuminated her life after her mother died of cancer when she was fourteen. The only one who treated her as a complete person instead of "the cop's daughter" or "the poor motherless girl."
Even being the nerd he was, he had never rejected her.
'And the bitches who get close to him…' Her thoughts took a darker turn. 'I just have to take them out, don't I?'
Her eyes emptied of emotion for a moment, cold and flat as glass.
"Mommy," Sofía's high-pitched voice cut through the air. "The lady's a little scary."
The girl's mother hugged her tighter against her chest. "Shh, my love, it's nothing. Don't say those things."
But inwardly, she thought, 'Is it too late to regret this? They both seem crazy.'
Miriam's power pulsed involuntarily. Her control over biological processes expanded unintentionally, brushing against the gorilla beneath her.
The animal grunted—a low, pained sound. Its muscles contracted erratically.
Miriam blinked, realizing what she'd done. She immediately retracted her power, stabilizing the gorilla's systems.
'Shit. Control. I need control.'
She looked at Jhon again. Still lost in his mental world, completely oblivious to what had just happened.
'He has to stop doing that,' she thought, frowning. 'Sometimes he doesn't react to what's happening around him. Though I guess it's because he doesn't see us as a threat.'
Her expression softened slightly. 'It doesn't matter. I won't let anything happen to him anyway.'
"Jhon!" She called his name, projecting her voice over the wind. "Come back from the moon! We're here!"
---
Miriam's voice snapped him out of his internal analysis. He blinked, momentarily disoriented.
'Again.' He frowned. 'Lately, I've been talking to myself a lot more.'
Maybe if therapy still existed in a month, he'd consider going. Probably not.
He looked at Miriam, forcing a smile. She blushed slightly but returned an equally bright smile.
"We're at your uncles' place," she said, pointing ahead. "Let's find them quick so we can get to the bunker."
Sofía and her mother watched them silently from the lion. The girl had woken up a few minutes ago, looking at everything with wide eyes.
Jhon nodded. After the zoo, he'd decided to swing by his uncles' house quickly. He needed to make sure they were okay, get them to the safety of the bunker before something…
The house came into view.
And the patrol cars were overturned in the street.
The smile on Jhon's face died like a candle snuffed out.
He dismounted the crocodile slowly. His feet hit the cracked pavement with a dull sound that seemed too loud in his enhanced ears.
Bodies were scattered around the vehicles. Blue uniforms soaked in red. Faces frozen in expressions of surprise and pain.
His mind felt strangely foggy, as if someone had filled his skull with cotton.
"Jhon?" Miriam's voice sounded distant, worried. "Jhon, what's wrong?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't. The words were stuck somewhere between his brain and his mouth.
His steps were slow, unsteady. Each inhalation required conscious effort. The air came in thick, heavy, as if he were breathing underwater.
Miriam dismounted the gorilla, running toward him. "Jhon, wait!"
"Stay there." His voice came out flat, without inflection, like a straight line.
She stopped dead, something in his tone making her obey instinctively.
Sofía's mother watched everything with growing horror, keeping her hands over her daughter's eyes.
Jhon walked toward the house. His feet followed the path—left, right, left, right—mechanically.
Then he heard the voices.
His enhanced hearing picked them up easily despite the walls.
"—I'm telling you, this was a goldmine, bro. Look at all these weapons."
"And the cash. Did you count the cash?"
"Like two million in bills. The old man had savings."
Laughter. Damn laughter.
"If that guy hadn't resisted, we wouldn't have had to kill anyone. But what can you do, right? The military guy and his wife got tough."
The blood in Jhon's veins turned to ice. Something cold and terrible expanded from his chest, filling every limb.
The veins around his eyes tinged red.
He entered the living room.
Two men. Young, maybe twenty-five. Stained T-shirts, ripped jeans. One had a pistol in his belt. The other held a duffel bag full of bills.
Both froze when they saw him.
"What the hell?" The one with the pistol drew it, aiming with hands that barely trembled. "Get out of here if you don't want to die, man!"
Jhon didn't respond. His eyes moved slowly, scanning the room.
There.
On the floor. A dark pool spreading across the tiles.
Uncle Jorge lay face-up, his military uniform soaked. Three holes in his chest. His eyes open, staring at the ceiling, seeing nothing.
Next to him, Aunt Adriana. Her floral blouse—the one she always wore on Sundays—was torn. Blood in her hair. One hand stretched toward her husband, as if she'd tried to reach him in her final moments.
Memories came uninvited. Uncle Jorge giving him money as a kid, crumpled bills pressed into his hand with a conspiratorial wink. "Don't tell your mom, okay?" Helping him with math homework, his patience endless when Jhon couldn't grasp fractions. Aunt Adriana cooking his favorite meal every time he visited, always insisting he eat more.
The living room showed signs of a struggle. Dents in the walls. Broken lamps. Overturned furniture.
Evidence they fought back.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!" The man with the pistol was shouting now, cocking the gun with a metallic click. "Get out or I'll—!"
"Why?" The word came from Jhon in a hoarse whisper.
Both men looked at each other, confused.
"What'd he say?" one asked the other.
"Dunno, didn't hear him clearly."
"Shoot him already, this guy's crazy. We gotta go before more cops show up."
The finger began to squeeze the trigger.
Jhon raised his gaze.
"¡¿WHY?!"
The word came out as a roar. The sheer volume made the windows explode outward in a shower of glittering shards.
CRASH-CRASH-CRASH
The wooden frames splintered. Glass fell to the street like deadly hail.
And in his eyes—blue until a second ago—two points of bright red light ignited. Not metaphorical. Crimson energy gathered behind his pupils, heating, intensifying.
He lunged.
The world became a blur. A blink, and he was crossing the five meters separating him from the first man.
His fist connected with the man's clavicle. The sound was obscene—CRACK-CRUNCH—like dry branches snapping all at once.
The man shot backward. His body smashed through the plaster wall like it was paper, creating a man-sized hole. He landed in the next room amid a shower of white dust and brick fragments.
Echoes ACT2 appeared behind Jhon without him needing to call it. The Stand wrote kanji in the air around his uncles' bodies.
保護 (Hogo - Protection)
An invisible barrier formed around them, shielding them from what was about to happen.
The second man was firing frantically. His hands shook so much that half the shots missed entirely.
BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG
The bullets that did connect hit Jhon's chest and shoulders. They pierced the skin—barely—leaving red marks that bled slightly before regeneration sealed them.
The five percent of Brandon, combined with fifty percent of Loki, plus everything he'd gained from Jason and the serum… his durability had reached levels that made conventional weapons almost useless.
Jhon kept walking. Each step deliberate, heavy.
The man backed up until he hit the wall, his back slamming into the plaster. "N-no, no, please, I—"
The laser vision activated.
They weren't like Superman's. Not incandescent pillars of instant destruction.
But they were enough.
Two beams of red light shot from his eyes, striking the man's chest. The temperature was high enough to burn, to cook flesh, but not high enough to kill instantly.
The man began to scream. His hands clutched at his shirt, melting against his skin. The smell of burning flesh filled the air—acrid, sweet, nauseating.
"AHHHH! STOP, STOP, PLEASE!" He writhed, kicking, trying to extinguish flames that didn't exist.
Jhon kept the beams active. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen.
The screams turned to gurgles. Then silence.
The body slid down the wall, leaving a wet trail. The eyes—what was left of them—stared forward unseeing, the mouth open in a final silent scream.
Jhon turned off the beams. He blinked, feeling the residual heat behind his eyes, a dull ache like a mild migraine.
He turned toward the hole in the wall. Shuffling footsteps came from the other side.
The first man appeared, crawling. His clavicle protruded from his skin at a grotesque angle. Blood dripped from his mouth. Tears and snot covered his face.
"P-please…" He knelt, his legs giving out. "They… they forced me… I'm an addict… I needed money for more…" He sobbed uncontrollably. "The Reborn… the criminal organization… they told me I could make money like this… please, I just…"
He pissed himself. A dark puddle spread beneath him.
"It… it wasn't personal! I swear! The Reborn send us to rob houses! This family was just one of the victims! There are plenty more! Please, please, let me live!"
Jhon stood still. Those words weighed on him more than he wanted.
Memories flashed through his mind. The people he'd ignored on the street. The guys looting stores, shouting they'd hit the jackpot. All the times he'd chosen not to intervene because he needed to stay hidden.
Ironically, his uncles were victims too. Something he hadn't thought would happen in his unconscious human arrogance, because, after gaining the essence, some small part of him believed he was special. But now I realize I'm just another guy with powers.
"I see," he said finally, his voice completely flat.
"Y-you'll let me live?" The man clung to that hope like a drowning man to a plank. "I can give you the stuff! The money! The weapons! Everything!"
A vein pulsed in Jhon's temple. His hands clenched into fists.
He walked toward the kneeling man. He crouched, grabbing him by the neck with one hand.
"Wait, wait, wait—"
Jhon squeezed.
There was no ceremony. No dramatic words. Just steady pressure, increasing gradually.
The man's eyes bulged. His hands clawed at Jhon's arm, leaving marks that healed instantly. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, seeking air that wouldn't come.
CRACK
The neck snapped. The body went limp instantly, becoming dead weight.
Jhon let go. It fell to the floor with a dull thud.
He straightened slowly, looking around the wrecked room. Broken glass. Perforated walls. Blood everywhere.
"The Reborn?" he murmured to himself.
He walked toward his uncles. The Echoes barrier dissolved as he approached. With telekinesis, he gently lifted their bodies from the floor, holding them in the air as if they were floating.
He was about to leave the house when his hearing caught something. A soft, muffled sound. Crying.
His eyes widened.
"¡Alanis!"
He bolted toward the basement, his heart suddenly pounding against his ribs. The stairs creaked under his weight as he took them three at a time.
He burst open the basement door.
There, curled up in the farthest corner, was a little girl. Five years old, maybe. Brown skin, dark hair disheveled. She wore simple pajamas—pink with white clouds—and clutched a sheet to her chest like a shield.
When she saw the door open, she shrank back further, trying to make herself invisible.
Jhon's face underwent a complete transformation. The murderous ice melted, replaced by hope mixed with something akin to physical pain.
"Princess," his voice came out soft, trembling. "It's me. Jhon. Do you remember me?"
The girl slowly raised her head. Tears had traced clean lines through her dirty face. Her eyes—the same as Uncle Jorge's—focused on him.
Recognition lit up her face.
She dropped the sheet and ran. Her bare feet slapped the cold concrete of the basement. She threw herself into his arms, hugging him with all the strength her tiny body could muster.
"Where are my parents?" She sobbed against his chest. "I heard bad noises, and Mommy told me to hide and not come out until she came, but she didn't come, and I'm scared and—"
"Shh, shh," Jhon hugged her carefully, as if she were made of glass. "They're… they're in a better place now, princess. They're okay. They don't hurt anymore."
"Can I see them? I want to see my parents!"
"Not now, my love. But I promise… it's you and me now. We'll take care of each other, okay?"
"But I want Mommy! I want Daddy!"
Jhon closed his eyes. He felt something hot building behind them. When he opened them again, the red had returned—not laser beams this time, but simple, contained anger.
He looked ahead, clenching his teeth.
He breathed deeply. Once. Twice. Forcing calm back into his system.
He looked down. Alanis had fallen asleep against him, the trauma and exhaustion finally overwhelming her.
He carried her princess-style, her little head resting in the crook of his neck. With telekinesis, he kept his uncles' bodies floating as he left the basement.
---
When he emerged from the house, Miriam was pacing in circles, biting her nails until they bled after seeing the windows shatter.
"To hell with this," she muttered, heading toward the entrance. "I can't leave him alone in there—"
She collided directly with Jhon coming out.
She nearly lost her balance backward. Telekinesis caught her, stabilizing her before she fell.
"Jhon?" She looked at him frantically, her eyes scanning his body for injuries. "What happened? Are you okay? Who else…?"
Then she saw the girl in his arms. Her gaze shifted to the bodies floating behind him.
Her eyes closed. "No."
"Yes."
"Jhon, I—"
"It's okay, let's keep going." His voice came out mechanical, like he was reciting lines from a script.
Miriam opened her mouth, then closed it. She saw the pain in his eyes—buried deep, but there. She decided not to press.
"No changes," he said before she could respond. "We're still going to the base."
She nodded slowly, touching his arm in silent support.
Sofía's mother watched everything from the lion. She held her sleeping daughter against her chest, her expression a mix of pity and fear.
Jhon walked to the crocodile, carefully settling Alanis before sitting. Miriam went to the gorilla. The mother stayed on the lion.
Using Intuitive Aptitude, Jhon analyzed each animal's composition once more. Then he applied biological manipulation.
He accelerated ATP production in their muscle cells, increasing energy efficiency by thirty percent. He strengthened collagen connections in their tendons, allowing them to absorb more impact without breaking. He stimulated red blood cell production, improving oxygen supply to the muscles.
The animals grew slightly, their bodies optimizing in real-time.
"Move."
Echoes appeared, creating sound barriers around each rider. Air friction would no longer be an issue.
Invisible to the world, the mutants accelerated. They became barely visible blurs, covering kilometers in minutes.
Jhon paid no attention to the surroundings. Burning buildings. People fighting. Animals attacking. It all passed in his peripheral vision without truly registering.
He just wanted to get to the base. He needed space to think. To plan.
To organize if he was going to take down a damn organization.
And the last vestiges of the nineteen-year-old Jhon—the worried student, the loving nephew, the boy still clinging to the hope that things would get better—were fading little by little.
…
End of Chapter 6
This chapter didn't cover much; Chapter 7 will be VERY long, as I want to cover a lot of ground so that in Chapter 8, the hints of travel to another world can begin.
I wanted to strip Jhon of the last bit of pride he had about being "special."
I need him to realize that things affect everyone, that his family isn't immune by some miracle. That he doesn't have plot armor.
Let me know what you think of the chapter.