Kai Langford - July 2114
I'm lacing up my gloves, feeling that familiar mix of nerves and anticipation. Tournament day. I glance at the clock. Noah still doesn't know. He's buried in his own world, prepping a project presentation that could land him an internship at GenX. Same day, same pressure, different battlefield.
Owen still thinks I should tell him. That I still have time. But I can't do that, not when he's this close to his goal.
He's about to launch into another lecture when suddenly… bang.
Finn barges in the locker room, backpack slung over one shoulder. "Time to show them what you've got, Kai," he says, grinning. I just nod, trying to focus.
The tournament is brutal. Every punch, every block, every dodge is a calculation, a test. Sweat stings my eyes, but I keep moving. Contestant after contestant. Win after win. And then it's time.
The final match. Me vs the previous winner, Lark.
The arena smells of sweat and adrenaline. The crowd's murmur hums in my ears, like a background static I try to tune out. Owen and Finn stand by my side as I do my last few stretches.
Owen pats me on the back. "You've got this, pal. I believe in you."
His faith hits me harder than I expected, a mix of pride and pressure twisting my chest. Then Finn pipes up, grinning.
"If you make it out alive…"
I jab his arm, but he just laughs, like he's trying to tease me into shaking off the nerves. And somehow, it works.
The speakers crackle to life. "Now, please give a round of applause for the final two: Kai Langford and Carl Lark!"
The crowd erupts, louder than I expected. My stomach tightens. This many people here, all eyes on me.
I step onto the mat, gloves tight, heart hammering in a predictable rhythm. This is it. This is the moment every training session, every bruise, every late night has been leading to.
My opponent is already on the mat, shifting lightly on his feet, eyes locked on me. He moves with confidence. Strong, fast, unshakable. A flicker of doubt tugs at my chest, but I push it aside. This isn't about him. This is about me. About proving that I belong.
The bell rings.
He comes at me immediately, a flurry of punches aimed at testing my guard. I block, pivot, strike back. My fists are precise, each movement calculated. He counters, landing a glancing blow across my cheek. Stings. Pain blooms. Blood trickles down the side of my face, stinging my eye.
I blink it away. I can't let it distract me. Not now.
He presses, a rapid series of jabs that force me back. My legs burn, my lungs scream for air, but I keep my stance, analyse, calculate. A small gap. I exploit it. My fist finds his side. He grunts, staggering.
But he recovers quickly, slamming his shoulder into me. I stumble. The crowd roars. My chest heaves. Every instinct screams to strike faster, hit harder. My arm aches, my cheek burns, but the thought of giving up never crosses my mind.
A feint. A dodge. I circle, watching his balance. He lunges. I block, spin, counter with a hook that connects just under his ribs. Another grunt. I see the opening and drive a kick to his thigh. He drops to one knee. Almost.
I almost there.
He lashes out with his last burst of energy. My vision narrows. A punch grazes my temple. Stars burst in front of my eyes. Pain, hot and sharp, but I keep moving. I can feel my blood mixing with sweat, each heartbeat a drum counting down the seconds.
"COME ON KAI! FOCUS!", I barely hear Owens words, but I know it was a close call. Too close. One mistake and it's over.
I plant my feet, center my focus. One final series, a combination I've practiced a thousand times. Left, right, uppercut, pivot. And then suddenly, I hear the satisfying thud of impact as he hits the mat. Silence, then the referee counts. One… Two… Three. Victory.
Victory? Did I hear that right?
I stand there, chest heaving, sweat and blood mixing down my face, my cheek stinging from the cut. Every muscle aches, every breath is ragged, but the adrenaline hasn't left me yet.
I stumble slightly but catch myself. The crowd's cheering washes over me, though my mind is still trying to catch up. Then I notice Owen and Finn at my side, both grinning, shouting.
"YOU DID IT! I KNEW YOU COULD!"
My surroundings feel like they're moving too fast, too loud.
The host approaches, extends a hand. I shake it, almost on autopilot. Then the trophy is in my hands.
"Congratulations, Kai Langford, this year's champion."
The words don't quite feel real. I… I won. I actually won.
A smile spreads across my face, wide and unstoppable. For the first time, I feel the weight of proving myself. Owen pulls me into a tight hug, and a surge of happiness overwhelms me.
My hands tremble as I hold the trophy. I made it. Barely.
But the cut on my face, the heat of the fight, the pounding in my chest, they're proof. Proof I can take pain, survive, and push past it.
Once the chaos settles and the cuts on my face have been cleaned and bandaged, I slip back into the locker room, trophy clutched tightly in my hands. I set it in front of me and just stare, unable to fully process that it's really mine.
A light pat on my back makes me turn. Lark is there, smiling. Is he here for round two?
"I just wanted to say good match. Haven't thought that hard in so long. Thanks," he says, shaking my hand.
"Yeah, it was a good match," I reply.
"I'll get you next year, though," he laughs, turning away.
I just smile.
I slip back to my locker, pull my phone from my bag. Four missed calls. Noah.
My stomach tightens. I almost panic as I open the phone to call him back, then I see a text:
"Just wanted to let you know things went well. Will talk to you later."
I exhale, hand pressed to my chest, relief washing over me. Noah succeeded too. Somehow, today, we both did.
_____________________
Finn and I start walking home, trophy tucked carefully in my bag. The streets are quiet, the sun dipping low on the horizon, stretching long shadows across the pavement. There's a calmness to the evening that contrasts sharply with the chaos of the tournament.
"Not bad, Kai," Finn says as he falls into step beside me, his tone easy, almost lazy. "You handled Lark in the final round cleanly." he adds, with a small, casual smile. "Champion. You earned it."
I force a small smile, shifting the trophy in my bag to make sure it's hidden. I don't want Father noticing it.
Finn doesn't notice my hesitation, or he simply doesn't let it bother him. "Seriously, Kai… that was impressive. You handled the final round perfectly. I half expected you to come back with more bruises, but you stayed composed the whole time. The way you dodged that last strike, perfect timing." He gives a small, relaxed smile, hands tucked casually in his pockets, still clearly excited but measured, not frantic.
I nod, letting him talk. My thoughts are split between the adrenaline fading from the fight, the ache of my cut, and the looming dread of Father seeing me like this. I glance down the street, and my stomach tightens.
And there they are. Out of nowhere, rounding the corner, blocking the path. Father. And Noah. My chest tightens.
Finn freezes mid-sentence, catching the tension I make no effort to conceal. "Good afternoon, Dr. Langford… Noah," he says smoothly, his voice calm and polite, giving them a subtle nod of acknowledgment as we approved.
My father simply nods, a flicker of irritation crossing his face—as if even acknowledging us is a waste of his time.
"Kai!" Noah calls, excitement lighting up his face.
"I did it! I got the internship. I'm officially a member of GenX!" His smile is wide, almost contagious.
"That's amazing, Noah. I never doubted it," I reply, keeping my tone steady, professional. Father's eyes, however, never leave me, always watchful, assessing.
I catch Finn's gaze linger on Noah for a fraction longer than necessary. Proud, a quiet satisfaction in his expression at my brother's achievement. It's not showy, not the kind of pride meant for an audience. Just… a small, subtle warmth, like he's guarding the moment for himself.
Then his eyes drift back to me, a faint acknowledgment of my win, but it's clear his attention still carries that quiet affection for Noah, soft, careful, almost protective. Expected, perhaps, yet there's a pang in me noticing how gently he regards my brother, and I can't look away.
"What happened to your eye?" Noah asks, his tone calm but sharp; of course he noticed, he always notices.
Father's gaze narrows, a mix of disgust and disappointment clear.
"Fighting again? How uncivilised."
Noah glances at me, concern etched into his features.
"It was just a friendly spar. Don't worry about it," I assure him, forcing calm into my voice.
Then, almost out of nowhere, Finn chimes in, a small, easy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Friendly spare he says… Kai just won his tournament," he says, nodding toward me. Not boastfully, just quietly proud.
I groan inwardly, my hand instinctively clutching the bag, pressing the trophy against my side. "Finn… shh…"
"A tornament! You won?…why didn't you tell me?" Noah's eyes light up, scanning me carefully, reading the signs before I even speak. Relief and pride cross his face, and for a moment, I forget the nerves about Father.
Father's eyes, however, land on me like a laser, sharp and unyielding. My stomach twists, every instinct screaming caution. I push my bag, hiding the trophy further, trying to shrink into myself without making it obvious.
His eyes reading "don't take Noah spotlight away from him".
I force another small nod, my pulse racing. My thoughts race. How do I navigate this without Father noticing the trophy? Without revealing too much?
"Sorry, Noah. You had more important things to focus on," I say, forcing a small, tight smile.
Noah steps closer, eyes scanning me carefully, as if trying to read the tension in my posture. He smiles faintly. "Congratulations, Kai. You earned it," he says quietly.
I manage a small, tight smile. "Thanks," I mutter. The words feel hollow, overshadowed by the weight of Father's presence.
Father clears his throat, sharp and deliberate. My heart pounds. I force myself to keep my posture steady, letting my calm mask the storm inside. Finn, ever observant, realises how tense the atmosphere has become. He glances at me, a silent question in his eyes, as if apologising for mentioning the tournament. I offer a small, controlled smile and shake my head ever so slightly, no need to worry.
Father turns and strides away, calling for Noah to follow. I tighten my grip on the straps of my bag and trail behind them, keeping my pace measured, careful to stay in the shadows.
_____________________
I sit on the edge of my bed, the trophy glinting faintly on my desk beneath the lamplight. Only a few hours ago, it made me feel invincible. Proof that all the sweat, bruises, and early mornings meant something.
Now it just feels… hollow.
The golden sheen from the trophy mocks me. The reflection of my own tired face stares back. Cut cheek, swollen knuckles, eyes that don't look like a winner's. I should feel proud, but all I feel is the weight of what is to come next. The silence in the room presses down, thick and suffocating.
What's the point of a trophy if no one wants to see it?
My chest tightens, and the ache from Lark's punch throbs like it's echoing my thoughts. I get up abruptly, snatch the trophy off the desk, and shove it deep into my bag. The metal scrapes against the zipper as I slam it shut. I can't stand looking at it anymore.
I move quietly, almost mechanically across the room, and down the stairs, The air smells faintly of polish and old wood. I pause by the front door, slipping my shoes on, adjusting my bag. I just need air. Just need to move before my thoughts consume me.
My hand is on the doorknob when a soft, controlled voice drifts from behind me.
"Where are you going, Master. Langford?"
It's the housemaid. She stands by the corner, that same practiced smile fixed on her face. Pleasant, empty. A professional mask.
"Out," I mutter, not bothering to look back.
"Your father has arranged a dinner to celebrate your brother's success," she says gently, though there's a hint of firmness beneath the tone. "You are required to attend." Her hands are folded neatly in front of her, posture perfect. She doesn't need to say more, her expression says you have no choice.
The words sting. Celebrate Noah's success.
Of course.
I pause, my grip on the doorknob tightening. I can already picture it: Father smiling proudly, boasting about Noah's internship at GenX. Guests nodding in approval. The perfect son. The golden child. And me?
The background noise.
It's not even like Father to celebrate anything. He's the kind of man who calls success "a starting point," not "an achievement." So why this dinner? Why now?
Then it hits me… he's doing it on purpose.
He wants to remind me that no matter what I do, I'll never reach Noah's level. That my efforts are small, childish.
Anger coils in my stomach, hot and sharp. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep it from spilling out. My father's voice echoes in my mind. His cold disappointment, his cutting words.
Not good enough. You're nothing like your brother.
Something inside me snaps.
"Then let them celebrate without me," I growl through clenched teeth. The words come out low, almost shaking with fury. I twist the doorknob and step out, slamming the door hard enough to make the frame shudder.
Outside, the air hits me, it's warm, thick with the scent of summer grass and faint exhaust from the main road. The sky's still light, streaked with orange and pink. It should be beautiful, but all I feel is the burn of frustration behind my eyes. I start walking. No destination, just anywhere that isn't here.
My steps turn into a jog, then a full run.
I run to stop thinking. To stop hearing Father's voice.
To stop caring about what I'll face when I go back.
By the time I slow down, my lungs ache. I find myself at the river, the one that cuts through the edge of town. The water glimmers faintly in the fading light.
Cars hum over the distant bridge. Two old men sit on folding chairs by the bank, fishing rods balanced across their knees. They laugh about something. A soft, easy laughter that feels like it belongs to another world.
I watch them for a moment, then walk down the grassy slope and sit a few meters away. The air smells damp and sweet, the breeze cooling the sweat on my neck. Slowly, my heartbeat steadies. The anger drains, leaving only exhaustion behind.
I'll apologise to Noah later, I tell myself. He'll understand. He always does.
I don't know how long I sit there. The sky darkens to a dark shade of orange, the fishermen pack up and leave, and the streetlights flicker on across the bridge. Time blurs until I'm the only one left by the water.
When I finally stand, my bag slips from my shoulder and rolls down the grassy incline.
"Great," I mutter, chasing after it.
It lands by the edge of the river, the zipper half open. My things spill out, the trophy, bandages, a towel, my water bottle and something metallic clinks against a rock. The sound makes me pause.
It the vial.
I kneel and pick it up carefully. The metal casing glints in the fading light, the orange liquid inside glowing faintly. It looks out of place here, like it doesn't belong in this world.
I'd almost forgotten about it. I found it a few weeks back, from that old man. I tried to tell him, but he brushed me off. I thought about giving it to Noah, but… no. If Father ever found out, he'd assume the worst. He always does. Or worse, Noah could be in danger for having it.
I stare at the vial, turning it over in my hand.
Would I be stronger if I took it? Would he finally see me?
The thought scares me, but not as much as the truth…it's tempting.
I shove it back into my bag before I can think any further. No. I won't let that kind of thought take root.
I return to where the trophy lies and lift it from the ground, standing at the river's edge. Its weight presses down differently now, heavier, colder, hollow. Its shine unable to warm the emptiness I feel.
"What am I even doing?" I whisper to no one.
The reflection of the setting sun flickers across the water, painting it gold and red. My grip tightens. I draw my arm back, ready to throw the trophy into the river, when a sharp voice cuts through the air.
"HEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, LAD?!"
I freeze. My arm drops, the metal trophy clinking against my leg. I turn slowly, heart skipping.
Owen.
He's striding toward me from the bridge, his expression halfway between disbelief and anger. And behind him, Noah. Jogging, out of breath, hair messy from the run.
Confusion floods through me. "What are you…how did you…?"
Before I can finish, Owen reaches me and gives the back of my head a light smack. "What's wrong with you, huh?" he says, voice rough but not unkind. "You were about to throw your prize away."
I look down, suddenly ashamed. The trophy glints in my hand. "I… wasn't…" I start, but the words die on my tongue.
Owen's expression softens. "You worked hard for that. Don't let anyone make you feel like it's worth less than it is."
The frozen edge around my heart wavers, a faint crack forming in the cold.
Then Noah catches up, panting slightly, his usual calmness giving way to something else…concern. He steps close, resting a hand on my arm.
"Kai," he says softly, "why didn't you answer your phone?"
My phone? I pat my pockets and realise I must've left it at home when I ran out.
"We came to celebrate your win," Noah continues, his tone calm but firm.
That catches me off guard. I look up, eyes flicking between him and Owen. "What?"
Owen smiles faintly, jerking his head toward the street. "I told him I'd treat you both. Dinner's on me."
For a moment, I can't find words. The lump in my throat makes it hard to breathe.
"You're serious?"
"Come on," Noah says, tugging at my wrist gently. "Let's go before he changes his mind."
I hesitate. "What about Father's dinner?"
Noah glances over his shoulder, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, that? Seems there was a technical issue at GenX tonight. Some kind of hacking attempt. Dinner's been postponed."
He says it so casually, but there's a mischievous glint in his eyes.
For the first time all day, I actually laugh, a quiet, disbelieving sound. Maybe, just for tonight, I can forget everything else.
_______________
We sit in a small restaurant, the kind that's tucked between buildings and easy to miss if you're not looking for it. The smell of broth and roasted garlic fills the air, mingling with the faint hum of conversation and the soft clatter of chopsticks. Steam rises from my bowl of ramen, curling upward like wisps of memory.
It's my favourite. Rich tonkotsu with soft-boiled eggs and slices of pork. The warmth seeps into me, melting away the cold edges that have been sitting in my chest since earlier.
It reminds me of those long, freezing days of training when Owen would take me out for ramen afterwards, insisting that nothing heals bruises faster than a good meal.
Owen's voice cuts through my thoughts. He's laughing as he tells one of his old stories, about how he and our mother used to drive our grandfather crazy by moving his notebooks whenever he wasn't looking. Apparently, the old man was convinced he was losing his mind.
We all laugh, though I can't shake the thought that if Owen had ever been caught, he'd probably have been punished. Our grandfather never had much of a sense of humour. He only cared about the company, nothing else. I still remember hearing how he left our mother's funeral early to go back to work. Sometimes I wonder if Father learned that kind of coldness from him even though they're not blood related.
Owen bumps my shoulder, pulling me back to the moment. We start a playful scuffle, pretending to spar like we used to. Noah just watches us with a small smile, shaking his head as if we're both kids.
This.
This is what family is supposed to feel like.
The laughter lingers as the evening wears on, the golden light from the restaurant windows spilling out into the street. When the clock strikes 9:34 p.m., Owen pushes his chair back and stretches with a yawn.
"Alright, boys. Time to head home if you don't want to sleep through school tomorrow."
"It's the summer holidays" I laugh.
"I'm so full," Noah groans, rubbing his stomach dramatically.
"Maybe if you worked out more, you'd have a better metabolism," I tease, nudging him with my elbow.
"Yeah, Noah," Owen adds, smirking. "We should get you in the ring next time."
Noah's horrified expression sends us both into laughter. The sound echoes down the quiet street as we walk, the warm night air brushing against our faces.
I can't remember the last time I felt this light.
As we turn a corner, I notice my shoelace has come undone. I slow down, crouching to tie it while Noah and Owen keep walking ahead, their voices blending with the gentle hum of the city. Streetlights cast soft halos around them, their figures just slightly blurred against the glow.
For a moment, I just stay there, watching them.
Holding onto this rare, fragile peace before it slips away again.
I finish tying my lace and start to rise when a sudden, sharp screech tears through the air and
someone shouting.
My head jerks to the right just in time to see a metal casing flying through the air.
The sound of shattering glass and twisting steel fills my ears as the vehicle hurtles straight toward me.
For a moment, time slows to a crawl. I see everything in frozen fragments. Noah shouting my name, Owen sprinting toward me, his hand outstretched, the reflection of the car's broken frame glinting in his eyes as gravity begins to cause the object to drop towards me.
And then impact.
A hard weight slams into me, knocking the air from my lungs. The ground rushes up, gravel biting into my palms.
Owen's arm locks around me, shielding me as the car whips over us, scraping past with a deafening crash. Heat, dust, and the smell of burning fill the air.
"Owen!" I gasp.
He lifts his head, breathing heavily. "You okay?"
"Wh… what just happened?" My voice trembles.
"I don't know," he says, already helping me to my feet.
Noah rushes over, his face pale, eyes wide with fear. "Kai! Are you hurt?"
"I'm okay. I'm fine," I manage, even though my hands won't stop shaking. I pat his arm to calm him, but my own heartbeat is hammering in my ears.
Before any of us can say another word, a loud boom erupts down the street. A car explodes into flames, sending a wave of heat across the pavement.
A figure steps through the smoke.
He's tall, dressed in dark street clothes, but the air around him warps. Metal debris floats and spins, pulled into orbit around his hands like he's the center of some magnetic storm. Street signs, shards of car doors, even a manhole cover, all glinting under the flickering light.
A Guardian drops from above, landing with a heavy thud on the cracked concrete floor. His suit is scorched but gleaming, the emblem of the GenX glowing faintly at his chest. Flames ripple across his arms, lighting up the night.
"Drop your hands and surrender!" the Guardian shouts.
The criminal sneers. "You think fire scares me?" He lifts his hand, and the metal around him twists, sharpens, forming blades that hiss through the air.
The Guardian retaliates instantly, a wave of fire bursts from his palms, burning bright orange and white. It slams into a car, melting the side panel. The explosion rattles the windows of the restaurant behind us.
"Run!" Owen yells, pushing me and Noah toward the alley.
But before we can move far, a spinning metal shard smashes into the ground right in front of us, sending sparks into our faces. The heat and noise are unbearable. Screams echo down the street as people flee in every direction.
Another blast of fire streaks past, missing the criminal by inches but setting nearby scaffolding ablaze. The air turns thick and hot, hard to breathe. I can taste smoke and blood.
"Get down!" Owen shouts. He shoves us both behind a broken wall just as another shockwave tears through the street. The sound of metal groaning fills the air.
Then everything happens at once.
The criminal thrusts both arms forward, and the debris explodes outward like a swarm of knives. The Guardian counters, erupting a flaming barrier but a stray beam of metal slices through, tearing into the side of a building and it be begins to collapse.
Owen pushes me again. There's a blinding flash.
A crack.
Then silence.
When the dust settles, I can barely see. My ears ring. My chest aches. I cough and stumble forward.
"Owen?"
Through the haze, I see him lying on the ground, half-covered in rubble. Blood streaks his temple, and his breathing stopped and his empty eyes now stare into nothing.
I drop to my knees beside him, shaking his shoulder. "Owen! Hey…hey, wake up you bastard! Please…"
Noah stumbles into view, limping, his arm covered in blood. His white platnium hair now stained red. He collapses beside me, eyes wide with panic.
"Uncle..." he starts, but the word breaks apart as his voice catches. "why... why would they do this, there are people here...
Everything around me falls quiet. The world feels far away, the flames, the sirens, the chaos. Like I'm underwater, watching it all fade.
"No," I whisper. My throat tightens, and I shake him harder. "Owen, get up! You can't…"
But his body doesn't move.
I look up are Noah. He's hurt. I failed to protect him.
Noah's breathing becomes ragged, his body trembling. He sways, eyes rolling back before collapsing. I barely catch him before he hits the ground.
"NOAH!" I cry out, clutching him, my tears mixing with soot.
Above us, fire crackles, and metal twists again. The battle rages on, but I can't hear it anymore.
All I can feel is the weight of my brother's blood on my hands, and the world burning around me.
What do I do?
Owen is gone. Noah's barely breathing.
The fire still rages, shadows twisting and screaming through the smoke. Every direction looks the same. Chaos, destruction, no way out.
My throat burns from the smoke, my eyes sting.
Think, Kai. Think.
But all I can do is stare at Noah, blood streaking his face, his chest rising and falling in shallow, fragile breaths. I can't lose him too. I can't.
Then something catches my eye.
A flicker, Something small, glinting orange in the firelight, half-buried in dust.
The Lunex vial.
It must've rolled out of my bag when Owen pushed us to safety.
I crawl toward it, my limbs trembling. My fingers wrap around the cold metal casing, and I just… stare.
The glowing orange liquid from within hums faintly, pulsing like it's alive.
My heartbeat thunders in my chest. I never wanted to use it. But what choice do I have?
I glance back at Noah. His breathing falters.
Tears sting my eyes.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm so sorry I didn't protect you."
Before I can second-guess myself, I twist off the cap and plunge the vial into my thigh.
The effect is instant.
A searing pulse erupts through my leg, racing upward like fire under my skin. My veins ignite, glowing faintly through the soot on my arms.
Then comes the pain.
It's unbearable.
My back arches as electricity seems to rip through every cell. My vision flickers, white, red, then black. My scream tears through the burning street, raw and inhuman.
It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.
I can't breathe.
I can't move.
I want it to stop.
I want to die.
But through the blur, I see Noah's body lying limp beside Owen.
No I need to get Noah to safety first.
The pain continues and then, suddenly, it's gone.
I collapse forward, gasping, my body trembling. The world is silent except for the crackling of distant fire.
I open my eyes.
The ground beneath me… is shifting.
Dark shapes ripple outward from where my hands touch the earth. Liquid shadows bending and twisting like smoke underwater. They rise around me, curling through the air in long, fluid ribbons. When I move, they move with me, reacting as if alive. Stretching, pulsing faintly with a dark violet shimmer that pulses to the rhythm of my heartbeat.
"What…?" I whisper, staring at my own reflection in a shard of glass, my irises flicker silver, faint streaks of light tracing across my skin like energy veins and then it suddenly dissappears.
Then a voice cuts through the air.
Harsh. Cold.
"Well, well. What do we have here?"
I force myself upright, instinct snapping into place as I step in front of Noah, every muscle tight and ready. A dull, pulsing ache throbs in my head, but I push it aside, focus narrowing to the threat ahead.
The criminal stands only a few meters away, his body marked with burns, his eyes glinting with fury. The Guardian is nowhere to be seen.
"You made quite the noise, kid," he sneers, metal debris swirling into razor-sharp blades around him. "You're not one of them… but whatever that was, it looked fun."
"Stay away" I try to shout. My voice raw from screaming.
He steps closer, raising his arm. Like he's about to attack.
I spreading my stance instinctively. My pulse hammers. Every instinct screams at me to run, but I don't…
I can't.
The man thrusts his hand forward and metal shards launch toward us like bullets.
I throw my hands out on reflex…
The world explodes.
A wave of shimmering energy bursts from my palms, stopping the metal midair. The shards stopping inches from my face, then the black energy from my hands whips backward, slamming into the criminal with a deafening crash.
He staggers, stunned, and roars, flinging another wave of twisted metal. But this time, I feel it before I see it.
The pull of movement, the intent. Instinct takes over. The shadows around me surge upward, wrapping into a solid wall of darkness. The metal crashes into it and dissolves, swallowed whole by the black mass before fading into nothing.
"What the hell?!" he shouts.
I don't answer. My vision sharpens, every sound slicing through the air like glass. The darkness around me deepens, it feels alive and writhers at the edge of my control. I raise one trembling hand, and the shadows ripple outward like a tide.
He tries to move, but I close my fist.
The shadows coil around his arm, twisting tight, crushing with a force that bends metal and bone alike. His scream cuts through the chaos as I sweep my hand sideways, and the darkness surges.
An eruption of pure void that hurls him across the street. He collides with a burning car, swallowed by flame and smoke as the shadows retreat back into me, trembling, breathing with my pulse.
The impact shakes the ground.
And then… silence.
I stand there, chest heaving, smoke swirling around me.
My knees give out, and I drop beside Noah again, panting.
He's still breathing. Faint, but steady.
Tears spill down my face as I clutch his hand. Owen's body lies still just a few meters away.
I look at my hands, still trembling, still faintly glowing.
"What… did I just do?" I whisper.
The distant sound of sirens approaches, faint at first, then louder. Guardians.
But all I can think about is the weight of Noah's hand in mine, and the realisation that everything has changed.
Forever.