The room smelled of burning incense and dried herbs, thick and clinging to the walls like a living thing. Candles flickered on the old wooden table, their flames throwing shadows that danced like restless spirits.
Araphat Rogerstone, seventeen, sat stiffly across from the old woman, wringing his hands in awkward nervousness. He wasn't sure why he had agreed to this. Curiosity? Boredom? Or some strange compulsion that made him wander into the dim alley behind the city's market?
The old woman's eyes, sharp and piercing as fractured glass, fixed on him. "You do not understand the path you walk," she rasped, voice cracking like dry twigs underfoot. "A force slumbers within you—a power that no mortal should hold. The Power of Destruction. And soon… soon it will awaken."
Araphat blinked. "Uh… thanks? That's… reassuring." He forced a nervous laugh. "So, should I be worried, or…?"
The woman ignored him. Her gaze shifted to the shadowed corner of the room, where a man in a sleek, dark suit stood silently. Garrick Hookman, chairman of the secretive Abnormal Organization, radiated calm control. But even he stiffened at her words, a hand tightening around the edge of the table.
"The apocalypse is near," the old woman continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "And this boy… he will shape its course. Warn him. Warn the world… he is coming."
Garrick said nothing. He never did. But the tight set of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes, told Araphat everything: the world wasn't ready for what was coming—and neither was he.
Araphat fidgeted in his seat. Great. Just my luck. Teenage me is about to become some kind of world-ending harbinger. Awesome.
Two Years Later
Two years passed. The city had changed. Skyscrapers were scarred, streets cracked, and the hum of industry often gave way to the wail of sirens and the distant tremor of destruction.
Araphat had tried to live a normal life. School, friends, the occasional gaming marathon. But he could feel it—the faint pulse of something within him. Something unnatural. Something that made the hairs on his arms stand on end whenever he passed certain alleyways or glanced at the horizon.
It began subtly. Flickering streetlights when he walked by. Birds scattering in alarm. Electronic devices glitching in his presence.
He dismissed it as coincidence. Until the day the city tried to kill me.
The explosion came without warning. A massive fireball ripped through the industrial district, swallowing cranes, machinery, and the warehouse he had been near. The heat hit him first—a wave of molten air that knocked him off his feet. Glass and metal rained from above.
Araphat scrambled to his feet, coughing, blood in his mouth, dust in his lungs. His legs moved on instinct, weaving through chaos, heart hammering against his ribs.
"Seriously? Why me? Why always me?" he shouted into the screaming city, his voice lost among the collapsing structures. "Can't a guy just have one peaceful day?"
Pain lanced through him, sharp, unrelenting. And then—something stirred. Something deep within his chest pulsed, bright and hot. The blood in his veins seemed to vibrate with life, energy, and anger.
He reached out instinctively. Concrete cracked. Steel beams bent. Sparks of red light danced across the ground, responding to his fear, confusion, and anger.
Arapht's eyes widened. "What… what is happening to me?!"
The city around him reacted violently, as if sensing the awakening of a force it could neither comprehend nor control. Cars exploded. Pavement ruptured. A heatwave of raw energy emanated from him, bending the air and burning the edges of everything nearby.
Great. First time I almost die, and apparently I'm the world's newest demolition expert. Awesome.
Somewhere in the chaos, the Abnormal Organization took notice. Surveillance, energy sensors, reports of anomalous power—everything pointed to one boy in the industrial district. A boy whose power rivaled disasters themselves.
Araphat's vision blurred. Pain twisted every nerve in his body, yet through the haze, he felt clarity—strange, terrifying clarity. The power coursing inside him wasn't just energy. It was alive, responding to emotion, thought, fear, and instinct.
He flung a hand toward a crumbling wall—and it bent, shattering into jagged shards before his eyes. He staggered back, chest heaving, eyes wide with both terror and awe.
This… this is me? This is what I am?
Red energy pulsed beneath his skin, dancing across his body like molten fire. It hummed, demanded, and whispered, almost as if the city itself had become a canvas for him to paint destruction.
Around him, the city was collapsing. People screamed, fires erupted, metal twisted. Araphat tried to calm himself, tried to suppress it—but the power was beyond control. Beyond reason. And in that moment, he understood the old woman's prophecy.
The Power of Destruction had chosen him. And it did not care about hesitation, fear, or morality.
Well… at least I'm not boring anymore, he muttered under his breath, breath ragged, eyes blazing with energy.
The world after the explosion was quiet, but only barely. Emergency services swarmed, citizens fled, and whispers of a strange boy with unholy energy spread through news channels and underground circles.
The Abnormal Organization didn't wait. Surveillance reports converged: one target, one boy, one uncontrollable force. Garrick Hookman watched the screens, calm as always, though a flicker of something—anticipation, perhaps—passed through his eyes.
Araphat's identity had been revealed. He was no longer just a scared teenager running from death. He was an anomaly. A potential weapon. A living storm.
Figures. Just when I thought life was complicated, now I'm a walking disaster with fans.
When he awoke, the world was stark white. Hospital monitors beeped rhythmically. The smell of antiseptic stung his nose. Sunlight cut through the blinds in narrow, sharp lines, contrasting sharply with the memory of fire, smoke, and chaos.
Araphat flexed his fingers. Power still throbbed beneath his skin. Every nerve sang with it.
The door creaked. Heavy footsteps approached. He squinted at the figure stepping through. Tall, composed, imposing. Garrick Hookman.
"You… you're here for me?" Araphat asked, voice weak, chest still pounding.
"No. I'm here to see if you're ready," Garrick replied, his tone calm but heavy with intent.
Araphat's stomach twisted. The room seemed to shrink. Fear, awe, and a thrill tangled inside him. He realized one thing clearly: nothing would ever be the same again.
Life as a normal teenager? He laughed bitterly. Yeah… that ship sailed a long time ago.
Garrick's eyes studied him, unyielding. "The world is about to change. And so are you. Will you join the Abnormal Organization, or will you be left to destroy it?"
Araphat's pulse surged. Red energy flared faintly beneath his skin. The choice was his—but he already knew it wouldn't be simple.
And so, the storm that was Araphat Rogerstone began to awaken.