Two weeks later...
the forest was thick with mist, the air damp and cool. Birds chirped lazily in the canopy overhead, and faint beams of sunlight pierced through the trees like spears of gold.
Bob stood behind the cabin, where they'd cleared a patch of earth for training. He was already warmed up, sweat glistening on his arms, shirt tossed over a tree stump. He turned as Alex emerged from the cabin, rubbing sleep from his eyes and holding a half-eaten protein bar.
"You're late," Bob said, smirking.
Alex yawned. "It's 6:03. Three minutes. I think I'm allowed a grace period."
Bob cracked his neck and stepped back. "Alright, tough guy. Time to test your skin trick again. You're getting better with hardening, but you still flinch too much. That hesitation will get you killed."
Alex dropped the protein bar onto a nearby rock and rolled his shoulders. "So what's the plan? More fighting?"
Bob nodded. "More punches."
He lunged, a jab aimed square at Alex's chest. Alex's skin shimmered a dull grey and hardened just in time. The punch landed with a dull thunk, causing him to skid backward a few feet, but he didn't fall.
"Good," Bob said. "Again."
They danced across the clearing, Bob attacking with calculated strength, Alex blocking, absorbing, countering when he could. Each blow was a test. Each reaction, a lesson.
Bob didn't hold back that much anymore. Alex had insisted on that.
Finally, Bob landed a roundhouse kick that caught Alex in the ribs. The boy flew into a bush with a crash and stayed there, groaning.
"I think I see stars," Alex muttered.
Bob approached, offered a hand. "Good. That means your brain's still intact."
Alex took it, let himself be pulled up. "You're relentless, you know that?"
"I promised someone I'd make you strong," Bob said, brushing a leaf off his shoulder. "And I don't break promises."
There was a brief silence, broken only by the sound of the breeze and a distant crow.
Alex looked up at him. "Was it dad?"
Bob didn't answer at first. Then: "Kind of."
...
They sat by the fire pit shortly after, drinking from metal canteens. Bob threw a few logs into the pit and lit it, even though the sun was already starting to burn away the morning chill.
"I've been thinking," Alex said between sips, "when you use your powers… do you feel it changing you? Last time you told me that it does for you."
Bob glanced at him, but said nothing.
"I mean… ever since i started using my powers more frequently, I feel… cold. Not physically, it's hard to explain. Like I am pushing something away. I don't know if it was a part of myself like you or something else. It feels weird."
Bob stared into the fire. "That's the price. Power takes. Even when you don't notice."
Alex looked down at his hands, flexing them. "Do you think I'll turn out like you?"
Bob cracked a faint smile. "God, I hope not."
…
Next day...
"Today," he said, tossing the stick aside, "we try something else. You've been playing it safe. It's time you used your real power."
Alex tensed. "You mean—"
Bob nodded. "Yep, bending reality."
Alex crossed his arms. "You don't even like when I use it."
"I don't like it because you're scared of it," Bob said. "And you're going to need it. What you did in the facility, that wasn't a fluke. You bent space, it's really dangerous. You can't be afraid of it anymore."
Alex looked down, swallowing hard. "What if I lose control?"
Bob walked closer, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Then I'll stop you. That's why I'm here, dumbass."
Alex nodded slowly. Took a breath. Closed his eyes.
A subtle hum stirred in the air. The leaves on the trees around them began to rustle unnaturally, even though the wind had stilled. The circle in the dirt shimmered, faint, like heat waves on pavement.
Then the ground shifted. The tree line bent backward and twisted, an illusion or reality, it was hard to tell. A boulder appeared out of nowhere to the left of Alex, solid and massive. Bob didn't move, just watched.
"You're doing it," Bob said calmly. "Now direct it."
Alex's brows furrowed. He extended his hand and imagined a burst, something to push Bob back, not to hurt, just to test.
The air cracked.
A shockwave burst out of Alex's palm, far stronger than intended. It hit Bob square in the chest and launched him backwards through the air like a ragdoll.
He slammed into a tree with a loud crunch, the bark cracking behind him before he dropped to the ground.
Alex's eyes widened in horror. "BOB!"
He ran to him, panic crawling up his spine.
Bob was lying still, coughing, and when Alex reached him, he groaned and looked up through narrowed eyes.
"Well," Bob rasped, "at least you don't hit like a toddler anymore."
Alex exhaled a breath of relief. "I didn't mean to—"
"I know." Bob sat up slowly, rubbing his ribs. "But that's the thing about power, Alex. Control is everything."
Alex sat down beside him, heart still hammering. "How do you handle that?"
Bob looked off toward the trees, his voice quieter. "You never stop feeling it. The weight."
…
Seven years ago...
Test Subject #09: Rafael Azar
The room was steel. Cold. Everything, walls, floor, ceiling, was sterile, polished, lit by white lights that never flickered or dimmed. There was no warmth here. No sleep. No silence. Only the sound of whirring machinery and boots against metal.
And screaming.
Rafael, barely fifteen, stood in the center of the chamber, shirtless, trembling. Wires were strapped to his arms, spine, temples. A harness of invasive needles jabbed into his lower back, pulsing black fluid into his bloodstream. His eyes glowed faintly red, but his face was drained, hollow.
Above, behind a bulletproof glass pane, scientists observed.
"Begin simulation."
With a clang, four mechanical arms dropped from the ceiling, each equipped with different weapons. One had blunted battering rods. Another, tasers. The third sprayed high-pressure flame. The fourth, a mirror with a speaker.
"Focus training: fear response. Stimulus: pain and illusion. Objective: trigger shadow state."
The rods moved first, slamming into Rafael's back and ribs with brutal, rhythmic force. He cried out, stumbling forward, but the harness yanked him upright again.
"Come on, Subject Nine," one doctor whispered through the mic. "Use it. You're not even close to your limits."
The tasers crackled, blue sparks lighting the room before sinking deep into his torso. His legs buckled. He bit down on a scream.
Then the mirror descended. It showed his face, but older. Tired. Covered in blood. A voice whispered through the speaker:
"This is who you are. A monster."
Rafael's pupils shrank. His breathing turned erratic.
The flame arm activated, searing fire licking across his shoulder, branding skin. His body writhed, veins blackening. His fingers clawed at the floor, the air, anything.
Suddenly, shadows burst from beneath him, ripping free like something alive. They writhed and coiled, wrapping around the machines and yanking them into the darkness.
The power had come.
He screamed, not in pain this time, but rage. Pure, soul-rending rage.
The scientists scrambled.
"Power spike, thirty percent above last session!"
"He's overriding the dampeners!"
"Cut the feed! CUT IT—"
The glass cracked, dark tendrils slamming into it from the other side.
Inside the chamber, Rafael stood, now wrapped in living shadow. The air was cold, the lights flickering.
That was one week before the massacre at Helix Point.
Present day...
Bob shot upright in his cot, drenched in sweat, chest heaving. The cabin around him was still dark, Alex still asleep across the room.
He wiped a hand across his face, staring at his palm. It trembled.
That boy…
He hadn't been trained.
He'd been broken.
And now, the world expected him to mold someone else. Train Alex. Shape him.
"Alright," Bob said. "Let's see if you've learned anything."
Alex cracked his knuckles. "Using my powers?"
Bob nodded once. "Use everything. I won't."
Alex arched a brow. "What, you're going easy on me again? I told you to stop doing it."
"No," Bob said. "You'll learn how to fight someone who doesn't rely on flashy powers."
Alex swallowed the nervousness and stepped forward, activating his power.
Reality shimmered.
It began subtly, Bob's shadow bending unnaturally to the side, birds in the trees freezing in place mid-flight. Alex's presence warped the world around him. The rules began to bend.
But Bob didn't flinch.
Alex lunged. A sudden leap, hands glowing silver, pulling the ground upward like a wave, but Bob had already moved. He slid beneath the attack, ducking under Alex's swing and driving a foot behind his knee.
Alex stumbled, caught himself, and pulled the air taut around Bob like elastic, trying to bind his limbs.
Bob tore through the pressure with raw strength alone, slipping inside Alex's guard. A jab to the ribs, not hard, but precise.
"Too slow," Bob said.
Alex grunted and shoved him back, rewinding the terrain beneath their feet, trying to trip him. Bob rolled with it, flipping backward, landing light on his feet.
"You've got talent," Bob said. "But you don't lean on the power enough. You don't own it yet."
"Still gonna win," Alex muttered, charging again.
This time, he blinked, and reappeared behind Bob. A burst of reality displacement. He swung—
—but Bob turned just in time, catching the fist mid-air.
"Better," Bob said, twisting and throwing him into the dirt.
Alex coughed, groaning as he sat up. "You weren't even trying."
Bob offered a hand. "That's the point."
Alex took it, breathing hard. "You think I can't fight without my powers."
"I think," Bob said, helping him up, "you never had to. But now, fight me without your powers."
Alex's shoulders fell. "…That's more fair."
Bob glanced at the horizon. ". And this time, just fists."
Alex cracked a small smile, brushing dirt off his shirt. "You really like to bully me."
"Or," Bob said, stepping back into his stance, "I just don't want you to die before me."