Lucas Vance was born into a world of iron and steel. His mother worked in a rusted-out factory, coming home every night with the smell of oil in her hair and the weight of exhaustion in her eyes. His father? He was a mechanic, a man with rough hands and a mind sharper than any tool in his belt.
Lucas grew up surrounded by the hum of machinery, the clanking of gears, and the steady pull of unseen forces guiding the world around him. He didn't just play with toy cars—he disassembled them, figuring out how each piece connected, how the hidden forces of metal and magnetism worked together like an unspoken language.
By the time he was eight, he could fix a broken radio without needing a manual. By then, he was helping his father rebuild engines.
By twelve, he started feeling things he shouldn't have been able to feel.
It began as a whisper in the back of his mind—a sensation, a tug. Whenever he worked with metal, it was like he could sense it before he even touched it. The way a wrench vibrated in his grip, the way screws seemed to line up before he even placed them.
It didn't make sense.
And then, one day, he realized it wasn't just a feeling.
His father had been struggling with a rusted bolt under the hood of an old truck, cursing under his breath. Lucas stood beside him, watching, willing the bolt to turn. It was instinctual, like blinking. He felt the tension, the resistance. And then—
The bolt twisted loose on its own.
His father stopped. Started.
Lucas didn't know what had happened, but the look in his father's eyes told him this wasn't normal.
They never spoke about it. But from that day forward, his father kept watching him. Studying him. And Lucas knew, deep down, that something inside of him was changing.
By sixteen, he knew the truth.
Lucas Vance wasn't like other kids. His mental connection wasn't just skill—it was something deeper.
The first time he truly understood his power, he was at a scrapyard, surrounded by the skeletal remains of cars and discarded machines. He reached out—not with his hands, but with his mind—and felt the metal shudder, waiting for his command.
He clenched his fist. The steel around him bent.
It wasn't telekinesis. It wasn't magic. It was something greater—the fundamental force that held the world together. Magnetism itself, bending to his will.
He spent months testing his limits, pushing himself further, learning to control the invisible field that surrounded him. Electric currents, magnetic fields, the pull and push of unseen energy—he could feel it all.
But power like that didn't go unnoticed.
The night his life changed forever, he was working at his father's shop. It was late. Too late. The shop had been struggling for years, drowning under bills they couldn't pay. The banks didn't care. The government didn't care. And that night, the people who owned those debts sent someone to collect.
Lucas was in the back when he heard the voices—cold, measured, dangerous.
A man in a suit stood across from his father, flanked by two enforcers.
"You're out of time, Vance."
His father pleaded. Explained that they just needed a little longer. That business had been slow, but they'd get back on track.
The man in the suit sighed. "That's not how this works."
And then he gave the order.
One of the enforcers pulled a gun.
Lucas felt the metal shift before he even saw it. The weight of the weapon, the bullet in the chamber—it screamed in his mind.
Something inside him snapped.
The gun flew from the man's grip before he could pull the trigger, wrenching itself into the air like it had a life of its own. The other enforcer went for his weapon—too slow. The barrel of his gun folded like it was made of paper.
Lucas didn't know how he did it. He didn't care.
His father grabbed him and yanked him back. "Run, Lucas!"
But Lucas wasn't afraid.
The suit stared at him, fascinated. "Well now," he murmured. "That's interesting."
Then he nodded to his men.
The next thing Lucas knew, his father was on the ground, bleeding.
Lucas didn't think. He acted.
Every tool in the shop, every screw, every bolt, every wrench—they moved at his command. The enforcers were lifted off their feet and slammed against the walls as if gravity had turned against them. The suit barely managed to escape, slipping out into the night as Lucas stood there, chest heaving, surrounded by twisted metal and destruction.
His father never got up.
Lucas left that night. There was nothing left for him in that town.
He wandered, working where he could, keeping his head down, learning more about the world that had stolen everything from him.
He saw the lies that held society together. The way the powerful hoarded resources, using people like his father as stepping stones. The way laws were written was to protect those who already had everything.
And so he made a decision.
He wouldn't beg. He wouldn't be a victim.
He would take.
By the time the government caught up to him, Lucas had built a reputation. They called him a criminal. A terrorist. A rogue metahuman is too dangerous to be left unchecked.
They buried him in a classified facility and locked him away with inhibitor cuffs that stole his power. They thought they had won.
For years, he waited. Studied. Listened.
And then, one day, the power failed.
The cuffs clicked open. The field suppressing his abilities flickered and died.
The guards barely had time to react before the walls ripped apart at the seams.
Lucas Vance stepped out of that prison a different man.
The world had tried to break him. It had taken his family, his future, his freedom.
Now?
Now, he would take everything from them.
He would build something new. Something stronger.
And those who stood in his way?
They would kneel.
That night, the world stopped knowing Lucas Vance.