There was a strange blue symbol hovering just in front of Watts's right eye. It had been there ever since he woke up from that unsettling blackout.
He didn't know what it meant or why it refused to go away, no matter how much he blinked or rubbed his eyes.
Worse, he couldn't stop wondering how it had suddenly appeared in the first place.
Watts blinked a few more times, but the symbol stubbornly persisted, unyielding in his field of vision.
With a frustrated sigh, he turned his gaze to the ceiling, trying to calm his frayed nerves. Today was already as messed up as it could get. What else could possibly go wrong?
And yet, that symbol—it tugged at something deep inside him, a gnawing sense of déjà vu, maybe even nostalgia.
It was as though he had seen it his entire life, as if it were a part of him that had been lost and was now found. That thought unnerved him more than he cared to admit.
He closed his eyes and focused on the symbol, trying to wrack his brain for any recognition.
Suddenly, a surge of light burst across his vision, and an ethereal blue screen materialized, almost tangible.
[STATUS PANEL]
Name: Jack Wattison
Race: Human
Bloodline: Unknown
Existence Level: Level 0
Ability: CREATOR
Physique: 1.1
Spiritual Level: 0.8
Mindscape: 0.9
Ability Level: 1
Ability Description: The bearer has the ability to create anything whatsoever, limited only by imagination and available Xymix Energy. Note: Everything created will be at or below the current ability level unless otherwise specified.
NOTE: Congratulations, you are on your journey to becoming the *****.
"...."
"Holy Waka Molli," Watts muttered, wide-eyed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Am I losing my damn mind?"
His fingers trembled as he reached toward the glowing text, half-expecting his hand to pass through it. "This isn't real. It can't be, right?"
His pulse quickened, the shock in his eyes reflecting the disbelief consuming him.
Blacking out must have scrambled his brain because there was no rational explanation for this. It was like waking up one day and discovering you were Superman.
How was this even possible? He closed his eyes, taking deep, measured breaths until his hammering heart slowed to something manageable.
"Okay... let's see." He hesitantly opened his eyes again, hoping the words would vanish. They didn't.
Still dazed, Watts stumbled into the living room, his feet sinking into the soft carpet. The condo's stillness mocked the chaos in his head.
He yanked the fridge open, grabbing a packet of flavored milk, tearing it open with his teeth. It wasn't much, but it was routine—something to hold onto.
Maybe that sense of normalcy would help him process... whatever this was.
The cold drink slid down his throat, doing little to steady his nerves. He wiped his mouth, his gaze flickering back to the unrelenting blue screen.
He wiped his mouth and let out a small burp, rubbing his stomach with a faint smile before his eyes wandered back to the unrelenting blue screen.
"What does this even mean?" he mumbled.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE]
When you died, your ability was stimulated and awakened to prevent permanent death.
The words blurred as Watts stared, his pulse thundering in his ears.
Died? The message couldn't be right.
It wasn't possible. I mean, is resurrection even possible?
For easier comprehension, it adapted into the most convenient form (System) for the bearer to manipulate.
The words were calm and unyielding, indifferent to his panic. A cold pit formed in his stomach, the realization settling like a stone.
He stared, dumbfounded. His mind scrambled to make sense of the message.
"Superpowers? No, that's comic book stuff," Watts muttered.
But the memory of his blackout—the pain, the suffocating darkness—made him pause.
If someone could kill him without a trace, maybe the world wasn't as ordinary as it seemed. Maybe it never had been.
And now there was this glowing panel in his vision telling him he had a superpower.
Watts leaned against the counter, his worldview shattering under the weight of this revelation.
But another detail struck him harder than the rest—the system claimed his ability had awakened after he died.
Watts froze, the words blurring in his vision. "Died?" he repeated, barely hearing his own voice.
A shudder coursed through him. "What in fuck's sake..."
Apparently, the blackout wasn't just a blackout. He had been dead.
Real Dead.
"So... I actually died?" The words felt foreign in his mouth, as though saying them made them real.
A fragment of memory flickered in his mind—the suffocating darkness, the eerie silence of nonexistence.
He clutched at his chest as if he could feel his heartbeat slipping away again.
"No," he muttered, his voice trembling. "I can't have—" But the screen remained, unyielding and certain.
If that were really true, then someone was responsible. This wasn't some freak accident or sleepwalking mishap. Someone had killed him. But who? And why?
Watts's fists clenched. He didn't know who had wanted him dead, but now he had a new question: what was stopping him from finding out and making them pay?
He had done nothing to deserve such an end—at least nothing he could remember. This was supposed to be a lawful society. No one should be able to kill him without consequences.
Yet the more he thought about it, the clearer it became. Whoever had orchestrated his death had power—serious power.
They had killed him at the airport, one of the most surveilled places imaginable, without leaving a trace. Reporting this to the police was pointless.
If this person could reach him there, they could turn the authorities against him too.
Watts straightened, his breath steadying as determination took root. They thought they'd erased him—ended him—but they hadn't counted on this.
The symbol's faint glow seemed to pulse in time with his growing resolve.
I have something they didn't expect, he thought, his hands curling into fists. An overpowered ability that makes me a god among mortals.
But recklessness could undo him as easily as ignorance. He needed to know what this ability could do, how far it could stretch, and—most importantly—how to wield it without losing himself.
After all testing it in the heat of battle could backfire spectacularly.
Still, the thought of revenge coiled in his mind, dark and tempting. A slow grin spread across his face.
"What better way to test my abilities than to use them for payback?" he muttered, his voice cold.
The symbol glowed faintly in response, as if agreeing with him. This wasn't just a second chance at life.
It was an opportunity to become something more—and to make his enemies regret ever crossing him.
But deep down, a nagging thought lingered: power like this always came with a price, that was a fact.