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 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 climbed out of bed. His feet touched the soft carpet as he shuffled toward the living room, trying to ground himself in the mundane. He needed something to calm his nerves. His condo was neat—two bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, a cozy living room with an attached kitchen and dining area. Everything in its place. Maybe that sense of normalcy would help him process... whatever this was.
He opened the fridge and grabbed a packet of flavored milk, tearing it open with his teeth. Tilting his head back, he drank it all in one go. The cold liquid did little to steady him, but it was something. 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. For easier comprehension, it adapted into the most convenient form (System) for the bearer to manipulate.
Watts stared, dumbfounded. His mind scrambled to make sense of the message. "Does this mean superpowers are real? And now I have one? How the hell has no one ever mentioned this before?"
He 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.
"So... I actually died?" His voice cracked, disbelief and dread intertwining.
The blackout wasn't just a blackout. He had been dead. Dead. And if that were 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, a dark determination hardening in his chest. He had something they didn't expect: an overpowered ability that made him a god among mortals. But he wasn't stupid. He needed to understand this power—its strengths, its limitations—before taking any steps. Testing it in the heat of battle could backfire spectacularly.
Still, as the idea of revenge settled in his mind, a wicked grin spread across his face.
"What better way to test my abilities than to use them for payback?" he muttered, the hint of malice in his tone almost unrecognizable.
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.