Watts woke up with a jolt, disoriented and gasping for breath. His eyes darted around the room, struggling to piece together his surroundings.
He was in his bed, his apartment, with golden morning light streaming through the partially open window.
"Morning already?" he muttered, his voice hoarse.
Instinctively, his eyes flicked to the alarm clock on his bedside table. The moment he saw the time, he bolted upright as though an electric shock had surged through him.
"Shit! I'm late for work!"
He dashed to the washroom, barely registering the cold tiles underfoot. His toothbrush clattered in the sink as he hurriedly brushed his teeth, the minty foam dribbling down his chin.
He jumped into the shower, the icy spray jolting him further awake.
Then it hit him.
A sharp, searing pain exploded in his head, forcing him to clutch the sink for support.
It felt like a bullet piercing his temple, the agony reverberating through his skull.
Memories came flooding in—first in fragmented flashes, then in a chaotic torrent.
A forest, a city, the twisted visage of an alien, a battle. And then… dreams. Dreams he had absolutely no idea about. Dreams of glowing runes, whispered secrets in an ancient tongue, and landscapes that defied all logic.
These were no ordinary dreams.
Watts' breathing quickened as realization clawed at him. He had dreamt of these visions since childhood, each one vivid and haunting. Yet every morning, they vanished, as if erased by an unseen force. But now, they were clear—etched into his mind like carvings in stone.
He stumbled back against the wall, trying to make sense of it all. The fight, the alien, the aura of decay he unleashed… How was he alive? And why was he here, back in his apartment?
"This isn't right," he whispered, his voice trembling.
He squeezed his eyes shut, and the memories played out again—sharp and unrelenting. The fight was no illusion. Every blow, every surge of power, was real.
He exhaled shakily and opened his senses.
It happened instantly.
The cacophony of America roared in his mind. He could hear every conversation, every footstep, every car screeching along asphalt roads.
The sharp tang of exhaust fumes mingled with the earthy scent of freshly cut grass. Even the faint scuttle of ants on sidewalks was unbearably loud.
His head throbbed under the strain.
The sheer volume of sensations threatened to overwhelm him, his brain screaming for respite. But then, like a machine adjusting to its load, his mind began to adapt. The chaos dulled, and he could process it—piece by piece, sound by sound.
Still, he needed answers.
Watts staggered into his living room, his towel barely clinging to his waist. His eyes immediately fell on a note lying on the table. He could have read it with his mind, but something compelled him to pick it up with his hands.
The handwriting was unfamiliar, jagged yet precise.
I know we got off on the wrong foot, but thanks for fighting for us. You gave me a second chance to live.
You're new to this world, but you should know: they've noticed. The Paragons will come for you. The fight was in their city, and someone as powerful as you doesn't go unnoticed. Especially after that energy surge when you fainted.
Run. They're not people you can fight. The Paragons control Earth and the colonies across the galaxy. Their reach is absolute. Find a way to survive, get stronger, and leave. I've done what I can by bringing you home.
Good luck.
—Shadow
Watts stared at the note, his pulse hammering in his ears.
The Paragons? An organization powerful enough to hide entire cities—and apparently, they ruled not just Earth but colonies in the galaxy?
His chest tightened. He wasn't just out of his depth; he was drowning in an ocean he didn't know existed.
"This can't be real," he muttered, yet the weight of Shadow's words crushed any doubt.
He sank into the couch, his mind racing. If this "Paragons" group was that powerful, how had he never heard of them?
And what exactly had happened after he fainted? Shadow's words suggested something significant, something beyond his understanding.
He closed his eyes, his senses expanding again. This time, it was deliberate. The strain was less intense, though his brain still buzzed with effort.
He wanted to find answers from his system. And so, notifications flared in his mind like neon signs.
[Host has successfully activated the trial for the Aeonborn Bloodline.]
[Bloodline Awakening: 1%... 12%... 78%... 100%]
[Bloodline Awakening Successful.]
[Error: Host will not receive bloodline packs before trial completion.]
[The trial recognizes the host as the last heir. The trial has begun.]
Watts blinked, the words hanging in his mind.
"The what now?" he whispered.
His bloodline had always been marked as unknown in his status. Now it was awakening? And what was this trial? He wasn't in any trial grounds—at least, none he was aware of.
"What am I missing?" he muttered, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.
Then, more notifications appeared, each one hitting like a hammer.
[Supreme Human trait has awakened. Host adapting and evolving.]
[Host's physique adapting to damage…]
[Host's physique growing....]
[Host's soul and mind growing...]
Watts exhaled sharply. The alien fight had pushed him to his limits, and now his body had rebuilt itself. Yet this was more than mere recovery—this was evolution.
Another notification followed.
[Host has fulfilled all prerequisites for a major evolution...]
[Element chosen: Aeonborn.]
[Host evolving to Level 1.]
[Evolution successful.]
Abilities listed themselves in his mind:
Shape-shifting (Physique)
Reality perception (Soul)
Mind control and telepathy (Mind)
Elemental control (Aeonborn)
Unity: Self-sufficiency
Watts stared at the list; each word laced with unspoken power.
Shape-shifting was straightforward, and mind control could be devastating in the right hands. But Aeonborn? What kind of element was that?
And why did it have a semblance to his bloodline, was it like special in a way?
However, a faint smile tugged at his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"Convenient," he muttered. "Getting stronger just by fighting…"
But deep down, unease churned in his gut. If this power came at a price, what would it cost him?
As the thought settled, the world around him seemed to still. Watts rose to his feet, his gaze sharp and unwavering. The Paragons were coming. Shadow's note had warned him to run.
But running had never been his style.