Joe would always remember the quiet of that morning—how ordinary it had seemed. He woke up to the smell of bacon sizzling, his mother humming softly in the kitchen, and sunlight filtering through the trees outside. Even at sixteen, Joe never really thought much about his father's abilities. To him, his dad had always just been… Dad. His father had a gift that seemed too grand to fully understand, but he only used it in the smallest ways: fixing a broken toy, helping a sick neighbor, or smoothing over any problem that troubled their family.
Victor could make anything happen—any wish, any thought, anything he desired would be real with just a focus of his mind. The world was his to mold, but he'd always used his power humbly, believing it wasn't meant to tip the balance of life. His brother, Jack, shared that belief. If Victor could create, then Jack was his counterbalance: he could make anything not happen, undoing actions and creations that went against the natural flow. Jack was the quiet one, almost shy, with an easy smile and a calm demeanor, often going unnoticed. It was as if he was the stronger counterpart, the gentle chiller who preferred not to show his strength—unless he had to.
Jack lived a few miles away in his own home, a small cabin nestled in the woods, and he only visited on rare occasions, letting his brother lead the life he wanted. Joe loved when he saw his uncle, though; even though Jack was reserved, there was something about his presence that made Joe feel calm, safe, as though Jack could hold the world in his hands and still not disturb a single blade of grass.
It was a simple afternoon, and Joe was helping his dad sort out boxes in the garage. Everything felt normal, even peaceful. But Joe couldn't shake a strange feeling tugging at his mind, a sense of unease he couldn't quite place.
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Section 2:
"You all right, Joe?" his father asked, his warm eyes meeting his son's with a hint of curiosity.
Joe shrugged, not wanting to worry his dad. "Yeah, just… I don't know. Feels weird today. Like something's off."
Victor chuckled, brushing it off. "Maybe it's just that new storm they're talking about on the news. The pressure in the air does strange things sometimes."
But even as he spoke, Victor's eyes held a strange, distant look that Joe hadn't noticed before. He wanted to ask what his father was thinking, but before he could, the front door flew open, and Joe's mom ran in, her face pale.
"Victor… there's someone here, someone… strange," she whispered, her voice trembling.
The moment froze, and Joe felt his father's hand on his shoulder, guiding him toward the back of the house. "Stay here, Joe. Take your mother and keep her safe," Victor said, his voice calm but steely, a tone Joe had never heard before.
In the front room, Victor stood alone, facing the doorway as the intruder stepped into view. The man was tall, with a thick, muscular frame that seemed to radiate anger. His eyes burned with a dark, unnatural rage, and every breath he took seemed to make the air itself shudder. He wore no armor, no weapon, yet his presence alone felt like a force of destruction.
The stranger's voice was a low, grating growl. "Victor. So you're the one everyone calls the creator. How… disappointing."
Victor's face was calm, his gaze steady as he met the stranger's intense stare. "I don't know who you are, but you're not welcome here. Leave, or I'll make sure you regret stepping foot in this house."
The man sneered, a hint of madness glinting in his eyes. "You? Threatening me?" His voice was thick with mockery. "I am Alaric. My power is rage, and my strength grows with every breath I take, with every ounce of anger I feel. I am limitless."
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Section 3:
Victor took a deep breath, his posture relaxed, as if he were talking to an old friend instead of a killer. "Power like that is dangerous. I don't want a fight, Alaric. Go back to wherever you came from."
Alaric's response was immediate. With a roar that shook the room, he charged forward, fists clenched, his body seething with raw power. Victor raised his hand, trying to put up a barrier, but Alaric's strength tore through it with ease, and Joe, watching from the hallway, felt his stomach twist. His father's power, meant to create and protect, wasn't enough against Alaric's boundless rage.
Joe's mother pulled him back, her grip tight as she whispered, "We need to hide. We need to get away from here."
But Joe couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene. He watched as Alaric delivered blow after blow, each one seeming to gain in strength, his rage feeding his power in an endless cycle. Victor was holding his ground, but barely, his face pale and his breathing labored. Joe's fists clenched, and his own power surged within him, his adaptation kicking in, but there was nothing he could do. His power couldn't match the force of Alaric's rage.
And then, in one final, earth-shattering punch, Alaric struck Victor down. The silence that followed was heavy, like the air itself was mourning. Joe felt frozen, his body cold as his father lay unmoving on the ground, the life drained from his eyes.
Alaric turned, his gaze sweeping over the house, but before he could spot Joe or his mother, he smirked to himself, then walked away, disappearing into the night.
The house was quiet again, but the peace had been shattered forever.
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Section 4:
It was only later that Joe heard the soft knock on the front door, and when he opened it, he found his uncle Jack standing there, his expression unreadable. Joe's mother must have called him as soon as Alaric left. Jack stepped inside, his eyes landing on Victor's still form, and Joe saw something shift in his uncle's usually calm face.
Jack knelt beside his brother, one hand resting gently on Victor's shoulder. He didn't say anything, didn't scream or cry. He just knelt there, quiet, his hand steady as though he was still protecting his younger brother, even in death.
After a long moment, Jack stood and turned to Joe, his voice soft and calm as always. "Joe," he said, placing a hand on Joe's shoulder. "I'm sorry I wasn't here."
Joe could barely speak, his words coming out in a choked whisper. "If… if you'd been here, you could have stopped him."
Jack nodded slowly, his face grave. "Maybe. But I wasn't." He paused, his gaze gentle yet firm. "And that's why we can't waste any more time."
Joe looked up, meeting his uncle's gaze. He felt the weight of grief, of anger, of a loss that had left a hole in his heart. But Uncle Jack's presence was calming, steadying him in a way he couldn't explain.
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Section 5:
"Alaric," Joe murmured, his voice filled with a quiet resolve he hadn't known he had.
Jack nodded. "He took something precious from us. But we'll make sure he doesn't harm anyone else."
They stood in the silence of that broken home, Jack's hand resting on Joe's shoulder like an anchor. For the first time, Joe felt his adaptation stirring not just in response to his environment but in response to something deeper, a quiet strength growing within him, like his uncle's.