Abraham stood there in the middle of the street, his mind racing with the possibilities of his new powers. He had just bent the sign like it was nothing, but he could feel that there was so much more to learn. His power wasn't limitless, not yet, and he understood that. He had to start somewhere.
Taking a deep breath, he focused again, this time on creating something tangible—a construct. He had felt the flickers of energy within him when he had been under stress, but now, he would try to control it, form it. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on his own mental space, pulling from the raw power inside his psyche.
At first, nothing happened. Then, slowly, he felt a slight buzzing, like static electricity, building at the center of his palm. His fingers twitched, and with a mental push, he imagined a simple shape—a sphere. A moment later, a faint, translucent orb appeared in his hand, hovering just above his skin. It shimmered like a soap bubble, but its form was solid, something he could almost feel.
"Okay, that's progress," he muttered to himself, but his excitement was tempered by the understanding that it was far from perfect. The orb was small and faint, no more than a few inches across. As soon as he moved his hand to adjust it, the construct flickered and dissolved like smoke in the wind.
"Focus," he grunted, trying to keep his hand steady. His stomach growled again, a constant gnawing reminder of the hunger that plagued him.
Determined not to give up, he visualized something stronger—an object that could actually serve a purpose. A shield. He wanted to create something solid, something that could protect him if needed.
He stretched his hand out, mentally commanding the construct into shape, pulling the energy through his body and into his fingertips. This time, the result was more successful. The air around his hand shimmered as a hard, glowing disk of light materialized. It was about the size of a large dinner plate, floating steadily in front of him. It looked solid—like a shard of glass, except it was harder than any material he had touched before.
His heart raced. He had done it. He had made a shield.
But then the strain hit him. The shield began to waver, flickering and vibrating as if it were being pulled apart from within. His hand shook, the psychic energy he was pouring into it now running thin. With a snap, the construct shattered, dissipating into sparks.
"Not enough," he sighed, stepping back.
Abraham could feel the weight of his powers, the cost it took to create something solid. It wasn't like flipping a switch. The power was there, but it was raw and volatile. It was going to take time, effort, and practice to make it truly his own. He had only scratched the surface.
"Tomorrow. I'll try again tomorrow," he said to himself, though he knew deep down that tomorrow, his powers would feel just as unpredictable. He had to learn to control them, to shape them with precision. He wasn't invincible yet. He still had so much more to discover about his abilities—and about the world around him, the hidden forces that were beginning to notice his existence.
The Next Day
It was morning, the golden rays of sunshine bled through the canopy of gray bricks. The morning air was fresh, yet there were labored breaths heard.
Abraham's breath came in shallow gasps, his mind racing with the chaotic surge of energy inside him. He had just discovered the potential of his psychic constructs, but now, it was time to experiment with something a little more dangerous—his psychic barriers.
He clenched his fists, feeling the rush of energy pooling in his palms. The air around him seemed to crackle with intensity, as if his very presence was bending reality. In front of him, a thick metal pipe lay abandoned on the sidewalk—perfect for a test.
Without a second thought, he extended his hand and reached for the pipe. In his mind, he pictured the barrier taking form—folding into a blunt shape, sharp like a blade, but dense, thick enough to slice through the pipe. The psychic shield extended outward, warping into a jagged, bladed edge that surrounded his hand like a phantom limb.
The metal pipe stood no chance. With a swift, almost effortless motion, Abraham drove the edge of his barrier through it, and with a sickening crunch, the pipe split in two. The barrier was almost like an extension of his own will, cutting through the metal with ease.
Grinning, Abraham pulled his hand back, his barrier flickering with energy. He flexed his fingers, and the shape of the barrier shifted. This time, it wasn't a blade, but a thick chain, coiling around itself like a serpent.
"Let's see how well this holds up," he muttered under his breath, focusing his will on the chain. His mind wrapped around the linkages, solidifying them with psychic energy, creating a glowing chain of pure force.
He swung it towards a nearby wooden post, and the chain wrapped around it instantly. With a simple mental push, the barrier tightened, its force locking the post in place, binding it with inescapable pressure. The wood groaned under the strain, but the chain held firm.
Abraham exhaled, his hands trembling slightly. "Impressive," he said, still marveling at the potential of his own abilities. But there was a nagging sense of unease. The power, the raw strength behind it—it felt unstable. He could feel it. His barriers, while powerful, were still volatile. One wrong move, one slip in control, and the chain could have snapped back, or worse, it could've turned on him.
The danger was real, but so was the power. He wasn't invincible yet, but every day, he was getting closer. With his test done Abraham moves on.
Abraham's footsteps echoed in the narrow alleyway, the cold night air pressing against his skin as he walked through the city's forgotten district. The buildings here were old, the windows boarded up, and the streets almost always empty. He hated it here—too quiet, too unsettling. The darkness was thick, almost oppressive.
His eyes flicked to the shadows, his senses heightened. He could feel it. There was something out there—something watching him. His pulse quickened, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
Then he saw it.
A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye—a figure, tall and gaunt, like a man but with limbs that stretched unnaturally long, draped in tattered clothing. Its skin was a sickly shade of gray, and its eyes glowed with an eerie yellow light.
The creature tilted its head, a low growl escaping from deep within its throat.
"You shouldn't be here," it rasped, its voice a mixture of pain and hunger.
Abraham's stomach churned. He knew that voice. It was a creature born from humanity's collective fears, its form shaped by the darkness that lurked in the corners of the world. A nightmare made flesh. It was called a Wraith—a spirit of vengeance that fed on terror.
He took a step back, but the Wraith advanced, its long fingers curling into claws. The air around them seemed to grow colder, the shadows swirling like liquid. Abraham's instincts screamed at him to run, but he knew he had to stand his ground. He couldn't afford to be a coward now, not after everything he'd already been through.
His mind raced. He had powers. Powers he was still getting used to, but they were his only chance.
Without thinking, Abraham extended his hand, reaching out with his mind. The psychic energy surged through his arm, and a barrier of force erupted in front of him, rippling with intensity. He gritted his teeth, his fingers flexing as he concentrated. The barrier took shape—a shield, but not just any shield. It was jagged, sharp, like the edge of a broken blade.
The Wraith lunged, its claws outstretched, but the barrier met it with a violent clash. The creature screeched as the psychic shield slashed through its form, cutting through the Wraith like a hot knife through butter. It staggered back, its glowing eyes wide with surprise.
Abraham didn't let up. He summoned more energy, shaping the barrier into chains, thick and unyielding, and sent them snaking toward the Wraith. The chains coiled around its limbs, tightening with an audible snap.
The Wraith howled in fury, thrashing against its psychic bonds. But Abraham held firm, his mind locking the chains in place. It wasn't enough to kill the creature, but it would buy him time.
His stomach rumbled, a gnawing hunger eating at him, but he pushed it aside. Now wasn't the time for distractions.
With the Wraith bound, Abraham reached for another of his abilities. He focused on the dimly lit streetlamp nearby, and with a twist of his mind, he reached into the reflective surface of the nearby puddle. His hand shot out from the pool of water like a ghostly apparition, materializing as if it had crossed some hidden threshold.
He grabbed the streetlamp's pole and yanked it free from its base. With a crack, the lamp fell into his hands. He didn't even look at it as he focused on his next move. His muscles tensed as he imbued the lamp with velocity, sending it hurtling toward the Wraith with all the force he could muster. The metal pole, now glowing with psychic energy, slammed into the Wraith's chest, sending it crashing into the brick wall behind it.
The Wraith screeched, disoriented, but it wasn't finished yet. It lurched forward, its claws stretching out toward Abraham. The thing was relentless.
Abraham's heart pounded, and the hunger in his stomach seemed to spike, but he wasn't going to let it slow him down. He was done running from these creatures. He was the Marked One now, and this was his fight.
With a deep breath, he focused his mind, ready for whatever came next.
The wraith's presence loomed large, the oppressive weight of its aura pressing against Abraham's chest. It was fast—too fast for the naked eye to track—but Abraham could see it, feel its cold, malicious energy crawling across his skin. Its eyes glowed with an unnatural blue fire, and its tendrils of shadow lashed out in erratic movements, reaching for him.
Without hesitation, Abraham's hand flew out, a psychic barrier forming instantly. The wraith's ethereal claws collided with it, sending a pulse of energy that vibrated through Abraham's bones. It had no substance, but its anger was palpable, like a physical force. The wraith shrieked, its voice like nails on a chalkboard, and then it phased into the ground, disappearing entirely.
Abraham narrowed his eyes. He couldn't afford to let it get away. His mind raced as the shadowy form shifted around him. Using his aura vision, he pinpointed the wraith's location through its flickering, vibrant blue aura, which contrasted sharply against the darkened surroundings.
"I know where you are," Abraham muttered, more to himself than the creature.
Suddenly, the wraith reappeared directly behind him, slashing at his back. It was fast, but Abraham was faster. He spun on his heels just in time to meet the wraith's assault with his own psychic energy. His barrier shifted and reshaped into a spiked weapon—a jagged, psychic spear that he thrust backward, straight into the wraith's form.
The wraith screamed as the weapon tore into it, causing the shadowy mass to distort and writhe in agony. Yet, it wasn't enough to completely banish the creature. It writhed in the air, its form disintegrating and reforming, growing stronger in its rage.
Abraham's eyes flickered with realization. The wraith wasn't just a creature of raw power—it was feeding on the fear around it, thriving off the terror it induced. That made it all the more dangerous. Abraham had to be smart.
He took a deep breath, and his psychic power flared. He focused on the wraith's aura, locking onto its emotions. The wraith's anger, its hatred, were feeding it. He could reverse this. His hand reached out, and he imposed his will on the wraith's very core, warping its emotions.
The wraith froze mid-attack, a shudder running through its form. The piercing blue glow of its eyes dimmed as confusion and doubt seeped into its being. Abraham could feel the power of the wraith waver as its rage was redirected, its focus disrupted.
Abraham seized the opportunity. He summoned his psychic chains once more, but this time, they didn't just bind the wraith—they crushed it. The chains constricted, tightening around the wraith's form like a vice. The creature struggled, its form flickering violently as it tried to phase out, but the pressure was too much. With a final, strained scream, the wraith's form collapsed, shuddering under the immense psychic weight.
In an instant, Abraham's mind reached out, and with a focus, he absorbed the essence of the wraith into himself. The cold rush of energy surged through him—its fear, its rage, its power—flooding into him. His stomach growled in response, but the gnawing hunger inside him receded, replaced by a feeling of fullness, a brief satisfaction.
The wraith's energy swirled within him, expanding his senses. His psychic constructs became more refined, more solid—his control over them growing exponentially. The ability to manipulate his own density, which had once been a difficult and unstable task, now felt natural, like second nature. A small, faint pulse of power, a promise of more, echoed through his body as the essence settled within him.
Abraham stood still, feeling the warmth of the power radiating through him. His hunger still lingered, but now it was manageable, as though the creature's essence had quelled it for a time. The wraith's blue aura dimmed to nothing, its power now his.