The night air was cool against Abraham's skin as he walked home, the faint stench of rust and decay still clinging to him. The adrenaline from the fight with the awakened man hadn't quite worn off, and his senses were still sharp, the world around him standing in stark contrast to the brutal scene he'd just left behind. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional distant hum of traffic, the only sound accompanying his steady footsteps.
As he walked, Abraham's thoughts churned, his mind running through the fight. His barriers had worked well enough, but he knew he could do more. His chains—his favorite tool—had been effective, but they needed more power, more precision. The man had only used his power to control the metal around him, but with enough skill, that limitation could be overcome.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the pulse of energy beneath his skin. He could manipulate the world around him, bend it to his will—but what if he could channel his psychic abilities directly into his physical strikes? He had an idea.
Abraham stopped in his tracks, standing in the middle of the sidewalk. He wasn't going to use his usual tools for this; no barriers, no chains, no grenades. He was going to push himself further.
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, feeling the subtle shift in the air as his mind began to reach out. His consciousness brushed against the boundary of the physical world, probing it with the quiet hum of his abilities. He imagined his body and mind as separate forces, linked but distinct. The power was there, hidden within his muscles and tendons, waiting to be unlocked.
"Alright, let's try this," he murmured.
He focused on his arms first, visualizing the flow of energy, willing his psychic power to coat his limbs like an invisible force, imbuing them with strength. At first, nothing. Then he focused harder, his body tensing as he felt the shift, a strange sensation running through his bones. His fists clenched, and he could feel the weight of his energy surging into them, like a warrior gathering his ki before an attack.
He let out a breath, willing his muscles to move with the extra power. He swung his fist, the motion fluid, and the air crackled with the raw force he'd just unleashed. The sound was sharp—like thunder in the distance. His punch connected with the side of a nearby dumpster, and the metal buckled under the impact. The dent was deep, the metal caved in like paper beneath his strike.
He grinned, his heart racing. It worked. The feeling was different, far more natural than he'd anticipated. His psychic power wasn't just controlling objects or defending him—it was now directly integrated into his own body. He could feel the energy flowing through his arms, lending them an unnatural strength. His mind raced with possibilities.
"Let's see how far this goes," he muttered to himself.
He continued to experiment, shifting his focus between different parts of his body. His legs—he focused on them next, trying to enhance the force of his kicks. His mind sharpened, and suddenly he could feel his calves and thighs bulging with latent energy, like a pressure building inside him. He tested it, his foot snapping out in a kick aimed at a streetlight pole. The sound of metal snapping rang in the air as the pole buckled under the force, the base of the pole bending like rubber. He could feel his foot buzzing with the power he'd channeled, the surge of energy reverberating in his bones.
This wasn't just strength—this was something more. It was control, precision, and raw, unfettered power.
Abraham exhaled slowly, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. The power was intoxicating. He could feel himself becoming more attuned to it, the psychic energy merging with his physical being. It wasn't something that was merely an extension of his will—it was becoming part of him, amplifying everything he was, everything he could do.
He walked past the wrecked dumpster, looking at the destruction he'd left behind, a twisted sense of satisfaction curling through him. He could feel his hunger gnawing at him again, but it wasn't as overwhelming as before. Perhaps the experiment had done something, not just to his body, but to his mind as well.
As he turned the corner, the lights of his apartment complex came into view, the concrete walls bathed in the yellow glow of the streetlights. He was getting closer, but his thoughts were still consumed by his new power. He'd never felt anything like it before. The way his body had felt… so much stronger, so much more alive. He could already see the potential for combat. If he could enhance his physical attacks like this, there'd be no limit to how he could fight.
He stepped up to the door of his apartment, unlocking it with a flick of his wrist. He'd need to rest and think this through. But the dark gleam in his eyes said it all. This was only the beginning.
—
A few days after his encounter with the awakened man in the warehouse, Abraham sat at his computer, nursing the remnants of his hunger. His mind was consumed by the constant hum of hunger and the volatile nature of his powers, both of which were slowly becoming more manageable but still incredibly unpredictable.
As he idly scrolled through his inbox, something caught his eye—a message from an unfamiliar source, the subject line simply reading, "An Invitation."
Curious, he opened the message, scanning through the brief text.
-----
"Greetings, Abraham,
We are aware of your awakening and the growing power within you. It is not every day that one like you rises. The world is more than what you have seen, and there is much to learn. Join us at the Midnight Forum, where knowledge and power converge. We can offer you insights into the supernatural realm, guidance on controlling your abilities, and even allies who can help you on your journey.
The world is much bigger than you know.
The Keeper"**
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The message felt... off, like it was a lure, but something about it tugged at him. There was no question that his world had shifted drastically since the night he became marked, and this invitation could provide him with the kind of insight he so desperately needed.
He didn't hesitate for long. The Keeper seemed to know things about him, and whether they were an ally or a potential threat, he couldn't ignore it. The more he knew, the better. He closed his eyes, fingers tapping on the desk, wondering whether he was ready to step into a deeper, more dangerous world.
With a deep breath, he typed a response:
"I'm in."
It barely a week since he accepted his invitation, but Abraham had spent the last few days in a haze. It wasn't just the sleep deprivation or the gnawing hunger that refused to leave him, it was something more. The encounter with the wraith and the unknown forces that had followed him had left a mark—one that was deep, gnawing at the edges of his perception. His powers were growing, but with each victory, he felt the world around him growing colder, more indifferent.
Abraham's fingers hovered over his phone screen, the glow of the message reflected in his ominous, alien eyes. The text was short and clipped, as if the sender expected no refusal: "Northwest 36th and Grove. Midnight. Come alone."
The world outside his apartment seemed unnaturally still. The weight of silence pressed against the windows, broken only by the distant hum of a passing car. He glanced around the small room—dimly lit, sparsely furnished, and filled with an air of perpetual transience. There was no warmth here, no sense of permanence. It was just a space he existed in, not one he truly lived in.
He let out a breath, the tension coiling in his chest like a spring. Another night. Another plunge into the unknown.
For a moment, his gaze lingered on a photo on his desk. It was a picture from a year ago: him and his college friends, arms slung over each other's shoulders, carefree smiles on their faces. They seemed so alien to him now, like strangers who had wandered into his life by mistake. Back then, he had believed in shared dreams and simple futures. Now, those dreams felt as insubstantial as smoke, dissipating in the harsh light of his new reality.
The night air was crisp, biting against his skin as he stepped out onto the deserted streets. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his phone tucked securely inside, and started toward the address. The city was alive but distant—a hollow, vibrant world that no longer included him. He passed people laughing in a bar, their voices spilling onto the sidewalk like waves crashing against a distant shore. A young couple walked by, holding hands, their heads close as they shared some private joke.
Abraham averted his gaze, his jaw tightening. They felt like ghosts to him—specters of a life he could never return to.
He forced his mind to focus. The encounter with Nyla and the warehouse brawler still burned fresh in his memory. Both had treated him as something other, something monstrous. He wondered if it was his aura, the way the unnatural seemed to cling to him like a second skin. Or was it just his eyes, those cursed markers of his nature? Either way, he couldn't shake the feeling of being a predator walking unnoticed through a herd of prey.
The coordinates led him to an old industrial district, where crumbling warehouses stood like tombstones of a forgotten age. The air was thick with the smell of rust and damp concrete. Abraham's senses prickled, his heightened perception warning him of the wrongness here.
A figure stood in the shadows near a broken streetlamp. As Abraham approached, he could make out more details: a man, middle-aged, with a gaunt face and eyes that seemed to dart nervously in every direction. His aura shimmered faintly, the muted gray of apprehension tinged with flecks of distrust.
"You're late," the man said, his voice low and clipped.
"Traffic," Abraham replied dryly, glancing around. The space felt too open, too exposed. It made his skin crawl.
The man pulled something from his coat—a leather pouch—and held it out. Abraham didn't reach for it immediately.
"This is from the forum," the man continued, his tone impatient. "They said you'd need it."
Abraham's hand closed around the pouch, and he opened it to find three items inside: a sleek black phone, its interface already open to a chat application he didn't recognize; a thin dagger with a wickedly sharp edge, inscribed with runes that seemed to hum faintly in his grip; and a small, ancient-looking book with a worn leather cover.
"They're tools," the man explained. "The phone gives you access to some of our network. Contacts, alerts, tips—it's how we communicate. The dagger… you'll figure out. And the book is a primer. It won't tell you everything, but it's a start."
Abraham stared at the items, a swirl of emotions churning in his chest. Gratitude wasn't one of them. This wasn't charity—it was investment.
"Why the gifts?" he asked, his voice edged with suspicion.
The man shrugged. "You're one of us, whether you like it or not. We all have roles to play. Yours is just… more visible." His gaze lingered on Abraham's eyes, and his lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. "They always know you're one of the Marked, don't they?"
Abraham's fingers tightened around the phone. "What gave it away?"
The man chuckled, though there was no warmth in it. "The eyes, kid. Those are a dead giveaway. Anyone with half a sense for the supernatural can see it. To us, you're a beacon. To them… well, you've probably figured that out already."
The exchange left Abraham feeling both empowered and burdened. The phone and dagger felt like tools, weapons he could wield against the growing tide of supernatural threats. But they also felt like chains, tying him irrevocably to this world of shadows and whispers.
As he walked back through the city, the book tucked under one arm, he couldn't shake the man's words. "To them… well, you've probably figured that out already."
He clenched his fists, his jaw tight. He had figured it out. Every encounter left him more isolated, more estranged from the world of the living. He was becoming something else, something apart. And while he didn't regret the path he had chosen, he couldn't ignore the hollow ache it left in his chest.
His eyes caught his reflection in a shop window as he passed, the strange, unearthly glow of his irises staring back at him. For a moment, he thought he saw something else in the reflection—a flicker of movement, a shadow that didn't belong.
But when he turned, there was nothing there.
With a sigh, he adjusted his grip on the book and kept walking.