His life was a mess, his last conversation before his powers was him fighting with his brother over how to handle the funeral of their father. It ended with his brother claiming the responsibility. The afternoon sun bathed the park in golden light, dappling the grass with shifting patterns of shadow and warmth. Abraham walked along the winding paths, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, the soft crunch of gravel beneath his sneakers oddly grounding. He told himself this was a good idea, a chance to remember what normalcy felt like.
Kids laughed in the distance as they kicked a soccer ball around. A couple strolled by hand-in-hand, the woman leaning on the man's shoulder as they whispered to each other. Abraham's chest tightened. He used to want that—a connection, a life rooted in something ordinary.
Now, he wasn't sure what he wanted.
He found a bench under a sprawling oak tree and sat down, leaning back and letting the cool breeze brush against his face. The sounds of the park filled the air: the rhythmic chirping of cicadas, the rustle of leaves, the distant hum of traffic. It all seemed so... fragile.
A little girl chased a butterfly nearby, her laughter carrying on the wind. Abraham watched her for a moment, his lips twitching in what could almost pass for a smile. She tripped, tumbling onto the grass, but instead of crying, she got up and laughed again, brushing off her knees as if falling was part of the game.
The scene should have been heartwarming, but it only made Abraham's mind wander to the things he had seen and done. The fear in the eyes of creatures as they realized their doom. The sick satisfaction that occasionally crept in when he felt their essence yield to his control.
He clenched his fists. What am I doing here?
A voice startled him from his thoughts. "Abe? Is that you?"
He looked up to see Emily, a girl from his old physics class. She was holding a coffee cup, her head tilted slightly as she studied him.
For a moment, he didn't know what to say. Emily had always been kind to him, in that effortless way people who didn't carry the weight of the world could be. Her auburn hair caught the sunlight, her green eyes bright with recognition.
"Yeah," he said finally, forcing a smile. "Hey, Emily."
She sat down on the bench beside him, her presence both familiar and foreign. "Wow, I haven't seen you around campus in a while. Did you transfer or something?"
He shook his head. "Just... been busy."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, concern flickering across her face. "You okay? You look... tired."
He almost laughed at that. Tired didn't even begin to cover it. But instead, he shrugged. "You know how it is. Life gets crazy."
Emily nodded, sipping her coffee. "Yeah, I get that. But you should come back to class sometime. We miss you."
Abraham's chest ached at the casual sincerity in her voice. It would be so easy to lean into this moment, to pretend he could go back to the person he was before. But he knew better. The gap between them wasn't just about missed lectures or late assignments. It was a chasm, filled with shadows and blood and things Emily could never understand.
"I'll think about it," he said, his voice quieter than he intended.
Emily smiled, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. "Well, don't be a stranger, okay? You've always been one of the smartest people I know. The world needs people like you."
As she stood to leave, Abraham watched her go, the normalcy of her life stark against the chaos of his own.
The butterfly from earlier flitted past him, its delicate wings catching the light. Abraham reached out instinctively, his powers stirring beneath his skin. He froze, his fingers curling back.
Not everything needs to be touched by you, he thought bitterly.
But the truth was undeniable: no matter how hard he tried to fake it, the world he'd once belonged to was slipping further away.
The afternoon passed in a haze of conflicting thoughts. After his encounter with Emily, Abraham lingered in the park a while longer before finally deciding to leave. The path ahead was clear: he needed to prepare for the funeral. A part of him dreaded it—not just the emotions it would unearth, but the reminder of how far he'd drifted from everyone who would be there.
He found himself walking into a modest clothing store downtown, its clean windows displaying mannequins in neatly pressed suits. The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside, the scent of fabric and faint cologne greeting him.
A young clerk approached him, all smiles. "Welcome! Looking for anything specific today?"
"A suit," Abraham said flatly, his tone leaving little room for further small talk.
"Of course," the clerk said, undeterred. "We've got a great selection. This way."
Abraham followed, letting the clerk prattle on about fabrics and cuts. His mind wandered as his fingers brushed over the different options, the textures grounding him for a moment. He eventually picked a simple black suit—classic, unassuming.
As he headed toward the fitting rooms, a voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Well, well. If it isn't Abe the recluse."
Abraham turned to see Jared, a guy from his college who had made his life miserable during their freshman year. Tall and broad-shouldered, Jared always carried himself with the confidence of someone who never doubted they were the center of the universe.
Jared smirked, leaning casually against a rack of ties. "Didn't think I'd see you here. Thought you dropped out or something."
Abraham clenched his jaw. "Still in school."
"Could've fooled me. You don't exactly scream 'thriving student.' What's with the suit? Big date? No, wait—let me guess. Some nerd conference where you can finally show off all those pointless facts you used to spout."
Abraham stared at him, his irritation simmering just beneath the surface. A few months ago, he might have ignored Jared, walked away without a word. But now... now the weight of his powers hummed within him, a constant reminder of what he could do.
"It's for a funeral," he said evenly, though his voice carried an edge.
Jared's smirk faltered for a second before returning, albeit weaker. "Oh. Well, that's... too bad, I guess. But hey, maybe it's for the best. Some people are better off gone, you know?"
Abraham's vision darkened at the corners, his fists clenching. Jared had always been good at finding the right words to needle people, but today, it was like he'd struck a match near a gas leak.
"Careful, Jared," Abraham said, his voice low. "You're starting to sound like someone who doesn't know when to stop."
Jared chuckled nervously, taking a step back. "Relax, man. I was just joking. No need to get all... intense."
The energy inside Abraham pulsed, his mind racing with possibilities. He could make Jared feel the weight of his words—literally, if he wanted. A subtle shift in gravity, a small nudge of telekinetic force, and Jared would crumble to his knees.
But as quickly as the thought came, he pushed it aside. Not here. Not now.
He stepped closer, his eyes locking with Jared's. "You should leave."
Jared hesitated, his smirk finally gone. Something in Abraham's gaze must have unsettled him because he muttered a quick, "Yeah, whatever," and walked out of the store.
Abraham exhaled, his grip on the suit loosening. He felt the clerk's gaze on him from across the room, cautious but polite. Shaking off the tension, he headed to the fitting room and tried on the suit.
The reflection staring back at him in the mirror felt unfamiliar. The sharp lines of the jacket, the polished shoes—it all looked fine. But his eyes... those damned eyes. They betrayed him, glowing faintly with a depth that no normal human should possess.
He sighed and adjusted the tie. The suit fit perfectly, but it didn't make him feel any more ready for the funeral.
After paying and leaving the store, Abraham walked back to his apartment, his thoughts a chaotic mess. Jared's words lingered, not because they hurt, but because they reminded him of who he used to be—a target, a nobody. Now, he was something else entirely. But was that better?
The streets blurred around him as he tried to reconcile the pieces of his life. The funeral was only a few days away, and yet here he was, wrestling with memories and power, caught between two worlds that seemed increasingly irreconcilable.
Abraham stopped in his tracks, the city's sounds washing over him like a distant tide. Why should he care? Why did he still let the mundane world tug at his fraying edges, trying to piece together a man who no longer existed?
The realization hit him with the weight of cold iron: the version of himself that had worried about college bullies, family arguments, and awkward social encounters had been left behind. Torn apart the moment he was marked. Every step since had only taken him farther from that life, yet he still clung to it, as though pretending would somehow bring him back.
But the truth was staring him in the face, his reflection in every window he passed. The faint glow of his eyes betrayed his difference, his distance. Pretending wasn't going to make him human again.
The anger came first, sharp and searing, like a jagged wound reopened. It coursed through him at the thought of bending over backward for a world that would never accept him as he was. Why endure Jared's petty jabs, the judgmental stares of shop clerks, the weight of his brother's disapproval? Why bother at all?
The anger didn't stop there. It twisted, turning inward, hot and relentless. He was angry at himself for caring, for letting those things matter when they didn't. When they couldn't.
Abraham clenched his fists, the power inside him stirring instinctively. A streetlight flickered above him, the bulb struggling against his proximity. The people walking past him gave him a wide berth, some glancing nervously at the looming shadow he cast.
"Why should I care?" he muttered aloud, the words bitter and harsh.
But even as he said it, another voice—a quieter one—whispered back.
Because you're still trying.
He scowled, the thought gnawing at the edges of his resolve. Was that true? Was he holding on to some sliver of hope that he could walk the tightrope between humanity and the inescapable abyss of power that beckoned him?
He turned down an alley, away from the crowd, his pace quickening as if he could outrun his thoughts. The anger simmered, but now there was something else: doubt.
Maybe he didn't care about Jared or the judgmental stares. Maybe he didn't even care about the funeral, not in the way he was supposed to. But he cared about something. Somewhere beneath the layers of anger, detachment, and power, something still kept him tethered.
He stopped and leaned against a wall, closing his eyes. The faint hum of his powers filled the silence, always present now, like a second heartbeat.
"I don't know what I care about anymore," he admitted to no one, his voice barely above a whisper.
The words hung in the air, unanswered.
With a deep breath, he straightened and kept walking. If nothing else, he had a funeral to attend. A moment to stand among the living and pretend, one last time, that he belonged.
And if the pretense broke, well... then it broke. He wasn't sure he'd care.
The sun barely crept over the horizon as Abraham stood in the center of an abandoned lot on the edge of the city. The air was cool, dew clinging to the overgrown grass and broken pavement beneath his feet. This was the perfect place to push his powers, away from prying eyes and their inevitable fear.
The day before lingered in his mind, but it only fueled him. There was a realization he couldn't shake: the only thing tethering him to his humanity was the control he wielded over his power. And if he wanted to survive—no, thrive—he would have to delve deeper.
He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, letting his senses expand. The world around him became clearer in his mind's eye, not as a collection of sights and sounds but as a tapestry of forces. Gravity pulled objects to the ground, wind swirled invisible currents, and beneath the earth, untapped potential energy lay dormant.
He started with a simple experiment. Abraham picked up a heavy brick from the ground and hurled it against a nearby wall. The force echoed in his bones, the kinetic energy radiating outward. As the brick shattered, he reached out, not with his hands, but with his will, pulling the energy inward.
The sensation was electric, the energy pooling within him like a rushing river. His breath quickened as he focused that power outward, directing it into the air around him. The temperature plummeted. The moisture in the air condensed rapidly, forming a thin layer of frost on his skin and the ground.
He smiled, a rare flicker of satisfaction.
The frost melted as he reversed the process. This time, he crouched and touched a chunk of concrete, focusing on the dormant energy within it. He pushed the energy out, forcing it into the molecular structure of the rock.
The result was instantaneous. The concrete glowed faintly, cracks spider-webbing across its surface before it erupted in a violent explosion of heat and debris. He stumbled back, his heart pounding, exhilaration mixing with a tinge of fear.
"That could've killed me," he muttered, brushing dust from his coat.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself. This next step required more control. Abraham focused on a stray bird flitting near the ground. His aura vision showed it as a faint, skittish glow.
He reached out with his telekinesis, imagining it like an invisible hand. The bird froze mid-step, its body rigid under his mental grasp. He didn't crush it—he didn't need to. Instead, he envisioned its heartbeat, the rhythmic pulse of its organs.
With a subtle twist of his will, he squeezed. The bird collapsed, lifeless.
He stared at it, his expression unreadable. There was no satisfaction in the act, only the cold understanding of what he could now do.
The real test came next. Abraham found a rusted metal drum, its surface already riddled with decay. He focused on its molecular structure, his mind splitting into two threads of thought. One thread held the drum steady with telekinesis, while the other thread imbued it with kinetic energy.
The two forces collided in his mind, and the drum imploded, folding inward with a thunderous crack. The force of the collapse sent a shockwave outward, rippling through the air and knocking loose debris from nearby structures.
He fell to one knee, exhausted but grinning.
"I could end armies with this," he whispered to himself, a mixture of awe and dread coloring his voice.
As he sat in the wreckage of his own experiments, Abraham felt the hunger stirring again. The thrill of power was intoxicating, but it came at a cost. Every victory left him hungrier, the void inside him growing.
He looked at his hands, flexing his fingers. "What am I becoming?"
The question lingered in the cool morning air, unanswered. But for now, Abraham had work to do. The Spiral's warning still echoed in his mind, and he intended to be ready for whatever loomed on the horizon.
But first, he had a funeral to attend tomorrow.