An Abandoned Factory, One Hour Later
The recently beaten gang members were beginning to regain consciousness. One of them, still not fully aware of where he was, slowly opened his eyes. A man loomed over him, extending a hand. The thug blinked a few times to clear his blurry vision and finally recognized the man.
"You?" he croaked, accepting the offered hand to stand up.
"Well done. You held up your end of the deal," the man said with a warm, almost fatherly smile. He appeared to be in his forties, though the silver strands at his temples hinted at a slightly older age. His reserved charm was mixed with something unsettling in his voice, but the thug failed to notice.
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"Of course we did!" the thug snapped, rubbing his split lip. "But you never said we'd get our asses kicked like that!"
The silver-haired man paused as if savoring the thug's frustration, then spoke in a tone meant to buy his loyalty.
"I'll increase your payment for the inconvenience."
With a smooth motion, he pulled a stack of cash from the inner pocket of his coat and tossed it to the thug with casual indifference. The thug caught it mid-air, flipped through the bills with a greedy grin, and nodded approvingly.
"Now that's more like it," he muttered. "No complaints, then."
But his joy was short-lived. The smile faded from his face as he saw the man pull out a silenced pistol.
"What the hell are you doing?" was all the thug managed to exhale.
The silver-haired man didn't answer. His once-friendly gaze turned ice-cold.
The first muffled shot rang out. The thug staggered and collapsed. More shots followed each precise, each abruptly final. The remaining gang members barely had time to process what was happening.
The silence was broken only by the soft rustling of footsteps on asphalt. From the shadows, figures began to emerge. Their black suits, bulletproof vests, and heavy weaponry radiated danger. Balaclavas concealed their faces, leaving only sharp eyes that observed everything with a detached coldness.
One of them approached the silver-haired man and handed him a tablet.
"Here's the footage of the fight," he reported curtly.
The man nodded, taking the device and pressing play. The screen lit up, displaying the battle in excruciating detail. A faint, cold smile flickered across his lips.
"Good. Begin the cleanup, Sergeant," he ordered without looking away from the footage.
The sergeant gave a brief nod and immediately began issuing commands to his men. Within moments, a black van silently rounded the corner, its doors swinging open. The operatives in black moved with swift precision, loading the bodies into sealed bags and hauling them into the vehicle. Their work was fast, quiet, and devoid of unnecessary questions. None of them displayed any emotion.
Meanwhile, the silver-haired man replayed the footage multiple times, scrutinizing every movement. Occasionally, he paused, rewound, and rewatched, as if searching for the tiniest details.
"Sergeant," he finally called, his voice slicing through the stillness like a blade.
The sergeant quickly approached, standing at attention.
"What's your assessment?" the silver-haired man asked, barely lifting his gaze from the screen.
The sergeant hesitated, choosing his words carefully.
"Poor technique. No discipline. We could've handled it faster and without injuries," he stated firmly, though a trace of nervousness lingered in his eyes.
The man raised an eyebrow, smirking.
"Comparing yourselves to a child? Perhaps you're not as exceptional as you think," he remarked, his voice laced with mockery, yet carrying an unmistakable chill.
The sergeant realized his mistake.
"No, sir, that's not what I meant" he started, but the man silenced him with a gesture.
"Then what did you mean?" His tone remained calm, but the underlying menace was unmistakable.
The sergeant swallowed hard, holding his superior's gaze.
"Despite his lack of experience, he has impressive combat skills and physical strength. Especially for his age. However, his arrogance…" The sergeant paused, searching for the right words. "As seen in his words and actions, it led to his injuries."
"Better," the man remarked curtly, still watching him. "But remember, Sergeant stick to the facts in the future. Otherwise, we'll be parting ways."
His ice-cold eyes conveyed more than words ever could. The sergeant swallowed again, fully grasping what parting ways meant. Men like this didn't simply let go of people they erased them, as silently as the thugs who had just disappeared.
The tense silence was broken by another operative rushing up.
"Sir, we found the last one. He's been neutralized," the soldier reported, standing rigidly.
The silver-haired man nodded.
"Good. Wrap it up. The lead was accurate, but it's doubtful he was an Omega-level mutant," he said, his tone indifferent, yet tinged with mild disappointment.
"Yes, sir," the sergeant responded crisply.
The black-clad figures began vanishing into the darkness just as suddenly as they had appeared. The van's doors shut, and it rolled off into the night as if it had never been there.
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POV Escanor
An impenetrable darkness surrounded me. The cold, like a living entity, seeped beneath my skin, filling every cell of my body and making me tremble. I felt defenseless, vulnerable more than ever before. This terrifying emptiness, viscous and boundless, seemed determined to consume me.
But suddenly, faint rays of light began piercing through the gloom. They were weak, almost imperceptible at first, but with each passing moment, they grew brighter. The timid light gradually enveloped me, filling me with warmth and an unfamiliar sense of security. I felt it seep deep into my soul, replacing my fear with confidence and calm.
A massive sphere of fire slowly approached me. Its flames looked fierce, yet, surprisingly, they did not burn. On the contrary, they warmed me, chasing away the cold and fear. I could feel its living, pulsating energy flowing into me, making me feel powerful almost invincible.
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The fire within me flared stronger, filling me with an overwhelming force. I reached out toward this magnificent flame, longing to become one with it. But the closer I got, the more I felt a searing pain. It was nearly unbearable, tearing me apart from the inside. Panicked, I tried to step back.
"Escanor…" a familiar voice suddenly echoed from the darkness.
"Escanor, wake up," the voice repeated, insistent yet gentle.
The fiery sphere began to fade, and with it, the warmth disappeared. I was abruptly pulled away, and the light around me shifted to a blinding brightness.
I cracked my eyes open and saw my mother leaning over me.
Her face, so familiar and dear, was filled with worry. Concern shimmered in her eyes. Just like when I was a child, she was waking me gently, as if afraid I wouldn't open my eyes. Sunlight streamed through the window, outlining her silhouette, making her look almost angelic.
As my vision cleared, I took in my surroundings. White walls, the sterile scent of antiseptic this was a hospital room. Memories returned in fragments: the wound, the blood, the flashing lights of an ambulance. Now I was here. Alive.
"You're awake!" my mother gasped in relief, her voice trembling with emotion.
In the far corner of the room, my father stood near the window. His figure contrasted against the light. He was silent, observing us, his face as stern as ever but I knew he was relieved. His gaze spoke volumes, revealing the storm of emotions he wouldn't voice.
"So, how was your little adventure?" he asked in his usual strict tone.
"Not great," I exhaled, still feeling exhaustion weigh me down.
"Don't pester him. He needs to rest," my mother interjected softly, her voice filled with care.
"Don't worry, I'm fine," I tried to reassure them. I knew how much they loved me and how much they had sacrificed for my well-being. They always worried about my safety, and to be honest, that was one of the reasons I rarely allowed myself to go out with friends at night.
My mother studied me closely, her gaze saying more than words ever could.
"Son, I thought you'd grown up. Why did you even go there?" she asked, her voice carrying a mix of concern and gentle reproach.
I averted my eyes, feeling her worry seep into me.
"I don't know… Why? Maybe I just wanted some fresh air, or maybe I was really looking for trouble," I admitted with a shrug. I had never thought anyone could pose a real threat to me, but this wound clearly suggested otherwise.
The moment was interrupted by the quiet creak of the door.
An older doctor entered the room, his face adorned with a kind smile. His gaze landed on me, and I noticed how his expression eased slightly.
"We'll talk about this at home," my mother murmured, making it clear that a serious conversation awaited me later.
"The Pride family, I have good news," the doctor began, glancing at his papers. "Despite the severity of the situation and a difficult night, Escanor is recovering well."
"When can we take him home?" my father asked immediately, as if wanting to get straight to the point.
The doctor hesitated, casting a brief glance at me.
"How can that be? He had a serious wound he needs full treatment," the doctor said with a hint of bewilderment.
"You just said he's recovering. Escanor, you're feeling better, aren't you?" My father shot me a knowing glance.
I nodded, sensing that he expected a particular answer.
"Yes, I feel much better," I said, gathering my strength and sitting up slightly to show that I could stand. The pain was there, but I tried not to show it.
"See, doctor? So, when can he be discharged?" my father pressed, his tone growing less patient.
The doctor cleared his throat, visibly unsettled by his persistence.
"I need to check the test results, finalize the paperwork, and so on. If everything looks good, we might be able to discharge him by the evening," he said cautiously.
"Excellent. We'll pick him up tonight," my father responded as if the matter were already settled. He turned to me and offered a restrained smile. "See you in the evening, fighter," he added, and we exchanged a brief fist bump.
My mother cast me a final, caring glance before following my father out of the room.
"Don't be lonely," she said softly, kissing my forehead. Her warmth was almost tangible.
As they prepared to leave, I attempted to walk them to the door, but after just a few steps, a sharp pain in my side forced me to stop. My parents immediately noticed and insisted that I return to bed.
The day dragged on endlessly. First came a series of medical procedures checkups, tests, bandage changes. The doctors, upon reviewing my results, were clearly surprised by how quickly my wounds were healing. The longer I stayed in the hospital, the more apparent it became that my body wasn't like everyone else's. My unusually rapid recovery set me apart from the other patients. I had noticed this even in childhood bruises and cuts would disappear within hours.
When the procedures were over, I was left alone in my room, idly staring out the window. The sky, dotted with wispy clouds, seemed almost hypnotic.
Gazing into the pale blue expanse, I recalled that dream again. The sun. Its heat, which had felt searing, and the strange blend of fear and awe it had evoked in me. Was I somehow connected to it? It made sense, though I couldn't yet understand why. In that dream, I had feared the light perhaps because of my weakness, my nighttime form. But now… now, I would jump into that fire without hesitation to uncover the truth.
Closing my eyes, I tried to picture myself reaching for the sun again, feeling its warmth, its power. But nothing happened. That feeling I had in the dream was out of reach.
I kept trying until evening, but nothing changed. Weakness crept in, and the wound in my side throbbed anew. I wanted to leave this place as soon as possible to escape this hospital prison.
It seemed my wish had been heard. A soft knock came at the door, and a nurse entered.
"It's time to get ready," she said with a kind smile. "Your parents are already waiting for you at the reception."
Not wanting to waste time, I quickly gathered my things and made my way downstairs. In the lobby, my mother and father were waiting for me.
We didn't linger. My father signed the necessary paperwork, and soon we were heading to the car.
The ride home was silent. I sat in the back seat, watching the city lights blur past. The endless stream of people on the streets flowed like a river, never stopping.
After half an hour, we finally arrived home. The sun had nearly disappeared beyond the horizon, leaving the sky painted in soft twilight hues. But with every passing moment, as the light faded, I felt my condition worsen. The pain in my side grew more insistent, reminding me that my injury was more serious than I had assumed.
My father helped me to my room, keeping a firm grip on my arm to steady me. Once inside, he assisted me in removing my shirt so I could lie down and rest. Not long after, Eleonora, our family caretaker, entered the room.
Eleonora was a kind and nurturing woman. She had been with our family for as long as I could remember. Once an exceptional neurosurgeon, she had left medicine due to personal hardships and workplace conflicts. My father had offered her a job, on one condition that she keep my secrets.
"The wounds have closed well, but your body has spent a great deal of energy on recovery. Rest is your priority now," she said gently yet firmly, examining my injury.
"That's good to hear," my father said. "You need to regain your strength. Would you like to eat here, or will you come down and join us?"
"With you," I replied, feeling an unexpected wave of loneliness creeping in. I usually valued solitude, but right now, I didn't want to be alone.
"Alright. Dinner will be ready in an hour. See you there," my father said before leaving the room.
Eleonora finished tending to my wound, carefully bandaging it before handing me a few pills.
"This will help restore your strength. Get well soon," she said, putting away her tools.
Once I was alone, I slowly got up from the bed and walked to the window. The sky outside was dark, with the first stars timidly flickering in its vast expanse.
My thoughts drifted back to the changes happening within me. Why am I transforming like this? Why does daylight fill me with confidence and strength, while nightfall makes me feel so vulnerable?
I lifted my gaze to the sky, where the moon shone brightly among countless stars. So much light, even in the night. Thousands of distant stars, their glow reaching all the way here, into this room.
During the day, my power feels natural an inherent part of me. But at night, when the world grows still, everything shifts. The silence of the night awakens strange thoughts in me. My mind clings to questions I cannot answer. Who am I? Why am I like this? And what awaits me?
The meaning of my life seems deceptively simple to uncover all the secrets my body holds. Perhaps, one day, I will discover something within me that is beyond ordinary human limits.
But right now, I am weaker than my peers. These thoughts are best left for my daytime self the one who looks at the world with confidence and is ready to conquer it. For now… maybe I should try capturing my dream? Yes, a good idea.
I pulled out my easel, set up a canvas, and opened my paints. The brush moved steadily across the surface, leaving strokes that quickly formed clear images. Surprisingly, I painted faster than ever before. Every detail of the dream remained so vivid in my memory, as if I had just seen it moments ago.
A bright red-orange sphere began to emerge on the canvas, floating in the void. Its surface was engulfed in streams of fire, creating a mesmerizing yet terrifying pattern. Even through the paint, I could feel the heat and power radiating from this fiery orb.
Time seemed to stand still as I sank into a trance. When I finally returned to reality, the painting was complete. It looked incredible almost too vivid, too real for just a dream. I stared at it, trying to decipher its meaning, but no answers came. It was just a canvas, just paint.
"Escanor, dinner is ready!" my mother's voice called, pulling me from my thoughts.
I decided to set my questions aside for later. Right now, food was the priority.
Descending to the kitchen, I found the table set and my parents already waiting for me. With a smile, I sat down, and we began our meal.
I reached for my fork when I suddenly noticed a strange light flashing outside the window. At first, I thought nothing of it just streetlights. But a moment later, the power in the house went out, plunging everything into darkness.
The silence was shattered by the sound of breaking glass. Grenades flew through the window, and within seconds, thick smoke filled the kitchen.
My father leaped up, grabbing a knife from the table.
"Quickly, we need to go!" he shouted, ushering us toward the exit.
My mother and I immediately rose and tried to escape the kitchen. The smoke spread fast, making it nearly impossible to breathe. My father tore a piece of fabric from the curtain, quickly handing it to us before covering his own mouth and nose. We followed his lead.
A violent cough burned my throat. Weakness spread through my body, my head spun, and my eyelids grew heavier.
"Hurry, don't stop!" my father urged.
We were almost at the garage when my legs gave out, and I collapsed to the floor.
"Damn it!" my father cursed, rushing to lift me.
I tried to move, but my body wouldn't respond. My strength was gone. As my father opened the door, a man in a gas mask stood on the other side, weapon raised.
My father reacted instantly. He shoved me aside and lunged at the armed intruder. The man fired, but my father managed to push his rifle upward, sending the bullets into the ceiling. They grappled, exchanging blows. It seemed like my father had the upper hand, but then a second attacker crept up behind him.
A brutal strike to the head with a rifle butt sent my father crashing to the floor. He struggled to rise, but another blow knocked him out completely.
Footsteps sounded behind me. I turned and saw another man. In his arms was my mother unconscious. He tossed her next to my father like a sack of flour.
I lay there, helplessly watching through the haze clouding my vision.
The garage doors creaked, slowly opening. Beams of light cut through the darkness, casting long shadows on the floor. When the doors fully swung open, I saw four more figures in gas masks. With them stood a man without a mask his silver hair gleamed under the light.
"Good work, but you made too much noise. We need to hurry S.H.I.E.L.D. is already getting suspicious," he said in a hoarse, cold voice.
"What do we do with them?" one of the soldiers asked, pointing his rifle at my parents.
"No witnesses," the silver-haired man said curtly, waving his hand before turning to leave.
"The boy goes in the van. Finish them," one of the masked men ordered.
I realized what was about to happen. Adrenaline surged through my veins. I desperately tried to force my body to move. Get up! Come on! Fight! I screamed in my mind, but my arms and legs remained motionless paralyzed.
One of the soldiers approached me, roughly hoisted me up, and threw me over his shoulder. My view was blocked I could no longer see my parents.
No! Get up! Protect them! Crush them all! My mind roared, but my body betrayed me.
And then bang. Bang. Bang-bang.
Gunshots rang out.
No… My mind went blank. A hollow void filled my entire being. They killed them. They were gone.
And then, rage ignited within me. It surged through my veins, consuming every cell of my body. At that moment, I saw the sun before me. It called to me, and without fear, I reached for it. Its rays burned me, seared my flesh but with the pain came power.
My fingers twitched. I could move them. Then, I clenched them into a fist. Rage and agony drowned out my fear. I was ready to rise and fight.
With a sudden jerk, I grabbed the throat of the man carrying me and squeezed with all my strength. His breath turned to ragged gasps, he staggered, and we crashed to the ground together.
But my victory was short-lived. A sharp pain stabbed into my neck like a thousand needles piercing my skin. Weakness spread through my limbs, my eyelids grew heavy, and my consciousness began to fade.
"Damn it, the kid nearly choked me out!" the soldier I had grabbed wheezed, coughing and gasping for air.
"Stay alert," another snapped, his voice cold and clipped. "Did you forget what he did to those men at the factory?"
I barely registered the sound of him stowing away the syringe he had just used.
"Yeah, I saw," the first man muttered, still clutching his throat. "But they said he's useless at night."
"Seems they were wrong," their commander growled, irritation lacing his tone. "Restrain him. Should've done it from the start."
I heard the metallic click of handcuffs locking around my wrists. Then, thick rope was wound tightly around my legs.
"Done. Get him up."
They hauled me to my feet and dragged me forward. I didn't resist I had no strength left. All I felt was the cold bite of metal on my wrists and the dull ache in my neck.
Soon, they tossed me into a truck. The last thing I heard before slipping into unconsciousness was the sound of the doors slamming shut.