Damian woke up to the soft rays of the morning sun filtering through his curtains. His body felt... different, again. Not in an uncomfortable way, but there was a strange sense of vitality coursing through him.
He sat up, stretching his arms, and noticed something odd. His muscles felt tighter, as if they had been conditioned overnight. He flexed his fingers, rolling his wrists experimentally. It wasn't just his imagination, his body truly felt stronger than the previous day, though by a small margin.
As he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet barely made a sound against the wooden floor. Usually, he was groggy in the mornings, but today he felt an unnatural clarity in his mind. Even his breathing felt different, more controlled, more precise. He frowned. Was he just imagining it?
He stood up and walked over to the mirror, taking a long look at himself. His face looked the same, though his eyes appeared sharper somehow. His skin seemed... smoother? No, that was impossible. He had never been one to pay much attention to his reflection, but this was enough to make him take a second glance.
Shrugging off the unease, he decided to go about his day as usual.
...
Later that morning, he went downstairs to find his mother trying to lift a heavy bag of rice from the pantry. She struggled, gritting her teeth as she attempted to shift it onto the counter. Damian stepped forward instinctively.
"I'll get it."
She moved aside, wiping sweat from her forehead. "Careful, it's heavy."
He gripped the bag firmly and lifted. Expecting resistance, he braced himself, but to his surprise, it felt much lighter than he had anticipated. His hands barely trembled under the weight, and he set it on the counter with ease. His mother blinked at him.
"You've been working out?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Damian forced a chuckle. "Uh... yeah, I guess."
He wasn't sure why he lied. He just knew something wasn't normal, and he didn't want to explain what he himself didn't understand.
His next realization came while playing basketball later that afternoon with some of his friends. They had always been evenly matched, but today, Damian moved differently.
It was the first time he was playing with them ever since that incident at night. And as expected, he was faster and more agile than his peers. His jumps were higher, his shots more precise. The ball felt lighter in his hands, and he found himself reacting before his opponents even made a move.
"Dude, what's up with you today?" one of his friends, Josh, asked after Damian blocked yet another shot with almost unnatural reflexes.
Damian forced a grin. "I guess I'm just in the zone."
But inside, he was starting to panic. His body was adapting in ways that didn't make sense. Was this some kind of freakish mutation? A disease? Or something else entirely?
That night, unable to sleep, he sat at his desk, staring at his hands. The strength, the reflexes, the stamina, it all pointed toward something inhuman. And there was only one thing that came to mind.
Vampires.
The thought seemed ridiculous at first. Vampires weren't real... right? But if they weren't, how could he explain what was happening to him?
He had already tried out different methods, but all of them failed, proving that he was not a vampire. But there was nothing that could explain the changes that were happening to him. Regardless, he decided to continue trying and see if maybe he had mutated over the few days that had passed, and he would finally begin showing the signs of being a vampire.
He started with garlic once again. He sneaked into the kitchen and grabbed a whole bulb from the spice rack. Holding it close to his face, he sniffed cautiously.
Nothing.
He peeled a clove, hesitated for a moment, then popped it into his mouth. The sharp, pungent flavor hit him immediately, making him grimace. But there was no pain, no burning sensation. Just an awful taste. He chewed and swallowed, waiting for some kind of reaction.
Still nothing.
"Well, that's a relief," he muttered, tossing the remaining garlic into the trash.
Next was holy water. He remembered his grandmother had given his mom a small bottle two days ago, which she kept on the bookshelf in the living room. He found it easily, uncorking the tiny glass container and hesitating for only a second before dipping his fingers into the liquid.
He braced for pain, for burning flesh, for any sign that he was becoming something unnatural.
But nothing happened.
To be extra sure, he rubbed some onto his arm. It just felt like regular water.
He exhaled, a strange mix of relief and disappointment settling in his chest.
The final test was sunlight. If he were truly turning into a vampire, that should be the most dangerous element of all.
The next morning, as the first rays of dawn spilled into his room, he sat on his bed, staring at the golden light. His pulse pounded in his ears.
He reached out a trembling hand, letting the sunlight touch his skin.
He winced instinctively, expecting searing pain.
But there was none.
His skin remained unchanged. He felt warm, not burned. He even stood up and walked directly into the sunlight, feeling its heat on his face.
A breath of laughter escaped him, shaky but genuine.
"Once again proven, not a vampire," he murmured. "Then what am I?"
...
Days passed, and the changes didn't stop. His vision became sharper, his hearing more sensitive. It seemed that everything was getting better as days went on. He noticed he could pick up distant conversations, distinguish individual voices in a crowd with ease as compared to before. His stamina seemed endless, he could run for miles without feeling winded.
Something inside him was changing, evolving. But it wasn't vampirism. It was something else entirely.
And he had a feeling that sooner or later, he would find the answer. Whether he wanted to or not.
….
Damian sat on the rooftop of an abandoned building, staring at the city below. The distant hum of traffic, the occasional siren, and the murmurs of people echoed through the air. He wasn't one for deep contemplation, but lately, things had been… different.
His body had changed, his strength was unnatural, his senses sharper than before. But what bothered him the most was the feeling of detachment creeping in. He wasn't a saint, but he had never been indifferent either. Now? He felt like he was watching the world from a distance, only interacting when necessary.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the strange energy coursing through his body. It wasn't normal. He wasn't normal. And the worst part? He didn't know if he even cared.
...
One evening, he decided to test his strength further. He found himself in an alley, watching a group of thugs cornering a young man. The old him might have stepped in without a second thought, but now, he hesitated. What did he gain from interfering? He wasn't a hero.
Still, curiosity got the better of him. He took a few steps forward, hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning the situation. The thugs barely noticed him, focused on their prey. Damian wasn't particularly interested in saving the guy, but he wanted to see something, how much had he truly changed?
"Hey," he called out, his voice calm but firm.
The group turned, sizing him up. One of them, a burly man with a scar across his jaw, sneered. "Walk away, kid. This ain't your business."
Damian tilted his head, stepping closer. "Maybe. But I'm making it mine."
Before they could react, he moved. Faster than he should have. His hand lashed out, grabbing the nearest thug by the collar and slamming him into the wall. The others hesitated, startled by his speed. Damian didn't wait. He struck another in the stomach, sending him sprawling.
The remaining two backed away, fear creeping into their eyes. Damian released the first thug, letting him drop to the ground with a grunt.
"Leave," he said simply.
They didn't need to be told twice. They grabbed their fallen friends and bolted. The young man they had cornered stammered a thank you, but Damian barely acknowledged him. He had gotten what he wanted, confirmation.
He was stronger than before. Much stronger.
...
Despite his growing abilities, Damian kept a low profile. He had no interest in being a vigilante or drawing unnecessary attention to himself. But he continued testing his limits in subtle ways, lifting heavier objects, moving faster than before, listening in on distant conversations just to see how far his hearing reached.
One afternoon, he caught himself reading a book at an alarming speed. His mind processed information effortlessly, absorbing every word without effort. He frowned. It wasn't just physical. His mind was evolving too.
What was happening to him?
Then came the moment that shook him.
Walking home late one night, he felt eyes on him. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he could sense it, someone was watching. He turned a corner, then another, testing if he was being followed. The presence remained.
He stopped abruptly and turned. The street was empty.
But he knew someone was there.
His muscles tensed, instincts screaming at him. He strained his senses, trying to pick up a sound, a scent, anything. The air was thick with something unfamiliar, something that sent a chill down his spine.
A shadow flickered at the edge of his vision, gone before he could fully process it. His heart didn't race, he wasn't afraid, but he was alert. More alert than ever before.
For the first time since his changes began, he felt something close to unease. Whoever or whatever was watching him wasn't normal.
And for the first time, he realized, he might not be the only one changing.
...
From that night on, Damian was more cautious. He didn't care about the world, but he cared about himself. If someone, or something, was after him, he needed to be ready.
And he would be.