Damian's perception of the world had shifted. The city streets, once just a backdrop to his daily routine, now felt different, sharper, clearer, more alive. Every footstep, every distant conversation, every heartbeat of those around him thrummed in his ears. The constant sensory overload was something he was slowly getting used to, but it was undeniable that he was changing.
...
Despite knowing that he was stronger than before, maybe stronger than other humans by a good margin, Damian did not stop testing just how strong he had become. He wanted to know exactly just how strong he was, obviously without attracting the attention of other people.
One afternoon, while passing by a construction site, he noticed a stack of metal beams lying unattended. He glanced around, ensuring no one was watching, and casually walked over. With one hand, he lifted a beam that had to weigh several hundred pounds. He expected resistance, but his muscles barely strained. He let out a slow breath, lowering it back down as quietly as he could. If anyone had seen him, there would have been questions he didn't want to answer.
It was exhilarating, but also unsettling. He had never been weak, but this was different. This was unnatural.
...
As the days passed, he continued to push his limits. One night, while testing his endurance, he found himself on the outskirts of the city, in an abandoned warehouse district, the perfect place to experiment without prying eyes. He started with basic exercises: push-ups, pull-ups, squats. He barely felt the burn. He needed something more.
Looking around, he spotted an old rusted shipping container. It had to weigh several tons, but something inside him itched to test his strength against it. He crouched low, gripping the bottom edges, and pushed with all his might. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a deep creaking noise, the container shifted. Dust and debris fell as the massive metal structure tilted slightly.
He let go, stepping back. His heart was steady, but his mind was racing. This wasn't just above average, it was impossible. No human should be capable of this.
His breath came slow and measured. He wasn't scared, not exactly, but he needed answers. What was happening to him? And more importantly, why?
...
One evening, he found himself at a bar, nursing a drink and watching the crowd. He had never been overly social, but lately, his detachment from people had grown. He was still human, at least, he thought he was, but he felt less connected to those around him. The conversations, the laughter, the mundane worries, none of it seemed to matter anymore.
A commotion at the far end of the bar caught his attention. A drunk man was harassing a woman, his voice loud and slurred. Damian wouldn't have cared, except for one detail: the man had a knife.
With a sigh, he stood and made his way over. He wasn't a hero, but he had no tolerance for idiots with weapons.
"Put the knife down," Damian said, his voice low but firm.
The drunk man turned, sneering. "Mind your business, kid."
Damian's eyes locked onto his. "I said, put it down."
There was something in his voice, something different. The man's expression flickered with uncertainty, his grip on the knife loosening slightly. But then, perhaps out of pride or stupidity, he lunged.
Damian barely moved. His hand shot out, catching the man's wrist mid-swing. The force should have been enough to at least stagger him, but Damian didn't budge. He twisted the man's arm with minimal effort, sending the knife clattering to the floor.
The drunkard let out a pained yelp, eyes wide with fear. Damian held his gaze for a long moment before releasing him. The man stumbled back, rubbing his wrist, then turned and fled without another word.
The woman muttered a quick thanks before hurrying off. Damian just returned to his drink, ignoring the curious glances from the bartender and a few other patrons. He wasn't here to make a scene. He just wanted some peace.
...
That night, he walked home with his hands in his pockets, his thoughts churning. Suddenly, that feeling returned, the sensation of being watched.
He stopped in his tracks, scanning the dark streets around him. The air felt heavier; the silence more pronounced. He didn't see anyone, but his instincts screamed otherwise.
Then, just at the edge of his vision, a shadow moved.
He turned sharply, his body tense. "Who's there?"
No answer.
For the first time in over a week, a sliver of unease crept into him. He had felt eyes on him before, but this was different. This wasn't just someone following him.
Whoever, or whatever, it was, it was waiting. Watching. Studying him.
Damian exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax. Whatever was happening to him, whatever was out there, he would be ready.
And if they came for him, he would make sure they regretted it.
….
Damian sat at the edge of his bed, staring at his hands. The dim glow of the bedside lamp flickered slightly, casting shadows that seemed to dance across the room. Ever since that fateful night, everything had felt different, his body, his mind, even his senses.
He had tested the weaknesses of vampires, trying to understand what had happened to him, yet nothing had affected him the way the stories claimed they should. No aversion to garlic, no burning from silver, and he could walk in the sun without an issue.
But that didn't mean he was normal.
He clenched his fingers into a fist and released them slowly. The strength he possessed now was undeniable, and the more he used it, the more it felt natural. Just last night, he had lifted a fully stocked bookshelf with one hand while rearranging his room. Something that should have been impossible before now felt effortless. His mind kept circling back to one question: what exactly was he?
A soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. "Damian? You awake?" It was Lisa, his younger sister.
"Yeah, come in," he replied, his voice steady.
Lisa poked her head inside before stepping in fully. "You've been acting weird lately. Is everything okay?"
Damian sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just tired. Been thinking a lot."
Lisa crossed her arms. "Thinking about what? You barely eat, you don't seem to sleep much, and you've been avoiding people more than usual. Mom's worried, you know."
He forced a small smile. "Tell her not to worry. I'm fine. Just... going through some stuff."
Lisa studied him for a moment before sighing. "Alright. But don't shut everyone out, okay? You're not as alone as you think." She gave him a light punch on the shoulder before heading out of his room, leaving Damian to his thoughts.
He leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. Lisa's words echoed in his mind. He wasn't alone, but he felt like he was. How could he tell his family what he was going through? How could he even begin to explain it?
...
The next day, Damian decided to test his abilities further. He had already confirmed his strength, his increased stamina, and his enhanced senses. But there had to be more. He needed to push himself.
The old warehouse district on the outskirts of town was mostly abandoned, making it the perfect place for his experiments. He stood in the middle of an empty lot, closing his eyes and focusing on his senses. He could hear the distant hum of traffic, the chirping of birds, and even the rustling of rats scurrying through the cracks of nearby buildings. His hearing had become absurdly sharp.
He took a deep breath and sprinted forward. The wind rushed past him as he covered a distance that should have taken around two minutes in mere seconds. When he finally stopped, his heart wasn't even racing. It was exhilarating, and terrifying.
Damian crouched down and picked up a small metal pipe from the ground. With a firm grip, he bent it as though it were made of clay. His fingers barely strained against the effort. The implications of this power were sinking in deeper with every test.
But then, something caught his attention.
A presence.
He wasn't alone.
His head snapped up as he scanned the area. A shadow flickered in the corner of his vision, moving swiftly between the buildings. Damian narrowed his eyes. Whoever they were, they were fast, almost as fast as he was. His muscles tensed, instinctively preparing for a confrontation.
"Show yourself," he called out.
Silence.
Then, a voice. "You're not like the others."
Damian turned toward the sound, his body coiled like a spring. A figure stepped into the dim light, a woman, dressed in dark clothing, her expression unreadable.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
She tilted her head. "You don't know yet, do you? About what you are. About what's coming."
Damian frowned. "What are you talking about?"
She took a step closer, and Damian instinctively took a step back. There was something unsettling about her presence. It wasn't just the way she moved or the way her gaze seemed to pierce through him. It was something deeper, something primal.
"You'll find out soon enough," she said. "And when you do, you'll have to choose."
"Choose what?"
But she didn't answer. Instead, she turned and disappeared into the night, leaving Damian standing there, his mind racing with questions.
...
For the next few days, Damian couldn't shake the encounter from his mind. Who was she? What did she mean by choosing? And why did it feel like she knew more about him than he did himself?
He needed answers. But more than that, he needed to be ready. Because whatever was coming, whatever she was warning him about, he had a feeling that his life was about to change even more than it already had.