Chapter 7
2532words
My... mother sat on the couch, her figure blurred by the haze of her Nova-Cig. She takes her usual long, slow drags. It's like it's the only thing keeping her alive. Every argument she has with her on-and-off boyfriends, she reaches for that thing. It's a ritual for her. Relief. Denial.
After cleaning, I moved on autopilot, dressing for school. I slung my bag over one shoulder and stepped toward the door. Hand on the knob, I paused when her voice spoke through the silence.
"Slyvian," she said, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. "Why won't you just die?"
I sighed mentally, knowing this was her way of blaming me for whatever misery she felt. The long silence that followed was heavy, filled with the weight of all the things neither of us would say aloud.
I didn't answer. There was no point. I learned long ago that silence is stronger than anything I could say. I left the apartment, closing the door quietly behind me.
The hallway was dim, always dim. Yellowed lights flickering overhead. The smell of mold and rust is still there. Mr. Or'dara sat on his usual stool by his apartment door. His wrinkled face creased into a sad smile, fingers working slowly over a body of clay. As I walked near him, he looked up at me and held out his hand, offering me a few credlings. His silent gesture, done daily, was his attempt to help me.
"Slyvian," he rasped, holding it out. "Take it."
Another sigh. I hesitated, then took the credlings. It wouldn't matter. Andrew would steal it like he always does. I hate this. I don't want his pity. But he's always been kind to me ever since I was a kid, so refusing would only wound Mr. Or'dara more. He meant well. Always had.
"Thank you," I muttered, avoiding looking at him.
He nodded, returning to his sculpting. "Oh, please be careful today Slyvian,"
I didn't reply. I only looked down at the mini sculpture that he was modeling, the only thing I could make out was the male school uniform from my school. I looked a while longer before walking towards the elevator.
The elevator groaned as I stepped inside. The doors trembled closed. I stood still as it descended with its usual slow and sick humming.
"Why won't you just die?"
My mother's- Her voice echoed in my mind, looping again and again until it lost all meaning. She'd said it so many times, that it had become just background noise, like static or a leaky faucet. Still, sometimes... sometimes I believed it. Why won't I die? What's keeping me alive?
But then I remembered him.
Mr. S'dala would probably be sad.
That thought was enough. It made my chest feel that flutter again. That splint second foreign warmth in my stomach. For him, I could endure.
The elevator came to a stop. As I stepped out. The lobby smelled like blood. My eyes were drawn to the dark, congealed pool of blood from yesterday's stabbing. It sat there untouched. No one cared enough to clean it. I paused, staring at it for a moment longer.
I closed my eyes.
And saw it again.
The man stabbing the body. Over and over. The knife slipping in and out of skin like paper. Each thrust... so red and purposeful. Each withdrawal, splashed the blood against the floor.
Again. And again. And again.
I kept watching, inside my head. Unblinking.
I slowly opened my eyes.
I walked towards it, staring down. I saw my reflection in it, hazy and misshapen. My face was free of bruises. It always healed overnight. Just the face.
When I was younger, I thought I had powers. The fast recovery was a sign, it made me think I finally had powers. I remember rushing to tell my mother hoping it would change how she saw me, how she treated me. But it didn't.
She had laughed, They laughed. Her and whichever boyfriend she had at the time.
"Pathetic," she'd said. "You really think you have powers? That's ointment, idiot."
That was that.
She didn't want the teachers seeing the bruises, didn't want anyone to know about the abuse.
I stepped outside and pushed through the heavy front doors. The air was too bright and clean today. The sun is hurting my eyes. I held onto the straps of my backpack as I started walking to school.
Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow plummet from the sky. The shadow slammed into the pavement with a sound like breaking bones. A crater split the sidewalk. The innocent People screamed and ran.
Some froze. Others recorded on their Veye's, a watch were you can record.
The gangs moved faster. They powered up their tech, fingers twitching over triggers. Energy weapons blinked awake like tired eyes.
Smoke Angel's crew. Their gear gleamed beneath layers of rust and neon paint. They moved like they owned the street, because they did.
They circled the crater.
Smoke clouded the air. And there, in the center, Velkon.
He was on his hands and knees, blood smearing the broken concrete. His mask was cracked, exposing part of his jaw, already swelling.
He wiped at the blood with a shaky hand.
Velkon. A long-time villain in the city. His powers? Phasing through walls and flight. Nothing special. To me, he's just a weak man full of himself, yet somehow, he still causes a large amount of trouble and irreversible damage.
I wonder when he's going to die.
Every gang, including Ashteeth, lays down their weapons upon seeing Velkon. It doesn't matter which turf Velkon walks onto in the Underbelly district or any other dangerous area. They respect him, so they leave him alone.
As they left the crater. I walked toward the impact site.
I assessed him with a detached gaze. Not bad-looking, I guess, but nothing compared to Mr. S'dala. I dismissed him in an instant.
Just as I turned to leave, I felt hands grab me from behind. A sharp blade pressed against my throat.
Before I could react, a voice cut through the chaos, loud, commanding.
"Let the girl go, Velkon."
I glanced up.
Blinding Sun, one of the most famous heroes in the world, was descending from the sky, golden armor glowing like a second sunrise. Very bright. Untouchable.
"Come any closer, and the bitch dies!" Velkon snapped, tightening his grip. The blade dug into my skin, but I didn't flinch.
I kept my eyes on the ground. My expression stayed blank, like I wasn't even there.
"Involving an innocent in our conflict is another violation," Blinding Sun stated, his voice stern. "I've given you too many chances to change. I have no choice but to kill you today."
Velkon smirked. "You won't kill me. We've been doing this for years, and you've never managed it."
Blinding Sun didn't flinch. "Yes. But I've grown tired of this endless game."
"You better let me go, or-"
Velkon's threat was cut short.
Igniting his power, a flash of golden fire struck him square in the mouth.
Heat erupted, instant, merciless. Velkon's face melted from the inside out.
He dropped. Lifeless.
I stared down at the corpse, emotionless. Then I felt warm hands cover my eyes.
"No child should see such things," Blinding Sun said gently, covering me from the sight. His palms radiated a soft heat. Still too bright, too clean.
"You're safe now," he said, voice steady as he guided me away from the crater. One hand rested lightly on my shoulder. "Let's get you somewhere away from all this."
I didn't say anything. I simply walked away, heading towards school.
Blinding Sun watched in surprise. He was used to praise, gratitude, applause. Even from he ungrateful. But not today.
The non-threatening people around the area surrounded Blinding Sun, cheering and praising him, but I can tell that he remained focused on me.
Finally making it to school. As usual, I watched the other students with their happy faces, laughing and talking in groups.
I wonder what they'd look like when they're not smiling.
My head tilted slightly. The idea amused me... for a moment.
"Slyvian, a moment."
The familiar voice caught my attention. I turned and saw Mr. S'dala walking toward me, his usual gentle smile in place. But when I noticed the ID card hanging around his neck, panic twisted in my chest..
Is that a new ID card? Or did he... no, it must be a new one.
"Slyvian, my ID please?" he said, holding out his hand, still smiling.
I don't have his old ID card. I gave it to Nathaniel. I shouldn't have taken it at all!
Just as the panic bubbled up, Mr. S'dala chuckled softly, lowering his hand.
"I'm only joking," he said. "I found it on my desk. You must've dropped it and someone kindly returned it, yes?"
He must know... he knows. I know he does.
But his voice stayed calm, casual. He didn't want to scare me.
Relieved, I nodded slightly, seeing a chance to cover my mistake.
Nathaniel must've returned it.
"Well," he continued, "the other teachers and I wanted to talk with you. Follow me, please."
I followed.
Did I do something wrong? Are they going to expel me because I'm a mundie? No. They would've done it already... right?
"Don't be so nervous. You're no in trouble," he said, giving me that warm smile again
The same warmth in my stomach came back.
We arrived at a teacher's conference room. Mr. S'dala opened the door and motioned for me to go in. I complied, stepping into the room where my other teachers were seated around a long table.
As Mr. S'dala sat down with the other teachers, I sat down at the far end of the table. They all turned their attention to me. I felt their eyes on me, each one with a different energy.
Professor Thomas Kane, my History teacher, sat straight-backed, always serious, his sharp gaze sizing me up.
Coach Olivia Knight, my Teamwork and Leadership instructor, leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed, her eyes brimming with her usual competitive edge.
Dr. Xavier Reeves, from Research and Analysis, adjusted his glasses, a man of few words but sharp intellect.
Then there was Sensei Marcus Strong, who taught Combat Training and Martial Arts, calm and composed as usual, his muscular frame imposing even when seated.
Professor Amelia Grey, who taught Introduction to Superpower Analysis, gave me a small fake smile. She was always warm and encouraging...to other students of course.
Dr. Adrian Wolfe, in charge of Superpower Management and Regulation, seemed distracted, shuffling some papers before setting them aside.
And then, of course, there was Mr. S'dala, seated with that same graceful presence, his gentle eyes catching mine for just a moment. His smile was warm. He looked perfect as always, the only one who could make me feel at ease even in a room like this.
Dr. Adrian spoke first. "Clyvian-"
"It's Slyvian," I corrected, without looking at him.. He always does this.
He cleared his throat. "Slyvian, yes. Apologies." His voice was smooth now, measured. "We brought you here with some exciting news."
'Exciting?' That word didn't exist in my life.
Professor Amelia leaned in. "Despite your... unique status as a Soulless, your academic performance is outstanding. Truly. You're one of our top students. We believe you could make a significant contribution to society. A intellectual savior"
Dr. Xavier added, "We've contacted someone in Black Waves city. A prestigious facility. They're interested in students like you. You'd work with their special armed forces, develop tools, strategies, real innovations."
Professor Thomas continued. "We have a guest who'll explain further-"
"I don't want to be an intellectual savior," I said quietly. "I want to be a city hero."
The room fell into silence.
Only Mr. S'dala wasn't surprised. He already knew.
Dr. Xavier, clearly taken aback by my interruption. He exchanged a quick glance with the other teachers, unsure how to respond at first.
"Slyvian," he hesitated, "this is an incredible opportunity. Black Waves city has a prestigious facility for individuals like you, where you can make a significant impact on the world."
Professor Thomas added. "We understand that being a city hero is something you've thought about, but your talents and your intellect are extraordinary. You could create innovations that save millions."
"I don't care about that," I muttered. "I don't want to sit behind a desk or in a lab, creating things for others to use. I want to be out there. I want to fight."
Another long pause.
Mr. S'dala finally spoke, his voice low and kind. "Slyvian, we all know how much you want to become a city hero. You made that clear in your application essay."
He stood, walking over to sit beside me. "But... you don't have powers."
His words hurt but not as much as they should've. Not when it came from him.
"Once you turn eighteen, I'll personally take you to the facility," he continued. "I used to work there myself, so I know exactly who to talk to. You'll have someone to guide you around, and I'll check up on you from time to time."
I didn't answer, just stared at the table.
That flutter again. That strange warmth.
As long as I get to see him...
The others relaxed slightly.
Dr. Xavier cleared his throat. "Well... as I mentioned. We've arranged for a guest to speak with you. A special guest who currently works with the special armed forces. He'll tell you more."
"Well... as I mentioned, we have a special guest who currently works with the special armed forces, and he'll fill you in on more details."
The teachers stood and filed out, one by one. I kept my gaze fixed on the table, not daring to look up, but I could hear Mr. S'dala's voice speaking to someone outside the room. Then the door opened.
Then, heavy boots. The door creaked open. A man stepped in and sat across from me with a heavy thud.
"Hello, Slyvian," he said, voice deep and smooth. "My name's Brent. I work for the special armed forces."
(An intellectual savior is a student who excels academically and shows exceptional potential in the fields of science and technology. Teachers would identify these students and provide them with additional support and resources to develop their skills in creating gadgets and other tools for heroes to use in battle. These students would be groomed to become the top innovators in technology for heroes, contributing to the advancement of hero equipment and capabilities. They do not directly engage in combat themselves, but rather support heroes with their inventions and technical expertise.)
