Alex fell back, gasping as though his lungs had turned to ash. Sweat poured from him in relentless waves, drenching his skin until his clothes clung to him like a second layer of skin.
A foul stench hit his nose—burnt iron mixed with rot—and he gagged, wrinkling his face in disgust. He tossed the book back into his bag, stripped out of his soaked clothes, and stumbled toward the corner where an old basin of water sat. The cool liquid stung his overheated skin but washed away the grime and the smell clinging to him.
Once refreshed, he pulled on simple cotton clothes, the kind he'd worn a hundred times before, and sat cross-legged on the floor. His hands trembled slightly as he retrieved the book again and flipped to the second chapter.
The diagram stared back at him—a humanoid silhouette covered in red lines that branched like rivers of fire. They traced along limbs, spine, chest, and skull in a complex pattern.
"Energy pathways," he whispered, running his finger along the lines. "So that's what the core is for…"
But there was no explanation of what the process would do. Still, his pulse quickened. Whatever the result, this was clearly the next step toward wielding power. And power—after everything—was something he desperately wanted.
He memorized every line until he could see the image even with his eyes closed. Settling into his lotus position again, he focused inward—toward the small, black sphere pulsing quietly in his core. It had stabilized overnight, humming with a strange energy.
The first obstacle came almost immediately. Drawing energy from the core wasn't simple. There was no instruction manual online, no tutorials, no records of anyone explaining how they'd done it. The very act was shrouded in secrecy.
He tried once, twice, a dozen times—nothing.
Grinding his teeth, Alex took a deep breath and decided to improvise. He reversed the technique he'd used to form the core, redirecting the focus inward instead of outward.
At first, there was silence. Then—
Pain.
A searing jolt shot through his entire body. His nerves screamed, his muscles spasmed, and his heartbeat became erratic. The jolts multiplied, each one sharper than the last, until his body convulsed uncontrollably.
But he didn't stop.
He pushed harder, forcing his will into the core until, finally, a flicker—just a single, needle-thin spark of void-black energy—escaped.
That spark tore through him like lightning. His body seized, limbs thrashing as he fell to the ground in violent spasms.
His skin rippled; his veins writhed and rearranged themselves under the surface, glowing faintly for a moment before darkening again. It was grotesque, unnatural and if anyone had seen it, they'd have nightmares for years.
Every nerve screamed. It felt like his insides were being shredded, like molten razors were carving him open and stitching him anew. When the torment finally stopped, Alex lay trembling, chest heaving, drenched in cold sweat.
Then came the bile—thick, black, and foul, oozing from his throat before evaporating into thin air. The smell was sharp and chemical.
"I… didn't… deserve this," he rasped, before his vision went dark.
He fainted.
When morning light spilled through the hole in his wall, Alex's eyes snapped open. The air smelled fresher, crisper somehow, and his body felt… light. Too light.
He scrambled to his feet—and froze. The world looked different. The table seemed shorter. His bed, smaller.
No. He'd grown taller.
Pulling up his shirt, he stared. His body had changed—lean muscle rippled faintly beneath his skin, every movement was precise and strong.
A grin spread across his face. "Almost worth the pain," he said, half-laughing. Then panic struck. "Wait, the book!"
He looked around frantically before spotting it near his bed, scuffed and half-open. He snatched it up and hid it beneath his mattress. Even when he wasn't meditating, he could feel it now—the faint tug of energy from his core.
After a quick breakfast, he jogged toward school, legs carrying him faster and smoother than ever. The road felt shorter this time, every step powerful and effortless.
"Hello, Alex."
He stopped. The voice was too familiar. Turning, he saw Tony standing there, mouth hanging open.
"What?" Alex asked, confused.
The murmurs began. Students stopped mid-conversation, their eyes wide. Alex frowned, pulled out his phone, and turned on the selfie camera.
He blinked and almost dropped the phone.
His black hair shimmered like liquid shadow, swallowing light rather than reflecting it. His once-dull blue eyes had turned crystalline, sharp, with faint red tints pulsing deep inside. His skin was pale and eerily flawless.
"Oh, great," he groaned. "My Beast Art makes me pretty. Just what I needed."
If the organizations chasing after the Beast Art found out it could do this, they'd tear the city apart to find him.
Trying to play it off, he smirked. "What? Do you like what you see?"
Tony scoffed, masking his unease. "I haven't forgotten what you said yesterday, Song. One day, outside of school—we settle this, man to man."
Alex waved dismissively. "Yeah, sure. Add it to your calendar."
He collapsed into his seat once inside, muttering, "At least I'm still me… I think."
He had about twenty minutes before class, so he opened his phone and tuned in to an interview—one with the world's most powerful superhuman: Blessing of the Sky.
Far away, on the lonely hill where Alex had first found the briefcase, a shadow passed overhead.
The bird that cast it was gone—but its shadow lingered.
It thickened, swelled, and then exploded outward into a twisting mass of darkness. The form condensed, solidifying into a wraith-like being, its body a shroud of shifting shadows.
The air grew cold.
"It's empty…" the creature murmured, its voice echoing like whispers from the void. "We can't have that. We must find it—before the others."
And with that, it vanished, leaving behind nothing but silence and a faint, unnatural chill.