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In a dimly lit room, the table trembled. Cups, teapots, and everything on its surface slid, almost as if drawn toward some unseen force.
On the other side of the table, a young Black man stared wide-eyed, excitement flashing across his face.
This—this was real telekinesis.
He'd never even dared to dream of having a power like this, but here it was. His hands shook with the thrill of it.
The joy didn't last. Jealousy quickly set in.
"I only got a sliver of the power from that strange stone… most of it went to Andrew."
The thought of Andrew brought a flicker of mixed feelings to his eyes.
He'd always treated that withdrawn kid at school better than most—but not out of kindness. No, it was more like tossing a scrap of mercy from a position far above, an indulgence born of condescension.
If nothing had changed, he might have kept on pitying the guy. But now? Now that the kid he used to look down on had lucked into something greater—stronger power than his own—there was no way he could stomach it.
He wasn't about to start looking up to someone he used to look down on.
"Maybe… I should find Matt?" His eyes narrowed.
If he teamed up with Matt, maybe they could strip Andrew of that power.
Knock knock knock.
The knocks weren't urgent.
He stood to answer, but a flash of suspicion made him pause. "Who's there?"
"It's me. Matt." The voice outside was familiar.
Relieved, he unlocked and opened the door.
The next instant, a hand shot through his chest with a wet, tearing sound.
He froze, staring at the bloodied arm sticking straight through his body. Slowly, woodenly, he looked up.
Andrew.
It was Andrew.
What—? How? He'd just heard Matt's voice.
And why? Why would Andrew…?
"Why?" His voice rasped.
Andrew's mouth curled in a wicked grin.
"Why? Curious about my voice?" he asked—in Matt's voice.
"Or curious why I'm killing you?" Now it was his own voice.
"Simple. I hate you. I hate people like you."
He leaned closer, his eyes dark. "Garbage like you doesn't deserve to share my power."
With a sickening rip, Andrew pulled the man's heart straight out of his chest. He crushed it in one hand until it burst, warm blood running down his fingers.
The body crumpled lifelessly to the floor.
"How do I take the power from him now?"
The cold, familiar voice echoed in his head.
"Find a place. Refine him completely, and absorb it all."
"Got it."
Andrew bent to grab the cooling corpse—
"Freeze! Now! Hands up!"
The shout came from behind him.
Andrew turned to see a police officer, gun drawn.
A flicker of disdain crossed his eyes. With a casual flick of his hand, the cop's weapon flew from his grip. Another twist of his fingers, and—crack—the man's neck snapped like a twig.
Andrew grabbed the corpse and walked out.
"Stop right there!"
The street outside was swarming with police. Dozens of squad cars boxed him in, guns all trained on him.
"Hands up, or we shoot!"
Andrew tilted his head, no fear in his eyes—only contempt. The kind that came from something far beyond human looking down at the people still stuck in the dirt.
He raised his hand.
Every officer stiffened.
"Fire! Now!"
A storm of bullets screamed toward him—
—only to stop dead in midair.
Andrew's fingers twitched, and the bullets whirled back the way they'd come.
Pfft, pfft, pfft—
The air filled with blood spray. In seconds, every single officer lay dead.
Far behind the barricade, a control post housed a handful of people: a police commander, a military officer, and Ivanka.
The commander stared at the monitor in disbelief. "Impossible!"
Ivanka's voice was calm. "Nothing's impossible. I told you to hit him with heavy fire from the start."
She glanced at the officer. "You still have a chance. Use heavy weapons. Kill him."
The commander slammed a fist into the wall. "Monster! I just don't want civilians caught in the crossfire."
The military man's eyes were cold. "Whatever it is, under American firepower, there's only one ending."
The order went out instantly.
The ground rumbled. From the rear came the low roar of tank engines.
Convoys of armored jeeps rolled in alongside them, soldiers marching in formation, the air thick with the scent of steel and death.
Andrew felt the vibration under his feet and hesitated. Growing up here, he knew well enough to respect modern military hardware.
"Idiot," the voice in his head snarled. "Why run? Use them. Let their deaths be your warning to the world. Show them. Show the nation. Show everyone. The new age has come."
The words sent a surge of adrenaline through him. He was still young—still hungry for the kind of grand, world-shaking moment no one could ignore.
He didn't run. He stepped forward to meet them.
"Fire!"
The order snapped through the air.
The street erupted in muzzle flashes—machine guns, sniper rifles, even Gatlings. A wall of bullets turned the space around Andrew into a shimmering cage of death.
Andrew stretched out a hand. His telekinetic force blasted out, slowing the world. The bullets froze in clusters, hanging in midair.
A shrill whoosh cut through the noise—an RPG round trailing fire.
And that was just the opening. Behind it, the tank batteries opened up.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The ground shuddered under the onslaught.
A moment later—
KA-BOOM!
Fireballs blossomed into the sky, shockwaves tearing through the street. Flames rolled out in waves, swallowing the entire block in a sea of burning destruction.
"....."