It was early Sunday morning, and the house lay in a quiet, almost sacred stillness. Mama had already left for work, leaving me alone with the raw debris of my thoughts. I sat on the edge of my bed, cradling my aching hands as I tried to process the weight of last night's argument. Her words sharp and unforgiving had cut deeper than I cared to admit. Deep down, I knew she wasn't entirely wrong.
I had been passive for far too long, allowing life's blows to hit me while I stood frozen, too afraid or too tired to fight back. I had watched as people like Aaron trampled over me, their mocking laughter echoing in my ears, their humiliation branding me with each sneer. I'd let it happen again and again until nothing felt safe, not even within myself.
Something needed to change. Not just for me, but for every person out there who felt invisible, who suffered in silence without a hero to rescue them from their own despair.
I pushed myself up and walked over to the window, resting my palms on its cool frame. Outside, Sinspire sprawled endlessly, a city of contradictions unforgiving yet beautiful, harsh yet alive. The monorail glided past Horizon Tower, a constant reminder that somewhere out there, the Nephilim Suppression Squad (N.S.S.) was plotting their next move. They were the so-called heroes, patrolling the streets and ensuring that the powerless stayed safe or at least, that's what everyone was told to believe.
A low murmur escaped my lips before I fully understood its origin:
"No more being passive. Time to be active."
The words settled over me like a vow. I had the power to move things with my mind, and if I concentrated hard enough, I could read people's thoughts and feel their emotions—a gift I had been too scared to fully embrace. If I wanted change, I had to be the one to spark it. I had to stop standing by while the world trampled over people like me. I wanted to be the force that shielded the overlooked, the neglected, the downtrodden.
I remembered the echo of the two entities from my vision: "Indecision leads to ruin." They were right. I had hesitated far too long. With that thought fueling me, I turned from the window and let determination settle deep in my chest.
Every Nephilim adopted an alias—a new identity that severed them from their past, a shield against the judgment of the world. Names like Azureflame and Martyr carried both power and mystery. Even villains, like Lady Overdose, adhered to some unspoken code, honoring the "Nephilim Commandments" despite their misdeeds.
I ran my fingers slowly over the grooves on my back, tracing the letters that had been cruelly etched into my skin.
"Psycho…" The word, once a mark of shame, now stirred something else inside me.
Then, it evolved into something far greater, something I could call my own.
"Psycho-Sting."
The name burst forth unbidden—a blend of the scornful misconception they all had about me and the relentless sting of the pain, both physical and emotional, that I'd endured. I let out a soft, incredulous chuckle.
"For once, I made a decision I can stand by."
For the first time in a long while, I felt lighter—a spark of control flickering in the darkness. I wasn't merely reacting to the world's cruelty; I was ready to take control of my own destiny.
Turning away from the window, I pulled out a battered notebook and began scribbling down a to-do list. If I was going to embrace my new identity as Psycho-Sting, I needed the right tools:
Fabric for a costume: Durable, yet flexible enough to move in.
Basic self-defense gear: So I wouldn't be forced to rely solely on my powers.
A mask or disguise: A way to shield my identity, to let the hero speak louder than the boy.
Anything else that's useful: I'd recognize it when I saw it.
Thankfully, I'd managed to save a bit of money from summer jobs. It wasn't a fortune, but it was enough to purchase the fabric for my costume and a few pieces of basic self-defense gear. This wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision—it had been brewing inside me for a long time. Even before I consciously admitted it, a part of me had known that I'd eventually have to stand up and fight for what was right.
With my plan taking shape on paper, I set about getting ready. I slipped into a simple yet practical outfit a black T-shirt under a striking red blazer, paired with cargo shorts and well-worn black sneakers. It was unassuming enough to blend into the busy streets, yet it hinted at something more. I added my glasses, a nod to the familiar, even as I prepared to reinvent myself.
I paused before reaching for my crucifix on the nightstand. I had never worn it out of genuine faith; it was Mama's expectation—a symbol of order, of protection, a remnant of a past I was trying to outgrow. With a resigned sigh, I looped it around my neck. In that moment, it felt like a tether to a world I both needed and resented.
Then, my fingers brushed against something else: my dad's lighter. I picked it up carefully, feeling the worn metallic surface beneath my thumb. It was a relic of his—a simple, angelic lighter that had once shone with pristine brilliance, now marked by time and use. For sentimental reasons, I slipped it into my pocket, a small, defiant reminder of family and history.
Taking one last, steadying look at my reflection in the mirror, I adjusted my blazer and exhaled slowly, the weight of the past mingling with the promise of a new beginning.
"Time to start my journey."
With renewed resolve, I grabbed my wallet and backpack and stepped into the city.
I decided to walk the long distance instead of taking public transport to main Street because I wanted a break away from people. Having to constantly hear their thoughts and feel their emotions causes me to get overstimulated to the point of having headaches and at worse nosebleeds, a downside to my power.
Which I tested while on the walk using my telekinesis to move small bits of stone along the sidewalk or to throw some trash away. Using it in subtle ways was probably for the best since it was an upside to my power; it wasn't the most noticeable unless it affected something that was more eye-catching, otherwise people would chop it up to "the wind" or "faulty light bulbs".
But during my walk, I noticed strange symbols plastered along the buildings—hooded skulls with glowing green eyes, ensnared in twisting chains and shrouded by curling black smoke.
"The Phantoms..." I mumbled under my breath. As I continued using my power to bounce each stone across the pavement a small act of defiance against the decay and neglect surrounding me. The Phantoms were clearly making their mark quietly and insidiously. Targeting local businesses and instilling fear in the community as their reputation was growing, small yet impactful, and I knew that their organization would be the first I'd want to take down before it becomes a bigger issue.
After some time, I finally reached Main Street. The scene was a vibrant mosaic of life—busy, bustling, and crowded, as was typical in this part of the city. Main Street was the heartbeat of the district, a classic meeting spot where locals mingled and tourists flocked to browse the eclectic stalls. Nephilim merchandise lined the sidewalks, colorful and whimsical, a stark contrast to the grim undercurrents that I had just witnessed.
I took a deep breath, letting the energy of the crowd wash over me as I walked among them. Every face, every snippet of conversation, seemed to remind me that life was moving on, indifferent to my inner resolve. I was determined, though as today marked a new beginning.
I soon found myself in front of a small fabric store. As I stepped through the door, the scent of fresh cotton and dye welcomed me. Each swatch and each texture, whispered potential—a future costume that would not only conceal my true self but also embody the strength I was beginning to reclaim.
As I browsed, a voice behind the counter broke the silence.
"Looking for something specific?"
I turned to see an older woman watching me closely. Mid-to-late 40s, pale skin, ginger hair twisted into an updo, with dark circles under her eyes like she hadn't slept in days.
From what I could gather, she seemed... tense. Like she was expecting someone else to walk through the door—someone who hadn't. Worry clung to her thoughts, but I couldn't parse why. Just noise and dread.
"Yeah," I said, forcing my voice to sound steady. "Something durable. With some style."
Her lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "I think I've got just the thing."
She pulled out fabric samples—black linen, red polyester, a few rolls of spandex. I settled on the linen for comfort and the polyester for a hooded cloak. Not just for flair, but function—I'd stitch pockets inside to carry tools. Small things. Useful things.
While I drifted into thoughts of costume design, her voice broke through again.
"Young man, your total is 350 dollars. Will that be cash or credit?"
I froze.
Before I could answer, a voice cut in behind me.
"Credit. This one's on me, Holly—as well as the usual."
I turned to find a guy about my age standing beside me. Same height. Dark skin, hazel eyes, brown curls. His outfit was sharp—black and white with flashes of gold jewelry but it was his smile that struck me. A sly, fox-like grin, the kind that made it hard to tell if he was joking or sizing me up.
He tossed a yellow apple in the air, caught it, and took a casual bite.
"Thought I'd keep your wallet from making the trip to heaven's gates," he said, grinning wider.
"Adam," he added, extending a hand toward me.
I didn't take it. Partially because I didn't trust him… mostly because of the apple. One touch and my allergies might make things awkward fast.
"K-Kris," I muttered, bowing slightly in reflex before immediately regretting it. The air thickened with awkward silence.
Adam let out a soft chuckle. "Polite, huh? You don't need to bow, man. I'm not royalty."
His eyes drifted to the fabric I'd chosen.
"So what's all this for, anyway?"
His stare reminded me of Aaron's—not cruel, but that same kind of unblinking analysis. I knew it wasn't the same intent, but it still made my skin crawl.
I tried reading him, but his thoughts were like a swarm of flies constantly buzzing, rapid, and jumbled. One second a joke, the next something clinical, then something far too complicated to follow. I gave up.
"It's for… a school assignment," I said weakly, packing up my things.
Adam arched a pierced brow, smirking. "Mmhmm. Real hands-on curriculum, huh?"
He turned away, leaning against the counter casually while Holly stepped into the back.
I turned to leave, but stopped when I caught a whisper between them.
"I don't know what to do, Adam," Holly murmured. "It's been a week. Still nothing from Alexis."
Adam's tone dropped a little, just enough to make my stomach tighten. "We'll find her," he said. "Once everything goes according to plan. Trust me."
That word—plan—lodged in my mind like a sliver.
Whatever they were involved in, it wasn't just about missing persons. There was a strategy. Purpose.
"According to plan…" I whispered under my breath, then shook it off. Not my business. Not yet.
I adjusted my bag and stepped outside, the faint jingle of the doorbell behind me marking the next step in whatever this was becoming.
I gathered the rest of the materials I needed for my mission: a full-face white mask, a burner phone, 30ft of rope, loose change, and a utility belt equipped with throwing knives and a small taser. Each item was a step closer to becoming what I had set out to be. A symbol and force that wouldn't be ignored.
Whatever was happening in this city, I had a feeling I was about to be dragged into it, whether I was ready or not.
With everything secured, I made my way back home, cutting through the narrow alleys to avoid the heavier foot traffic of Main Street.
The streets were quieter now, the distant hum of traffic the only consistent noise. As I moved deeper into the dimly lit paths between buildings, an unsettling feeling crept up my spine. It started as a whisper of doubt, an irrational sense of paranoia, but soon grew into something tangible—something real.
I wasn't alone.
I glanced over my shoulder. The alley stretched behind me, empty but thick with shadows. My heartbeat picked up as I tried to brush it off, convincing myself it was nothing more than the tension from today's events catching up to me. And yet, every step forward made the air around me feel heavier, charged with an unseen presence.
A flickering streetlight ahead cast erratic shadows on the brick walls. I swallowed, gripping my bag tighter. I tested my telekinesis in the smallest way possible—lifting a tiny pebble from the ground and letting it hover near my palm. If something was there, I needed to be ready.
A gust of wind funneled through the alley, carrying the distant sound of laughter. Except… It wasn't normal laughter. It was distorted, almost like it was being stretched and warped, too hollow to be human.
I forced myself to keep moving, my pulse pounding in my ears. The feeling of being watched didn't wane. If anything, it grew stronger with each step. But no matter how many times I glanced around, nothing was there.
By the time I reached my street, the sensation finally began to fade. The weight lifted, but the unease remained. Something—or someone—had been watching me. And I had no idea who or what it was.
I exhaled sharply as I stepped through my front door, locking it behind me. I wasn't just stepping into a new role. I was stepping into something far bigger than I had realized.
And whatever was out there… it knew.
End Of Chapter