Okay, one more time, I told myself on the bus ride home, the words like a mantra. I turned down Mack's invite to hang out with the group—too much on my mind, too much I had to figure out. Mom wasn't coming home tonight; she'd picked up another overnight shift. So, it was just me.

  The tension buzzed through me, an electric current I couldn't shake. No more running. No more cowardice. No more second-guessing. No more hiding behind excuses. I had to fix this. I had to.

  I was going to be a hero again.

  The streets blurred outside the bus window as I thought back to last time. The mistakes. The people I hurt. The people I killed. The aftermath.

  Don't think about it. Focus on what you can do now.

  I waved the bus away as I stepped off at my stop, heading towards the Broadwalk. I needed a proper costume, real equipment. If I was going to do this, I had to be prepared—really prepared. Maybe having the right tools would make me feel like I could actually get it right this time.

  But as I wandered through the stores, I felt the weight of each moment dragging at me. Hours passed, frustration settling like fog in my chest. I couldn't find exactly what I needed. But finally, I walked out with a few decent supplies—nothing extravagant, just the essentials. Dye. Spray paint. The bare bones of something that could work.

  In my hands were streamlined white tights, and a cape that fluttered behind me, light and almost weightless, blending with the wind as if it belonged there. Nothing special. I was sure there were hundreds of other kids who wore something like it for Halloween. But I didn't care. I didn't need armor. I was strong enough to make up for any lack of it. Hell, I'd worn worse. This was nothing compared to what I was about to face.

  I made my way towards the next bus stop, the adrenaline creeping up like fire under my skin. It wasn't just the rush of the moment—it was the heat of the possibility. The world was already responding to me, to the desire I had to be more. It was buckling under the weight of my resolve, my strength vibrating the very air around me.

  I wasn't just walking anymore. I was on my way.

  Time to be a hero.

  I had a mask back home. A dark blue domino mask that will definitely contrast with the white. I didn't want to wear it. Didn't think it would be enough to hide my identity. But I didn't care anymore. There were more important things for me to focus on. Because tonight? Tonight, I'll do it right.

  I could feel it now—the shift. The power that hummed through me. The question of whether I could control it, whether I could handle it. Or would it slip out of my fingers, the way it had before? I shoved the thought aside, letting the heat surge in its place.

  This time, I wouldn't fail.

  ***

  My cape fluttered uselessly behind me, catching the wind like a sad, forgotten flag, its white fabric streaked with dirt from my failed attempts to navigate the air. Grime clung to it like a reminder of just how badly I was messing up. Maybe white and blue weren't the smartest choices for a superhero costume.

  I shook off the thought, pushing it aside as I got to my feet. I had to figure this out. I couldn't let this ability slip away just because it was harder than it seemed.

  I jumped, and this time, I soared through the air, leaving a streak behind me. The weightlessness surprised me—there was no longer any earth holding me down. But at the same time, gravity pulled me in its unforgiving direction while I tried to pull myself in another.

  I was flying.

  A bubble of laughter escaped my lips. I was actually flying! But before I could even savor the moment, the ground came at me fast, relentless, and brutal, dragging me back into reality. I hit hard, and the wounds healed almost instantly—but it didn't make me feel better. I groaned as I pushed myself up. "Gonna have to shelve this for later," I muttered to myself, hoping no one had seen me make a complete fool of myself.

  Instead of the powerful cape that I supposedly was, I decided to walk like a normal person, finding myself in the part of town where gangs and crackwhore always seemed to gather.

  BOOM!

  An explosion of fire greeted me, along with a man whose features seemed to mutate to something resembling part man and part angry dragon. A woman wearing black engaging him, a swarm of bugs surrounding her. I'm pretty sure said bugs weren't gonna keep her alive for very long.

  Well, this was what I wanted, right? Time to be a hero again.

  ***

  I dodged to the right as shrapnel flew through the air, the concrete cracking beneath the force of the explosion. The atmosphere was charged, volatile, as if everything around me was ready to burst—not just from the flames. No, the man in front of me, the one now taking on the form of something out of a nightmare—Lung I remembered—was preparing to explode again.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  He grounded himself into the concrete, his stance solid as rock. If looks could kill, I'd be vaporized, along with Bug Girl, who was close by. I could feel the raw energy in the air, and it was clear—Lung wasn't going to back down. In fact, he was probably going to try and finish us both in the same instant.

  "Stay away!" Bug Girl shouted, snapping me out of my stupor. She was trying to protect me, but I was frozen in place for a second, unsure of what to do.

  Lung moved. Surprisingly fast for someone of his size, he swiped a clawed hand toward Bug Girl. She managed to dodge, though flames singed the edges of her costume, but it gave me just enough time to react.

  One moment, I was on the ground, and the next, Lung was sent flying into a building. The shockwave of my punch spread from the point of contact, and I had to wince. I hoped there were no civilians in the area, but the priority was clear: take Lung down.

  I'd read up on him before. Some reports claimed his powers increased the more he fought, the more he transformed. That was starting to make sense now. Whatever had come out of that rubble, it wasn't anything close to normal.

  His features contorted, twisted with both anger and pain. I realized then: it wasn't easy for him to use his abilities. The transformation wasn't clean—it was jagged, painful, and ugly, like forcing a cat to morph into something like a horse.

  We didn't exchange words. There was no need for them. We let our fists and claws do the talking.

  I wasn't new to fighting. I'd been in my fair share of scuffles as a kid—too much emotional immaturity led to more than a few street fights. But this was different. This was life or death.

  A punch landed squarely on Lung's face, but the retaliation came swift. His claw scraped across my chest, drawing blood. The sting sent a shock of panic through me. I hadn't been hurt like that in a long time. It was a reminder that I wasn't invincible—not yet, anyway.

  I shifted my weight awkwardly, trying to land a blow that would make a difference, but my hits didn't seem to do enough damage. The punches I expected to land solidly were barely making a dent.

  That was fine. I could wait. I knew I just had to be patient.

  The exchange lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like hours. I kept my focus, waiting for the moment Lung would make a mistake. A slight opening, a shift in his stance—anything that would give me the edge.

  But Lung wasn't slowing down. If anything, he was getting stronger.

  It wasn't gradual, either. One moment, we were evenly matched, trading blows. The next, I was thrown aside like paperweight. I hit the ground hard. Pain radiated through my body, but I forced myself up again. The fight wasn't over yet.

  Flames erupted from Lung's form as he seemed to charge up again, transforming into something even more dangerous. He was becoming a bomb, and the heat radiating off him scorched me. It wasn't like the warmth of a sauna. No, this was raw, unfiltered heat—burning, painful, relentless.

  I had to stop him.

  I moved, the rhythm of the fight resuming as blows came and went. I thought I had it—I thought I had him on the ropes. But then I made a mistake. Just a small one. A slight overextension from a punch that should've landed square in his jaw.

  But it was enough.

  He caught my arm.

  Lung was stronger than he had any right to be. I had super strength for God's sake, and I'd tested it—pushed it to the limit. Yet here I was, caught by a guy who shouldn't be able to move this fast or this powerfully.

  He yanked me in, his grip like steel. His claws dug into my skull, a vicious, unrelenting hold.

  "You will burn just like the rest." His voice was low and harsh, nearly unintelligible as his vocal cords seemed to distort, no longer able to form recognizable words. The transformation was far beyond the point of no return.

  That was the only warning I got before everything around me shattered. No—this wasn't just an explosion. It was something more.

  My nerves fried, my blood boiled, my organs escaped from the confines of my body. A scream that sent shockwaves escaped from my throat. Raw and dry. The pain I felt in that moment was not something I could physically or mentally describe. It wasn't something I would wish on my worst enemy.

  Only in the heat of flames can steel truly be remade anew.

  Something stirred deep within me, like a dam straining against a flood, ready to break.

  And then it did.

  Heat surged in my eyes, the world warping as I focused, my senses sharpening. I could feel the power building, rushing through me, raw and untamed.

  Then—colors erupted.