My name is John Fang, I am a hybrid, and it was the year I turned fourteen when my world was flipped upside down.
My alarm was going off—a jarring, insistent electronic screech that was the bane of my early morning existence. It was time to get ready for school. I did what I usually do when I wake up: stumble out of bed, take a shower—letting the scalding water burn the sleep from my skin—brush my teeth, and head downstairs for breakfast. The kitchen was already bright, filled with the smell of burnt toast and my mom's overly sweet coffee.
"Do you still need something, honey?" asked Angeline, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Her eyes, the same warm brown as mine, held that familiar, gentle concern.
"No, Mom, I'm heading to school now," I replied, grabbing my faded backpack. I was eager to get out, but a low-grade anxiety was already settling in my gut.
Angeline chuckled. "Wait! Aren't you going to give your mommy a kiss?" she said, holding her arms out.
"I almost forgot!" I gave my mother a quick kiss on the cheek. Her skin felt soft and smelled faintly of the laundry detergent she used on all my shirts. It was a tiny, perfect moment of normalcy, a feeling of safety I didn't realize I'd soon lose. I made my way out the front door, feeling the chill of the autumn air hit my face.
While I was sitting in class later, trying to focus on a history lecture about the American Revolution, my mind was elsewhere. I leaned over to talk to my two friends, Freddy and Jake.
"Yo, John, did you watch the latest episode of Dragon Saber Force?" Jake asked, his voice low and buzzing with excitement. He was sketching a sword hilt on his notebook margin.
"No, what happened? Did Dennis finally transform into the Thunder Lord or something?" I replied, trying to imagine the scene. We both loved the animation—the way the hero's muscles bulged and his hair turned gold, accompanied by the sound of a thousand shattering glass panes. That was the kind of spectacular power we lived for, the kind that only existed in fiction.
My two friends and I were massive anime nerds, always discussing manga plots, ranking soundtracks, and arguing about power levels in class. We weren't dumb, but we weren't geniuses either; we were average students, united by our shared passion, just trying to get by and enjoying each other's company.
But, you know, in every story there always has to be a villain—a disruption—and in our life, he was the bully whose name was Duke.
"And what do we have here, the nerd crew," Duke sneered, his shadow falling over my desk. I could smell the cheap cologne and sweat that always clung to him. "Why don't you leave these shitty books and get some chicks?" He then slammed his meaty hand down and smacked me hard at the back of the head. The impact felt like a bell ringing deep inside my skull.
"Duke, this ain't the time to start with your bullshit," I said, my teeth clenched, the fury starting to boil immediately.
"And what are you going to do about it, Jonny boy?" Duke taunted, his eyes glittering with pure malice, daring me to move.
I gripped my pencil so tightly I felt the wood splinter. Freddy quickly whispered to me, "Johnny, don't try to fight him. He is going to run your fade. Don't you remember what happened to us last time?"
The memory flashed in my mind: the humiliation of being pinned on the hard pavement, the suffocating pressure of his arm digging into my windpipe during that choke slam, the metallic taste of Jake's blood after the clothesline, and the sheer, gut-wrenching ache when Freddy got kicked. We had lost the fight, but more painfully, we lost the last of our lunch money. Thinking about the injustice and the helplessness made me even more angry, and this is where it happened.
My head began to throb and ache violently at the same time. It wasn't just a headache; it felt like a piece of burning iron was being pressed against the inside of my skull. I screamed—a raw, inhuman sound I barely recognized—and grabbed my skull, clutching it with both hands. The classroom went silent.
Jake and Freddy freaked out. "What's wrong, John? Talk to me!" Jake yelled, trying to pull my flailing arms away from my head.
"It's not my fault!" Duke said, his voice surprisingly thin as he backed away, holding his hands up.
"You smacked him on the head, Duke! This time you're in big trouble!" Freddy accused, terror replacing his usual fear.
I was thrashing wildly in my seat, the power trying to force its way out. The sheer weight of the pressure made the lights in the room feel dim and the air taste like ozone. All the students were shocked and glued to the commotion, as the teacher, of course, was not present. The pain became a deafening roar, and suddenly, I pitched forward and fell to the ground, unconscious.
I slowly opened my eyes. The first thing I noticed was the dim, familiar sight of my lava lamp on my nightstand. I found that I was lying in my room at home, the afternoon sunlight struggling through my curtains. My head still pulsed with a dull ache, but the immediate, searing pain was gone.
I got out of bed, feeling disoriented and weak, and went straight to the bathroom to wash my face. I splashed cold water over my eyes, trying to clear the lingering haze. I looked up, and I saw something that shocked me to my core.
My hands were shaking, water dripping from my fingers onto the porcelain. I was looking at something that should not be possible; a thing I thought existed only in the pages of fantasy and the final episodes of our favorite shows. What I saw in the mirror that night was that my left eye had turned a blazing, unnatural crimson red.
It wasn't a trick of the light. The color wasn't reflecting anything; it burned with its own chilling light, terrifying and beautiful all at once. It stared back at me, a silent, powerful signal that the normal life I knew was over. Something had woken up inside me, and it was demanding attention.