A few days had passed since Dr. Grant had become Angelo's teacher. One morning, long before the sun had fully risen, Angelo found himself restless, thoughts still burning from the notes he had made. He had memorized every page, every diagram, every molecule of the new chemical formula Grant had shown him—an advanced combination involving dicyanoacetylene, a compound known for its extreme combustibility.
If he could replicate its properties through his power, he might finally have a way to incinerate the regenerating Watchers in a single strike. He needed to test it—but not with anyone watching.
Silently, Angelo slipped out of his room. Pierce was slumped over his desk, asleep after a long night of work. Angelo moved like a shadow, careful not to be seen by patrolling soldiers. When he reached Grant's room, the door was already unlocked.
"He should really get over this habit," Angelo muttered under his breath as he entered.
"Grant," Angelo whispered, nudging the half-asleep researcher sprawled across a cot beside a pile of open books. "Wake up. We're going to the training ground."
Grant didn't lift his head, eyes still half-closed. "Is this about the formula?" he asked in a sleepy tone.
Angelo grabbed Grant's glasses and replied, "Yeah. I think I can do it now."
Grant exhaled deeply, dragged a hand across his face, and took his glasses back from Angelo. "Alright," he said, finally sitting up. "Let's go."
The two moved like ghosts through the corridors, sticking to the shadows until they reached the empty training field. Soldiers were stationed at the exit, keeping watch.
"What do we do now?" Angelo whispered.
Grant didn't answer. He simply walked straight toward the soldiers.
"What are you doing?" Angelo hissed, worry in his voice.
Grant continued, unflinching. The soldiers parted without question, letting them through.
Angelo followed, confused. "What happened? What did you say to them?"
Grant shrugged. "Nothing much. Just told them to let us use the training ground."
Angelo glanced at him, impressed. "You must be a really important person, huh?"
Grant smirked faintly and kept walking. "You could say that."
Both of them stepped out from Fort Blackspire and into the open training field. They didn't go far—after scanning the area, Grant said quietly, "Everything's clear. You can go all out."
Angelo gave a short nod and raised a hand. The ground trembled beneath him. From the dust and rock, a massive statue rose—humanoid, grotesque, eerily resembling a Watcher with stone fangs and elongated limbs.
He summoned a thick wall a few meters back for Grant to hide behind. "Stay back," Angelo warned.
Grant, ever the curious observer, retreated behind the barrier—already flipping open his notepad.
Angelo extended both arms, locking onto the target he had just created. Tiny sparks flared between his palms, then merged into a small ember that swelled into a flickering yellow fireball, hovering before him. Slowly, he began infusing it with the new formula.
His breathing grew uneven. The sharp scent of chemicals filled the air.
The fireball started to twist and churn violently, the color shifting—yellow, then orange, then a blinding, icy blue-white. The heat became unbearable. The light seared across the entire field, the air itself shimmering.
Angelo clenched his jaw as the raw energy scorched his palms. He had to close his eyes or risk going blind. Behind the wall, Grant turned away, still scribbling furiously.
Then came the whisper—sharp and intrusive, cutting through the roar of power.
You're becoming less human by the day.
Angelo shook it off, forcing his focus, and hurled the fireball forward.
The explosion was instant. A flash of white fire, then a thunderclap that shook the earth. The statue disintegrated in a heartbeat—reduced to dust. The ground beneath it melted; stone and metal bubbled like wax. Even the debris turned to molten slag.
Every alarm in the base blared at once.
Grant's jaw dropped. "Holy… That wasn't a fireball. That was a goddamn miniature sun!"
Angelo looked down at his hand—burned, smoking, trembling slightly. "Maybe I need to dial it down a bit."
"You think so?" Grant shouted, half-laughing, half-panicking. "You just vaporized half the training field!"
He stared at the molten slag still glowing under the pale dawn light. "Look at the flames—they're still chemically active!"
"Forget the fire," Angelo said, forcing a smirk. "Worry about how we're going to survive the General's wrath."
He lifted his left hand, forming an airtight shell around the blaze. The fire guttered out, smothered into silence.
The soldiers stationed at the exit rushed in, weapons raised. More poured from the base behind them, fanning out across the field but stopping short when they saw the smoke rising in the distance.
Angelo raised both hands and shouted, "It's alright! Just us—false alarm!"
The soldiers lowered their rifles, though their expressions could've burned hotter than the crater itself.
Angelo glanced at Grant. "We are so dead."
Grant, still scribbling in his notepad, murmured, "Oh, just wait till the General finds out."
Right on cue, Pierce's voice thundered from behind the soldiers. "What in the world was that explosion!?"
The line of troops split apart as he marched forward, Hale trailing behind him. Their eyes swept over the scorched ground—the melted debris, the reek of chemical fire thick in the air.
Pierce's gaze locked on Angelo and Grant. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered. "You two together? Again?"
Hale sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I should've seen this coming. This one's on me."
Pierce's nostrils flared. "What were you thinking? I already warned you—he's a walking warhead, and you paired him with the man who'd dissect God if given the chance?"
Angelo stepped forward, face steady. "I take full responsibility. I brought Dr. Grant here. I needed to test a method that could permanently kill the Watchers. I think… it might work."
Pierce stared at him for a long moment, then grunted. "You're lucky I can't hit you. Otherwise, I'd beat the living hell out of you."
He turned toward the crater. "Clean this mess up before the engineers lose their minds."
With that, he stormed off, soldiers trailing in his wake.
Hale turned to the duo, exasperation clear. "What the hell were you thinking? You nearly gave the General a stroke. And you—" she jabbed a finger at Grant, "—why didn't you stop him?"
Grant shrugged, still writing. "I was… curious."
Angelo chuckled weakly. "Damn, I really pissed him off today, huh? I could feel the bloodlust from here."
Hale groaned. "Next time, just ask for the damn training field. Don't play mad scientist behind our backs."
Grant looked up, his tone softening. "How's your hand? That burn looked bad."
Hale's eyes darted to Angelo's hand—and froze. "Wait. You burned your hand. Let me see."
Angelo raised it. The skin was smooth, unblemished. "Healed before the General even got here."
Grant blinked. "It healed? What do you mean, it healed?"
Angelo nodded slowly. "Yeah… I think my healing's getting stronger."
He frowned. "Wait—you mean I never told you two I could heal?"
Hale's eyes widened. "No! How could you forget something that important?"
Angelo muttered, "Mainly because if you knew, you'd make me do even more hellish training."
Hale narrowed her eyes. "What was that?"
"Nothing," he said quickly. "Guess it slipped my mind."
Hale crossed her arms. "Next time, Angelo—no secrets. We're trying to keep you alive, not help you blow yourself up."
Angelo smiled sheepishly. "Fair enough."
But behind that grin, the whispers lingered—soft, cold, crawling like smoke through his veins. He pushed them back, yet deep down he knew they were right.
He was changing.
And soon, there might not be much humanity left to save.