CHAPTER 6 — Echoes of Power
A year of training had sharpened me into something new—a shadow that moved through the cracks of the city, balancing fear and hope like weights on a scale.
But I wasn't done changing.
Not by a long shot.
Because somewhere along the way, I discovered something unexpected:
Strong emotions carried echoes—traces—of the powers tied to them.
Not enough to copy abilities.
Not enough to mimic a villain.
But enough to enhance aspects of my own.
Voltage Violet's electric excitement?
It didn't give me lightning—but it honed the precision of my projection.
The pyrokinetics' collective fury?
It didn't let me conjure fire—but it fueled intensity, letting my emotional waves burn hotter, sharper.
The hypnotist's duplicitous mind?
It didn't grant mind control—but it whispered how intent flows, helping me detect subtle malice at greater distance.
I wasn't stealing powers.
I wasn't copying abilities.
I was weaving emotional signatures into my own resonance.
Evolving.
But every evolution needed purpose.
Balance.
Direction.
And that's where this chapter begins:
With me learning not only how to harness new echoes…
but how to live a double life without falling apart.
---
Finding a Job That Didn't Kill Me
For eleven months, I'd survived off savings, odd gigs, and a few questionable nights selling bootleg DVDs on the subway.
That couldn't last.
I needed stability.
Something flexible.
Something quiet.
Something that didn't trigger my empathy every five minutes.
Retail? Impossible.
The emotional whiplash would liquefy my brain.
Food service? Same problem but with grease burns.
Office work? A good way to drown in collective suffering.
I needed something solitary.
And then, one late afternoon, I passed a small, dusty, forgotten bookstore wedged between a laundromat and a pawn shop. A wooden sign hung crookedly above the door:
The Paper Lantern – Books & Oddities
Inside, it smelled like old pages, calm minds, and mild disappointment—exactly my vibe.
An elderly man behind the counter looked up from a crossword puzzle.
"You look like someone who needs money," he said without greeting.
"…accurate."
"You responsible?"
"Reasonably."
"You break things?"
"Only villains."
He blinked.
"…right. Well, do you want a part-time job shelving books and keeping the place from burning down?"
That was it.
That was the whole interview.
I said yes.
The store became my sanctuary.
Quiet days.
Dust motes swirling lazily in sunlight.
Calm customers with emotions softer than whispers.
Stacks of philosophy books that made me question whether my powers made me human, alien, or something between.
The quiet gave me space.
Space to reflect.
Space to breathe.
Space to grow stronger for the nights that demanded strength.
And oh, did those nights demand it.
---
The First Echo: Crimson Vow
My first true "power echo" happened three nights after I started the new job.
A villain calling herself Crimson Vow was terrorizing lower Manhattan. She had the ability to create solid constructs from her own blood—horrifying, metal-as-hell, and impossible to ignore.
I found her in an alley, trying to break into a biotech facility through the back wall.
Her emotional presence was overwhelming—
a storm of pain, fury, and tragic resolve.
When I stepped into the alley, she spun toward me, a blade of crystallized blood forming in her hand.
"Leave," she hissed. "I don't want to kill anyone tonight."
Her words weren't lies.
Her aura screamed desperation.
"What are you doing?" I asked softly.
"Saving my brother."
The blade trembled.
They always had reasons.
Villains weren't born—they were pushed.
"You're going to hurt people," I said.
"They hurt him first."
She lunged.
Her emotions stabbed through me—sharp, jagged, metallic. Her rage felt like shattered glass grinding beneath my skin.
I absorbed it—just enough to stay upright—and something inside me changed.
Not a power.
Not a mutation.
A flavor.
A tone.
My emotional projection took on an edge—suddenly sharper, focused like a blade. When I pushed my ability forward, my shockwave sliced the air with frightening precision.
Crimson Vow staggered back, stunned.
"What—what is your ability?" she panted.
"I'm still figuring that out."
One more controlled burst knocked the constructs from her hands.
She surrendered with tears streaming down her face.
I hated turning her in.
Even knowing I saved lives.
Even knowing she might one day forgive me.
But her emotional signature—her echo—lingered.
And my powers grew sharper because of it.
---
The Second Echo: Echo-Lock
Nearly two months later came Echo-Lock, a rogue sonic villain who weaponized sound vibrations.
And his emotions?
Erratic.
Oscillating.
Chaotic in a rhythm that felt like a heartbeat skipping out of tune.
When we fought, his emotional resonance hit me like a noisy earthquake. I absorbed what I could without blowing my brain out through my ears.
And a strange thing happened:
My range expanded.
Not by much.
Maybe fifteen, twenty additional meters.
But it meant everything.
Suddenly I could:
read crowds from blocks away
detect incoming danger before it exploded
sense fear spikes like tiny alarms in the dark
I didn't get super-hearing.
I didn't get sonic screams.
But I got attunement—
a sensitivity to emotional frequencies that boosted my perception to new levels.
Every villain taught me something.
Every echo made me… fuller.
Completer.
Like a song gaining new instruments.
---
The Third Echo: Mirage Moon
This one was dangerous.
Mirage Moon was a psychic illusionist whose emotions were layered like fractals—self-doubting fear wrapped in confidence wrapped in sadness wrapped in manipulation.
Fighting him was like drowning in an ocean of mirrors.
He tried to trap me in illusions.
He tried to twist my senses.
He tried to rewrite my memories.
But here's the thing:
Illusions are emotional first, sensory second.
His emotional signature stabbed through the fog, showing me what was real and what wasn't.
And as I pressured him—absorbing the layers, dissecting them—my mind grew clearer.
Stronger.
More resistant.
When I finally shattered his illusions with a single focused pulse, he collapsed shaking.
"You're a monster," he whispered.
"No. Just evolved."
But part of me knew he wasn't wrong.
With Mirage Moon's echo inside me, I gained:
stronger mental defenses
the ability to briefly reflect emotional confusion
clarity during high-stress situations
the power to pierce through emotional deception like glass
I didn't become psychic.
I became attuned to complexity.
A mind sharpened by a fractured man.
---
Balancing Work and War
My job grounded me.
After intense nights, I'd drag myself into the bookstore at 10 a.m., smelling faintly of smoke or adrenaline, and my boss—Mr. Kaito—would simply raise an eyebrow.
"You look like you lost a fight with a lawn mower," he'd say.
"You should see the lawn mower."
He never asked questions.
I never offered answers.
Sometimes the quiet between shelves saved me more than any meditation.
Because despite all the power I gained, I wasn't immune to emotional overload. Absorbing echoes—especially chaotic ones—took a toll.
Too much confusion made me jittery.
Too much rage made me aggressive.
Too much sorrow left me hollow for days.
The bookstore, with its soft whispers of old stories and mellow customers, helped balance me.
And on the worst days, I'd sit behind the counter, fingertips on the worn wood, absorbing the gentle warmth of calm from the people browsing.
Not stealing.
Not manipulating.
Just soaking in the peace people naturally radiated when surrounded by books.
It kept me sane