For George, his worst nightmare had come true.
His home–everyone he loved—was at threat from annihilation.
They were here.
Eyes wide—popping out of their sockets—he stared. The City was bathed in shadow.
Krista took one step back—stumbled.
"W-what is…"
Her lips trembled; she couldn't finish her question.
No one could move. Where could you go? The city was frozen in silence, gazing upon the great structure in the sky, absorbing the sun's rays.
Lights along the side of the hull glowed.
The silence was broken.
The ship groaned. A low mechanical howl that shattered the gaze of the watchers below
Chaos set in.
Cries.
"GET AWAY!"
The thudding of soles on concrete.
"Justin… Justin, where are you?"
Screams.
"Mummy, what's that in the sky?"
George's mind spun—Rengappon: mangled corpses, cars crumpled like paper, roaring flames.
There was a tap on his shoulder—he didn't notice.
That was going to be Grossaint.
The bodies…
"George," the muffled voice fell on deaf ears.
Mum…
Dad…
His sister…
"George, we have to go."
Krista…
Two hands gripped his shoulders, squeezing tightly. They brought George to his senses. Scanned the eyes in front of him—Blue, just like the tips of her hair. Krista.
She gripped George's wrist firmly. George's legs moved, dragged along by Krista.
"Stop!" George yanked his wrist back—the grip broke.
The look on her face—like she didn't even recognise the person she was looking at. Brows raised in the centre, tugging her eyelids up.
"What are you—?"
"I need to go, Krista… I—"
"What are you talking about? We need to get to an evacuation point or something," she insisted, waving her hands frantically.
George shut his eyes—clenched his fists.
"I'm sorry, Krista."
He spun. Krista reached out to grab his arm. Fingers stroked cloth—too slow. George darted in the opposite direction, fading into the crowd.
"Where are you going!" she yelled, her voice faded as George sprinted.
His heart ached. He bit his lip.
"I'm sorry, Krista," he whispered, "I wish I could tell you… maybe someday."
His sneakers pounded against the floor. Each step was deliberated. His lungs burned—rough pants left scraping pains inside.
He wanted to stop. His legs cried for him to stop.
He couldn't.
He had to hurry.
Person after person blocked his path—running the opposite direction.
He closed his eyes.
Exhaled.
Opened—eyes glowing amethysts.
Time slowed.
Each minute movement—every flex of a muscle—became clearer. Their screams deepened, becoming more reminiscent of whales than people.
George weaved through the crowd. Soles are placed deliberately in the spaces between the people. He twisted—turned—gliding through the crowd.
One person looked back: a tall, muscular man with short brown hair, donned in a white shirt, black trousers and a red tie—he must've just come out of an office.
"What the hell?" he blurted out loud, "how did he do that?"
George kept running until no one could be seen. He slowed to a halt—glissanded into an alleyway.
He peeked around the corner—no one was around. Good.
Back against the wall, he relaxed. He didn't fully know how the power worked yet. But there were certain criteria he needed to meet:
Relax every muscle in your body.
Rest your mind.
Cease all thought.
He breathed slowly.
Warmth enveloped him—flowing through his bloodstream. Purple light poured from every seam in his body—liquid, spilling out of him until he was no longer human, but light in human form.
His hair lifted. A liquid sheet of purple swaddled him. Moulding—re-moulding. Small rocks and pebbles began to levitate, as if some invisible force was gently caressing them into the air.
He became one with the air—gravity had given up on tethering him to this world. He was lighter now.
The space between his feet and the concrete floor in the alleyway slowly began to expand as he ascended. Eyes opened. His reflection glided from window to window as he scaled a large glass tower.
He pirouetted—faced the ship.
Shot towards the giant structure, leaving behind a trail of twinkling amethyst.
The ship's great carcass rotated, groaning heavily.
In the distance, a binocular lens flashed. A woman dressed in a black suit and tie lay prone, binoculars to her eyes. She lowered them—placed a phone to her ear.
"He's arrived at the ship, sir."
A voice responded—low, deep—with a slight Okoppan accent.
"Interesting… that was surprisingly quick. Thank you, Miss Sofia. Stay safe, don't do anything stupid now."
"You know me, Mr Oladeji, I'll be out in a flash."
She put the phone down—raised her binoculars. Locked onto the purple entity in the sky.
George hovered there—analysed the body of the ship.
There were no weapons to be seen; no turrets, guns, or any artillery to speak of.
"What do you want?" George mumbled.
What are they here for? George tilted his head. If they were invading, why send a ship with no weapons? Especially considering the other ships they sent before.
The vessel sat there silent, frozen in the air—jets roared. Suddenly, the aircraft howled—deep. Rotated. Then lifted off.
It elevated slowly, leaving a trail of black smoke behind it.
"What…?" George muttered, one brow raised. His eyes tracked the carcass, "Where are they going?"
The vessel shrank, becoming a small black dot in the sky.
George turned
"I guess that's tha—"
WHERE ARE YOU GOING?
A searing pain manifested in George's head. It felt like a giant drill was being burrowed into his skull. His eyes bulged from their sockets. Muscle fibres bulged—his hands clenched around his head, squeezing tightly. The pain continued.
"ARGHH…"
It was just like that day, one year ago. The pain he felt, the voice he heard all appeared that day… The day he was given an offer he couldn't refuse…
Incredible power.
The power to take his life back.
ARE YOU JUST GOING TO LET THEM GO, GEORGE?
"Well… t-they're…" The pain made every word an impossible challenge to release.
YOU CAN'T LET THEM LEAVE.
OR THEY WILL COME BACK.
"But—"
THEY. WILL. DESTROY. EVERYTHING.
YOU THINK THEY CARE.
THINK ABOUT RENGAPPON.
THE BODIES.
"ARGHH…"
YOUR MOTHER.
FATHER.
SISTER.
KRISTA.
George's chest bulged and contracted in a rhythm—in, out, in, out. The air among the clouds felt like icicles as it clawed his throat. He looked up—slow, rigid.
His mind was clear. The arms drifted to his sides, fists clenched—twitching slightly. The pain in his skull was a distant memory. His eyes were sharp—locked onto the small black dot in the sky.
Within an instant, he was gone. A hole parted in the clouds. Then came the shockwave.
The sky began to gradate around him: from bright blue to navy, to pitch black. White spots poked through—distant stars, other worlds, lifeforms. But none of it mattered right now. His home took precedence. He left Earth's atmosphere—body enveloped in a sheet of fiery plasma. It was hot, but it didn't hurt—like lying in a hot tub. Another effect of the power?
Ahead, George could see the bright orange glow of the engines. They came closer and closer. The roar became louder. He could see the ship's stern.
If he didn't stop now…
Conflicting opinions scrambled his mind in a whirlpool.
Is this the right thing to do? He thought. What if the beings in that ship were the same as us? With… families…
But Rengappon… Seeing Krista's face—his mother's, sister's, father's—on those mangled corpses. Those crystal blue eyes dried into a matt white.
He couldn't…
He closed his eyes—didn't stop.
The hull shattered, unable to stop the impossible force that hit it. Metal screamed as it bent—George hoped it was just the metal. He carved through the ship—wall after wall—in one giant strip.
Flames erupted, bursting out of the ship's shell—failing to hold the force in. An uncoordinated orchestra of pounding and thudding banged.
George smashed through the bow of the ship—a ghostly purple spear pierced the length of the ship from one end to the other. He stopped. The vessel barrelled past him, painted in a golden-orange sheen of flames. Chunks of it hurled into the distant horizons.
The engines released screams that were unlike anything Earth has produced thus far in George's lifetime. Similar to the squeals of a dying pig mixed with the roar of a lion.
A bright orange light—like a small sun—flashed. Expanded—a great ball of flame. The vessel shattered. Giant pieces flew in all directions. Smashed into the moon. Smashed into ships in the distance up ahead. Just past the moon.
There were more.
Hundreds of them, possibly over a thousand; a vast sea of them. Dotted everywhere—more than enough to conquer the planet five times over.
But they didn't—they just sat there. Levitating. Observing.
It was like something out of a movie. Ships of all sizes: giant cruisers, armoured destroyers, agile fighters—hundreds of each class.
Engines roared. The first set of fighters moved in.
Twisting through the air, they zoomed into formation: triangles of five—three of them. Marching through space.
George wasted no time—advanced.
The space between them became a memory. In a second, he was in front of the first ship. A quick flick of the wrist. The ship folded—barrelled through the air, leaving a trail of flame. Exploded. In one swift move, he obliterated the rest of the formation. A zigzag of violet sparked, preceding the moment the ships failed to hold themselves together. just like dominoes, flames erupted from their cores.
The other two formations parted, darting in two opposite directions. Twirled in the air before completing a synchronised U-turn. They were flanking either side.
George scanned either side. Turrets whirred. Projectiles darted, missiles scattered, then converged on their target. George danced between them—picked his target. The left—he moved.
The purple ghost glided through space in a somersault. landed feet first on a fighter—bounced off. The fighter folded in on itself. As he drifted, George noticed something: a distant railgun fired up, casting a light on the side of the hull.
It fired—sliced through the vacuum of space. George flung himself backwards, the laser just barely skimming his chin. It felt like lava. He gulped. Fighters dodged the beam, weaving over and under.
George shot back up—gone a moment later.
Ribbons of sapphire were woven in the vacuum. One by one, fighters were shattered, crumpled, dismantled—bursting into flame. He stopped dead, crouched over the fuselage of a fighter.
Leaping back, he hung onto the wing. The ship spun with him. He twisted—the ship followed. Momentum built up and up until the two were a tornado of sapphire and steel.
He released.
The hunk of metal hurled through space, barreling closer and closer to a destroyer's turret.
Crash!
Flames erupted.
Smoke bloomed.
George floated for a while, surrounded by the mangled carcasses of ships and debris.
How much more will it take? He thought, Do I destroy the whole fleet?
Light gathered in the wall of smoke. George squinted—his eyes burned.
"Ah, shit!" he rubbed his eyes.
A hole formed in the wall.
George opened is eyes.
"What the—"
Face-to-face.
He had no chance.
Before he could react, he was face-to-face with a long cylinder. Dark and metallic.
A projectile.
It smashed into his face, exploding on impact. Everything burned. His body moved on its own. He was blown backwards—tumbled through space, slamming down on the moon's surface.
A crater, the largest the surface has ever seen, expanded. Chunks of rock blasted into the dark horizons.
George's vision faded.
"Hey George," the man sniggered.
"Harry?" George mumbled.
"Get over here. Check this out"
Is… my life… flashing before my eyes?
I thought… this power… would help me take control of my life.
Why did I accept this power?
The world faded to black.
George closed his eyes.