Alarms blared across the land as the Shadow infection spread, defying all containment efforts. Emmanuel sprinted toward a young boy with raven-black hair and an unnervingly emotionless face. The child simply turned, extending his palm to release a massive blue fireball.
"No!" Emmanuel cried, attempting to dodge, but fate had sealed the moment. The fireball struck with devastating force, the explosion shaking the building's very foundations. The blast radiated outward, shattering walls and warping steel, though the core structure miraculously remained standing amidst the devastation.
The aftermath was catastrophic. Once-sturdy walls lay reduced to rubble and dust. Steel doors twisted into blackened husks, and the floor smoldered, scorched to an obsidian darkness.
Several foundation members rushed in, weapons drawn, opening fire. With inhuman grace, the child evaded every bullet—an impossible feat for a normal human, let alone a boy his age. He didn't merely dodge; he flowed through the hail of projectiles like water. His agility transcended ordinary capability.
The agents escalated, surfacing rocket launchers and sophisticated laser weapons. Undeterred, the boy neutralized incoming rockets mid-air with blue flames and deflected lasers using glass shards with calculated precision. His young face betrayed no hint of strain.
A laser beam shot toward him at near-light speed. The boy anticipated the assault, grabbing a piece of debris—silica that had flash-melted into reflective glass from the previous explosion. He held up the makeshift shield to deflect the beam. But in his youthful overconfidence, he hadn't realized these weren't conventional light-lasers.
The beam shattered the glass and pierced his chest. It narrowly missed his heart but tore through ribs and flesh, literally boiling the blood in his veins. He collapsed, his small body suddenly fragile as he hovered at death's threshold.
A mysterious figure in black rushed from the shadows, dispatching the agents with lethal efficiency. Scooping up the critically wounded boy, the stranger leapt from a third-story window. He landed without a sound, his dark coat billowing behind him like wings.
The man raced with the child cradled protectively, the boy's blood still steaming from the gaping wound. He reached a nearby hospital and placed the boy gently on a bed, his hands trembling with an emotion he refused to name.
Months later, a doctor reviewed the boy's condition. "I believe we have him stabilized now," she explained, her voice heavy with the weariness of sleepless nights. "His vitals are steady, and we've managed to cool his blood. We've repaired the physical damage, but he isn't ready to wake up yet."
After examining the charts, the physician provided the man with the final reports. The man simply nodded and departed without a word, his shoulders carrying an invisible burden.
Four years later...
"Wake up, Sam!" Professor Blackthorne demanded, slamming his fist on the desk.
Sam jerked awake, blinking rapidly against the harsh classroom lights. "What? What's going on?" he mumbled, disorientation clouding his mind.
"Answer the question, Sam," Blackthorne growled, his patience spent. Deep lines formed between his brows as he glared. He had no tolerance for inattention.
"Could you... repeat the question?" Sam asked, shrinking into his seat.
Blackthorne recognized the genuine confusion but remained irritated. Before he could snap back, the lunch bell rang, granting Sam a reprieve. Students flooded toward the cafeteria in a river of uniforms and chatter. Sam blended into the crowd, his unremarkable presence rendering him nearly invisible—exactly as he preferred.
However, he couldn't block out the voices.
"How did that boy even get accepted?" a girl whispered to her friend, her disgust audible. "With an anomaly power? I can't believe the board admitted him."
"Yeah, it's weird," the boy beside her replied, casting a suspicious glance at Sam. "Why allow an anomaly on grounds? He'll probably snap and harm us all someday."
Sam kept his face neutral, though the words cut deeper than the laser ever had.
"If the professors don't expel him, I'll see to it myself," the girl continued, venom dripping from her voice. "Children with anomalies shouldn't exist. If a kid is born like that, you should just eliminate them. They're destined to be villains anyway."
"Killing them seems extreme," the boy countered, though his voice lacked conviction. "They might be good people. But anomalies are the reason for most of our history's disasters."
"I don't care," she declared vehemently. "If my child is born with an anomaly, I'm ending it. That kind of life doesn't deserve to exist."
In this society, anomalies were abominations. While "Normal" powers—fire, ice, or physical extensions—were celebrated, "Anomalies" like black fire, red water, or distorted healing inspired terror. Even dark magic was branded an anomaly while light magic was praised as "pure," fueled by generations of mass hysteria and fear of the unknown.
Sam reached the cafeteria. The dining hall was magnificent, with crystal chandeliers and gourmet food that felt out of place in such a cold environment. He chose a simple pasta and sat at the nearest table, trying to remain small.
Across from him sat a student with black hair and piercing green eyes. Beside them was a remarkably calm boy with an emotionless face. This second boy radiated dark magic—an unmistakable anomaly.
Maybe we could connect, Sam thought, a flicker of optimism rising. He could sense other anomalies, just as they could sense him. It was a silent, evolutionary frequency shared by their kind. But Sam ate in silence. If no one spoke to him, he wouldn't intrude.
After lunch, Sam returned to the hallway. The same two students from earlier were walking ahead of him, still deep in their hateful discourse.
"Anyway," the girl said, her voice echoing. "How do you feel about the others? You know... the ones with a Divine ranking?"
"Divine aspects?" The boy scoffed, his voice rising in anger. "Arrogant fools! I might hate them more than anomalies. They think they're gods because they can warp space and time. They flex their power because they know nothing can touch them. Disrespectful little runts."
Sam listened as he followed them toward class. The hierarchy was clear:
Normal Aspect: Standard elements (fire, water, acid). Accepted and common.
Anomaly Aspect: Intensified, "corrupted," or lethal versions of normal powers. Feared and reviled.
Divine Aspect: Extraordinary control over fundamental forces (time, gravity, space). The arrogant pinnacle of the power structure.
Sam walked on, his heart heavy, a boy caught between the fear of the weak and the arrogance of the strong.
mirror on him!