Sol stared at the floating panel, pulse quickening.
Energy Points: 6.
"But… how do I use these?" he muttered.
He drew in a breath and focused, narrowing his attention on the faint bar under [Current Template: God of Light].
Unlock Progress: 1%.
He pushed at it with his will. Not his hands. Not his body. Just intent.
Use.
Something in his mind clicked.
A subtle tug answered him, like a drain opening inside his chest. An Energy Point vanished. Then another. Then three more in quick succession.
He checked the bar again.
Still 1%.
"…You've got to be kidding me," he breathed.
Even after pouring in five points, the progress hadn't moved at all.
Annoyance flared, but the light at his fingertips was still there, warm against his skin. Automatically, Sol adjusted his stance, bracing one foot on a crack in the wall, stretching higher so more of his hand could catch the thin strip of sunlight.
Might as well refill.
The faint hum of energy returned, seeping into him like sun-warmed water.
[+1 Energy point]
[+1 Energy point]
[+1 Energy point]
…
The prompts ticked by, one after another.
This time, he didn't panic. He let them roll over him as his body slowly relaxed, leaning into the warmth. The cold damp of the cell receded a little. The ache in his muscles faded to a dull throb.
For a moment, with his eyes half-lidded and his fingers basking in that weak sun, he almost forgot the stink of mold and rust.
Almost.
Bootsteps echoed down the corridor.
Sol's eyes snapped open.
The rhythm was familiar now. Heavy. Unhurried. Each step a dull threat that rebounded off the concrete walls.
Josh.
The guard strode up to the row of cells and slammed his baton against the bars, the impact ringing through metal and bone alike.
"Scum!" he barked. "Yard time. Move it!"
The vibration rattled in Sol's teeth.
Josh stopped at his cell and swung the door open with a harsh scrape. His gaze flicked down immediately, to the tray on the floor.
The bowl still sat where it had spilled earlier, crusted soup congealing into a film on the stone. Most of the food was a mess on the ground, but enough clung to the bottom that a truly desperate prisoner might scrape it up.
Josh had clearly expected that.
His lip curled when he saw it untouched.
"Ungrateful," he spat.
Literally. Spit hit the floor right where Sol was standing, now with his hand pulled back from the window, face expressionless.
Josh lingered for a heartbeat, as if waiting for a reaction he could punish.
When he didn't get one, he snorted and turned away, boots thudding as he headed for the next cell.
He wants to see how long this body can last, Sol realized, watching him go. How long the "freak" can survive without food.
He doesn't know sunlight's enough to keep me going.
Sol's gaze drifted back toward the window. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach out again.
Almost there.
He pulled the panel up once more.
Unlock Progress: 3%.
He exhaled slowly, a hint of satisfaction threading through the tension.
So roughly half an hour of continuous light, and—
"Ten Energy Points adds one percent," he guessed under his breath. "More or less."
His eyes gleamed with anticipation. His earlier frustration had melted into something sharper, more focused.
If 1% was that hard to get… whatever lay behind this "God of Light" template wouldn't be trivial.
The abilities of a God of Light…
His lips quivered faintly.
Heh.
Expression smoothed, he rose from his spot by the wall, shook his stiff legs out, and stepped out of the cell when the line of prisoners began to move. He kept his shoulders relaxed, gait casual, face calm.
On the surface, just another inmate shuffling toward the yard.
Inside, he counted the seconds until he hit the sun again.
The corridor stretched ahead, dim and narrow. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering intermittently. The smell of sweat, disinfectant, and stale despair clung to the air.
As Sol walked, he passed ordinary prisoners in faded blue uniforms. Among them moved others with the same collars he wore—Ability Users, their necks bound in dull metal bands that hummed faintly against the skin.
His fingers lifted unconsciously to touch his own collar. Cold. Heavy. Humming with suppressive power.
His gaze slipped over the others.
Some of these ability users were even weaker than the body's original owner had been. Lowest-tier Level 1s. Their powers so meager it was almost cruel to call them "superhuman."
A hunched man with grayish skin and webbed fingers shuffled with his head down, eyes clouded. Another prisoner's back was twisted in an odd, permanent curve, bone-like ridges running along his spine.
Deformed. Altered. But without anything useful to show for it.
Weak abilities. Big drawbacks.
And yet still collared. Still locked away.
Class 2 ability users, like the previous Sol, had it slightly better. Their bodies looked closer to normal. Their abilities were mostly support-based—useful, but limited.
He remembered one of them clearly from the inherited memories.
Phantom.
An ability user who could walk through walls. A lanky man with perpetually tired eyes who would lean against solid concrete as if it were nothing, slipping in and out like a ghost… at least before they slapped a collar on him and tossed him in here.
Class 3 was another level altogether.
Names and faces drifted through Sol's mind.
Fang, who could transform parts of his body into a werewolf's—claws, fangs, fur and all—pushing his strength and speed far beyond human, if only for short bursts.
Blink, who could teleport in flashing hops, but only over short distances. A troublemaker in every memory Sol saw, always darting in and out of reach.
Class 4 ability users…
He thought of Brainwave—remembered watching a video of him once, in the old world. A figure suspended in the air, eyes blazing, telekinetic power holding up an entire twenty-floor building that was moments from collapsing. Twisted steel and concrete floated like weightless blocks around him.
Then The Professor. Albert. A man whose mind could reach into others, twist thoughts, implant illusions, even seize control of unwilling bodies.
Sol's throat went a little dry.
And above them—
Class 5.
His shoulders tensed despite himself.
Class 5 ability users, especially the Alpha rank…
"Outrageous is putting it mildly," he thought.
Alpha ability users were said to have infinite potential. Not just strong—but the kind of strong that spat in the face of physics. Reality-bending. World-shaking. Abilities so unscientific they made everything else look quaint.
What can someone like that really do? he wondered. How far does "infinite potential" go?
He could almost see it. Cities trembling. Skies split open. Time itself bending under a single will.
"I really want to see an Alpha ability user someday," he murmured inwardly. "How far they can go. How ridiculous it gets."
If I live long enough.
His gaze drifted back to the present—to the prisoners trudging along beside him, their shoulders slumped, eyes dulled, collars glinting dully under harsh lights.
They looked like dogs in cages.
No—worse than dogs.
Pitiful.
Sad.
"But… I'm no different," he thought, pausing for half a second in his steps.
A short, bitter laugh slipped out before he could stop it. He quickened his pace and rejoined the flow.
Soon.
He clung to that word like a lifeline.
After what felt longer than it was, the corridor finally spat them out into the open.
Sunlight hit him full in the face.
He squinted instinctively, then stopped, just for a heartbeat, letting it wash over him. The cold wind scraped along his skin, bringing with it the scents of dust, metal fences, and too many bodies crammed into one space.
The yard was ringed by tall walls topped with razor wire, watchtowers looming at the corners. Guards with rifles lounged or paced, eyes hidden behind dark lenses. Cameras watched from metal poles, unblinking.
But all Sol felt for a moment was the sun.
Warmth spread over his cheeks, his neck, his arms. His whole body seemed to loosen.
[+1 Energy point]
[+1 Energy point]
[+1 Energy point]
[+1 Energy point]
…
The reminders chimed again, relentless but comforting now. Each soft beep in his mind synced with the faint pull of light into his cells.
His heart beat a little faster.
He drifted with the crowd toward the center of the yard, turning his face up slightly, like he was simply enjoying the brief taste of open air.
In reality, he was counting points.
A voice snapped him out of it.
"Hey, Sol! Heard you tried to escape a few days ago?"
Sol turned.
A freckled white youth in the same blue prison uniform was weaving through the crowd toward him. Bright eyes. Curious expression. The collar around his neck sat slightly crooked, chafing his skin red.
After a quick once-over, the freckled boy frowned.
"They drag you off for experiments again these past days?" he asked. "You look like crap, man. You okay? you—"
Sol gave a small shake of his head.
The kid's mouth kept going anyway.
"Man, I told you before, there's no escaping from here." He gestured around at the walls, the towers, the watching guns. "Even if you make it out, with this thing on our necks, where can we possibly run?"
His fingers tugged at his collar, the metal digging into the soft skin underneath. The gesture was half frustration, half habit.
Jeering voices rose from a knot of prisoners nearby.
"Exactly! Only an idiot tries to escape," one of them called, laughter sharp and ugly. "Get caught and get punished. Fun, right?"
"You're dreaming if you think you're leaving this place," another added. "Once you're in, you're dead here."
"We can't even use our powers," a third snarled. "If I could get this damn collar off, I'd—"
Sol tuned them out.
His eyes flicked to the invisible panel again, checking the bar.
Light continued to pour in, faster now under the open sky.
Time crawled in minutes, but the numbers rose with satisfying speed.
Soon, Unlock Progress ticked from 3%… to 4%… then—
5%.
The moment it hit, something chimed loud and clear inside his mind.
[Ability: Dark Projectile (Unlocked)]
Sol's breath caught.
He immediately pulled the panel fully into focus, flipping through it with a thought until the new ability appeared.
[Ability: Dark Projectile (0/100) Level 1]
As he focused on the name, a rush of understanding slammed into him—a block of information unfurling in his mind as if it had always been there, waiting.
Details. Mechanics. Images.
He stiffened.
"…Space?" he thought, stunned. "This is a spatial ability?"
For a template called God of Light, he'd expected beams, radiance, maybe healing on steroids.
Not this.
The description formed clearly in his head:
Creating a black hole–like distortion ahead, a shard of void that launched forward. Anything in its path would seem to vanish. In reality, it would endure slicing, devouring space itself.
Unless the target's defenses could withstand the tearing and consumption of space, they would be destroyed.
No conventional shield. No simple wall.
An attack that couldn't be blocked.
Only avoided.
"Isn't this a bit much?" Sol thought, a shiver running down his spine.
Dark Projectile.
Level 1.
And it was already this broken?
"What happens when it levels up…" He caught himself, jaw tightening. "Can I upgrade it with energy points? Or do I have to train it up by use?"
The urge to test it right there burned hot and tempting.
He could already feel the new pathway etched into his body, a place where energy could twist into something darker, heavier, infinitely sharp.
His fingers twitched.
He imagined a flick of his hand, a tiny distortion ripping through the yard, quietly erasing a piece of the concrete, a segment of the fence. A guard.
Then reality crashed back in.
His gaze swept the surroundings.
Other prisoners milled about, some pacing, some huddled talking quietly. Guards watched from the edges and from above. Cameras tracked them all.
If anything unusual happened here—
He blew out a slow breath, forcing the temptation down.
Not now.
He dragged his eyes away from the nearest camera and tilted his head up toward the sky again, adopting a bored, tired look.
It won't be long.
"Maybe tonight," he thought. "Or tomorrow night at the latest."
He couldn't stand this place any longer.
The experiments. The collars. The way people like Josh looked at him.
Sol's eyes hardened, expectation and cold resolve blending in their depths.
[+1 Energy point]
[+1 Energy point]
[+1 Energy point]
…
The notifications continued, steady as a heartbeat.
He let them come, harvesting every scrap of light he could, already planning how many points he'd need, how best to use Dark Projectile, where the cameras were, how the guards rotated.
Far away, in a world that felt like it belonged to someone else, a luxurious mansion sat bathed in afternoon sun.
Inside, in a quiet study lined with books and dim screens, an old man and a young man faced each other, their expressions grave.
"Professor," the younger man said, red eyes glinting beneath dark hair. "You're sure? You sensed an immense energy source… On the same level to Phoenix's?"
Scott's voice was controlled, but the shock in it was obvious.
Across from him, in an office chair, sat the Professor—Albert. His eyes were closed for a moment, as if still listening to an echo only he could hear. When he opened them, their usual calm held a tremor of lingering fear.
He nodded slowly.
"I'm sure," Albert said, his tone heavy. "Just for a moment—but the energy was… enormous. Scott, we must find that child quickly."
He stared past Scott, as if seeing again the flare only his mind had registered.
"Besides Phoenix," he continued, voice low, "I've never sensed such power. That child might be an Alpha-level ability user."
Alpha.
The word hung in the air like a thunderclap.
Albert's tone grew more urgent. "We have to find him and teach him control. If he loses it… the damage could be irreparable. We're already hated enough as it is."
Scott's fingers curled into fists at his sides.
No one knew Phoenix's power better than he did. The scale of it. The constant risk. The destruction that could follow a single misstep.
And now the Professor was telling him someone else might exist with that kind of power?
His first instinct was disbelief. A gut reaction that whispered: impossible.
But this was Albert.
He didn't want to accuse him of being wrong.
Scott hesitated for a moment, then exhaled slowly and nodded, brow furrowed.
"Professor," he said, "I'll go. But I need a precise location."
Albert's expression tightened with regret.
"That's the problem," he admitted. "This child is different. Special. After that first surge, I lost track. I can't sense him anymore."
He moved closer to a display, eyes flicking to a marked point on a map.
"Scott," he said quietly, "go to the place I told you. Search carefully. Ask questions. Follow any hint of unusual activity."
His gaze hardened.
"We can't afford to lose him to fear," Albert murmured. "Or to the ones who would cage him."
Back in the prison yard, under a harsher sun, Sol tilted his head up and closed his eyes for a stolen instant, letting light soak into his skin as he silently counted down the moments to his escape.