Ulysses wasn't hungry. Not really. His mind kept circling back to school and the fight.
Scott and his gang had nearly killed him. That couldn't go unanswered.
He could go to the authorities, but without bruises or real injuries to show for it, they'd just say he made it up.
That left him with only one option: personal vendetta.
It'd be easy. Turn the others against that pig-faced bastard. Threaten to expose them all, make them scared of being dragged down with him.
If that didn't work, he had other ways.
Bullies were cowards. He could blackmail one, force them to sabotage the group from the inside. And if that failed... well, he'd just beat and threaten.
They wouldn't tell the others out of fear of looking weak.
Ulysses smiled darkly.
But wait, did he even have to go to school now? He could walk into a police station and report himself as a recently awakened beholder.
There were many web novels where the protagonist would awaken their powers and join Hyper Command. He could just do that.
"You're not eating, Lys," Father said between bites of oriental rice.
"Sorry," Ulysses said. "I was just thinking about... school."
"Are any courses giving you trouble?"
"It's actually the opposite."
"Very funny," Father said. "I try to be concerned, but it makes no difference to my genius child."
"Well, I have the genes of my two lovely parents to thank."
"Ha!" Father chuckled, "That's a new one."
Then he put on his serious face,
"Don't joke with your academics," he grabbed his satchel, before standing up from the table.
"Alright, I'm off to the plant," he said before closing the door behind him. "Finish your meal before you leave."
"Yes, Father."
A few minutes after Father had gone, Uly stretched out his palm, as though suddenly remembering something.
After a brief strain, sparks crackled across his skin, small at first, then swelling into a flickering arc as a crude blade materialized.
He observed the blade for a few seconds and grinned.
"Let's see what else I can do…"
He tried transforming the blade into something else... let's say manacles!
Then something wondrous happened! The blade deconstructed into sparks and reformed as a pair of manacles, one cuffed around his wrist, and the other dangling freely by a chain.
Then he sent another command, and the free manacle deconstructed into sparks of light. The sparks twisted mid-air, reforming into a blade; this one less crude than the last.
He studied it for a minute or two. The deep gray hue, the faintly dingy surface, and the dull metallic sheen all pointed to one conclusion: iron.
It was a poor rendering of a blade, sure, but unmistakably iron, down to its slightly uneven, crystalline texture.
That, in itself, said more than he liked to admit.
Not about the material. About his craftsmanship.
His craftsmanship, or maybe his imagination, was way worse than he cared to admit.
'I should study more blades.'
Was iron the only thing he could create?
This made him curious.
He gave another command, and the blade dissolved into sparks once more, this time reforming into a flat sheet of iron.
I guess that settles it.
He'd tried to make a sheet of paper… but ended up with a slab of metal instead.
So, his constructs were limited to iron. Disappointing, but not surprising. It would've been wishful thinking to imagine he could create anything from thin air.
Still, iron wasn't nothing.
With another command, the sheet shifted, reshaping itself in a shimmer of sparks. In seconds, it was a blade again.
Satisfied with the result, Uly carefully gave it a new command.
Without pause, the blade shot from the palm of his hand. It flew halfway across the kitchen, nearly reaching the counter, before crashing down like a spaceship in a low-budget sci-fi film.
"Tch," he hissed, giving another command.
Clank! Clank! The blade flopped helplessly on the floor, twitching like a fish out of water. It tried to fly, but all it could do was flop and clatter.
With a dejected sigh, he released his hold on the blade and watched it dissolve into a whirlwind of sparks.
Then he constructed a new one, taking form from the ends of the manacle's chain; only this time, he made the chain longer.
With a second command, the blade shot out again. He managed to hold control over it, just barely long enough to guide it onto the counter instead of crashing into the floor.
Progress.
He gave another command, and the blade reeled back like a grappling hook, chain rattling as it snapped into his grasp.
"Pretty cool," he muttered, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He wanted to try more tests on this new ability, but time wasn't on his side.
With a reluctant sigh, he got up and washed his plate. Then he grabbed his bag, stepped out, and locked the apartment door behind him.
#
It was 7:30 AM. Ulysses was on his way to the station when he discovered something new.
Another ability.
He could feel the momentary gazes of each passerby.
Flickers of attention brushed against his mind like static. It was mildly maddening, like his brain was being overcooked, slowly melting into mush.
He clenched his jaw. He needed to figure out how to limit the range of this ability.
"Ah, mon ami! Ze wezzair eez très magnifique, non? A perfect day for a little wine and some good company, eh?" came a familiar, theatrical voice.
Ulysses turned and saw Monsieur Fleur, a Third maintenance worker, sauntering toward him. The man wore his usual bright scarf and a grin, already heading in the same direction, toward the Metro station.
"Yeah, feels like winter'll be over sooner than expected," Ulysses replied.
The comment drew a grin from the old Frenchman, but his eyes flicked to the faint bruises along Ulysses' neck.
"Papa was rough again?" he asked gently.
Ulysses said nothing.
"Ha~" Monsieur Fleur sighed, the humor draining briefly from his tone.
Then, without a word, he reached into his satchel and pulled out a worn paperback, with the corners curled and the cover faded. He handed it over.
"Eh, I wanted to give you this. Eez good stuff, oui? You will like it, I am sure!" he said in his usual exaggerated flair.
Ulysses took the book and read the title aloud, his face lighting up. "John Hammers and the Venusians?"
His eyes sparkled. "Thank you, Monsieur Fleur!"
"Ha-ha! I knew you'd like it!" Monsieur Fleur laughed, puffing out his chest. "Don't sweat it. It was just catching dust in my collection!"
"That reminds me…"
They chatted casually the rest of the way, their conversation skipping between books, weather, and the usual gripes about the district lifts.
When they arrived, the station was already busy. A crowd of Third workers gathered, waiting for transport to the higher districts.
The tram arrived swiftly and made quick work of the journey.
Along with the other Thirds who had jobs or repair work to do, Ulysses and Mr. Fleur disembarked at one of the polished, steel-trimmed platforms.
The high districts were a different world full of sleek buildings and clean streets.
Commuters in tailored coats rushed past, casting curious or cautious glances at the group of Thirds.
Thirds were indeed out of place here
"Alright, begone to school, you little rascal!" Monsieur Fleur laughed, waving him off.
"Yeah, I will," Ulysses replied with a grin. But he had no intention of going to school.
He was heading to the police station to report his awakening.
Rumble.
The ground trembled, and the sky darkened with a sudden shadow. Heads turned. Conversations died mid-sentence.
Above, silhouetted against the once-blue sky, loomed something immense.
The object moved.
Six ribbon-like limbs unfurled from a geometrically perfect, oval-shaped body. Each ribbon ignited one by one in a fire that burned the full spectrum of visible light. Crimson, gold, green, azure, violet, white, shifting with unnatural intensity.
Then it opened its maw.
And from that impossible mouth came a roar in the form of a shockwave. The shockwave exploded outward, rippling through weak buildings, rattling glass, and sending flocks of birds screaming from their roosts.
The city shook.
#
Pop!The siren blared to life with a burst of static.
NoiseFieldPattern:BLUEDETECTED.ALLCIVILIANS,PLEASEEVACUATETOTHENEARESTBUNKERS.Noise Field Pattern: BLUE DETECTED. ALL CIVILIANS, PLEASE EVACUATE TO THE NEAREST BUNKERS.NoiseFieldPattern:BLUEDETECTED.ALLCIVILIANS,PLEASEEVACUATETOTHENEARESTBUNKERS.
ROARRRR!Another deafening roar tore through the air. The station trembled, and whatever order remained dissolved instantly. People screamed. Workers dropped their tools. Uniformed staff abandoned their posts. Chaos surged like a wave.
Ulysses stood frozen.
Whoosh!
A sudden gust swept through the station as something flashed overhead; jets, sleek and fast, streaking toward the monstrosity in tight formation.
But faster than the jets, figures soared through the air; capes whipping behind them, armor gleaming with blinding radiance.
Beholders.
They closed the gap in seconds, a blur of motion and light, outpacing the jets with terrifying ease.
Boom!
Tiny blossoms of fire dotted the sky, explosions bursting against the monster's surface like fireworks against the dark beyond.
Then, from above, another wave of Beholders descended like falling stars, plummeting straight toward the abomination with streaks of light trailing behind them.
They danced through the sky like bees drawn to violent, radiant pollen, weaving around each other with inhuman grace. The jets kept formation behind them, offering covering fire; precise, controlled, almost surgical.
And Ulysses could only stare, eyes wide, with shallow breaths.
"Mon ami!"
He turned to see a pale, shaken Monsieur Fleur. "I know you want to keep staring, but we have to get to safety!"
Ulysses blinked, then gave a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah… you're right."
#
Some time later, Ulysses found himself deep inside a massive underground bunker, one of many, likely scattered across the city, built to house tens of thousands in emergencies like this.
The space was wide and sterile, filled with rows of benches, water stations, and screens showing emergency broadcasts. People huddled together, families, workers, strangers bound by shared fear.
The ceiling lights flickered with every distant explosion.
Ulysses sat alone for a moment.
Above them, a war was being waged against something no one had words for.
And deep down, something inside him stirred restlessly, burning.