The dorm bathroom light flickered like it didn’t trust him.
Adrian locked the door twice.
The room was narrow. Tile floor. Cheap mirror with a crack in the lower right corner from some previous resident’s breakdown. The air smelled faintly of bleach and someone else’s cologne.
He turned the faucet on, then off. Just to hear something normal.
He looked at himself.
Hospital discharge bracelet still on his wrist.
Eyes still red.
Not bloodshot.
Not irritated.
Red.
Like polished stone.
“Alright,” he muttered. “Let’s see what you gave me.”
He closed his eyes.
Lucifer’s voice had said nothing about activation phrases. No ritual. No chant. Just will.
So he reached inward.
There.
A second pulse beneath his heartbeat.
Slow.
Heavy.
Ancient.
He pushed toward it.
The response was immediate.
His spine snapped straight.
Air punched out of his lungs.
Every muscle in his body seized as if hooked to a live wire.
“—ghk—”
He grabbed the sink.
The pulse answered his call.
And something inside him began to move.
It started with his ribs.
They didn’t break.
They shifted.
Sliding subtly against one another, expanding outward as if making room.
His abdomen tightened violently.
Something rearranged beneath the skin.
Organs compressing. Repositioning.
His stomach lurched so hard he nearly vomited.
“Thirty seconds,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “You can handle thirty seconds.”
His shoulders jerked back.
Bones elongated.
His collarbone cracked — not fractured, but lengthened.
His skin burned.
Not surface heat.
Internal.
Like molten iron poured through his veins.
Black lines began to creep beneath his skin.
Not veins.
Plating.
His reflection warped.
The whites of his eyes darkened.
The red sharpened.
His fingers curled involuntarily.
Nails hardened.
Lengthened slightly.
Not claws.
Not yet.
His back arched violently.
A sound escaped him — half scream, half animal snarl.
His spine thickened.
He could feel vertebrae shift into heavier alignment.
Something pressed beneath the skin of his shoulder blades.
Not wings.
Potential.
Armor surfaced.
It didn’t grow on him.
It emerged from him.
Dark, scaled plating pushed outward along his arms, ribs, and thighs. Matte black with faint crimson seams glowing between segments.
Humanoid.
But wrong.
Taller by an inch or two.
Broader.
Structured like something built for combat.
He stared at the mirror.
A scaled, armored version of himself stared back.
His face was still Adrian.
But sharper.
Angles harder.
Eyes glowing steadily.
The entire transformation had taken—
He glanced at the wall clock through the cracked mirror reflection.
Twenty-eight seconds.
His chest heaved.
The pain didn’t vanish.
It settled.
Like coals beneath skin.
He flexed his hand.
The scales shifted smoothly over muscle.
Efficient.
Stronger.
He punched the tiled wall.
The impact cracked tile and spidered through plaster behind it.
No recoil pain.
Just vibration.
A slow grin spread across his altered face.
“So this is inefficient?”
He released the form.
The reversion was worse.
Everything that had rearranged demanded to return.
Bones compressed.
Organs slid.
Muscles tightened violently.
He dropped to one knee as the plating retracted beneath skin like ink sinking into water.
His normal body reassembled itself with brutal indifference.
When it finished, he was sweating.
Hands shaking.
His vision swam.
He looked up.
Red eyes still there.
He leaned closer to the mirror.
Something else flickered.
The bathroom air looked… wrong.
A faint distortion near the ceiling vent.
Like heat shimmer.
No.
Like frequency interference.
He blinked.
It sharpened.
A low hum filled his ears.
He focused on it.
The shimmer intensified into a faint red outline.
Anomaly.
The word surfaced instinctively.
He tilted his head.
The distortion pulsed once—
Then faded.
The hum died.
His vision returned to normal.
He staggered back slightly.
“That wasn’t there before.”
He tried to force it again.
The red in his eyes brightened.
Pain stabbed behind his temples.
The shimmer returned briefly, outlining the metal plumbing in the wall.
Not anomaly.
Energy flow.
He exhaled slowly.
“So I can see… interference.”
A grin tugged at his mouth.
A tool.
A weapon.
He looked at the cracked tile where he had punched.
He felt the heavy pulse beneath his heartbeat again.
Steadier now.
Satisfied.
He straightened.
Wiped sweat from his face.
“You wanted Pride,” he murmured quietly to the empty room.
His red reflection smirked.
“You got him.”
Adrian tests his power in the field — and monetizes it.
“You’re seriously starting a channel?”
The guy in front of Adrian in the campus café line glanced at his phone screen.
Adrian didn’t look up. “Diversified income stream.”
“Ghost hunting?”
“Urban exploration with cultural commentary,” Adrian corrected smoothly.
The guy blinked. “Right.”
Adrian took his coffee and left.
That night, the abandoned hospital loomed like it had something to prove.
Saint Mercy General.
Closed twelve years ago after a fire on the fourth floor. Three casualties. One lawsuit. The insurance payout never covered repairs. Since then, it had lived online as a “haunted hotspot.”
Adrian stood across the street, staring at it.
Windows black.
Facade scorched near the upper levels.
Chain-link fence partially collapsed on one side.
He adjusted the black mask covering his face — full coverage, matte fabric, no features except eye cutouts. Neutral. Forgettable.
His phone was mounted to a stabilizer. Portable battery pack in his jacket pocket.
He opened the streaming app.
Channel name: DemonHunter06
Zero subscribers.
“Let’s fix that,” he muttered.
He hit Go Live.
The screen counted down.
The front-facing camera reflected his masked face.
He lowered his voice slightly.
“Evening, everyone. DemonHunter06 here. Tonight we’re exploring Saint Mercy General — abandoned since the fire. Locals say the fourth floor is active.”
Two viewers joined immediately.
Bots, probably.
He turned the camera toward the building.
“We’ll be using standard EMF apps and thermal scans.”
He smirked beneath the mask.
And one additional tool.
He ducked through the broken section of fence.
The front doors were boarded up, but someone had pried one loose long ago. He slipped inside.
The air hit him first.
Dust.
Mildew.
Old insulation.
The faint metallic scent of water damage.
His boots crunched over broken tile.
The beam from his phone’s flashlight cut through darkness.
Graffiti covered the walls.
A wheelchair lay tipped on its side near reception.
“Classic horror setup,” he said casually into the stream. “Ten out of ten ambiance.”
Four viewers now.
A comment popped up:
fake
He chuckled softly.
“Let’s see.”
He let his eyes shift.
The red deepened.
The hum returned.
Low.
Steady.
He focused.
The world subtly re-layered itself.
Edges shimmered faintly.
Cold spots became visible as slight distortions in space.
Nothing major yet.
He moved deeper.
The hallway narrowed.
Peeling paint.
Ceiling tiles sagging.
Somewhere upstairs, something scraped.
Not wind.
He paused.
Chat jumped from four to eight viewers.
“Probably raccoons,” he said calmly.
But his supernatural sight sharpened.
There.
Down the corridor.
A distortion.
Stronger than the plumbing in his dorm.
Denser.
Like ink bleeding into water.
He angled the camera away from it.
No need to broadcast everything.
He walked toward it slowly.
Each step echoed.
The hum intensified.
By the time he reached the stairwell, it was vibrating through his sternum.
He switched the camera to rear view and angled it toward himself.
“If anything happens, you’re seeing it live.”
His pulse quickened.
Not fear.
Anticipation.
He climbed.
Each step creaked.
The fourth floor landing smelled burnt.
The air was colder.
Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
The distortion was no longer subtle.
It pooled near the end of the hallway like a shadow that refused to match the light source.
He stopped streaming for a second — toggled the app so the camera still recorded locally but chat couldn’t see.
Monetization mattered.
But control mattered more.
He stepped forward.
The distortion thickened.
The red in his vision flared.
And something moved within the shadow.
Tall.
Wrongly proportioned.
Limbs too long.
Its head tilted sideways at an unnatural angle.
Skin stretched thin and gray like damp paper.
Its jaw opened wider than anatomy allowed.
The hum snapped into a piercing tone.
Adrian inhaled slowly.
“We found you.”
The creature lurched forward.
Fast.
He let the transformation begin.
Pain exploded through him instantly.
His body rearranged mid-charge.
Ribs expanding.
Muscles thickening.
Armor forcing outward from flesh.
The demon collided with him halfway down the corridor.
Its claws scraped against forming scales.
Sparks of red-black energy spat from the contact point.
He slammed it into the wall.
Drywall shattered.
The creature shrieked — a high, metallic screech that made the windows tremble.
It bit into his shoulder.
Teeth cracked against emerging plating.
He grabbed its skull.
Its skin felt cold and slick.
“Back,” he growled.
He drove it into the floor.
The impact split tile.
The creature clawed at him frantically.
Its limbs elongated further, trying to wrap around him.
He felt something shift in his chest.
Energy pooling.
Instinct guided him.
He clenched his fist and drove it straight through the creature’s torso.
Not flesh.
Smoke.
Its body ruptured into black vapor.
The vapor tried to scatter.
He reacted without thinking.
He pulled.
The vapor condensed toward his palm as if gravity reversed.
A small, jagged tear in the air opened beneath the dissipating mass.
The rift was unstable.
Thin.
He shoved the vapor into it.
The tear sealed with a faint snapping sound.
Silence flooded the hallway.
His breathing echoed loudly in the emptiness.
The red glow in his eyes dimmed slightly.
He felt it immediately.
Energy.
Dark mana.
Not explosive.
But noticeable.
Like inhaling clean air after smoke.
His armor began retracting painfully.
Reversion hit harder than before.
His knees buckled as bones compressed back into place.
He braced himself against the wall.
Sweat soaked through his shirt beneath the mask.
He looked down at his hands.
Human again.
But trembling.
“That’s… inefficient,” he muttered.
He checked his phone.
Recording still active.
He reviewed the footage quickly.
The creature barely visible.
Just distortion.
Growls.
Wall exploding.
Perfect.
Ambiguous enough to trend.
He restarted the live feed.
“Fourth floor had structural instability,” he said lightly. “We’re wrapping up for tonight.”
Viewers: 23.
He smiled under the mask.
As he descended the stairs, he activated his sight again briefly.
Scanning.
Searching.
The hum had faded.
But something else flickered faintly across the city skyline through the broken window.
A distant surge.
Cleaner.
Brighter.
Structured.
Stronger than what he just killed.
It vanished before he could focus.
He lowered his gaze.
“That one,” he murmured quietly.
“I’ll find you.”
Midnight calculations. Pride measures himself against the system.
00:17 AM.
His dorm room was dark except for the cold glow of his laptop.
Adrian shut the door quietly behind him and leaned against it for a moment. His muscles still felt misaligned. Not injured. Just… recently rearranged.
He peeled off the black mask and dropped it onto his desk.
His phone buzzed.
DemonHunter06 — 47 new subscribers.
He allowed himself a small smile.
“Scalable,” he murmured.
Then he sat down.
Typed:
US Hero Association Registry Application
The page loaded with a polished government seal at the top. Beneath it:
Mandatory Registration for All Manifested Individuals
Failure to disclose ability status is subject to prosecution under Federal Anomaly Act 12.4
He clicked Apply.
The form appeared.
Full Legal Name:
Age:
Primary Ability Classification:
(Earthly / Unknown / Multi-Source / Pending Review)
Ability Description:
Ability Origin:
(Manifestation / Inheritance / External Grant / Unknown)
Combat Potential Assessment:
Additional Skills / Education:
Psychological Evaluation Consent:
He leaned back.
“Psychological evaluation,” he scoffed softly.
He clicked another tab.
Public Hero Rankings — United States
The page populated with ranked lists.
S-Class.
A-Class.
B-Class.
C-Class.
D-Class.
He scrolled slowly.
Individuals capable of independent national destabilization.
He skimmed.
Explosive manipulators. Gravity users. Weather control. Regeneration types. Reality distorters (limited).
He wasn’t delusional.
Not yet.
He scrolled down.
Capable of coordinated city-level defense.
Rank 1.
Rank 25.
Rank 78.
Rank 146.
He paused around the 130–170 range.
These were strong, but not catastrophic.
Enhanced physiques. Elemental manipulators. Spatial cutters. Energy projection types.
He imagined himself stepping into the evaluation chamber.
Transformation time: ~30 seconds.
Duration: Limited.
Energy drain: Severe.
Seal capability: Yes.
Anomaly detection: Early stage.
Combat efficiency: Brutal.
He did the math.
Even inefficient, even unstable—
He could crush most B-Class.
He could compete in low A.
Top 150 was realistic.
Top 120 within months.
If he optimized.
He leaned forward slightly.
“Low A,” he said quietly.
His reflection in the dark screen stared back.
Red eyes faint in the glass.
Then he kept scrolling.
A separate section caught his eye.
Villain Classification Index
Humanity Threat
Country Threat
City Threat
City Block Threat
Street Threat
Beneath it:
Unregistered Manifested Individuals will be provisionally categorized until evaluation.
He stared at that line.
Unregistered.
Provisional.
Categorized.
His jaw tightened.
He opened another tab.
Energy Signature Detection Protocol.
He skimmed.
The Association used frequency scanners during registration interviews. Cross-referenced energy output. Logged spectral patterns.
Infernal signatures were flagged.
Demonic manifestations were automatically reviewed under containment advisory.
Containment advisory.
He closed the tab slowly.
“They’re not building heroes,” he murmured.
“They’re building filters.”
He imagined walking into that office.
Thirty-second transformation under fluorescent lights.
Black armor surfacing from flesh.
Infernal frequency spiking the scanner.
Red flag.
Containment.
Observation.
Weaponization, maybe.
Or disposal.
He leaned back in his chair.
“They’re against people like me.”
He opened the S-Class page again.
Studied the polished headshots.
Perfect smiles.
Clean energy.
Government partnerships.
Corporate sponsorships.
Brand deals.
He thought about the hospital hallway.
About dragging a demon into a tear in space.
About feeling that dark mana return.
There was no category for that.
No checkbox for:
Warden of Pride.
He looked back at the application form.
His cursor blinked in the Name field.
Adrian Vale.
He could type it.
Submit.
Let them test him.
Let them rank him.
Let them validate him.
But validation required submission.
And Pride did not submit.
He closed the application.
Not hesitantly.
Deliberately.
“If they want to stop demons,” he said quietly, “they can pay their S-Class to handle it.”
He tapped his own chest lightly.
“I’ll handle what they can’t detect.”
He refreshed his channel page instead.
48 subscribers.
He checked the hospital recording again.
The distortion when the creature emerged was subtle.
Good.
Let speculation do the work.
He leaned back in his chair.
His body throbbed faintly.
A delayed burn beneath his ribs.
He pressed a palm against his abdomen.
The pulse beneath his heartbeat answered.
Slow.
Satisfied.
But when he activated his sight briefly—
Just to test—
A faint shimmer flickered across the room.
Not near him.
Not inside him.
Outside.
Through the dorm window.
Somewhere across campus.
Cleaner.
Brighter.
Structured.
It vanished before he could lock onto it.
His temples throbbed.
He shut his eyes.
“Soon,” he whispered.
He didn’t know to whom.
Efficiency has a cost. Pride pays it in public.
The memory wouldn’t leave.
Not the demon.
Not the hallway.
Not even the rift sealing.
It was the spine.
The way it had forced his organs to shift aside.
The way his ribs had expanded like something trying to crawl out of him.
Adrian walked into Business Strategy at 10:02 AM with that sensation still echoing in his body.
Seven hours of sleep.
Measured.
Optimized.
He had gone to bed at 1:08 AM.
Alarm at 8:10.
Routine intact.
And yet—
His limbs felt heavier than they should.
Not sore.
Compressed.
Like something inside him had taken up more space than permitted.
He sat near the center row.
Notebook open.
Laptop ready.
Professor Halberg paced at the front, discussing competitive leverage in emerging markets.
Adrian had read the chapter already.
Annotated it.
Memorized the bonus section case study.
He knew Halberg’s habits.
The professor loved cold-calling for “participation boosters.”
Extra credit for immediate, concise responses.
Adrian specialized in those.
He leaned back slightly.
Waited.
Halberg turned.
“Alright. If a mid-tier firm wants to disrupt an entrenched market leader, what’s the first strategic lever it should examine?”
Adrian’s hand moved—
Stopped.
His head felt… slow.
The question echoed oddly in his ears.
First strategic lever.
Cost structure.
Supply chain weakness.
Regulatory exploitation.
He knew this.
He’d rehearsed it.
His pulse thudded harder than usual.
Too loud.
He blinked.
The words on the slide blurred.
Focus.
You want the bonus.
Raise your hand.
His fingers twitched.
But his thoughts lagged half a second behind his intent.
A strange pressure built behind his eyes.
As if something was trying to activate.
Not now.
He forced air into his lungs.
Halberg scanned the room.
“Yes? Anyone?”
Adrian tried to lift his arm again.
It felt disconnected.
The classroom lights buzzed faintly overhead.
That buzzing deepened.
Aligned with the pulse beneath his heartbeat.
No.
Not aligned.
Interfering.
His vision tunneled.
The slide text smeared into streaks.
A wave of heat surged up his spine.
He tried to brace—
Too late.
His body tipped forward.
The edge of his desk struck his ribs as he fell.
Then his face hit the floor.
Hard.
The room gasped collectively.
Chairs scraped.
Someone muttered, “Holy—”
Halberg’s voice cut sharply through the noise.
“Mr. Vale?”
Adrian didn’t move immediately.
He could feel the tile against his cheek.
Cool.
Smooth.
His ears rang faintly.
Then—
The red came.
Not voluntary.
His eyes opened.
The world was wrong.
Edges vibrated.
Light fractured into layered spectrums.
The fluorescent fixtures overhead weren’t just lights anymore—
They were energy streams.
He could see their frequency bleeding into the air.
The hum roared back.
Stronger than the hospital.
Stronger than anything he’d sensed yet.
It wasn’t coming from the ceiling.
It wasn’t coming from outside.
It was inside the room.
Close.
Very close.
“Adrian?”
Halberg’s shoes entered his peripheral vision.
“Did you hit your head? You look pale.”
Adrian pushed himself up slowly.
His muscles trembled faintly.
“I’m fine,” he said, voice controlled.
Too controlled.
A few students watched with mild concern.
No one laughed.
Which irritated him more than mockery would have.
“I didn’t sleep enough,” he added lightly.
Halberg frowned. “You overwork yourself. If you need to step out—”
“I’m fine.”
He stood.
Steadier now.
But his vision remained altered.
The red overlay refused to fade.
The frequency distortion he’d seen across campus last night—
It was here.
In this room.
Massive.
Clean.
Structured.
It didn’t ripple like demonic energy.
It pulsed in perfect rhythm.
Golden-white filaments layered beneath the air itself.
Like a miniature star compressed into human shape.
His breathing slowed involuntarily.
Impossible.
No one in this class—
His gaze moved.
Row by row.
Faces blurred by distortion.
Then—
It centered.
Cassian Whitmore.
Tall.
Relaxed posture.
Sleeves rolled to forearms.
Blonde hair catching the fluorescent light like it belonged there.
He was mid-sentence to the girl beside him, completely unaware.
But to Adrian’s altered sight—
Cassian wasn’t flesh.
He was a blazing core wrapped in a human outline.
Energy spiraled tightly around him.
Contained.
Efficient.
It dwarfed Adrian’s own leaking, jagged aura by comparison.
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
That’s not possible.
The hum intensified the moment their eyes met.
Cassian paused slightly.
Just for half a second.
A flicker of awareness crossing his face.
Then it was gone.
He went back to listening to the lecture.
Unbothered.
Adrian’s temples throbbed sharply.
The red overlay flickered violently—
Then shut off.
The classroom snapped back to normal lighting.
Normal edges.
Normal air.
He staggered slightly and grabbed the edge of his desk.
Halberg watched him carefully.
“You sure you’re alright?”
Adrian forced a calm expression.
“Yeah.”
He looked at Cassian again.
Just human.
Smirking faintly at something someone whispered to him.
Adored.
Effortless.
Perfect posture.
Perfect grades.
Perfect future.
And now—
That energy.
That enormous, structured, superior energy.
Adrian felt something twist beneath his ribs.
Not physical pain.
Something worse.
Resentment solidifying into shape.
The bonus question had already been answered by someone else.
He hadn’t even noticed who.
For the first time in years—
He had missed his shot.
Because of him.
Because of whatever that was.
Cassian laughed quietly at something, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.
Adrian stared.
The hum still echoed faintly in his ears.
That wasn’t a ghost.
That wasn’t a demon.
That was—
He swallowed.
When class ended, Cassian stood casually, gathering his laptop.
Unaware.
Still unaware.
Adrian remained seated for three seconds longer.
Then slowly packed his things.
Eyes never leaving him.
Resentment finds a pretext.
The red overlay never returned during lunch.
Which irritated him.
He wanted confirmation.
Instead, he got fluorescent lights, plastic trays, and the sound of other people living uncomplicated lives.
Adrian sat alone, scrolling through market analytics on his tablet.
Across the cafeteria, Cassian sat at a crowded table.
Three girls. Two guys. Laughter easy, unforced.
Cassian leaned back in his chair, saying something that made the table erupt again.
He didn’t even look like he was trying.
Adrian lowered his gaze back to the tablet.
Energy efficiency.
That’s what it was.
Cassian’s power was efficient.
Contained.
Not leaking like a cracked pipe.
That meant experience.
Or origin difference.
Afternoon classes came and went.
No participation-heavy lectures.
No bonus point traps.
Adrian allowed himself to rest his head against his folded arms during International Finance.
Not sleep.
Just calibration.
The burn beneath his ribs dulled slightly.
His pulse stabilized.
By the time the last lecture ended, the exhaustion had receded to something manageable.
Students flooded the hallway.
Lockers clanged.
Voices overlapped.
Cassian stepped out of the classroom, slipping his phone into his pocket.
Adrian moved with purpose.
Intercepted him near the stairwell.
“Cassian.”
Cassian turned.
Neutral expression shifting into polite recognition.
“Vale.”
Always last names.
Measured.
Professional.
“We need to talk,” Adrian said.
Cassian adjusted the strap on his bag. “About?”
“The group project.”
Cassian tilted his head slightly. “Due in three weeks.”
“I know.”
“Then I’m impressed by your sudden interest in collaboration.”
Adrian’s mouth twitched faintly.
“There’s a contingent matter.”
Cassian’s eyebrow lifted almost imperceptibly. “That sounds expensive.”
“It might be.”
Cassian studied him for a second longer than usual.
Then shrugged lightly. “Alright. Where?”
“Not here.”
Cassian glanced around the crowded hallway.
“That’s ominous.”
Adrian didn’t smile.
“Five minutes. Alley behind the business building.”
Cassian stared at him.
Then chuckled once under his breath. “You’re aware that’s where people get stabbed.”
“Do I look like I carry a knife?”
Cassian’s gaze flicked briefly to Adrian’s hands.
“No,” he said lightly. “You look like you outsource.”
A few students brushed past them.
The hallway thinned.
Cassian shifted his weight.
“Fine,” he said finally. “Five minutes.”
He walked toward the exit without another word.
Adrian followed.
The late afternoon air was cooler.
Cloud cover muted the sun.
They rounded the side of the business building.
The alley was narrow.
Brick walls on both sides.
A dumpster near the back.
Security camera above the rear door — broken for months.
Adrian had checked.
Cassian stopped halfway down the alley and turned.
“Alright,” he said casually. “What’s the crisis?”
His tone was relaxed.
Unaware.
Completely unaware.
Adrian stepped forward slowly.
The hum began again.
Faint.
Growing.
His pulse aligned with it.
“You’re not what you look like,” Adrian said.
Cassian blinked once.
“That’s vague.”
Adrian took another step.
The red ignited in his eyes.
Cassian’s expression shifted slightly.
Not fear.
Alertness.
“What’s this about?” Cassian asked.
Adrian’s lips curved into a slow smirk beneath steady red eyes.
“I’ve always wanted to do this.”
Cassian’s brow furrowed faintly. “Do wh—”
The transformation began.
Bones cracked into alignment.
Armor surged beneath skin.
The alley filled with the sound of muscle tearing and reforming.
Cassian took an involuntary half-step back.
“What the hell—”
Dark scales burst outward across Adrian’s shoulders.
His frame expanded.
Eyes blazing fully crimson.
“Now,” Adrian finished, voice deeper, layered with something not entirely human,
“I finally have a reason.”
He lunged.