Sol weighed his options and felt his stomach knot.
If he forced a Dark Projectile out at full power, used those dark particles to obliterate the mutant controller in an instant while the device was still reacting, then bolted along the route he'd mapped during the day—
He might get out.
Or he might get caught. Dragged back. Punished. Strapped down on a cold table, cut open again until there was nothing left of him but scraps.
He'd thought about another path. Laying low. Enduring. Quietly gathering strength. Waiting until he was strong enough to crush this entire research base in one decisive strike.
On paper, it sounded safer.
In reality, staying might mean dying sooner.
He could feel it—like a shadow hanging over him. A second experiment looming, closer than before. The kind that wouldn't leave him enough life to crawl back to his cell afterward.
He opened his panel.
[Age: 16 (Remaining Lifespan: 114 days)]
Sol's expression darkened.
Die slowly by staying. Or risk everything tonight and maybe survive.
Even an idiot could see which choice made more sense.
He was still staring at the numbers when something else made him pause.
When he'd used Dark Projectile earlier, he'd felt his internal energy dip slightly—just enough to notice. Now, though, he could feel it quietly creeping back up.
He hadn't been absorbing sunlight.
In fact, the only light coming into the cell now was cold and silver.
"Is this from the moon?" Sol wondered, eyes flicking to the small window.
Moonlight spilled through the bars in a faint, pale strip. Now that he was paying attention, he could feel a subtle, different sort of pull—cool instead of warm, but still feeding something inside him.
So moonlight counted too.
His heart gave a small, hopeful kick.
He shifted his position, dragging himself and his thin blanket so that more of his body fell under the bluish glow. The stone under him was cold, leeching warmth from his skin, but he ignored it and tilted his head, exposing his neck and chest to the light.
No notifications appeared.
No [+1 Energy point] chimes.
But inside, his depleted energy pool steadily refilled, like a reservoir slowly rising.
After nearly half an hour without a single prompt, yet feeling his inner reserves nearing full, a thought clicked into place.
"So I can't collect Energy Points until my internal energy's topped off," he mused. "The light fills me first."
He turned the idea over in his head.
Light energy prioritized his body—his basic fuel—before contributing to the system's currency. A survival safeguard, maybe. Or just another limitation.
He focused inward again and noticed something else.
The total amount of light energy he could hold had increased.
Before unlocking Dark Projectile and Echo Shield, his energy pool had been smaller—clear edges he could feel instinctively. Back then, a single use of Dark Projectile burned through about one-tenth of his reserves. Ten shots, and he'd be empty.
He'd worried about that. About running out of juice in the middle of a fight. About collapsing, helpless, because a few seconds of power had cost him everything.
Now, those limits had shifted.
The capacity in his body had stretched, like a container that had been reforged and reinforced.
"As more God of Light abilities unlock, my storage goes up," he realized. "More energy. More uses."
That fear of immediately burning out drained away, replaced by a steady, simmering confidence.
With the last of his strength, Sol grabbed the frame of his narrow bed. The metal legs screeched across the floor as he dragged it inch by painful inch, positioning it so the moonlight could reach at least part of the mattress.
He collapsed onto it, every muscle heavy, but with the pale glow washing over his face.
"Wonder what I'll unlock tomorrow," he murmured, a hint of anticipation threading through the weariness.
He shut his eyes.
The muffled curses, snores, and distant clanks from other cells faded into the background. Within minutes, he slipped into sleep, held by exhaustion and the quiet, steady pulse of borrowed light.
---
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The next day.
Sol woke to sound.
Not voices. Not doors.
Notifications.
[+1 Energy point]
[+1 Energy point]
…
Sunlight pressed against his eyelids. The cell felt marginally warmer, the air no longer quite as damp.
He blinked his eyes open and immediately focused on the panel.
[Name: Sol Walker]
[Age: 16 (Remaining Lifespan: 113 days)]
[Current Template: God of Light]
(Unlock Progress: 10%)
[Abilities: Energy Absorption, Energy Release]
[GoL Abilities: (Dark Projectile (0/100) Level 1) | (Echo Shield (0/100) Level 1)]
[Energy Points: 56]
Fifty-six.
He wasn't surprised.
Moonlight was weak. Diffused. And the moon was constantly shifting out of his narrow slice of view. Absorbing this much overnight was already more than he'd dared hope for.
Still, it was nowhere near enough for what he needed.
First things first.
He focused on Dark Projectile, trying to feed some of his Energy Points into its experience bar.
Nothing happened.
No soft chime. No increase in the (1/100).
"It really doesn't work like that, huh," he muttered, a flicker of disappointment in his chest.
So abilities didn't level through points.
They needed use. Practice. Real combat.
He let out a quiet breath, then turned his attention to the unlock progress instead.
He pushed.
Energy Points drained away like sand in a broken hourglass. The number dropped to zero. In return, the bar hesitated, then crept forward.
11%.
Forty Energy Points for each percent now.
"Figures," he thought, a touch of annoyance tugging at his mouth. "The higher I go, the worse it gets."
He didn't dwell on it for long.
Time bled forward in moments of light and waiting.
[+1 Energy point]
[+1 Energy point]
[+1 Energy point]
…
He leaned where the sun hit best—face tilted up, hands relaxed, posture slack and tired to anyone watching. Inside, he counted, tracked, planned.
Bootsteps interrupted the flow.
Heavy. Familiar.
With a clatter of metal, a tray slid into the cell. The stale, sour smell reached him before he even glanced down—a bowl of thin soup with a faintly rotten odor and a slab of dark bread that could probably chip a tooth.
Sol looked at it, frowning slightly.
His gaze shifted up to the man who had dropped it.
Josh.
The white guard smirked at him with lazy malice, like he was watching a bug struggle on its back. His eyes flicked from the untouched tray to Sol's face, feeding on the lack of reaction.
Then he turned away, strolling off down the corridor as if he'd done something generous.
Sol's fingers twitched.
For a heartbeat, he saw it in his mind's eye—raising a hand, forming another tiny, dense point of blue, letting Dark Projectile rip through that smug expression and erase it.
Just one shot.
His jaw clenched.
"Soon," he whispered instead, voice barely audible.
Not yet.
Hours crawled.
Energy flowed in, was converted, and poured into the unlocking bar. Again and again, until the familiar drain to zero hit—and then, finally, the progress jumped.
[Unlock Progress: 15%]
A clear notification followed, sharper than the usual trickle.
[Ability: Spatial Shift (Unlocked)]
Sol's eyes snapped open.
His mood surged, all fatigue burned away for a moment.
"Spatial Shift," he breathed. "Finally."
His mind filled with new pathways, new rules. A sense of space not as something fixed, but as something that could be folded, stepped through, rearranged.
With this ability, his escape plan felt less like a wild gamble and more like a calculated risk.
If he hadn't seen how limited Level 1 really was when he'd used Dark Projectile, he might have fantasized about teleporting straight out of the base in one go, flashing past walls, fences, and watchtowers into the open world.
Reality, however, hit quickly.
When he focused on the new ability, feeling out its boundaries, he found them tight.
He could shift his position through space.
But only about two meters.
"It's a bit underwhelming," he admitted silently, lips twisting. "No instant freedom."
Two meters, though, was still two meters.
Enough to slip through a barred window. Enough to hop past a locked door. Enough to dodge a grab, a bullet, a baton.
"Better to have it than not," Sol decided. "For slipping through walls and dodging hits, this is perfect."
As the knowledge rooted itself in his body, he noticed something else change.
His internal light storage swelled again.
He ran a quick, instinctive check. Calculations snapped together in his head.
He could now use Dark Projectile roughly thirteen times before emptying his reserves.
"That should be enough," he thought, excitement threading through his calm. "More than enough to cause chaos."
His thoughts jumped ahead, to the night.
To the route he'd traced in his mind during yard time. To the blind spots between cameras. To the timing of guard patrols.
Time moved faster after that.
During yard, he stood where the sunlight was strongest, all but basking while his eyes did the real work—tracking angles, counting steps, memorizing every door between his cell block and the outer sections.
Every grate. Every corner. Every place Spatial Shift could turn a dead end into a way out.
By 7 PM, the sky outside had deepened toward orange. The light slanting into the yard grew longer, thinner.
Inside his panel, the unlock progress ticked up again.
18%.
The cost had doubled once more—now eighty Energy Points per single percentage.
He didn't care.
He wasn't planning to grind much further before he tried.
He'd already decided.
Between 11 PM and midnight, when guards were at their sleepiest and the night was deepest, he would move.
He was running through the timing in his head when he heard it.
Those same familiar footsteps, echoing down the corridor toward his cell.
Again?
His brows drew together.
What is he doing here now?
Josh appeared outside the bars, baton hanging casually at his side. The keys jingled once, then the cell door creaked open.
"Out," Josh said, voice flat. "We're going to the lab."
There was something in his eyes this time.
Not just hatred.
Malice, yes—but also a thin, almost reluctant pity. The kind people reserved for animals being led to slaughter.
Sol's heart sank, a cold weight dropping straight into his stomach.
This routine. This timing. That look.
They were planning another experiment.
A final one.
He took a slow breath, forcing down the urge to lash out right there. One Dark Projectile to the head. One Spatial Shift to get behind him and snap his neck.
Not yet.
Not here.
He needed to be closer to the main exit. Closer to the places that mattered. To the people who actually carried keycards.
His mind spun fast.
The lab was nearer to the heart of the facility—and to its way out. He'd seen that much during the day. Several key doors he couldn't pass without a card. Security checkpoints. Automated locks.
In the lab, there would be researchers. Technicians. People with access.
If he could take them out quickly. Grab a card. Use Spatial Shift and Dark Projectile in tight hallways where cameras had blind spots…
He could turn their attempt to dissect him into his best chance at freedom.
Energy.
He needed to conserve as much as possible. Every point might mean one more attack. One more dodge. One more step toward the outside.
Decision made, he let his shoulders slump, face smoothing into a dull, resigned blankness.
He stepped out of the cell without resistance.
Josh watched him, sneer curling wider.
Seeing the "freak" docile, obedient, only deepened his contempt. In his eyes, ability users were still less than trash—dangerous trash, but trash all the same.
He pushed Sol ahead, baton tapping against his leg as they moved down the corridor.
Door after door buzzed and slid open as they passed through, each one closing behind them with a heavy finality that would have unnerved anyone who didn't already expect to die.
Sol counted them silently.
One. Two. Three.
Every metal frame, every turn, every camera.
Until finally, the sterile smell of disinfectant hit his nose, sharp and chemical.
They stepped into the experimental wing.
