Coastal City High buzzed as the students gossip as their golden boy walked down the hallway.
The moment Jackie James walked through the classroom door, the room erupted—girls giggled, guys clapped him on the back, and even the teacher sighed in resigned amusement.
Jackie flashed his million-watt smile, running a hand through his sun-bleached hair, "Alright, alright, settle down!" He flexed, and blue-white lightning crackled across his knuckles, "Letting you guys know, my Hero Analysis Test was confirmed. Next month, LightningEdge will become the future number one hero in the making."
The class erupted again.
In the back corner, Miles Thomas kept his head down, his pencil scratching quietly against his notebook. His dark, unkempt hair fell over his eyes like a curtain.
Suddenly an eraser bounced off his head, "Hey, Freak!" Jackie called, leaning over Miles' desk, "Heard you signed up too. What, gonna summon your little monster to scare the judges?"
Laughter rippled through the room.
Miles didn't answer. He just gripped his pencil tighter.
The bell rang.
Miles bolted—but not fast enough.
Jackie's foot hooked around his ankle, sending him crashing against a desk. The class howled as Miles scrambled up, his face beet red, and ran.
---
The bathroom stall door locked with a shaky click.
Miles pressed his back against the cold tile, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Then—it appeared.
A grotesque, serpentine figure coiled out of the shadows—half-woman, half-wyrm, her elongated jaw unhinging as she circled Miles protectively.
"Who hurt you?" her voice hissed directly into his mind, "Tell me. Let me feast."
Miles shook his head violently, "N-No one. It's fine."
But his denial only agitated her. The wyrm's tail lashed out, shattering the mirror. Then the sinks. Then the stalls, "Who hurt you? Who hurt you? Who hurt you?"
And then—the shadows moved on their own.
Dark tendrils erupted from the corners of the room, smashing everything in sight.
Miles clutched his head, trying to rein it in, but the wyrm kept whispering:
"Who hurt you"
---
The air in the principal's office was tense.
Miles sat slumped in the chair, his fingers picking at the frayed edges of his hoodie sleeves. Across from him, Principal Hargrove stared at him, her lips pressed into a thin line. Beside Miles was his father, Davis Thomas.
"$3,800 in damages," Hargrove said, sliding the invoice across the desk, "And a three-day suspension."
Davis snatched the paper, his jaw tightening as he scanned the numbers, "You've got to be kidding me."
Miles kept his eyes on the floor. "I didn't mean to—"
"You never mean to!" Davis snapped, crumpling the invoice in his fist, "That's the problem! If you'd just wear the damn bracelet—"
Miles flinched.
The bracelet.
A sleek, silver cuff designed to suppress his Trigger. To keep her locked away.
Principal Hargrove cleared her throat, "Mr. Thomas, we've been lenient because of Miles… condition. But if this happens again—"
"It won't," Davis growled, standing abruptly. "Come on, Miles. We're leaving."
---
The car ride was suffocating.
Davis anger radiating in waves. Miles stared out the window, watching the city blur past.
"You're eighteen," Davis finally said, "You can't keep acting like a scared kid. That thing inside you—it's not your friend, Miles."
Miles fingers twitched.
"Liar," the wyrm whispered in his mind, "I'm the only one who sees you."
"I know," Miles muttered.
Davis exhaled sharply, "Then put the bracelet on. Before you hurt someone."
Miles didn't answer.
---
Back in his room, Miles held the bracelet in his palm.
"Don't," the wyrm hissed, "They want to cage you. To make you weak."
Miles hesitated.
"Remember Jackie? Remember how he laughed?" The wyrm's presence coiled tighter, "Let me protect you. Just once."
His hands shook.
Then—his phone rang.
"Shadow bearer, my star!" Mr. Perfect's shout through the phone, "The Hero Analysis is within a few weeks! And guess what? If you ace it, we both get paid."
Miles swallowed, "I… I don't think I should go."
"Nonsense!" Mr. Perfect laughed, "Listen, kid—life's a scam. Heroes, villains, all of it. But you know what's real? Cold, hard cash. And you, my boy, are a goldmine."
Miles closed his eyes.
"He's using you," the wyrm murmured.
"So, suit up," Mr. Perfect continued, "Show 'em what you've got. And when you're standing on that podium, rich and famous?"
A pause.
"Nobody will laugh at you again."
Silence.
Then—
Miles dropped the bracelet onto his desk.
"…I'll do it."
The wyrm purred in satisfaction.
---
Hollow City's perpetual fog clung to the iron gates of the Blackwood Estate. Inside, the air smelled of old roses and decay.
Gwen Scarlet, a girl with red-and-black pigtails hair lay across her parent's coffins, her legs swinging idly as she hummed to herself.
The skeletons inside were still dressed in their finest—her mother in a moth-eaten wedding gown, her father in a suit now gray with dust.
"I'm taking the Hero Exam tomorrow," she chirped, poking her father's skull, "Gonna make so many friends!"
A rustle in the dead oak tree outside.
Gwin head snapped up—her crimson eyes glowing.
*FWSSSH!*
A beam of concentrated blood lanced from her fingertip, piercing straight through the tree—and the crow perched on its branch.
The bird exploded in a mist of feathers and gore.
Gwin giggled, wiping a speck of blood off her cheek, "Oops. Better clean that up before Mom sees."
She hopped off the coffin, skipping toward the door—leaving behind the skeletons, the shattered tree, and the eerie silence of the grave.
---
Gwin Scarlet bedroom never had a shed of light enter. A dark gothic bedroom, dried flowers in cracked vases, songbirds mid-flight, and a golden mirror.
Gwin herself stood in nothing but ruby lace underwear, humming as she rummaged through her walk-in closet.
"Aha!"
She emerged victorious, clutching a red spandex dress embroidered with black roses. A porcelain mask dangled from her fingers—its frozen smile eerily cheerful.
"Perfect~!"
As she wriggled into the outfit, a knock echoed through the mansion.
*Knock. Knock. Knock.*
Gwin's pupils dilated. Crimson droplets welled at her fingertips—
—and with a wet *splorch*, her body dissolved into a swirling vortex of blood, reforming instantly on the porch outside.
Peter Norman—Hero Name: Stretch—didn't even flinch. His rubbery arms were crossed over his green-and-white spandex, his glasses fogged from Hollow City's perpetual mist.
"You're late for patrol, Scarlet Marionette." he said flatly.
Gwin twirled, her dress flaring, "But look how pretty I am now! Is the skirt too short."
Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, "Just… follow protocol today. No killing animals. No flirting with random guys. And no crying in public so you can emotionally manipulate me into buying you toys.'"
Gwin gasped, clutching her chest, "You wound me, I'm a perfect angel."
A crow cawed in the distance.
The one she'd vaporized yesterday.
Peter sighed, "Let's go."
---
Hollow City's streets were slick with morning dew, the fog curling around Gwin's ankles.
She skipped beside Peter, her high heels clicking against the cobblestones.
"So!" Peter adjusted his glasses, "The Hero Analysis Test is next month. You prepared?"
Gwin clasped her hands, her eyes dreamy, "My love will come~ On wings of red~ Through storm and dread~To share my bed~"
Peter's pitch the bridge of his nose, "That's… not what I asked."
"Oh!" Gwin beamed, "Are you auditioning to be my prince? You're a bit old, but—"
"It's a team event this year," Peter interrupted, "You'll be paired with other candidates."
Gwin froze. Her smile didn't waver, but the roses on her dress darkened.
"…Teamwork?" Her voice was suddenly hollow.
Peter nodded, oblivious, "They're testing cooperation. No solo acts."
A beat of silence.
Then—
"YAY!" Gwin exploded into motion, cartwheeling down the street, "FRIENDS! I'LL MAKE SO MANY FRIENDS!"
A streetlamp flickered. Somewhere, a cat yowled and fled.
Peter watched her go, his rubbery limbs sagging with exhaustion, "Out of all the insane sidekicks out there...why do I have her?"