Samye did not look back when he left the old man’s house.

  Samye chose to move forward.

  He left his home state without ceremony, without farewell. The land behind him carried too many memories—each step away felt like tearing something out of his chest. As he walked, images from his childhood surfaced uninvited: his parents’ smiles, quiet evenings, a life that now felt like it belonged to someone else.

  He had not cried when they died.

  But his heart had shattered that day.

  The eyes of the killer still followed him everywhere—cold, lifeless, unbothered. They were carved into his mind, impossible to erase.

  Samye walked with no food in his stomach and no destination ahead. Hunger gnawed at him, but rage burned brighter. He wasn’t running anymore.

  He was searching.

  Searching for meaning in words his father once believed in—humanity, morality, ethics.

  He needed to know if those words still had any value in this world.

  Days later, he reached the edge of a ruined district.

  Buildings lay collapsed like corpses. Smoke choked the sky. Sirens screamed in the distance, drowned by panic and chaos. Something catastrophic had happened here.

  Samye hid behind shattered concrete as people ran past him, crying, bleeding, begging.

  Then the heroes arrived.

  A figure descended from the sky in a violent flash of blue-white light. Lightning wrapped around his body, striking the ground with thunder that shook the ruins.

  A Lightning Wielder.

  Moments later, another presence emerged—but this one was unstable. The air around him distorted violently, invisible pressure waves rippling outward, shattering glass and crushing debris.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  A Psionic Wielder.

  But something was wrong.

  The psionic wielder screamed in pain, clutching his head. His powers lashed out uncontrollably, tearing through nearby structures. Fear had broken his mind. He wasn’t attacking people—he was losing himself.

  “Help me!” the man cried, his voice cracking.

  “I can’t stop it!”

  Samye’s breath caught.

  This wasn’t a villain.

  This was someone who had lost control.

  The Lightning Wielder didn’t hesitate.

  Armed guards rushed in—not toward the screaming civilians, not toward the trapped children—but toward a convoy of high-society families waiting near armored vehicles. Wealthy men, powerful figures, their children shielded behind armed escorts.

  The Lightning Wielder raised his hand, lightning carving a safe path through rubble.

  Selective salvation.

  Nearby, a poor man lay crushed beneath concrete, screaming for help. A woman begged while holding her bleeding child.

  “Please! Anyone!”

  The Lightning Wielder didn’t even look.

  The psionic wielder staggered forward, tears streaming down his face.

  “I didn’t choose this!” he screamed. “Please—help me!”

  Lightning answered him.

  A bolt pierced straight through his chest.

  The sound was sharp. Final.

  The electricity crushed his heart instantly, stopping it with merciless precision. His body collapsed to the ground, smoke rising as the psionic waves faded into silence.

  The district went quiet.

  “Unstable ability user neutralized,” the Lightning Wielder announced coldly.

  Neutralized.

  Not saved.

  Not restrained.

  Not understood.

  Executed.

  Samye felt something twist violently inside him.

  Around him, the poor continued to scream. Children cried beneath debris. Blood soaked into dust. Lives ended quietly, unnoticed.

  And the hero kept moving—protecting only those who mattered.

  Those with power.

  Those with status.

  Those worth saving.

  Samye clenched his fists until his nails cut into his palms.

  This wasn’t justice.

  This was control.

  The insane psionic wielder hadn’t been a threat to society—

  he was a reminder of what this world did to people who couldn’t carry power perfectly.

  And the Lightning Wielder?

  He wasn’t a savior.

  He was an executioner wearing the title of hero.

  Samye turned away from the ruins.

  The screams followed him long after he left, echoing in his mind like a curse.

  Morality was no longer universal.

  Human life was no longer equal.

  Heroism had become selective.

  This world is beyond repair, he thought.

  The belief settled inside him like a truth he could no longer deny.

  As Samye continued down the road, rage replaced exhaustion.

  If fate could be changed—

  then this world deserved to be challenged.

  And if humanity had lost its meaning—

  Then someone would have to confront it.

  Even if it destroyed him.