Nael was snoring softly, slumped over his desk. After forcing himself for an hour to follow the math lesson, he had finally given in to exhaustion. This class bored him to death.

  During his sleep, he slipped back into that absurd dream that returned night after night: a monstrous giant chicken with glowing red eyes was trying to destroy the city by laying enormous explosive eggs that rolled at full speed through the streets, crushing everything in their path. Buildings collapsed, people screamed, chaos reigned.

  But Nael the Magnificent leaped into the air with superhuman agility. With a devastating punch, he struck down the monstrous creature. The survivors cheered for him. Finally, he was someone. A real hero.

  SMACK!

  A massive slap on his back brutally tore him from sleep, drawing a pained groan from his lips. The teacher stood over him, face twisted with rage, eyes burning with fury.

  Without a word, he pointed at the door.

  Nael gathered his things in heavy silence, accompanied by the muffled snickers of his classmates. Again. Always the same scenario. Expelled. Sent to the principal's office. Detention.

  ---

  Later, long after classes had ended, Nael was still there. Alone.

  On his knees in the school bathrooms, scrub brush in hand, he attacked the filthy tiles that reeked of urine and bleach. The ammonia burned his nostrils. His knees ached against the cold, hard floor. Water sloshed around him, mixing with years of accumulated grime.

  It had become routine. A pathetic routine.

  He had lost all motivation. His childhood dream—to become a hero, save lives, accomplish the impossible—had slowly crumbled. Powers normally manifested at the beginning of adolescence. Between eight and thirteen years old, fifteen percent of children discovered they were special.

  For him? Nothing. Never anything.

  Seventeen years old. Still waiting. Still hoping. Still nothing.

  So he had given up. Out of despair. Out of resignation.

  He threw the brush into the bucket with an angry gesture, dirty water splashing onto the floor. What was the point of continuing to hope?

  Nael let out a long sigh, threw his bag over his shoulder, and finally left campus. Night was falling over the city. The streetlights came on one by one, casting yellowish halos on the wet sidewalks.

  He hesitated to take a taxi—his wallet was nearly empty—then resigned himself to walking home. The trip would be long, but what else did he have to do?

  As he walked, enormous superhero posters covered the building facades. Smiling faces, confident, perfect. Heroic slogans: "Together, we protect the future." "Your safety, our mission."

  Each poster was like an invisible needle piercing his heart.

  "Damn it..." he muttered through clenched teeth, his voice heavy with anger and bitterness. "What more did I need to inherit these damn powers?"

  He clenched his fists. Tears threatened to fall, but he swallowed them back. Crying served no purpose.

  Suddenly, sirens wailed in the distance.

  Nael stopped dead. Black smoke rose a few blocks away, climbing toward the sky like a venomous snake. Screams echoed.

  People burst from an intersection, running in all directions, their faces marked by terror.

  Before he could understand what was happening, a charred police car flew through the air with a screech of twisted metal and crashed two meters from him. The impact was so violent that the ground shook beneath his feet. Fragments of glass and burning metal scattered everywhere.

  Nael fell heavily onto the sidewalk, breathless. His ears rang. His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum.

  Move. MOVE!

  Gathering what little courage he had left, he struggled to his feet and started running. The biggest sprint of his life. His legs barely carried him. Adrenaline made his entire body tremble.

  He rushed into a narrow alley and pressed his back against a brick wall, panting, his lungs on fire, his heart ready to explode.

  Around him, the chaos continued. Explosions. Screams. The distant crackling of flames. The acrid smell of burning rubber and gasoline filled the air.

  The blasts were getting closer. Again. And again.

  Nael closed his eyes, trembling from head to toe. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He had never been this scared in his entire life.

  BOOM.

  An explosion more violent than the others erupted just ahead, raising a cloud of dust and debris. When he reopened his eyes, coughing, a silhouette stood there, just a few meters away.

  The criminal.

  A man of repulsive appearance. Tall, skeletal, his face twisted into a crooked smile. His clothes were torn, stained with blood—some dry, some fresh. But the worst part was his gaze. Empty of all humanity. Mad. Sick.

  He radiated pure insanity.

  Heavy footsteps echoed in the alley. Police officers emerged, weapons drawn, and immediately surrounded the criminal.

  "Don't move! Hands on your head! Not one move!" they shouted in unison, their voices trembling despite their training.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  The criminal didn't move. Then he raised his hands in a theatrical gesture. For a moment, Nael thought he was going to surrender.

  But the criminal's smile widened.

  With terrifying calm, he plunged his fingers into his nostrils and pulled out two enormous greenish, slimy boogers. Without hesitation, he threw them at the nearest police officer.

  "That's disgusting!" the officer screamed, his face twisted with revulsion.

  The criminal tilted his head to the side, like a curious animal. His smile transformed into a demonic grin. Then he snapped his fingers.

  A strange rumble split the air.

  BOOM!

  The next instant, the officer literally exploded. His limbs and entrails scattered throughout the alley with a wet, unbearable sound. Pieces of flesh rained everywhere, splattering the walls, the ground, the other officers. The metallic smell of blood—thick, overwhelming, nauseating—filled the confined space.

  Nael felt his sanity waver. His legs gave out beneath him. A humiliating warmth spread through his pants. Without even realizing it, he had pissed himself in terror.

  The other officers were thrown several meters back by the blast. Some didn't get up. Others crawled to escape, moaning in pain.

  Nael couldn't breathe anymore. His throat was caught in a vise. His hands trembled violently. His mind screamed at him to flee, but his body refused to move.

  The criminal hadn't noticed him yet. He was advancing toward the survivors who were crawling to escape, taking his time, savoring their terror.

  I'm going to die here. I'm going to die without ever having accomplished anything. Without ever having been someone.

  Suddenly, two silhouettes fell from the sky.

  Heroes.

  Hope rekindled in Nael's heart, fragile but real.

  One of them, dressed in a red and black costume, landed with tremendous force in front of the criminal. Without wasting a second, he launched himself at incredible speed—so fast he was just a blur—and unleashed a barrage of blows so rapid they became invisible to the naked eye.

  Each blow resonated like a cannon shot. BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM.

  The criminal crashed to the ground with a dull thud, covered in blood, his face bruised and swollen. The hero grabbed him by the collar and lifted him with one hand.

  "So? Not so tough now, huh?" he taunted arrogantly.

  But something was wrong.

  The criminal was still smiling.

  Nael then noticed the object in his hand. A small slimy ball, almost organic, pulsing faintly.

  Before anyone could react, the criminal calmly placed the object against the hero's arm. Then he freed himself with a sudden movement and rolled away, putting distance between them.

  "Boom," he whispered with delight.

  BOOM!

  The explosion was devastating. The hero was thrown more than thirty meters back, crashing through a brick wall that collapsed on him. His left arm and part of his side were torn off by the blast. Blood gushed in fountains. His screams of agony tore through the air.

  Nael felt his stomach turn. He leaned over and vomited on the ground, unable to hold it back. The bitter taste of bile filled his mouth.

  In that instant, a terrifying truth shattered everything he had believed in:

  Even heroes could die.

  Hidden in the shadows, huddled against the wall, thousands of questions swirled in his mind. Being a hero was so dangerous? So deadly? Maybe never receiving powers had been a blessing in disguise... Maybe he had been lucky, after all.

  Without meaning to, unable to hold it back, Nael sneezed.

  The sound echoed in the alley like a gunshot.

  The criminal turned around immediately. His empty gaze settled directly on him.

  Nael froze, every muscle paralyzed by terror.

  The last hero still standing—a woman with short hair and determined eyes—also looked in his direction.

  The criminal burst into demented laughter that froze Nael's blood.

  "You filmed everything, you coward?" he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You filmed how heroes get killed like insects? They brag about saving lives when they can't even save themselves!"

  He spat on the ground with contempt.

  "And to prove it to you, I'm going to kill you right here. And she... she can only watch you die."

  The criminal started running toward him. Not fast. Not rushed. Like a predator playing with its prey.

  Nael trembled like a leaf. His legs refused to move. But the fear of death was stronger than paralysis.

  He managed somehow to get up and ran desperately toward the heroine, arms outstretched like a drowning man seeking the shore.

  She reacted instantly. She grabbed his shoulder.

  In an instant, the world blurred. Nael felt his stomach leap. When his vision returned, he was twenty meters away, at the other end of the alley.

  Before he could even speak, the heroine was already at his side, breathing hard but focused.

  "My name is Noelle," she said quickly. "Listen carefully. My power allows me to teleport anything I've physically touched. I mark a target by contact, then I can move it anywhere within my field of vision."

  She looked him straight in the eyes. Her gaze was intense, almost pleading.

  "I need your help. If I approach him alone, I die. He's too unpredictable. I need you to grab him from behind—just a few seconds—so I can touch him and mark him. Then I can teleport him far away."

  She paused, jaw clenched.

  "Can you do it?"

  Nael hesitated. His heart was racing. His hands were trembling. He wasn't a hero. He was just a pathetic high school student who cleaned toilets.

  But he thought of the dead police officers. The seriously injured hero. All those who would die if no one acted.

  He nodded, his throat tight.

  "I... I'll do my best."

  Noelle sketched a slight smile, almost sad.

  "Today, you'll be a hero, Nael."

  She quickly touched the brick wall beside them, then charged straight at the criminal without waiting for a response.

  Blows were exchanged in a violent and chaotic ballet. Noelle was fast, agile, precise. She attacked, dodged, retreated, chained feints. But the criminal was unpredictable. Each movement could be fatal.

  Meanwhile, Nael moved along the opposite wall, his body pressed against the cold bricks. Each step seemed to last an eternity. His heart beat so hard he feared the criminal would hear it.

  *Don't look at me. Don't look at me.*

  Suddenly, Noelle struck the criminal in the face with a spinning kick. He staggered back, distracted for a fraction of a second.

  It was now or never.

  Nael took a deep breath, gathered all his courage, and dove forward.

  He grabbed the criminal's legs with all his strength and pulled violently. The criminal crashed to the ground with a grunt of surprise.

  For a moment, Nael thought they had succeeded.

  But the criminal turned around, his face twisted with pure, animalistic rage. His mad eyes fixed on Nael's.

  "Little shit... YOU DARED TOUCH ME?!"

  He placed his hand directly on Nael's abdomen.

  Time seemed to slow down. Nael saw the criminal's demented smile. He felt the strange, unnatural heat emanating from his palm.

  Then it was hell.

  BOOM!

  A sound of terrifying violence split the air. Nael was thrown backward like a rag doll. His back violently struck the brick wall. A sinister crack resonated in his body.

  The pain exploded.

  His abdomen was perforated. A gaping hole pierced his stomach. He could see through it. Blood—his blood—gushed in jerky spurts, hot, thick, viscous. The taste of iron filled his mouth.

  Nael collapsed in a crimson pool that rapidly widened around him. The liquid flowed along the alley, drawing dark rivers between the cobblestones.

  He couldn't breathe anymore. Each breath was torture. Each heartbeat sent a new wave of unbearable pain.

  In the distance, through his blurring vision, he vaguely distinguished the criminal thrown into the air by Noelle and crashing violently against a wall. They had succeeded. The criminal wasn't moving anymore.

  Victory.

  But at what cost?

  Cold seized his body, rising from his feet toward his chest. His fingers went numb. His heart beat more and more weakly.

  His eyelids became heavy. So heavy. He just wanted to sleep. Just a little.

  He could barely hear Noelle screaming his name in the distance. Her voice seemed to come from another world.

  At least... I was a hero once in my life.

  A weak smile stretched his bloodied lips.

  Then nothing.

  His heart stopped.

  Silence.

  Darkness.

  Absolute nothingness.

  But somewhere, in the depths of that nothingness, something moved.

  A spark.

  A heartbeat.

  A breath.

  This was the beginning of something of indescribable magnitude...

  ---

  End of Chapter 1