Looking at the slowly dying Atlantean, who lingered in agony due to his physiology, I pondered what he had told me. The flight into space had been tough on the poor fish, as my tactile telekinesis could extend not only to inanimate objects but also to living beings. This guy, before ending up in space, had endured wounds for a long time, losing blood. Small cuts appeared because I flew at a speed too high for his durability, stripping the protection from parts of his body, causing him to bleed out. And now he was trying to breathe. Alright, I wouldn't prolong the suffering of this sentient cannibal. Grabbing him by the neck and letting him breathe thanks to the protection I gave him, I flew toward the Sun. He seemed to understand what was about to happen, but I didn't care. You shouldn't have eaten people, Arvin Kibela—maybe you'd still be alive. Sending the Atlantean, quickly incinerating under the Sun's rays, into flight, I flew back.
Earth greeted me with its atmosphere, into which I took a breath. Though I didn't need air, this habit of breathing, a remnant of the past, still stayed with me. Flying toward America, or more precisely—home—I sorted everything out, reflecting on what the Atlantean from the mythical Atlantis had told me. The ship had finally managed to decipher Arvin's language, and with kind words, along with eye lasers, I'd extracted the information.
Atlantis—a submerged kingdom located somewhere deep in the Atlantic Ocean. It's the home of an ancient, isolated, and highly advanced Atlantean culture. Originally part of a larger Atlantean empire, the current Atlantis is now a single kingdom, the survivors of the Great Fall. Atlantis was founded centuries ago by King Atlant, and under his leadership, it eventually became the most powerful and technologically advanced nation on the planet. Ultimately, Atlantis developed a series of new technologies based on their greatest achievement—the discovery of an inexhaustible energy source that enabled the creation of walking machines, advanced aircraft, and the mighty Trident of Atlantis. During the testing of the Trident, a powerful energy surge raged outward, destroying Atlantis and causing it to sink into the sea with massive human casualties. Thus, a new race of Atlanteans emerged. For someone like this Arvin, the Fall also had an unexpected side effect: the explosion's energy surge biologically altered the survivors, granting them the ability to breathe underwater and superhuman strength necessary to survive in the deep ocean. Beyond biological enhancements, the survivors safely harnessed the energy source to rebuild their shattered civilization, despite the fracturing of the Atlantean empire. To adapt and survive, they spliced their human DNA with that of fish to adjust to underwater life. Why they couldn't return to land remained an open question.
With the fall of Atlantis, records of its existence faded into the realm of myth over the years. At least, on the internet, only human fantasies remained. Yet, even as a myth, the idea of Atlantis couldn't fully vanish. In 360 BCE, the philosopher Plato wrote a text called *Timaeus*, which contained the first known written mention of Atlantis after its fall. In 200 CE, a man named Zotic wrote an epic poem dedicated to Atlantis. In 1627 CE, the Renaissance utopian Francis Bacon wrote a text titled *The New Atlantis*. In 1898 CE, the American poetess Edith Willis Linn Forbes wrote *The Lost Atlantis*.
They all envisioned this empire as something grand and marvelous. In reality, it turned out to be far darker than it seemed. DNA alteration and centuries of life and wars turned the many surviving kingdoms into one—the Kingdom of Atlanteans, which had ruled all the oceans for the past two hundred years. It became a horror story. The destructive influence and overconsumption of oceanic animals turned them into beings unable to digest sea gifts—the food simply wouldn't process. And, of course, what did these geniuses in their kingdom resort to? Cannibalism, naturally. Why not? There were plenty of humans, and the disappearance of ships, vessels, and sailors over centuries piled up in such numbers that it was enough to feed the entire kingdom comfortably. Their grotesque appearance became normal to them. After all, in their society, water manipulation skills were valued far more than looks. These Atlanteans turned out to be mutants—water mages who could control water masses with their minds. And the fact that this helped them feed on humans played no small role in their survival.
Arvin, let's say, was a tourist who decided to see the world a bit and ended up in Kansas. Or more precisely—in my town, which became his final resting place before death. Yeah, an unlucky guy.
But it wasn't Arvin who concerned me—he'd been deprived of his racial gift and could only shoot water from his stomach, which burned up in the Sun. It was the whole damn kingdom of cannibal hydrokinetics! According to the ship, its database contained information about a similar race of beings who could control water and possessed hydrokinesis. Except they didn't eat humans and were generally a peaceful race, feeding on seaweed and living on a planet entirely covered in water. It compared the two races and could confirm that these Atlanteans were essentially mutated humans who'd gone too far in their desire to adapt to water.
Back home, where my parents had long been asleep, I lay in bed, propped my head on my hand, and stared at the ceiling, thinking. Sleep wasn't particularly necessary for me, but once a month it was still desirable. I slept every day and always felt great. Once, I tried not sleeping for a week but gave up around the fourth day. There was no fatigue or negative effects, but I just couldn't get used to it. Since there was no need to stay awake for weeks, I didn't change anything in my life.
Turning onto my right side toward the wall, I looked at the pictures on the walls and thought about what to do with the Atlanteans. Destroy them? That seemed too harsh, I thought. Though they did eat humans, and I considered myself human inside, even if I was a monster by humanity's standards. What else could be done with tens of thousands of half-human, half-fish beings? Lost in doubts and thoughts, I didn't notice when I fell asleep.
---
After the vivid events of the week—from killing an enemy scout to learning about Atlantis—my life flowed back into its usual, steady routine. School, Kaitlyn—who'd become a constant conversationalist—lessons, and homework. It all returned me to the familiar, calm environment where I controlled everything.
Two weeks after those memorable events, waking up in the morning and looking into a two-meter-high mirror, I couldn't help but compare my height to what it had been just a month ago. It seemed I'd grown a full five centimeters. Was that normal, or was my Taoran physiology showing its influence? Who knew.
Dressed in my usual hoodie and jeans, I went downstairs to the kitchen. I didn't sense the living breath of people in the house. That meant…
Today was an unusual day, and the note on the table saying my parents had gone to town for groceries, with Tori leaving cereal out, was the first surprise. After a bus ride without my best friend—who usually filled my ears with her know-it-all chatter, which slightly bummed me out since I'd grown used to the noise—I arrived at school. At least there, everything was as usual, and I went through my typical school day. The usual screams of kids during breaks, awful cafeteria food, and Billy, who'd become quieter than a mouse lately. Maybe he was changing for the better?
Five lessons flew by unnoticed, but as I left school, being stopped by police on the way to the computer lab was the second surprise.
"Hey, Brandon. I'm Sheriff Deaver, and this is my deputy, Aries." They smiled kindly. Deaver was a graying Black man, and Aries was a woman with a short, boyish haircut, looking about thirty-five. Their breathing was calm, blood pressure steady, pupils normal—not dilated—so they weren't here for me. And they wouldn't send people like this after me anyway. It'd take an aircraft carrier or a nuclear sub—something to show the government's serious intent. So, this was about my parents?
The officers wore light brown shirts with dark brown jackets, pants, and ties. The sheriff also had a big Stetson hat. Glock 19, I noted, standard issue for our county. My thoughts took microseconds, and I replied.
"Yeah, hi, what's going on?" Of course, a sheriff wouldn't just approach any kid to say hello.
"Unfortunately, with a heavy heart, I have to tell you that your parents were in a car accident…" The sheriff crouched down and put a hand on my shoulder. I was a bit shocked—I hadn't expected news like this at all. Third surprise. "I'm sorry."
"What's wrong with them?" Snapping out of it, as if waking from a dream, I asked.
"Tori's in the ICU right now, and we're here to take you to her. She'd want you there when she wakes up." People around us were glancing over, and it was clear some had overheard what we were talking about. Rumors would spread fast.
"And Dad?" I didn't have to fake concern, as usual. I wasn't some emotionless psycho—living with people under one roof for twelve years, from infancy, you're bound to feel something for those who care for you.
"I'm sorry, Brandon…" Got it. It felt like a blow to the back of my head.
The day turned out to be full of nasty surprises. Getting into the police car in front of the whole school, we drove to the local ICU. For a small town, it was appropriately sized, and it wasn't surprising that we were the only visitors. Leaving me with Aries, the sheriff went to get something to drink and check with the nurse at the desk about my mom. Aries wrapped me in a blanket she'd pulled out of nowhere and unexpectedly hugged me. Her soft voice was somewhat soothing, though the shock of Kyle's sudden death still burned in my mind. He was only about thirty-five. So young.
"It'll be okay, Brandon, it'll be okay…"
I wanted to believe that.
---
Looking at the shards in her spine that kept my mom from waking up, I tried to figure out what to do. Reading tons of medical books in a day to become a qualified doctor was impossible, but I had no choice. Night had fallen, and my aunt and uncle, who'd arrived and were sleeping at our house after the stress of the day, had come as soon as they heard. They were horrified. Kyle's death and Tori's coma weren't the kind of news you expect over lunch. My aunt diagnosed me with shock or whatever—something psychological—but I brushed it off. I had bigger things to worry about. Meanwhile, I was thinking about what to do. A shard in the spine, if it hits a specific area, can damage critical structures like the spinal cord or nerve roots. The spinal cord, in turn, plays a key role in transmitting signals between the brain and body, including regulating consciousness. Spinal cord damage can lead to paralysis, loss of sensation, and other neurological consequences. In the context of a coma, if the spinal injury disrupts blood supply or other vital functions, it could hinder or prevent recovery of consciousness. The shard could cause swelling, inflammation, or direct mechanical damage to structures responsible for consciousness, contributing to the coma. Treating such injuries usually requires surgery, spinal function restoration, inflammation control, and prevention of further complications. The exact strategy depends on where the fracture occurred, as well as the patient's overall condition and the extent of the damage.
I could see those shards keeping Tori from waking up. Only, I wasn't a surgeon and had no idea how to remove the damn metal without killing her. I considered burning it out with my laser vision, but questions remained. Where would the metal go? Would I burn something else? My control over that power wasn't perfect, and anything could happen. And Tori's life wasn't something I wanted to gamble with in experiments.
It was bad enough that Kyle was dead. Poor guy—you should've been raising grandkids in ten years, not lying as a cold corpse. They didn't let me near the body, understandably, but nothing stopped me from seeing the mess where his head used to be through the walls. Such a shame, Kyle. You were a good husband and a decent dad.
Never focusing on people's heartbeats to check if they were okay, I was now forced to face the consequences of my mistakes. I could've fixed it all in seconds. Stopped the truck whose driver fell asleep.
Now, deep in the night, with my face lit by the faint glow of the equipment, I watched Tori's brain, where neural impulses either weren't following their usual paths or had stopped entirely. According to the surgeon who'd spoken to my uncle about her condition, she had about four weeks left. After that, there'd be no helping her. There was an option for surgery at the best private clinics in the world, but where would the money come from? I had to fix this.
What a cruel twist of fate. With the power to destroy a planet, I lacked the skill and strength to save the one person I cared about. Clenching my fists, making the building tremble, I exhaled. The electronics flickered, but I quelled my anger and frustration. This wasn't the time or place for emotions, Kain.
There was one place, besides the ship, that could help me. Atlantis—a nation of underwater cannibals who, at the dawn of their development, managed to alter their genome. They had to have the technology to heal such a wound. They couldn't not have it.
And if they wouldn't help… If they got in the way of saving the woman who'd been kind to me my whole life—my eyes flared with intense emotion, filling the room with red light.
I'd wipe out their entire cannibal race.
---
Lieutenant General John Stone sat in his office, staring at the reports. A dim light from a rough lamp reflected off the glass doors leading to an empty, sterile hallway. The noise beyond his office walls was barely noticeable, but if you listened closely, you could hear footsteps, conversations, shouts from the training grounds. All part of daily life, but for Stone, every sound was a harbinger of something new.
Today was quiet. No emergency calls, not a single message from the ops teams. Even that alien seemed forgotten. It felt like everyone in the headquarters was waiting for something.
Knock-knock.
"Come in," Stone's voice was low and stern.
Lieutenant Colonel Mark Taylor stepped through the door. One of the most experienced officers in the headquarters, loyal and decisive, though lately, something anxious had appeared in his eyes.
"General, we've got new data on the Middle East situation." Taylor placed a tablet on the desk. "I think you'll want to see this."
Stone didn't look up, flipping through his papers.
"Speak."
Taylor straightened his back, as if bracing for a serious talk.
"We're getting reports from intel. Everything points to the enemy building up forces in the area. We're talking large troop movements—likely prepping for an offensive."
Stone finally raised his eyes, his gaze cold and attentive.
"What's our on-site intel? Any confirmation?"
"So far, only circumstantial evidence," Taylor replied. "But given the scale of the movements, we can expect a strike within days."
The general nodded slightly.
"Alright. Then prep all necessary measures. No risks. Move extra armor to the borders and bring in air support. Have them step up surveillance."
Taylor didn't argue. He knew Stone wouldn't act rashly but wouldn't miss the moment to strike back either.
"One more thing, General. Local commanders report that a few of our agents near the border have started going missing. No direct evidence they've been captured, but the circumstances are concerning."
Stone frowned. Unusual events could turn catastrophic at any moment.
"Taylor, we'll check it all. Right now. Contact the local commanders and find out what's happening."
The lieutenant colonel nodded and left, leaving Stone alone with his thoughts. The general returned to his plans, but his eyes lingered on the tablet still in front of him. The missing agents troubled him. If it wasn't just a coincidence—if something bigger was behind it—he'd have to act fast.
The phone rang.
Stone wasn't surprised. He was used to being called at any moment.
"Stone."
"General, this is Major Roberts." The voice was tense but controlled. "We just got confirmation. The agents were indeed taken. Looks like the enemy ran a special op."
Stone stood, feeling the tension rise.
"Where are they now?"
"According to our data, they're in an old base in the desert. We're prepping a rescue op, but it'll take time. Let's speed it up, sir."
Stone listened silently, his mind racing at full speed. He knew every decision mattered.
"Do everything you can. But keep it quiet. Prep a team for a night op. We need to get them out ASAP."
"Yes, sir."
Stone hung up and approached the wall map, marked with all the strategic points. The enemy knew how to exploit weaknesses. If they'd captured agents, they could also be gearing up for a bigger attack.
Minutes later, Taylor returned.
"General, I've got data from our scouts. We confirm the enemy's prepping an offensive in the zone we discussed. They're gathering forces."
Stone, eyes still on the map, pointed to a spot in the east.
"We've got agents in that area. I'm ordering a rescue team out immediately. And don't forget the counteroffensive."
"Will do, sir."
Taylor left, leaving Stone in thought. The general always trusted his gut. He knew if they didn't neutralize the enemy now, the consequences could be disastrous.
Night fell. Stone felt time compressing.
Within a couple of hours, the rescue team was ready to move. Stone stayed at headquarters, constantly getting updates and ensuring everything was on track. His face showed no emotion, only focus. He was confident the operation would succeed.
At night, as the team deployed, Stone sat in his office, listening to the silence. He knew everything now hinged on his subordinates' decisions. Then a single question pierced his thoughts: What if it was a trap?
An hour later, the first report came from Roberts.
"General, we're on-site. Seeing enemy tracks. They didn't expect us this fast—we took their camp without losses."
Stone relaxed slightly. But not fully. It was too quiet.
Knock-knock.
A comms officer stepped in.
"General, urgent news. A message from our agents. They're with us. They… they've uncovered something strange. Looks like the enemy isn't just prepping an attack—they're working on something bigger."
Stone paused for a moment. What seemed simple and obvious might hide a far greater threat.
"What 'something'?"
"They mentioned a sarcophagus—some nonsense, sir—and they're sure it could affect our comms control."
Stone sighed. The task was clear now. The enemy didn't just want territory—they aimed to paralyze the whole system. With some sarcophagus, though madness had long been part of army life, chasing flying kids and all.
"Declare full defensive readiness. Bring in all reserves."
And though tensions were rising, General Stone kept his cool. He knew the coming days would decide the fate of their army and the region.
One thing was needed now—act fast and decisively.
Just ten minutes later, the same comms officer burst in, eyes panicked, nervously tugging at his collar, and spoke in a hoarse voice.
"Sir… sir, there—there…"
"Drop the panic, Barker! Clear and to the point."
"Yes, sir! The sarcophagus opened, and comms went down, but before that, the cameras caught it—and the screams."
Taking the tablet from the shaken Barker, Stone watched the short video. A woman with a whip, wrapped in bandages, climbed out of the sarcophagus, slicing a soldier in half—gear and all—as he aimed his rifle at her. A brief massacre followed, soldiers tossed like dolls. The last thing the camera recorded was the bandaged woman seemingly drawing all the blood around her as the soldiers screamed.
"Mother of God…"