The sun had barely risen when Angelo found himself restless, thoughts still burning from the night before. He had memorized every page, every diagram, and every molecule of the new chemical formula Dr. Grant had shown him—a combination involving dicyanoacetylene, a compound known for its extreme combustibility. If he could replicate its properties through his power, he might have discovered a new way to incinerate the regenerating Watchers in a single strike.
He needed to test it. But not with anyone watching.
"Grant," Angelo whispered, nudging the half-asleep researcher sprawled on the cot beside a pile of open books. "Wake up. We're going to the training ground."
Grant blinked up at him, hair wild, glasses crooked. "Is this about the formula?"
"I need to know if it works."
Grant, against all better judgment, sighed, grabbed his lab coat, and followed.
The two moved like ghosts through the corridor, keeping to the shadows until they reached the empty training field. Angelo raised a hand, the ground rumbling beneath him. A large statue formed from the earth—humanoid, grotesque, bearing resemblance to a Watcher with stone fangs and extended limbs.
"Stay back," Angelo warned.
Dr. Grant, ever the curious observer, retreated to a safe distance—his notepad already out.
Angelo summoned a fireball into his right hand. It hovered, flickering orange. Then, slowly, he began infusing it with the new formula. His breathing grew heavier. The fireball started to twist and churn violently, the color shifting—yellow, then orange, then a blinding, icy blue-white. The heat was unbearable. Angelo clenched his jaw as the searing energy began to scorch his skin.
A voice echoed in the back of his mind—familiar, ancient, unnerving.
"You are slowly becoming less human by the day," it whispered.
Angelo shook it off, focused, and hurled the fireball at the statue.
The explosion that followed shook the earth.
A flash of white fire. A thunderclap that echoed for miles. The statue disintegrated instantly, reduced to ash. But the damage didn't stop there—the surrounding terrain melted, stone and metal bubbling like wax. Even the debris turned to slag.
Every alarm in the base went off at once.
Grant's mouth hung open. "Holy… That wasn't a fireball. That was a goddamn miniature sun!"
Angelo looked at his burned hand, still smoking. "Maybe I need to dial it down a bit."
"You think so?" Grant shouted, half-laughing, half-panicking. "You just vaporized half the training field!"
"Forget the fire," Angelo said, forcing a smirk. "Worry about how we survive the Colonel's wrath."
He raised his left hand and snuffed out the remaining flames by manipulating the air, removing the oxygen in the vicinity—a trick he'd recently figured out. The flames died with a quiet hiss.
Moments later, Hale and Colonel Pierce came rushing in, eyes wide at the carnage.
The Colonel stared at the scorched field, the melted debris, the reek of chemical fire in the air. His eyes locked on Angelo and Grant.
"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered. "You two? Together?"
Hale sighed, clearly expecting this. "I'm the one who introduced them. This was my mistake."
The Colonel's nostrils flared. "What were you thinking? That boy's a walking warhead, and you pair him with the man who'd dissect God if given the chance?"
Angelo stepped forward, his expression serious. "I take full responsibility. I needed to test a method that could permanently kill the Watchers. I think this might work."
Colonel Pierce glared at him for a long moment, then grunted. "You're lucky, you're useful. Otherwise, I'd beat the living hell out of you."
He turned back to the destruction. "Now clean this mess up before the engineers lose their minds."
With that, he stormed off.
Hale turned to Angelo and Grant. "What the hell were you thinking? You nearly gave the Colonel a stroke. And you"—she pointed at Grant—"why didn't you stop him?"
Grant shrugged, scribbling something in his notebook. "I was… curious."
Angelo chuckled weakly. "Damn, he really meant it when he said he'd beat the crap out of me. I felt it."
Hale rubbed her temples. "Next time, just ask for the damn training ground. Don't go playing mad scientist in secret."
Grant glanced over, concern flickering through his usual excitement. "How's your hand? It got burned badly."
Then her eyes landed on Angelo's hand. "Wait—you burned your hand. Let me see."
Angelo raised it. The skin was smooth again. "Healed before the Colonel even got here."
Grant blinked. "It healed? That fast?"
Angelo nodded slowly. "Yeah… I think my healing's getting stronger."
They all fell silent for a moment, realizing something deeper was at play.
Hale crossed her arms. "Next time, Angelo, no secrets. We're trying to keep you from getting killed, not help you blow yourself up."
Angelo gave a sheepish smile. "Fair enough."
But in the back of his mind, the voice was still there, whispering like a shadow crawling through his veins. He tried to push it away, but part of him knew it was right.
He was changing. And soon, there might not be much humanity left to save.