Jake handed me the cage. Inside, a storm-gray bird thrashed, wings beating a frantic rhythm against the bamboo bars. Crackling blue feathers released a static hum with every flutter. "It's a Tier-D Lightning Sparrow," Jake warned, his voice tight with something I didn't care to name. "Don't kill it, Adam. Promise me."
My smile stretched, sharp and instinctive. Jake's spine visibly stiffened. *Poor creature,* his unspoken thought hung in the air like dust. *Another secret experiment.* I snatched the cage without a word, his sigh heavy behind me as I darted upstairs. Their murmured conversation faded into the hum of the bird's trapped lightning.
***
The attic workspace smelled of ozone, metal, and dried herbs. I bolted the cage to the heavy workbench, iron clamps biting deep into the bamboo frame. The Sparrow hissed, jagged bolts arcing from its beak, stinging my hands with sharp jolts. I ignored them. Tools gleamed under the lamplight. I uncoiled three thin, hollow tubes tipped with needles – frost-steel, longer than my thumb, cold even to my touch.
Precision was everything. Cold focus narrowed my world to the bird, the needles, the points of insertion. The first needle slid into the primary wing vein. The Sparrow shrieked, a sound like tearing metal. The second needle buried itself beside the pulsating lightning gland at its throat. Feathers tore loose, swirling like charred petals. The third needle sank deep, aiming for the heart beneath the breastbone. Its thrashing intensified, a raw, guttural cry tearing from its throat.
I connected the tubes to the glass reservoir. Inside, thick orange liquid swirled, glowing faintly. I opened the valve. The fluid oozed down the tubes, a slow, deliberate venom inching towards the needles. The Sparrow's cries turned desperate, choked. Its eyes, bright with fury and terror, fixed on me.
The orange liquid reached its veins.
Blue lightning exploded. Not just from the feathers now, but from its *core*. It surged up the tubes, crackling towards the reservoir with terrifying speed. I slammed the mana-dampening clamp onto the lines. The Sparrow's body locked rigid, wings snapping taut against the iron clamps. One needle tore free, spraying orange fluid across the bench. It sizzled, eating through the wood, smoke curling upwards. The bird's eyes rolled back, revealing milky-white orbs. A low, subsonic whine vibrated from its chest – the sound of a storm breaking apart.
I watched, detached. My hand moved automatically, scribbling notes: "Cardiac stress observed. Mana-feedback contained. Neural override: imminent." The convulsions slowed. Became tremors. The breathing shallowed, ragged. Its lightning dimmed, reduced to weak, pathetic sparks flickering across dampened feathers. I disconnected the tubes, leaving the frost-steel needles embedded like grotesque trophies. The Sparrow slumped, utterly silent. But alive. Barely.
***
Next, the knife. Simple steel, honed to a cruel edge. I dipped it into the remnant orange liquid pooled on the bench. Mana surged up the blade like liquid fire, coating it in a shimmering, unstable green aura. The power hummed in my grip, eager. I swung.
*Fsssh-TOOM!*
A razor-thin wave of condensed mana sliced the air, vibrating with a high-pitched whine that set my teeth on edge. It struck the far attic wall. Stone vaporized. A clean, smoldering hole, fist-sized, punched straight through to the daylight beyond. Smoke curled from the edges. My breath caught. *It worked.*
***
The training yard was barren dust and scarred earth. The iron boulder stood sentinel, pitted and gouged from decades of violence. Dust choked the air as I charged, the mana-blade blazing toxic green in my small hands. First strike: *Ting!* A hairline scratch appeared. Insulting. Second strike: I leapt, putting my entire weight behind the blow. *SCREEE CLANG!* A deeper gouge wept rust. Frustration burned.
I circled, stance low. Sweat stung my eyes. I raised the knife, focusing. Gathering every shred of will, every drop of my own pitiful mana. A visible green mist swirled around my fist, pulled from my core into the hungry blade. I hurled it forward, not just my arm, but my *rage* at the boulder's defiance.
*KRA-KOOM!*
A crescent of pure, screaming emerald energy exploded from the blade. The impact shook the earth, kicking up a wave of dirt. Light blinded me. When it faded, a molten, fist-deep scar wept glowing slag on the boulder's flank. I collapsed to my knees, gasping, muscles trembling like jelly, utterly spent. The green aura on the blade flickered and died.
***
From the high manor window, Jake watched. His knuckles were white on the stone sill. A flicker of pride warred with cold dread in his eyes. Below, I staggered upright, drunk on the fading echo of power. Wild, uncontrolled mana-slashes tore ragged trenches in the dirt yard, missing the scarred boulder entirely in my exhausted frenzy. The green light sputtered erratically, dangerous and directionless.
***
That night, Jake carried my sleep-heavy form to bed. My dreams were not restful. They were crackling wings trapped in iron, milky-white eyes rolling back, and the blinding, consuming fury of green fire.
***
Dawn broke, pale and cold. I scrubbed sleep-grit from my eyes, bathed mechanically, and returned to my room. The cage sat in the corner where I'd left it. Silent. Utterly still.
I approached. And froze.
The Lightning Sparrow was gone.
In its place, perched on the wooden dowel, sat a creature woven from storm and shadow. Its wings were folded thunderclouds, deep gray shot through with veins of restless blue lightning. Its eyes, wide and unblinking, were no longer amber orbs, but captured bolts of pure, furious white energy. It didn't move. It didn't make a sound. It simply *was*. Power, raw and transformed, radiated from it, thick enough to taste on the air – ozone and impending fury. My experiment hadn't killed it.
It had forged something else.