The morning assessment alarm screams through our temporary quarters like a banshee with anger management issues, and I seriously consider putting my fist through the wall just to make it stop.
Instead, I roll out of bed and catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. The face staring back looks disturbingly young—maybe seventeen or eighteen by human standards. Gone is the weathered professor who survived five millennia in Hell. In his place stands what appears to be a teenager with glowing eyes and an attitude problem.
"This is humiliating," I mutter, splashing cold water on my face. The hellfire in my veins protests the temperature, wanting to heat the liquid to boiling. I force it to behave. Can't have steam rising from the sink on my first day as a "normal" student.
Caleif emerges from her bedroom looking equally young and irritatingly chipper about it. Her crimson eyes sparkle with mischief as she takes in my brooding expression.
"Cheer up," she says, tossing me a piece of toast. "How bad could a simple assessment be?"
I catch the toast without thinking, my enhanced reflexes making the motion look effortless. "Famous last words. The last time someone told me something would be simple, I ended up imprisoned in Hell for five thousand years."
"That's different. This is just school."
"School," I repeat, the word tasting foreign on my tongue. "Right. Because nothing could possibly go wrong at a school for superpowered teenagers."
The orientation packet lists our assessment time as nine AM sharp in the Advanced Testing Facility—a building that looks like it was designed by someone who watched too many sci-fi movies and had an unlimited budget. As we approach the gleaming structure, I notice other students heading in the same direction, all carrying the same nervous energy that comes with being evaluated.
"Remember," Caleif whispers as we climb the steps, "enhanced but not terrifying. Powerful but not cosmic-threat-level powerful."
"Yeah, yeah. No dismembering, no hellfire displays, no accidentally tearing holes in reality." I pause at the entrance, watching a girl ahead of us casually phase through the solid glass doors. "Though I'm starting to think our definition of 'normal' might need adjustment."
The lobby inside is all white surfaces and holographic displays showing various students demonstrating their abilities. A boy lifts a car over his head. A girl manipulates gravity to walk on the ceiling. Another kid appears to be controlling time itself, moving in slow motion while everything around him speeds up.
"Mr. Driscol? Ms. Lynria?" A woman with clipboard approaches us, her smile professionally warm. "I'm Dr. Chen, head of student assessment. Ready for your evaluation?"
No, I think, feeling the armor beneath my skin shift restlessly. I'm ready to tear through dimensions and confront cosmic entities. I'm ready to deliver justice to those who threaten the innocent. I'm not ready to pretend I'm a teenager with manageable superpowers.
"Absolutely," I lie through my teeth.
She leads us down a corridor lined with observation windows, each one showing a different testing chamber. In one, a student creates miniature tornadoes. In another, someone appears to be having a very intense conversation with what looks like empty air—either telepathy or a concerning mental health issue.
"We'll start with basic physical assessments," Dr. Chen explains, stopping at a heavy metal door. "Strength, speed, durability. Then we'll move on to your specific enhancements."
The testing chamber beyond is larger than I expected, with walls that look like they could withstand a nuclear blast. Various pieces of equipment are scattered around—weights that probably measure in tons, targets that seem designed for energy-based attacks, and what appears to be a reinforced punching bag the size of a small building.
"Let's begin with strength," Dr. Chen says, consulting her tablet. "Please lift as much weight as you feel comfortable with."
I approach the weight rack, eyeing the options. The smallest weight is labeled "500 lbs"—apparently their idea of a warm-up. The largest reads "50,000 lbs" in cheerful red letters.
Right. Enhanced individuals. Not normal humans.
I select what looks like a moderate weight—maybe five thousand pounds—and lift it with deliberate effort. Not the casual one-handed motion I could manage, but enough strain to look appropriately challenged. The metal bar bends slightly under the pressure of my grip, and I have to consciously dial back my strength to avoid crushing it entirely.
"Impressive," Dr. Chen notes, making marks on her tablet. "And you, Ms. Lynria?"
Caleif follows my lead, selecting a similar weight and lifting it with theatrical difficulty. I can see the amusement in her eyes as she plays the part of a struggling student rather than a being who could probably bench press a mountain if properly motivated.
"Excellent. Now let's test durability."
This involves standing still while various objects are fired at us from what appears to be a very sophisticated cannon. Rubber balls, metal pellets, and finally what looks like actual bullets—though I suspect they're designed not to seriously injure even normal humans.
The projectiles bounce off my skin with metallic pings, leaving no marks despite the impressive impact force. The armor beneath my flesh absorbs the energy effortlessly, though I make sure to stagger dramatically when the bullets hit.
"Fascinating," Dr. Chen murmurs, her clinical interest reminding me uncomfortably of researchers who studied me before my imprisonment. "Your skin appears to have some kind of metallic properties. Is this a recent development?"
"You could say that," I reply, which is technically true if you consider five thousand years of hellish transformation "recent" in cosmic terms.
The speed test involves running laps around the chamber while sensors track my movement. I hold back significantly, moving at what I hope looks like enhanced-but-not-supernatural speed. Still fast enough to blur slightly, but not fast enough to accidentally break the sound barrier.
"Now for the interesting part," Dr. Chen says, leading us to a different section of the chamber. "Energy manipulation. Please demonstrate your abilities."
This is where things get tricky. I extend my hand, allowing just a trickle of hellfire to manifest—not the cosmic inferno that consumed the Nexus, but a small flame that dances across my palm like a party trick.
"Fire manipulation," Dr. Chen notes. "Temperature?"
I increase the heat slightly, enough to make the air shimmer but not enough to melt the metal flooring. "Hot enough," I say with what I hope passes for teenage bravado.
"And the range of your abilities?"
Here's where I have to be careful. Too specific, and she might push for demonstrations I can't fake. Too vague, and she might get suspicious.
"Still figuring that out," I admit, which is probably the most honest thing I've said all morning. "It's... complicated."
She makes more notes, her expression unreadable. "We see that a lot with transfer students. Different training methods, different understanding of their own capabilities."
Caleif demonstrates her own abilities next—energy manipulation that looks demonic to my enhanced senses but probably appears as generic supernatural power to normal observation. She creates small constructs of crystallized energy, nothing too impressive but enough to suggest significant potential.
"Interesting," Dr. Chen says, studying the readings on her tablet. "Your energy signatures are quite unique. Almost like they're operating on different fundamental principles than what we typically see."
My blood runs cold. Different fundamental principles. That's dangerously close to recognizing that we're not from this realm at all.
"We're from... very far away," I say carefully. "Different training traditions."
"Mmm." She doesn't look entirely convinced, but she doesn't press the issue either. "Well, I think we have enough data for preliminary placement. You'll both be assigned to Advanced Classes, with some specialized tutorials to help you adapt to our methods."
Advanced Classes. That sounds promising—or potentially catastrophic, depending on what "advanced" means in a school for superpowered teenagers.
As we leave the testing facility, I catch Caleif's eye. Her expression mirrors my own mixture of relief and apprehension. We've passed the first hurdle, but something tells me Director Yamamoto's assessment process is far from over.
"Not bad for our first day as students," Caleif says once we're out of earshot.
"The day's not over yet," I reply, watching other students demonstrate abilities that would have been considered miraculous in my original realm. "And something tells me the real tests are just beginning."
A group of older students passes us, their casual conversation drifting back: "...heard there's going to be combat trials next week..." "...advanced students only..." "...Director Yamamoto wants to see what the new transfers can really do..."
Combat trials. Of course. Because what could possibly go wrong with putting me in a controlled combat situation and asking me to hold back five thousand years of lethal training?
I have a feeling our attempts at being "ordinary" students are about to get a lot more complicated. "I hate my life." I whisper to myself as I feel my hellfire spark in response to my frustration, and Caleif shoots me a warning glance. I take a deep breath, forcing the flames back down.
"Relax," she whispers, linking her arm through mine as we walk across the courtyard. "You're doing fine."
"I'm a five-thousand-year-old being who's killed gods, and now I'm pretending to be a teenager worried about combat trials. This isn't fine. This is cosmic irony at its worst."
A passing student with metallic skin gives me a curious look, and I realize I've let my voice carry. Great. First day and I'm already the weird transfer kid talking about killing gods. That'll help us blend in.
Dr. Chen catches up to us, tablet in hand. "Here are your class schedules. You'll start tomorrow with Power Ethics at eight, followed by Control Techniques at ten. And Director Yamamoto would like to see you both in her office after lunch."
Of course she would. The woman with the unsettling violet eyes who clearly suspects we're not typical "enhanced individuals." Just what I need to improve my mood.
"Thank you," Caleif says with a smile that could charm demons. Literally has, in fact.
As Dr. Chen walks away, I scan my schedule with growing disbelief. "Power Ethics? Socialization and Integration? History of Enhanced Society? What is this, superhero kindergarten?"
"It's called being a student," Caleif reminds me, examining her own schedule. "Something you haven't been for... how long exactly?"
"Longer than this realm has probably existed," I mutter.
We make our way to the dining hall for lunch, a massive space filled with teenagers displaying various levels of supernatural abilities. A boy freezes his friend's soda mid-air as a prank. A girl accidentally sets her textbook on fire, then extinguishes it with a wave of her hand. Another kid appears to be having three conversations simultaneously while his body splits into identical copies.
And no one bats an eye. No Purifiers storming in to maintain "natural order." No artificial barriers separating those with power from those without. Just... acceptance.
"It's everything you fought for," Caleif says softly, reading my thoughts with her usual uncanny accuracy. "A world where different types of beings coexist without fear or artificial separation."
"I know," I admit, grabbing a tray and joining the lunch line. "That's what makes it so damn unsettling."
The cafeteria food is surprisingly decent—another sign we're definitely not in a normal high school. I select what appears to be actual food rather than the processed mystery substances I remember from my distant human past.
We find an empty table near the window, and I try to look inconspicuous while eating with hands that want to extend into claws every time I'm not actively suppressing them. The hellfire in my veins keeps trying to heat my food to temperatures that would melt the plate.
"You're brooding again," Caleif observes between bites.
"I'm not brooding. I'm contemplating the absurdity of our situation."
"While glaring at your mashed potatoes like they personally imprisoned you in Hell. That's brooding."
Before I can respond with something appropriately scathing, a shadow falls across our table. I look up to find three students standing there—two boys and a girl, all radiating the kind of casual arrogance that apparently transcends dimensional boundaries.
"You're the new transfers," says the one in front, a tall boy with electric blue hair and eyes that spark with actual electricity. Not a question, but a statement of fact. "I'm Ryu. This is Akira and Mei."
Akira, a boy with shadow-like patterns moving across his skin, nods curtly. Mei, whose fingers seem to be constantly shifting between solid and translucent, offers a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"Kamen," I reply, not bothering to stand or offer my hand. Five thousand years in Hell has left me with limited patience for teenage posturing. "This is Caleif."
"We heard you did pretty well in assessment," Ryu continues, leaning on our table. "Advanced placement right off the bat. That's rare for transfers."
"We're special that way," I say, my voice flat.
Ryu's eyes narrow slightly. "Combat trials are next week. Hope you're ready. Director Yamamoto always pairs new transfers against established students. Helps set expectations."
Ryu says as he pours a drink over my head and laughs. The cold liquid hits my head and runs down my face, soaking into my shirt. For a moment, the cafeteria goes completely silent except for Ryu's laughter and the drip of whatever sugary drink he just dumped on me.
I feel the hellfire in my veins surge in response to the humiliation. The armor beneath my skin shifts restlessly, wanting to manifest fully. My claws itch to extend, to show this arrogant little shit exactly what five thousand years in Hell can teach someone about creative violence.
Instead, I very slowly reach up and wipe the liquid from my eyes, keeping my movements deliberate and controlled. When I look up at Ryu, I make sure he can see the glow intensifying in my gaze.
"Oops," he says with mock innocence, though his electric eyes flicker with uncertainty at my lack of reaction. "Clumsy me."
The smart thing would be to laugh it off. Play the part of the embarrassed new kid who doesn't want to make waves. Maintain our cover as ordinary enhanced students just trying to fit in.
But I've never been particularly smart when it comes to letting disrespect slide.
"Ryu, right?" I say, my voice carrying that slight metallic resonance that makes nearby students unconsciously lean away. "Thanks for the introduction. Really sets the tone for our relationship."
I stand slowly, liquid still dripping from my hair. The movement is casual, unhurried, but something in the way I rise makes Akira take a step back. His shadow patterns are moving faster now, responding to some primal instinct that recognizes predator when it sees one.
"Hope you enjoyed that," I continue, my smile not reaching my eyes. "Because when combat trials come around next week, I'm going to remember this moment very clearly."
Ryu's confident smirk wavers slightly. "Is that a threat?"
"It's a promise," I reply, the hellfire in my chest burning steady and cold. "I'm going to show you exactly what 'advanced placement' means."
Mei's translucent fingers solidify completely, her body language screaming danger even if her brain hasn't caught up yet. These kids have enhanced abilities, but they've lived in a world where those abilities are regulated, controlled, made safe for academic environments.
They have no idea what they're dealing with.
"Looking forward to it," Ryu says, but his voice lacks the earlier confidence. He gestures to his friends. "Come on. Let's leave the transfers to clean up."
As they walk away, I hear Akira whisper urgently to Ryu, though my enhanced hearing picks up every word: "Did you see his eyes? They were glowing brighter when you dumped that drink. And his voice—"
"Just another enhanced freak trying to look tough," Ryu cuts him off, but I can hear the uncertainty underneath his bravado.
I settle back into my chair, using napkins to dry my hair while the cafeteria slowly returns to normal conversation levels. Caleif is studying my face with obvious concern.
"That was restrained for you," she observes quietly.
"I'm learning," I reply, though my hands are still trembling slightly with suppressed rage. "Though next week's combat trials just became a lot more interesting."
"Kamen—"
"I know," I interrupt. "Keep it under control. Don't reveal our true nature. Blend in." I crumple the soggy napkins with more force than necessary. "But that little shit just made this personal."
"He's a teenager showing off for his friends. You've killed cosmic entities."
"Which is exactly why this shouldn't matter," I admit, frustrated with my own reaction. "But apparently even five thousand years in Hell can't completely burn away petty human pride."
The rest of lunch passes without incident, though I notice other students giving us a wide berth. Word travels fast in any school environment, and our confrontation with Ryu's group has clearly marked us as potentially dangerous.
Good. Maybe that'll save me from having to deal with any more "introductions."
After lunch, we make our way to Director Yamamoto's office as requested. The same elevator, the same polished hallway, the same nameplate on the door. But this time, when we knock and enter, we're not alone.
Three other faculty members sit in chairs arranged in a semicircle, their combined attention focused on us as we take our seats. Director Yamamoto introduces them quickly—Dr. Sato from Combat Training, Professor Williams from Enhanced Psychology, and someone called Master Chen who apparently teaches advanced control techniques.
"Your assessment results were quite interesting," Director Yamamoto begins without preamble. "Dr. Chen's report raises several questions about your backgrounds and the nature of your abilities."
I keep my expression neutral, though the hellfire in my chest flickers with anxiety. "What kind of questions?"
"The fundamental energy signatures you both display are unlike anything we've documented," Dr. Sato says, consulting a tablet. "They don't match known patterns for genetic enhancement, radiation exposure, or any of the other common origins we see."
"As I mentioned, we're from very far away," I reply carefully. "Different training methods, different understanding of our abilities."
Professor Williams leans forward, her eyes sharp with clinical interest. "How far away, exactly? Because your psychological profiles suggest trauma and adaptation patterns consistent with extreme long-term stress. Decades at minimum, possibly longer."
Decades. If only she knew.
"We've had difficult lives," Caleif says smoothly, her voice carrying just enough pain to sound convincing. "It's part of why we transferred here. Looking for a fresh start."
Master Chen speaks for the first time, his voice carrying an odd resonance that makes my enhanced hearing prick up. "Your control techniques are fascinating. Suppression methods that go far beyond what we typically teach. Almost like you're constantly holding back something much larger."
Because I am, I think. I'm holding back five thousand years of accumulated rage and enough hellfire to melt this entire building.
"We're still learning our limits," I say instead. "It's an ongoing process."
Director Yamamoto's violet eyes study me with that unsettling intensity I remember from our first meeting. "Which brings us to why you're really here. Dr. Chen mentioned you'll be participating in combat trials next week."
"Standard procedure for advanced placement students," Dr. Sato adds. "Helps us understand your capabilities in controlled conditions."
Controlled conditions. Right. Because there's nothing uncontrolled about putting me in a combat situation and asking me to hold back lethal force.
"We understand," I say, though I'm already calculating how to demonstrate enough skill to maintain our cover without accidentally killing my opponent.
"The trials are designed to push students to their limits," Master Chen explains. "To help them understand the full scope of their abilities in a safe environment."
"Safe," I repeat, the word carrying more irony than they could possibly understand.
"Of course," Director Yamamoto says, her smile sharp. "Though I suspect your limits might be rather higher than most students'. Which is why we'll be taking special precautions."
Special precautions. That doesn't sound ominous at all.
The meeting continues for another twenty minutes, covering logistics and expectations, but my mind keeps drifting to next week's trials. To Ryu's arrogant smirk and the promise I made in the cafeteria.
To the delicate balance between maintaining our cover and not letting some teenage asshole think he can humiliate me without consequences.
As we leave the administrative building, Caleif voices the concern I've been trying to ignore.
"You're going to have to fight that boy, aren't you?"
"Probably," I admit. "And when I do, it's going to take every ounce of control I've learned to not accidentally vaporize him."
"Accidentally?"
I pause at the implication in her voice. "Yes, accidentally. I'm not planning to murder a teenager over spilled soda."
"Good," she says, relief evident. "Though I suspect the real challenge won't be holding back your power. It'll be holding back your pride."
She's right, of course. The hellfire I can control. The armor I can suppress. But the part of me that spent five millennia refusing to bow to cosmic authority?
That might be a problem, but fuck it, sometimes accidents happen.
The rest of the week passes in a blur of classes that feel designed to insult my intelligence. Power Ethics covers moral dilemmas I solved centuries ago. Control Techniques teaches suppression methods I mastered before this realm even existed. History of Enhanced Society reads like a children's book compared to the cosmic conflicts I've witnessed firsthand.
But it's Socialization and Integration that really grates on my nerves. Sitting in a circle with teenagers discussing "healthy ways to express frustration with your abilities" while the hellfire in my chest wants to reduce the entire classroom to ash.
"Kamen," the instructor says during our Thursday session, "you've been very quiet. Would you like to share how you cope with anger management?"
I look around the circle at my fellow "enhanced individuals"—kids worried about accidentally freezing their lunch or setting their homework on fire. Their problems seem so... quaint.
"I find physical exercise helps," I say, which is technically true if you count dismembering cosmic entities as exercise.
"That's wonderful! And what kind of physical activities do you enjoy?"
Combat. Warfare. The systematic destruction of beings who threaten the innocent.
"Running," I lie smoothly. "Clears the head."
Friday arrives with all the anticipation of an execution. Combat trials begin at noon in the Academy's main arena—a massive structure that apparently doubles as both training facility and entertainment venue for the student body.
I spend the morning trying to meditate, to find that center of calm control I'll need to avoid accidentally killing whoever they pair me against. The armor beneath my skin shifts restlessly, responding to my anxiety. Five thousand years of combat training doesn't exactly prepare you for holding back.
"You're pacing," Caleif observes from where she sits reading her own combat trial instructions.
"I'm preparing," I correct, though she's right about the pacing.
"For what? It's a school exercise, not a cosmic war."
"Tell that to Ryu when I accidentally tear his head off because he moves wrong."
She sets down her papers, fixing me with that look she gets when she thinks I'm being dramatic. "You've fought gods, Kamen. You can handle one arrogant teenager."
"Gods don't have safety regulations," I point out. "Gods don't require me to demonstrate 'appropriate force levels' and 'responsible power usage.' Gods just die when I kill them."
The notification arrives at eleven-thirty: Combat Trial Assignment - Kamen Driscol vs. Ryu Nakamura, Arena 1, 12:15 PM.
Of course. Of fucking course they paired me with the electric-haired asshole who dumped soda on my head. Either this is cosmic irony at work, or Director Yamamoto has a very specific sense of humor.
"Well," Caleif says, reading over my shoulder, "at least you won't have to pretend to have a grudge."
The walk to the arena feels like a funeral march. Students line the corridors, whispering about the new transfers and their upcoming trials. Some look excited. Others seem nervous, like they can sense something dangerous is about to happen.
They're not wrong.
The arena itself is impressive—a circular space roughly the size of a football field, surrounded by energy barriers that presumably keep the audience safe from whatever happens inside. Stands rise in tiers around the perimeter, already filling with students eager to watch the new transfers get put in their place.
I spot Ryu across the arena floor, surrounded by his usual crowd of admirers. He's changed into what appears to be specialized combat gear—form-fitting clothes that probably enhance his electrical abilities. He looks confident, relaxed, like this is just another opportunity to show off.
He has no idea what's coming.
"Contestants, please report to your starting positions," announces a voice over the arena's sound system.
I walk to the center of the arena floor, feeling hundreds of eyes tracking my movement. The energy barriers hum with power, creating a containment field that would probably hold most enhanced individuals.
Key word being "most."
Director Yamamoto's voice echoes through the arena. "Today's trials are designed to assess combat capability, tactical thinking, and control under pressure. Victory conditions are simple—force your opponent to yield, render them unable to continue, or maintain dominance for ten minutes."
Ten minutes. I could end this in ten seconds if I wanted to. The real challenge will be making it look like a fair fight.
"Safety protocols are in effect," she continues. "Excessive force will result in immediate disqualification and disciplinary action."
Excessive force. Right. I suppose reducing my opponent to component atoms would qualify as excessive.
Ryu takes his position across from me, electricity already crackling between his fingers. His confident smirk is back in full force, and I can practically hear him thinking about how he's going to humiliate the weird transfer kid in front of the entire school.
"Ready?" the referee asks—a teacher I don't recognize whose own enhancement appears to involve some kind of kinetic absorption field.
I flex my fingers, feeling the claws want to extend. The armor beneath my skin pulses with anticipation. The hellfire in my chest burns steady and eager.
"Ready," I say, my voice carrying that metallic resonance that makes the arena's energy barriers flicker slightly.
"Begin!"
Ryu moves first, launching himself forward with electrical enhancement boosting his speed. Lightning arcs from his hands toward me, the energy bright enough to leave afterimages in normal vision.
I don't dodge. Don't even flinch.
The electricity hits my chest and disperses harmlessly across the armor beneath my skin, absorbed into the hellfire that burns in my core. Ryu's confident expression falters as he realizes his opening attack did absolutely nothing.
"My turn," I say, and blur forward.
I hold back—drastically, significantly, embarrassingly—but even my restrained speed is enough to cross the arena floor in less than a heartbeat. Ryu's enhanced reflexes let him start to dodge, but he's moving through water compared to what five thousand years of combat has taught me about acceleration.
My fist connects with his solar plexus—a carefully controlled strike that hits hard enough to fold him in half but not hard enough to rupture internal organs. He flies backward, electricity discharging wildly as his concentration breaks.
The crowd goes silent. Even Ryu's usual admirers seem stunned by how quickly their champion was sent flying.
Ryu hits the arena wall with a solid thunk, then slides down to land in a crumpled heap. For a moment, I think I might have misjudged the force and actually injured him seriously.
Then he pushes himself up, blood trickling from his nose, his electric eyes blazing with fury and something that might be genuine fear.
"Lucky shot, after I beat you, I'm gonna take your girl away from you. She'll be mine." he snarls, electricity coursing over his entire body now. "Let's see how you handle this."
Hearing this I appear infront of him, to the others it looks like I instantly appear and I punch out at his gut knocking the air from his lung forcing him to cough up blood and suddenly i feel so much better, but something isn't right.
The air splits open with a sound like the universe screaming—a jagged wound in reality itself, edges crackling with impossible colors. It pulls at me, not just my body but something deeper, as if my very atoms are being unraveled. "No. No. NO. NO. CALEIF!" My voice breaks as I claw desperately at nothing, fingernails tearing against the fabric of existence. The tear devours me, every cell in my body shrieking in protest as I'm ripped from my world and crushed through a space too small to contain me.
I awaken hours later, or so I assume, lying on the side of a road. It's not paved; it's just a stretch of dirt and gravel, rough and uneven beneath me. "Where the fucking fuck am I?" I blurt out, my voice groggy and slurred from the disorienting fall.
All around me, the air is filled with unnerving screeches, echoing through the dense foliage like the cries of unseen creatures lurking in the shadows. The underbrush rustles ominously, heightening my unease. Suddenly, a small rabbit hops out from the bushes in front of me, its fur blending almost seamlessly with the surroundings.
"Oh, it's just a rabbit. That's not that ba—" My words are abruptly cut short as the rabbit's mouth opens impossibly wide, stretching beyond the limits of nature. "What the fuck?!" I yell in panic, my heart racing as I instinctively kick the bizarre creature, launching it skyward and far away from me. The surreal sight leaves me breathless and bewildered, my mind struggling to comprehend the bizarre reality around me.