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The morning sun bled across Hero Plaza's chrome towers, painting twenty thousand bodies in harsh light. Radiant floated above, golden energy pulsing from her skin in waves that warmed the spring air. Children pressed against barricades, eyes wide with wonder—wonder that would soon turn to terror.
"Beautiful day, Commissioner," Director Cross muttered, adjusting his tie as he scanned the crowd through AR lenses. "Too beautiful."
Radiant's amplified voice cut through the chatter. "Fifty years since the Great Awakening! Fifty years since humanity discovered the gift burning in our DNA!"
Cross remembered the history lessons. December 12, 2107—some construction worker in Tokyo realized he could twist steel beams like pretzels. Six months later, one in eight people could do the impossible. Fire. Strength. Flight. Mind-fucking. Reality itself bent to human will.
"We built this world together!" Radiant declared, her light intensifying. "Heroes and citizens, Sparked and Sparkless, united in—"
Her voice vanished.
Cross's earpiece screamed. "Control to all units! Emergency broadcast! All Heroes to stations NOW!"
On the floating platform, Radiant froze. Color drained from her face as her comm device buzzed. The crowd murmured, confusion rippling through twenty thousand throats.
Cross's AR display flashed red. His hand flew to his sidearm—useless against most Sparks, but instinct screamed for a weapon.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Radiant's voice trembled. "We're receiving reports of unusual Spark manifestations. Please remain calm and—"
The first scream tore through Sector 7.
Cross spun toward the sound. A teenager stood engulfed in flames, but these weren't controlled fires. They erupted from his hands and arms, consuming his flesh even as they spread. His skin blackened and peeled away in strips, revealing muscle and bone beneath. His eyes rolled back, showing only whites as flames consumed him from the inside out. Then he exploded—showering the crowd in burning gore that ignited bystanders like human torches.
"Spark overload!" Cross barked into his comm. "Sector 7, teenage male, fire-based Spark out of control!"
More shouts erupted. In Sector 12, a woman's ice Spark went critical. Instead of frost, the temperature plummeted to absolute zero. Concrete under her feet shattered like glass. Three bystanders too close froze solid—their bodies cracking apart as their blood expanded into ice crystals, shattering into frozen chunks that sliced through nearby throats.
In Sector 3, a man with super strength seized a support beam and crushed it like paper. His muscles swelled grotesquely, skin splitting as his bones expanded beneath. Blood vessels burst across his arms, spraying crimson across screaming civilians. Then his heart exploded through his chest cavity—a wet thud followed by the sound of ribs cracking as the organ pulsed once on the ground before bursting.
Cross's earpiece crackled with chaos.
"—multiple overloads citywide—"
"—Sparks exceeding all parameters—"
"—Heroes down, requesting backup—"
On stage, Radiant struggled to maintain control. Her light Spark flared wildly, no longer soothing but blinding. She clutched her head, golden flames erupting from her pores as her skin began to melt and slide from her bones. Her jaw detached, hanging by threads of muscle as she tried to speak, emitting only a gurgling scream.
"All units, Director Cross speaking!" The voice cut through the madness. "Code Black situation! Sparks worldwide are malfunctioning! Cause unknown! Heroes contain and evacuate NOW!"
Cross dragged civilians toward exits as data flooded his display.
**Tokyo: 47 Spark overloads—gravity wells crushing thousands, thermodynamic explosions vaporizing city blocks**
**London: 23 reality manipulators—spatial distortions folding buildings into origami shapes with people still inside**
**New York: Telepathic feedback—brains liquefying in skulls, eyeballs popping from pressure as thoughts become physical weapons**
**Mumbai: Gravity controller—aircraft ripped from sky, crashing into crowds like meteors, splattering pedestrians across ten blocks**
The pattern was clear. Sparks weren't just failing—they were evolving into something monstrous, uncontrollable, deadly.
A child's wail pierced the chaos. A six-year-old girl stood alone in the swirling panic. Silver light pulsed from her hands, but this wasn't the gentle glow of a child's Spark. It sliced through the air like molten metal.
Cross approached cautiously, then froze as the silver light cut through a concrete barrier. The slice was clean, precise—matter simply ceased to exist along the cut line. Then the girl turned her silver eyes toward him and smiled.
"Sir," his partner's voice crackled. "Global Hero Association bulletin. They're calling it the Singularity Event."
Cross kept his eyes on the silver-eyed child. "Explain?"
"Sparks aren't malfunctioning—they're evolving beyond known limits. Every Sparked individual worldwide is experiencing power surges."
The realization hit Cross like a physical blow. If every Spark was going critical...
On stage, Radiant collapsed into a ball of golden fire, her body consumed by her own power. Three blocks away, a speedster accidentally hit Mach 3. The sonic boom shattered windows across six blocks, showering streets with glass that shredded anyone caught in the blast radius—severe arteries, decapitating children, embedding shards in eyeballs.
Then the riots began.
A mob of Sparkless civilians cornered a water manipulator in an alley. They beat him to death with pipes and bricks, his skull collapsing like an eggshell as water erupted from his convulsing body, drowning his attackers. In Central Park, a mother held her telekinetic daughter underwater in a fountain until the bubbles stopped. A gang of teenagers dragged a pyrokinetic behind their motorcycle—his burning body leaving a trail of charred flesh across three miles of pavement.
Cross's comm buzzed again. "All Heroes report to containment facilities! Mandatory! Spark suppression protocols active!"
But it was too late. The golden age ended not with a whimper but with the wet tearing sound of heroes being torn apart by their own powers. Magma Man melted into a lava puddle that consumed a school bus full of children. Teleporters exploded into chunks that teleported inside bystanders—arms materializing in stomachs, legs appearing in throats. Elasticity Lady got stretched between two skyscrapers, her body tearing apart like taffy as crowds below scrambled for pieces.
Crystal towers representing humanity's potential cracked and fell, crushing hundreds beneath tons of falling debris. The silver-eyed child in Sector 7 raised her hands and sliced through the fleeing crowds—bodies falling apart in clean sections as blood sprayed in geometric patterns.
In six hours, the Emergency Powers Act would pass. Six days later, Spark Registration became mandatory. Six months after that, Hero Society was dismantled completely.
Meanwhile, deep beneath Genesis Corporation, Dr. Elena Voss began her experiments. She harvested organs from dying Sparked infants—still pulsing with chaotic energy. She stitched together abominations, bathing them in blood and Singularity radiation. The first subject was named Zero—a patchwork of infant parts floating in a tank of glowing fluid, his eyes opening to reveal swirling galaxies of destruction.
But the bloodbath was just beginning.