Nigeria, August 2023
Michael Amadike floated in nothingness, his body gone, his mind adrift in an endless void. The darkness was absolute, broken only by faint, pulsing glimmers—like stars scattered across a forgotten sky. There was no ground, no air, yet he felt weightless, suspended in a stillness that hummed with an eerie resonance. Time twisted here, each moment stretching into eternity yet fleeting as a heartbeat. The pain of the guard's hardened hand piercing his chest was a distant memory, replaced by a strange calm. Was this death? The thought should have terrified him, but instead, he felt… curious.
A presence stirred the void. The glimmers coalesced, forming a towering figure that seemed to carve itself from the darkness. Its skin gleamed like molten obsidian, rippling with faint veins of light. Its eyes glowed like dying stars, ancient and piercing, locking onto Michael with an intensity that made his soul—if he still had one—shudder. The figure's voice rumbled, a thunderstorm given words. "Michael Amadike, you're not done yet."
Michael's consciousness recoiled, struggling to anchor itself. "Where am I?" he demanded, his voice echoing in the emptiness. "Who the hell are you?"
The figure's lips curved, not quite a smile, more a knowing acknowledgment. "A guide. A watcher. You stand at the edge of life and death, where potential is weighed." Its voice vibrated through him, each word heavy with purpose.
"Potential?" Michael's tone was sharp, laced with the frustration of a lifetime spent powerless. "I'm dead, aren't I? I got stabbed through the heart trying to steal some damn gauntlet. What's left to weigh?"
The figure's eyes flared, and the void seemed to pulse in response. "You are more than you know. Your world is a nexus, a battleground where forces beyond your understanding converge. You have potential, buried deep, waiting to be unleashed."
Michael's thoughts churned. Potential? He'd spent fifteen years watching his friends wield flames, strength, and X-ray vision while he relied on grit and a gym routine. The gauntlet was supposed to change that, but it hadn't saved him. "What's the catch?" he asked, suspicion hardening his voice. "You don't just bring people back for free."
The figure's almost-smile widened. "Grow this power. Become strong. That's all I ask. The universe needs warriors, and you, Michael, are meant to be one."
Before he could argue, the figure reached out, its hand massive yet precise, pressing against where Michael's chest would be. Its grip tightened, squeezing, and Michael braced for pain. Instead, a surge of energy erupted within him, like a star igniting in his core. It was raw, electric, flooding his being with warmth and strength. A reddish aura flared around him, serene yet powerful, pulsing with a life of its own. He gasped, or thought he did, as the void began to dissolve, the figure's voice echoing: "Your world is only the beginning. Face gods, monsters, and choices that will shape existence."
Images flashed—Alvin's fiery silhouette, Ekene's broad grin, Favour's gentle eyes. Michael clung to them, a lifeline pulling him back. The void shattered, and he was falling.
In the real world, the boys' cabin was a storm of grief and chaos. Bunk beds were shoved against walls, sleeping bags and gear strewn across the wooden floor. The air smelled of sweat, scorched wood, and the faint tang of blood. A single lantern swung from the ceiling, casting flickering shadows as Alvin Ifeanyi Orike knelt beside Michael's lifeless body, laid out on a cot. His blue flames, born of rage and guilt, flickered erratically, leaving scorch marks on the floor. Tears streaked his face, his voice a broken whisper. "This is my fault. I should've stopped him."
Ekene stood guard at the door, his massive frame tense, phone pressed to his ear. "Faith, get here now!" he barked, his usual steadiness fraying. His twin brother, Uche, hovered nearby, fists clenched, his strength useless against death. The other boys—Justin, Believe, and Daniel—piled in, their faces pale. Justin's lanky form slumped against a bunk, his stretching powers forgotten. Believe's skin flickered with hardening, as if he could shield himself from the sight. Daniel's eyes glowed faintly, his monstrous form threatening to emerge.
The girls burst through the door, a whirlwind of emotion. Sonia, already half-transformed into her were-cheetah state, let out a low growl, her claws flexing. Success's hands trembled, a nearby cup levitating in her distress. Olivia's water swirled around her fingers, reflecting the lantern's light. Ella, her X-ray vision scanning Michael's still form, choked out, "He's… he's gone. His heart's not moving."
Favour pushed past them, her heightened senses picking up the faintest thread of a heartbeat. She dropped to her knees beside Michael, her hands pressing against his bloodied chest. "Come on, Mike," she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Don't leave me." Her fingers lingered, feeling the fading warmth of his skin, her senses amplifying every detail—his scent, his stillness. It was intimate, desperate, a silent confession of feelings she'd never voiced.
Faith shoved through, her healing aura glowing softly, a pale gold light emanating from her hands. She knelt opposite Favour, her face set with determination. "Move, let me try." Her hands hovered over Michael's chest, the glow sinking into his wound. The pierced heart, torn by the guard's attack, began to knit, but his pulse remained absent. Faith's voice cracked. "I'm doing everything I can, but he's… he's too far gone."
Alvin's flames flared, singeing the cot's edge. "No! Keep trying!" His voice was raw, guilt tearing at him. He'd burned the guard to ash, but it hadn't brought Michael back.
Then it happened. Michael's body convulsed, a violent shudder that sent Faith reeling back. A reddish aura erupted from him, flooding the room with a warm, pulsating energy. The lantern flickered, bunks rattled, and a low hum vibrated the air. Favour, still touching his chest, cried out as a shock jolted through her, her heightened senses overwhelmed. She collapsed, unconscious, her hand slipping from Michael's.
"Favour!" Sonia darted forward, catching her friend. The group froze, torn between fear and awe. Alvin's flames dimmed, his eyes wide. "It's him. He's… alive?"
Michael's eyes snapped open, glowing with a reddish hue—not menacing, but serene, like a sunset over a calm sea. The aura enveloped him, enhancing his presence, making the air feel heavier yet oddly soothing. He sat up, gasping, his muscles rippling under his torn shirt. The gauntlet, still on his right hand, pulsed faintly, as if resonating with his new power. He blinked, disoriented, taking in the stunned faces around him.
Favour stirred, her eyes fluttering open. Michael's aura shifted, a gentle wave flowing from him to her. She sat up, supported by his arm, their faces inches apart. "Mike… you're back," she whispered, her voice trembling with relief. Her dark eyes locked onto his, the reddish glow reflecting in them. Her hand rested on his, a fleeting, charged moment that sent a flush to her cheeks.
"I'm back," Michael said, his voice steady despite the chaos in his mind. He felt the aura coursing through him, alive, powerful, like a second heartbeat. He turned to Alvin, who stood frozen, tears still wet on his face. "Alvin, I—"
Alvin lunged, fear flashing in his eyes. "You're not him, are you? Something's taken you!" His flames flickered, ready to strike.
Michael caught him in a hug, his aura flaring to calm the heat. "It's me, cousin. I'm here." His voice broke, tears welling as he clung to Alvin. "I'm not going anywhere."
Alvin's flames died out, and he collapsed against Michael, sobbing. "I thought I lost you. I'm sorry, Mike. I should've—"
"Shut up," Michael said, half-laughing through his tears. "You burned that guy to ashes for me. We're good."
The group exhaled, tension breaking. Sonia's claws retracted, her were-cheetah form fading. Success's cup clattered to the floor. Olivia's water stilled, pooling at her feet. Ella, ever irreverent, grinned. "Well, damn, Mike, you got hot eyes now. Let's see what else changed." Her X-ray vision flicked on, scanning him with a mischievous smirk. "Nice abs, by the way."
"Ella!" Faith snapped, but a laugh escaped her, easing the room's heaviness.
Ekene punched Michael's shoulder, lighter than usual but still enough to make him wince. "You're one of us freaks now, huh? About time."
The camp's medical bay was a stark contrast to the cabin's chaos. Sterile white walls, flickering fluorescent lights, and the sharp scent of antiseptic filled the space. Aunt Uche, her healing aura a warm contrast to Faith's, examined Michael as he sat on a cot. His friends crowded the room, refusing to leave. Favour stayed closest, her hand brushing his arm under the guise of checking his pulse. Her heightened senses caught the steady thrum of his aura, and she blushed, pulling back slightly.
"This power," Uche said, her voice low, "it's not like ours. It's… different. Stronger. Be careful, Michael."
Michael nodded, still processing. He recounted fragments of the void—the figure, its cryptic words about potential and warriors. "It said my world's a nexus. Something about gods and monsters. I don't know what it meant, but it gave me this." He raised his hand, the reddish aura flaring briefly, casting a warm glow across the room.
Alvin, leaning against the wall, frowned. "Sounds like trouble. Bigger than this camp."
"Trouble's our thing," Ekene said, cracking a grin. "Right, Mike?"
Michael smirked, but his thoughts were heavy. The gauntlet, still on his hand, felt secondary now. This aura was something else, something alive. As Uche dismissed them, the group returned to the cabin, the night air thick with the hum of crickets and the weight of what had happened.
Favour walked beside Michael, her shoulder brushing his. "You scared me," she admitted, her voice soft. "Don't do that again."
He glanced at her, the reddish glow in his eyes softening. "No promises, but I'll try." Their hands brushed, and for a moment, neither pulled away. Her scent—jasmine and something uniquely her—lingered in his heightened senses, his aura amplifying the moment. They stopped short of anything more, both shy, but the air between them crackled with possibility.
Back in the cabin, the group settled, exhaustion overtaking them. Alvin sat on Michael's bunk, his flames gone, just a cousin haunted by guilt. "I'm with you, Mike. Whatever this power is, we'll figure it out."
Michael nodded, lying back, his glowing hands folded over his chest. The aura pulsed, a reminder of the being's words: Grow this power. The camp, the gauntlet, the portals—they were just the start. As sleep claimed him, Favour's touch lingered in his mind, and he knew his life was no longer his own.