The last bell had just chimed, indicating the end of the day's lesson.
Students hurriedly picked their bags and headed out, turning the hallway to a local market as they discussed and cheered loudly.
In a class, a black haired boy sat dejectedly, refusing to move and lost in myriads of thoughts.
High School graduation was few days away, and the students were more than delighted discussing college and prom night plans.
Syril Sylvester (the black haired boy) had heard whispers of best ball dress, prom partners, possible prom king and queen, but all of those meant nothing to him.
He was supposed to join the conversations, but it didn't worry him when he wasn't even 'worthy' to talk in the midst of his colleagues.
The others had abilities, even if some had abilities that were considered useless... still, they had something.
Something was better than nothing.
Syril had been shut off that 'worthiness' when he lost his parents to a fatal accident at a young age. They hadn't gotten his power book before their demise.
Out of the thousands of students in Flemdale High School, he was the only misfit. The only one without an ability.
What hurt the most? He was a graduating student. One to transit to college, where his future would be determined. Where his societal status would be defined. It was the place he was meant to shapen his destiny, but all seemed hopeless without an ability.
Syril's thoughts were cut short when a voice echoed behind him.
He slowly turned to the figure, his black hair briefly covering his eyes. He soon noticed who it was, and his face scrunched immediately.
"Oh, it's cereal sitting all by himself. What's wrong? You're scared you don't have milk to succeed in college?" A blonde boy known as Ashley Brown teased, a smug grin tugging the corners of his cheek.
"It's Syril! You should know your joke is old by now, Ashley," Syril retorted, his face scrunching tighter from the cruel pun.
"I know it's cereal. That's what I called you. Oh, and my jokes are never old, cereal," Ashley hastily replied, a cruel laughter escaping him.
He basically erupted into a wild laughter like a crazed one as he headed for the hallway.
Syril's fist clenched on the chair he sat, his eyes flashing with genuine anger... then, a smirk curled on his lips.
He had never responded to bullies, always enduring the taunts, even when they pissed him off limits. But today, he felt the need to retaliate. He was going to leave the school soon anyways, so he might as well pay a little back.
Unbeknownst to him, that'd be one of his 'biggest' mistakes.
"Oh, everyone knows your jokes are just as old and BROWN like your underwear, Ashley Brown," said Syril, a quick chuckle escaping him as he placed more emphasis on Ashley's surname, playing his own turn of cruel pun.
Ashley's steps paused by the class entrance, his body visibly shaking like a volcano on the verge of eruption.
His hands had levitated a wooden chair behind Syril, about to smash it on the poor boy's head. Then, a thought flashed in his head. He silently stopped his control and dropped the chair gently.
He feigned a smile and gave a mild response; "We'll see about that."
Ashley turned to the hallway and walked out of the classroom like nothing happened.
'Pfft! See about what?' Syril responded in his head, but was soon to dismiss the thought when his gaze fell on the class clock.
"Shit, I'm late! I hope Amanda doesn't get angry with me," Syril exclaimed as he picked his bag and dashed out of the school for his workplace.
Syril worked at the Amanda's café as a waiter, the place he convinced himself he could raise enough to get a decent power book. Still, the dream seemed preposterous to him.
Even the lowest power book cost a fortune to him, and with the amount he earned from the café, he could barely pay his tuition fee and feed himself. There wasn't even enough for savings.
Still, Syril pushed himself. "Something is better than nothing," he likes to say.
That day's work was tedious as usual, but he endured throughout the shift, even receiving higher tips.
He had recently waved goodbye to a happy Amanda and slapped his somewhat heavy pocket as he hopped on the busy street.
The humming of the flying cars and revs of the land cars were constant reminders of the lively Almandale city.
The neon glows and billboards weren't left out, they shone in the dark night like stars, litting up the bustling city.
Skyscrapers threatened to devour the clouds, modern and sleek buildings dazzling and standing like living monuments.
Almandale was a city known for its beauty and productivity, a place where businesses thrive, where moguls create and crush business empires, where power is what determines your position in the society, and where superstars reside.
It was an insult to call it a small city.
Syril had just turned into an alley, an almost imperceptible passage he always took as a shortcut to his house.
He had barely taken five steps when he got surrounded.
A voice teased in the oppressive darkness, sharp and cold like a blade.
"Well, well, well! If it's not Syril Sylvester. How was work?"
Syril shuddered, his eyes darting maniacally in the poorly lit alley.
A cold hand grasped his shoulder, momentarily freezing the region and sending shivers down his spine.
Syril slowly turned and was terrified to acknowledge the face of one of his nemeses.
However, he wasn't alone. Three other figures were there with him, their eyes glinting with dangerous fervor.
Blake Frost with Ice ability was the first to speak.
Gareth Blazewood with Fire ability followed.
Next was Oliver Houston with Metal Manipulation.
Lastly, Ashley Brown with Wood ability.
"Gu... guys, wh-what is this all about?" Syril stuttered, his legs preparing to take flight.
Silence.
No one spoke.
Syril dared to move, his legs taking a step, only to be entrapped by wooden spikes protruding from the ground.
"Guys..." Syril tried to reason, his voice edged with unspoken pleas.
"Let's see about that joke, now," Ashley declared, his hands called a wooden club into his clutch, his face straight and cold.
"Never joke with a Brown."
That was all Syril heard before he was sent to the world of pain.
Something heavy struck his shin and his legs immediately buckled. He fell to his knees and an agonizing yell ripped from his throat.
"No! Please..." Syril begged, but his efforts proved futility.
A metal plate moved from somewhere and tightly sealed Syril's mouth, preventing more utterances. Clearly the work of Oliver Houston.
The next thing that happened was a terrible display of power that would've been beautiful if it wasn't used to torment a helpless boy.
Syril was battered till he lost consciousness, his body a map of blood and bruises.
They had even left a note in his torn cloth, reading: "this is what happens when you mess with the big guns, Cereal," before they threw him in a trash can.
It's been thirty minutes, and Syril was still lost in oblivion, every mark on his body still slightly oozing blood.
Finally, after an hour or so, Syril was brought back to consciousness, his battered body reminding him of his earlier mistake.
He wanted to curse himself for not having any ability, but he immediately dismissed it. Even if he had an ability, he couldn't beat the heirs of powerhouses in Almandale.
And say he had some kind of strong ability and managed to beat them all, he knew their families would be after his life for eternity.
He slowly pushed himself to sit in the dumpster, his body aching like he had several pins connected.
He held his breath, his eyes closed as he reminisced.
When he opened his eyes, a hot tear rolled down his cheek.
"Why? Why did you leave me to suffer in this corrupt world?" Syril questioned his dead parents as if they were there.
He moved to stand despite the several ache he felt. Midway, his blurry vision caused by suspended tears caught something, instantly capturing his interests.
It was a book.
The book had weird symbols and designs all over it, but a symbol remained distinct in the center of the book, fairly larger than the other ones.
It was a triangle, one with five circles in it and some kind of ancient, unknown language etched in the middle of it.
At first, Syril thought it was a power book, his blood rushing from the fantasy of that thought... he soon dismissed it and slapped himself mentally. He had never been lucky.
What made him think he'll find a treasure in a dumpster right after beaten to pulp.
Still, he reached for the book. A book was a book. A scholar like himself would never trash a book.
He clutched the book tightly as his exhausted and larruped body forcefully stood. He limped from the alley to his house, seeking sanctuary in his closed space.
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First one down! Ya ready for Syril's transformation? Stick with me. You might wanna buckle up, because this is a hell of a ride.
What are your thoughts about this chapter? Ideas? Let me see ya in the comment section.