[Location: New York City – Rooftop, Manhattan, Midnight Storm]
I hit the rooftop hard enough to crack it.
Cold air. The smell of asphalt and ozone. Neon lights bleeding through rain.
Definitely not the GDA facility.
Definitely not the Invincible world.
My body was screaming, every nerve vibrating with barely-contained power. Blue light danced under my skin, threatening to rip me apart from the inside out.
I rolled over, gasping — half-expecting a GDA drone to swoop down and finish the job.
Instead, the storm answered.
"Hold still."
The voice came steady, deliberate.
It didn't shout — it didn't have to.
When I looked up, a man stood a few feet away, rain curving around him. His coat flicked in the wind, fedora shadowing his eyes. Gold light pulsed faintly across his hands, coiling like tame lightning.
I froze.
Even through the haze of pain, I recognized that face.
Balthazar Blake.
I'd watched him in The Sorcerer's Apprentice back when I was alive — the mentor with old magic and sharp sarcasm. Except now he wasn't on a screen.
He was real.
And I was falling apart in front of him.
"You're leaking energy," he said, eyes scanning the glow tearing through my veins. "And that's not any mana I've seen before."
"I— can't—" I forced the words out through gritted teeth. "It's… building—"
"Damn it," he muttered. "Stay still."
Golden circles of light spun into existence around me — clean, precise, controlled. Each one hummed with geometry, anchoring the air itself.
My vision fractured between blue and gold. The energy inside me pushed outward, crashing against his circles.
Then his hand touched my shoulder — firm, confident.
And just like that, the chaos found a rhythm.
His magic didn't suppress mine. It shaped it.
For the first time since the experiment, the burning in my body aligned.
The light dimmed, falling from chaos to a quiet pulse beneath my skin.
I collapsed to my knees, the sound of the storm fading into a dull hiss.
When I finally managed to lift my head, Balthazar was still standing there, watching with the same analytical calm I'd expect from a scientist, not a sorcerer.
"You're lucky," he said at last. "A few seconds longer and you'd have atomized yourself."
I laughed weakly. "Guess I owe you one."
He tilted his head, studying me. "What are you?"
"Long story," I muttered. "Short version — I'm not supposed to exist."
He sighed — the sound of a man who'd seen far too many impossible things.
"Figures. New York always finds new ways to surprise me."
The edges of my vision began to blur. My body was shutting down.
Before I blacked out, I heard him say one last thing — calm, thoughtful, curious:
"Not any magic I know… but maybe it can be taught."