Everything hurt.
I lay on my back in the dust of a dying world, the ground beneath me cracked like broken glass.
Ruins rose around me—buildings that were once homes, towers, and temples. They were round, built like quartz mushrooms architecturally and now worn down. Their surfaces still glowed faintly—cracks spiderwebbed across them, veins of soft amber light pulsing underneath—but the glow was dying.
My ribs were a cage of broken iron. Each breath dragged knives along the inside of my chest. My left arm wouldn't move—numb from the shoulder down. The energy in my veins ran cold. Bone and flesh melded together, the feeling of pouring lava on my wounds overloading my senses.
It wasn't enough.
The pain caused my brain to fail me. Everything was a blur. Everything felt numb.
The being above me didn't cast a shadow. In fact, the light bent around it. Its body the colour of pale sunrise trapped in frost. The torso narrowed to a V, limbs stretched far beyond human proportion, ending in delicate, six-fingered hands. From the crown of its oversized forehead rose the third eye—vast, unblinking, iris a churning galaxy of gold and white. Smaller eyes rested on each cheek—vertical slits that tracked me independently while the great one stared straight down through the centre of my skull.
Ultrua'is.
When it spoke, the words arrived already inside my head.
"Here you lie, battered and bruised."
The voice was calm, measured, almost kind—like a teacher lecturing a promising yet failing student.
"Tell me, George… is this what you truly want?"
The question sank into me like a hook.
I tried to laugh. It came out as a wet cough that tasted like copper.
What did I want? What reason did I have for even coming here in the first place?
My sight went dark, I couldn't feel anything anymore. Suddenly, in the dark, something emerged, something I couldn't quite comprehend. A face, eyes staring at me with cold, distant apathy.
I woke up.
The ring of my alarm faded into my consciousness. The clock said 7:14. I'd overslept by fourteen minutes—now fifteen.
My room was the same as always. I rose, wrapped in the sheets of my single bed, pressed against the corner. I sat upright, feet planted on the floor beside the bed. Buried under textbooks was my desk, lit up by the faint January light through the crack between the curtains.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes—crusted in the corners.
Shower first. The hot water streamed down my skin, smooth from the constant tearing and repairing. As I lathered the soap across my body, I felt musculature—more defined than before, especially around my core. This side hobby of mine made a good workout plan. The mirror fogged. That was long enough. The shower head's tears slowed to a halt, dripping once, twice. Stopped.
Brushed my teeth, gazing at the ceiling—white, cracked, slight build-up of mould in the corners. Spat. Brushed my damp hair with wet fingers until it sat the way it was supposed to. Swept up. Nothing fancy, just enough.
The kitchen door swung open. I grabbed a box of cereal—off-brand cornflakes—a bowl—plain white—milk, and honey. Cornflakes clattered. Milk swished. The honey cap popped open, then drizzled over the cereal. I placed the bowl on the rustic table before placing myself in the rickety seat behind it, tilting slightly under my weight.
Same as yesterday. Same as tomorrow.
It had been a while since I'd used my powers; the attack on Grossaint was the last time. Cornflakes crunched under my teeth. I stopped my late-night flights, too—there was only so much aimless flying I could do until the excitement of it wore off. Now I was regular old George McCullen.
Krista walked in.
"Morning," she greeted, halfway through a yawn.
She wore a black sleeveless top and thin, baggy, grey tracksuit bottoms. Her hair was curled, dry, and all over the place—frozen in place from sleep. She'd just woken up.
She rubbed her eyes, then smiled as she looked at me.
Black-socked feet patted against the floor towards a cupboard in the corner.
"You got uni today?" she asked, wading through tins and bags of rice and pasta.
"Yep." I scooped a spoonful of cereal, swooping it into my mouth.
She pulled a bag of bread out of the cupboard. placing a slice in the toaster—sliding the switch down until it clicked. Then flicked the kettle.
"Same…" she breathed the words out in monotone as she opened the fridge door. Half an Avocado emerged in her hand.
The kettle boiled to a click. She set a pot on the hob, filling it with water. Bubbling at the top. A single egg sank to the bottom. Fingers tapped on a phone; she set a timer—four minutes.
"Yeah, just make me look like a pleb with my cereal." I scoffed.
She snorted, "Most important meal of the day. I love breakfasty foods as well, there's just something about them."
GEORGE.
YOUR FIRST TRIAL BEGINS SOON.
That pain again—drilling in my skull. I was used to it now, enough to where I could hide it on my face—just grit my teeth and it'll go away. They've been contacting me pretty frequently recently, teasing me about some responsibility I needed to undergo—a trial.
"If you boil the egg for four minutes, you get a gooey core whilst also—George?"
I pressed through the door without a word, the cereal still sat on the table—crackling.
I entered my room, closing the door behind me. Click. Locked.
"What do you want?" I muttered.
YOUR TIME WILL COME SHORTLY.
YOU WILL SOON MEET THE OTHER HUMAN VESSEL.
Other vessel? I leaned my head against the wall. Cool. Solid. I hardly felt it due to the overbearing pain in my skull.
I'm not alone…
The monitor glowed silently. Columns and columns lined the screen—I was supposed to fill these. But I couldn't think of anything more mind-numbing. The Office was painfully dull, again. My eyes—half closed from my hand pressed against my cheek—wondered, picking the objects on my desk. A paper cup, half-filled with cold coffee. My phone—I've scrolled enough already. A stapler.
I gazed at it longer than I thought I would—longer than the other objects. Cheap black plastic. Silver jaws. It was calling to me.
Picked it up, turning it in my hand. Felt the weight.
The stapler wandered towards my mouth.
Eyes closed.
I slid my tongue between the jaws.
Just to see if it would hurt.
"Hey man, everything ok?"
Alan—too cheerful, too early.
"fuck off, Alan."
He spun around.
"Actually," I placed the stapler back on the table, "Alan… you reckon you could actually die from boredom. Because I was about to staple my fucking tongue just to feel something."
Alan came closer. Leaned over my desk. Voice lowered.
"Everything ok? Everything at home…"
I stared at him, one brow raised.
Why is he still here?
"If you ever need someone to talk to…"
"What?" I blurted out—pure reaction.
"D'you wanna talk about it, Buddy?"
"No," I shook my head, "No-"
"Because self-harm is a key indicator-"
"I wasn't self-harming, Alan, this job… is self-harm."
He walked even closer, perching himself on my desk.
"You're not alone, Tom. My cousin… tried to—he was just like you; disappeared, then we found out he was in hospital, after he tried to…"
"Why are you telling me this?"
He looked both ways. Placed a hand on my shoulder—gentle, careful. Then whispered.
"Once or twice I've found myself… you know…"
Silence stretched. Painful.
"Actually," I looked back at my monitor, typing anything on my keyboard, "I've got a lot of work that needs doing, so if you could… You know… fuck off, that would be great."
I cleared my throat quickly.
Alan nodded.
"Yeah," he mumbled, "sure".
His eyes wandered to the stapler, then back at me. Slowly, he grabbed it. My eyes didn't leave the monitor. He stepped back, stapler in hand—I followed him with my eyes until he was out of reach.
I sighed. Leaned back in my chair. Rubbed my eyes.
TOM
I froze.
YOUR FIRST TRIAL BEGINS SOON.
I stood. Strode to the bathroom, slamming the door shut.
Cold water splashed against my face. I braced my hands on the sink.
I glared at my reflection in the wide mirror. Eyes narrow—bags sat underneath. Beads of sweat poured down my face.
"It's you… What do you want?"
YOU WILL SOON MEET THE OTHER HUMAN VESSEL.
THEN YOUR TRIALS WILL BEGIN.
I laughed—short, bitter.
One of the cubicle doors opened carefully. A young lad walked out—an intern.
He crept to the sink—a couple down from me. Staring.
I looked him up and down.
"The fuck you want?"
He flinched. eyes shot to the mirror. He didn't even dry his hands; just walked out of the bathroom hurriedly.
I waited until the door shut, then looked back at my reflection.
"What are you talking about? Trials?"
THERE ARE VESSELS—JUST LIKE YOU—THAT NEED DEALING WITH.
"You want me to… kill… other of these… vessels?"
PRECISELY.
THERE IS ONE VESSEL IN PARTICULAR THAT NEEDS TO BE DESTROYED.
ULTRUA'IS.
"Ultru-what?"
ULTRUA'IS THE FIRST VESSEL.
George stared at his reflection in the mirror.
"And when will I be called?"
IN A COUPLE OF DAYS. A MONTH AT MOST.
THERE'S SOMETHING APPROACHING. SOMETHING YOU'LL NEED TO DEAL WITH FIRST.
I looked at the clock—8:22.
I need to go.
"What do you mean?" I scrambled my laptop, notepad and textbooks into a black rucksack. Hoodie thrown on—coat next.
YOU'LL FIND OUT SOON.
I lifted my bag onto my back.
I'D RECOMMEND MAKING THE MOST OF YOUR LIFE.
I froze halfway through the door.
"What?"
Silence—even after a few seconds.
I didn't have time—I was gonna be late.
Three hours passed. Three long hours sat in a lecture hall, fighting the urge to fall asleep.
The streets of Grossaint were waking up. Grey skies. Cold air that smelled damp—the wet concrete, soaked in rain. People passed fast, heads down, ear buds in. I kept my hood up, hands in pockets.
I turned the corner.
And walked straight into someone.
"Shit—sorry," I mumbled, stepping back.
He didn't say anything—just stared.
Narrow eyes pierced me. It was the look of annoyance—brows tense, snarling one corner of his mouth.
Red tie, loose shirt—sleeves rolled up, collar open. Hands buried in his pockets. Sharp jaw. Short brown hair that matched his eyes, although they were slightly reddish, like those of a devils.
Who is this kid?
Why is he just staring at me?
The kid with swept-back hair opened his mouth to say something—closed it. Then he just lowered his head and walked off into the crowd.
After turning around, I continued walking.
It was lunchtime—finally. I headed to the usual. The chicken shop windows were steamed up, the guy at the counter—same guy every time—stared down at his phone. I ordered the usual: three-piece box with peri-naise sauce. Took the bag and kept walking.
Something caught my eye on the other side of the road.
Three figures sat outside a cafe—faces familiar. They were asian. A girl with black hair, tied into a loose bun. A nerd with glasses and puffy, black hair, tapping away at a tablet. And another girl, sipping away at a milkshake. All wearing black suits and ties. MEI agents—same ones from the school.
One of them—the girl with the bun—glanced at me. My eyes averted in a flash.
I could've sworn that guy over there was looking at me.
Kaoru looked at his watch.
"Oh, Himiko, we better get going. They'll be running the first test soon."
Aiko slurped the last of her milkshake, placing it down on the glass table. Standing up.
"I wonder what powers it'll give me?" she said.
Powers.
Is it ok for us to mess with this stuff?