Initially, after ending up in this body, I tried not to stand out. Being a human with powers so akin to divine ones is tough. It's tough to pretend, watching cities burn from fires or a volcanic eruption wipe out the homes of poor people, that everything's fine. That it's all as it should be. I'm not a god incarnate or a superhero meant to save people, right?
I aimed for inconspicuousness, to blend into the crowd. And I was damn good at it. There's this cozy, comforting feeling when you're just like everyone else. An ordinary, normal person. A kid whose only role was to go to school and behave properly. A kid who just wanted to grow up into a normal member of society with a job and a family. Everyone wants to be normal.
But with powers of such immense scale, sometimes you don't even think about just sitting there. Just watching someone die because they're an ordinary human. Because they don't have powers like mine.
Being normal, alas, turned out not to be for me.
***
Together with my newfound disaster of a foster dad, gripping a chicken in my steel grip and his so-called iron hold, we talked. I was being taught wisdom and the proper way to kill poor birds. If only Kyle knew who he was teaching. There was more blood on my hands than he'd ever slaughtered livestock. But I couldn't exactly tell him that his adopted son, whom they'd pulled from an alien ship in the past, had been a mercenary killer, could I?
"Listen carefully, son, and remember," he said, raising a knife to show where to strike to kill a chicken in one blow. "You hit here, then hold it tight so it doesn't run off, and tilt it like this." I nodded seriously, though inside I couldn't hold back a chuckle. Seriously, I could decapitate every chicken in this coop at "speed" and he wouldn't even realize what happened. He wouldn't even blink before everything here was dead. But I had to keep a straight face and heed my father's instructions. I'm a farmer's son, after all. Seeing I understood, he continued.
"Good job, now watch." He slit the chicken's throat, and it squawked and flailed its legs as blood drained from its tilted body, killing it. A minute or so later, it was dead, and it was over. If I were a normal ten-year-old kid, not raised on the streets like in my past life, I'd have puked for sure. But watching the animal twitch and the panicked carcass squirm in my hands, trying to break free, I just nodded indifferently and, with permission, killed my own victim. Quite a sight, a kid killing an animal, but that's life. Some are prey, some are killers. Always has been, always will be.
Twenty minutes later, after cleaning up, Kyle and I carried two carcasses home, chatting about random topics that didn't really interest me, but I played the part of a ten-year-old perfectly. School, kids I knew, the computer club I'd joined on my own initiative, and so on. Overall, if you ignored my foster dad's approach to raising me, he was a decent guy. A civilian who chose to live on a farm in a small town, not bothering to slave away in an office till midnight. Not reaching for the stars, Kyle wasn't particularly bright, but he wasn't an idiot either. Just an ordinary working man who wanted to raise a normal son. A sensible, balanced decision that led him to this life, and I could understand it. I approved of that approach, but I saw my own life differently. No matter how this guy pictured it, I wasn't planning to stay here like he wanted. His attempts to make me a normal person, knowing my nature, seemed odd. But I wasn't one to judge—I didn't come from a good family myself.
Growing up on the streets of a gritty city in a sizable country, joining the army, getting kicked out, and then becoming a mercenary whose life was filled with contracts and corpses, you don't really see many other paths besides sticking to what you know. The familiar and understood is easier to accept than anything else. As my friend from back then would say: you can step out of your comfort zone, sure, but why would you want to? So, even as I leaned toward programming, I still thought about going back. Back to the environment I knew.
Listening to Kyle's stories about how he and his brother hunted down a massive wild boar that was like a monster, dinner passed in a calm atmosphere. I'd had plenty of dinners like this in my memory, and this one was no different. Tori told me not to stay on my phone too long—the one they'd finally bought me—and sent me to bed while she pulled out some wine. Thank God these two weren't alcoholics; this kind of evening was rare for them. I don't know how I'd have held back if my anomalous senses had to smell that crap every day. Hating alcohol in my past life, in this one I'd gained such a sharp sense of smell that even lying in the cabinets, it annoyed me. The only thing keeping my mood up was knowing no poison, including alcohol, could affect me. Thankfully, I'd quickly learned to tune out my senses—there was plenty of motivation for that. Moving guts aren't exactly appetizing at lunch, especially when your eyes suddenly start seeing like an X-ray. Damn physiology that could flip on a new ability at any moment. I hadn't even figured out heat vision yet, and now I had a whole set of weird stuff.
Lying in bed, scrolling through everything, I could only groan from boredom. Same old, same old. Even though time in my world was different, the news was just as repetitive. Politics, celebrity scandals, filth, and wars. Over and over. But then I caught a loud headline. News channels suddenly started buzzing with reports that a plane's engine had caught fire near the coast of our continent, off the eastern U.S. shore, and it was crashing. Apparently, it was so bad that the government couldn't keep up with all the media. Photos and videos from beachgoers that evening showed the pilots trying to do something, but judging by the descent and the bright fiery trail, it wouldn't last long. Based on my experience, they had maybe a minute, two, or three. Hmm. Why not?
Entering a state where everything slowed so much that even sound didn't travel, I got out of bed, went downstairs to the living room, saw Kyle and Tori frozen mid-kiss—their saliva something I could see and feel—opened the door, closed it behind me, and dashed into the forest.
Flying straight from the porch was a bad idea. Everything around was still frozen, but that didn't apply to me. I jumped, took off, controlling my abilities so nothing could be heard, especially my speed surpassing sound, and flew off. Time to save some people.
***
First, I had to adjust my course a bit since I'd veered off slightly. Then, spotting the fire from the plane, I finally emerged from the state I definitely shouldn't have been in while saving people. Diving under the burning aircraft, centering myself, I controlled my body and flight, grabbed the underbelly, and coated it with telekinesis to keep it from falling apart. I lifted the plane, which had nearly hit the ground. Another minute, and it'd have been a bright firework. I didn't even feel the weight of the massive thing, which still surprised me, but without hesitation, I carried the whole magnificent mess to a spot where it could be left safely for everyone. I had to limit myself hard so I wouldn't smear everyone inside at that speed, setting the craft down gently near the water, landing it right on the beach. Looking through a window where a shocked, pretty girl stared back at me, I winked at her. Brunette, and just my type too, but my ten-year-old face wasn't suited for any moves—shame. Though, could I even…?
Shaking my head, I vanished at a speed that made me invisible to the human eye and tech, strained my lungs for an effect I'd recently mastered—recalling Superman's powers—and extinguished the fire that had spread across the entire right wing. The air from my mouth was so cold I felt I could work as an industrial freezer. A light frost appeared and instantly snuffed out the flames—key was not to overdo it. Scanning the whole plane in an instant, I made sure it was over. My job here was done, and the sirens I heard miles away told me the rest would be handled without me. Flying above the clouds, I sped home. The sonic boom from breaking the sound barrier felt like home.
I want to sleep.
The next day, eating scrambled eggs while listening to the news, I was in a pretty good mood. The news anchor, with her polished voice, delivered the updates while my parents listened with interest. Last night, those two had passed out where they'd been drinking. Finishing breakfast, I waited for the bus to head to school. Oh, if I had my way, I'd never set foot in that den of screaming, emotional kids—they grate on your ears like nothing else. But alas, no one was driving me every day. Meanwhile, the anchor finished the financial rundown and moved on to what happened yesterday.
"Yesterday, around ten p.m., a plane from Frankfurt, operated by Irma-AIR, had its right engine catch fire due to technical issues right off the eastern U.S. coast. The pilots, attempting to land, showed a shining example of professionalism, but sadly, they couldn't save everyone on board in that situation. And then he appeared," she said with excitement. "As you all know by now, a few months ago—three, to be exact—a figure emerged in the world, helping everyone with his incredible powers. Or rather, a child with unique abilities. Let me remind you, first appearing in Texas, Superman—as everyone's started calling him due to his resemblance to the iconic comic book hero—stopped a Category 5 tornado, extinguishing it with a clap of his hands that shattered windows in a nearby town." Yeah, my bad. Should've thought that one through before doing it. Good thing I bolted fast.
"But that's not all. Yesterday, he also saved a crashing plane, vividly proving that humanity has found its true hero. A hero who helps all of mankind. Superman, if you're listening, we thank you on behalf of all humanity for everything you've done these past months and want to request a comment about yourself. Thank you." She smiled like a fangirl, asking for something I definitely wouldn't do, and continued. "Now, our experts will discuss the figure that's stunned the world. Jim?"
"Yes, thanks, Marie." The feed switched to a studio where three people sat, debating me for a month now. Interesting folks who seemed to be developing a fanboy syndrome, but the bus had arrived.
"I'm off, Mom!" I shouted, grabbing my backpack and heading toward the honking yellow beast. Ah, youth is great—if only I didn't have to ride this monster.
***
Switching off the idiots still discussing this issue, Lieutenant General Stone couldn't help but grimace. For months, pressure had been mounting from above to find this "Superman." And all John could do was throw up his hands and make excuses. Those turkeys in high offices wouldn't get that if this was truly an alien with godlike powers, no army, no country, could track down this kid, let alone make him do anything. And he's just a child…
All witnesses claimed it was a little boy in regular clothes, not hiding his face, which was pretty alarming. But finding him by a facial sketch proved impossible. A kid whose face blended with countless others couldn't be tracked in a massive country. And it wasn't even certain he lived in the U.S. Then there were the new hires scouring comics for weaknesses of this unknown threat. No kryptonite existed on Earth, and the damn magic those comic nerds swore by didn't either. At least not to John Stone, Lieutenant General of the U.S. Army Ground Forces. Countless charlatans claiming they were this being, people worldwide losing their minds, cults that had faded in recent years surging back, and conspiracy theories on TV playing like soap operas. One giant headache for one man.
No info, no traces. A ghost, not a Superman. Measuring the speed this monster could reach with cutting-edge tech proved impossible. He appeared and vanished out of thin air. Only witness accounts of his miracles and their aftermath. Photos taken by onlookers were full of glitches, impossible to make out. It was like his presence broke technology. How that was possible, John couldn't fathom. The alien he'd read about as a true American in comics didn't have powers like that. And the eggheads in the science department had theories, each crazier than the last.
For an aging man, this burden of tasks felt like a mountain. Plus unconfirmed rumors of other creatures.
John's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Without waiting for permission, his loyal right hand stepped in.
Colonel Jane Stevenson was devoted to him to her core, and he valued that. Having raised and mentored his successor, he saw his legacy in this young woman.
"You were on vacation, Jane?" John looked at her, puzzled. She'd been under a lot of strain lately, so he'd sent her on leave to come back refreshed. She had two weeks left, yet here she was. Odd, and the General didn't like it.
"I saw him," she said in one breath, skipping any greeting.
"Sorry, what?" John thought he'd misheard or his ears were failing him.
"I saw him," she repeated, pointing to her eyes. "With these very eyes, John."
Her calling him by name—when he saw her as his adopted daughter—stung. He wished she'd call him Dad, but she wouldn't. Shame.
"He winked at me. Can you believe it? Just a regular boy."
"Whoa, whoa, hold on. Calm down and start from the beginning." John waved his hands, quickly pulling out his phone to record. Something was finally breaking through, and he didn't want to miss a detail.
"It started with an explosion in the wing."
"Explosion? I thought technical issues caused the engine fire."
"It was an explosion, General, and I think someone wanted me dead."
No rest these days, John Stone thought, sighing heavily. Now this too.
***
Sunlight. I liked this feeling it gave me. The warmth on my skin, something I didn't even feel while bathing in lava. Experiments had taken me pretty far, and now, sitting in Earth's orbit right above my house, I was charging up. To my surprise, I'd learned my powers didn't come from the Sun, though it was a massive battery for me.
As the ship's invisible assistant explained on unseen fingers, a Taoranian's power drew energy for life and growth from radiation—any radiation available in the universe. We—or rather, I—could draw strength just by sitting still, but for growth and further development, it was recommended I stay near high radiation levels. Recalling basic physics, I figured space and the Sun were the best Earth could offer. Doubts about killing everyone around with massive radiation doses faded after some thought. Years on this planet, and no one had died yet, so it was fine. The machine reassured me too, saying the radiation got fully absorbed by me. According to it, near a black hole, my powers would grow exponentially, but I wasn't keen on getting close to something that, per one movie, might suck me in. Though the assistant gave me directions to the nearest black hole. For now, I decided not to rush and just keep doing what I was used to. My first space trip came with massive fear, but bathroom experiments showed I didn't need air. And after a stint in the Arctic, I didn't even feel the cold. Flying, by the way, kept getting more enjoyable.
So, basking in solar rays, I meditated and pondered what to do with all this. The biggest thing bugging me wouldn't pop up anytime soon. According to the assistant's forecasts and data from my dead saviors from my home planet, this planet was far from where a war raged with an unknown enemy from another universe. Wanting to know more about these mythical foes who'd defeated the empire where I'd have been a regular soldier, I hit a wall. The machine didn't know who the empire of super-strong, Kryptonian-like beings had fought. Its electronic mind had no info on their powers or descriptions. Just that the enemy was strong and left a noticeable trail. Seems my saviors didn't bother loading enemy data into the ship's database. And when it assured me this planet wouldn't be found for at least a hundred years, maybe more, I just smirked. I'd be happy to live to old age, I thought as it rattled off those numbers. But then it dropped a bombshell: I'm basically immortal. Just like that, they hit me with the fact that Taoranians are ageless and immune to aging issues, and only disintegration into quarks could kill one. Even decapitation or brain destruction wouldn't do it—I'd survive. Even atomization would just delay my rebirth. How an empire of soldiers like me lost was terrifying to think about. And what enemy lurked in the cosmic dark?
At first, I was shocked. Realizing you're some kind of monster was weird, but then I just shrugged it off. Immortal and ageless? Great, just grow out of this kid body, and I'd figure the rest later. Something else occupied me.
A healing factor that regenerates any wound short of quark disintegration. Flight, superhuman durability, speed, strength, hearing, charm. Tactile telekinesis to move massive objects without them collapsing under their own weight. Vision that sees down to atoms—though I don't get why I need that, but sure. Night vision and eye beams with star-level heat. A huge power set still to explore and develop. I was just starting to become a true Taoranian, and per my ship, I'd hit my peak around eighteen to twenty, assuming I grew under heavy radiation. Soldiers like me were made for war, period. The assistant said we had no choice in the empire—just cannon fodder. Amazing discoveries from chatting with that machine. Good thing it was isolated in the ship, passively scanning everything; without my orders, it couldn't act. I planned to eventually make it obey only me. I wasn't sure if someone with higher access survived, it wouldn't betray me, but that was future me's problem. Plus weird unknown powers affecting electricity and electronics, keeping my image off global news. The machine said soldiers didn't have those, and they weren't in the database.
All this consumed me while the rest of life hummed in the background. School, kids trying to befriend me, parents raising me as a farmer. None of it was as thrilling as my body and its potential. When you've got something so extraordinary, the mundane and ordinary barely register.
Seeing grateful faces alive thanks to my small efforts warmed me like nothing else. The nickname people gave me made me laugh, but I had to admit it fit, even if it didn't capture the truth. Superman? What a wrong label, I'd tell the world that worshipped me.
I'm a Conqueror, meant to take this planet, revive the Empire's population, and face the enemies that destroyed it. An empire millions of times stronger than all humanity and me alone.
Sitting in orbit, staring at the Sun, one question spun in my head: what do I do?