Then the voice raised a hand, palm out, as if motioning for Damien to stop. But instead of speaking, blue light began to glow in his palm. The next thing Damien knew, a bolt of lightning erupted from his hand, hurtling toward him like a missile locked onto its target. Compared to this, Damien's sad attempt earlier looked laughably weak.
'Shit.'
The bolt tore through the air with staggering speed—far too fast for Damien to dodge. So, instead of trying, he crossed his arms over his head and braced for impact.
But then... he felt something. Or rather, he didn't.
There was no fear, no violent energy radiating from the lightning as it approached. Instead, it felt warm—inviting, almost like a friend rushing over to hang out.
Just before the bolt could collide with him, Damien cautiously reached out with a trembling hand and touched it with the tip of his finger.
No pain.
Instead, a pulse of warmth surged through him—familiar, comforting, and electrifying all at once. Energy flooded his system, tripling his strength in an instant. His senses flared to life, dialed to eleven. He felt faster. Stronger. Like he could take on the world.
And then, just as suddenly as it arrived, the lightning vanished.
'What the hell was that?'
"What, you didn't think the lightning would hurt, did you? I'm disappointed—again—my little goblin." The voice sighed and smacked his forehead in mock frustration. "Didn't the runes say you have the blood of the God of Lightning running through your veins?"
"So what you're saying is…" Damien straightened with a smug grin. "I'm the God of Lightning."
The voice burst into a laugh—louder and more obnoxious than usual—instantly wiping the smile from Damien's face.
'I really hate this bastard.'
"Did that pathetic little spark you conjured earlier look godlike to you? No," he said, still chuckling. "Right now, you're what I'd call a novice. But don't worry—I've categorized mastery into four ranks."
'Great. More ranks,' Damien thought, shooting his soul-bound twin a deadpan look.
The voice, naturally, ignored him. "You start at Novice, which is where you are now. Once you learn the basic mechanics of your ability, you'll reach Basic. After that, you'll unlock stronger techniques and enter the Advanced rank. And finally, once you've mastered every aspect of the ability, you'll earn the title of Mastery."
It made sense, even if Damien didn't like it. He'd hoped that after enduring the hell of etching the runes into his soul, he'd be able to use the ability without restrictions. But that had always been wishful thinking.
He looked down at his palms and focused, letting a faint current of electricity crackle across his skin. It only covered his hands—but for now, that was all he could manage. "Alright… where do I start?"
The voice picked up his book again and flipped through it lazily. "Figure that out yourself. You can't expect all the answers, my little goblin. But I'll tell you this—once you reach Advanced, come back to your soul and choose another ability."
Before Damien could yell at him for withholding actual guidance—or even ask about the 'choose another ability' part—he was yanked from the soul realm. His world spun, his footing slipped, and when the dizziness cleared, he found himself staring into a pair of bright blue eyes.
'Of course it was Luka.'
Luka's hair bounced wildly as he continued to shake Damien like a maraca. "You lazy asshole—wake up!"
"I'm awake, you idiot! Stop shaking me!" Damien barked, still disoriented from the sudden return to reality.
"Oh—my bad." Luka let go, rubbing the back of his neck. His voice turned anxious. "But dude, did you have to be out that long? Summer is going to kill us!"
Still groggy, Damien mumbled, "What? Why would she kill us?"
Luka marched over to the small wooden desk next to Damien's bed and snatched up the clock. He pointed to it with a shaky finger. The hands read 7:00 PM.
"We were supposed to be at her house an hour ago! I didn't want to interrupt your first soul session, but come on, man!"
Damien's eyes went wide—not just because he'd spent over twelve hours inside his soul without realizing it—but because of something far more dangerous.
'No, no, no. This is bad. Really bad.'
Summer didn't hate many things, but there was one thing she absolutely couldn't stand: lateness.
Shoving down the panic, Damien asked, "Wait… how'd you know I was in my soul?"
Luka shot him a look—an amused, knowing expression that mirrored the smirks his soul twin always gave him. "Why else would you be sitting on the floor in nothing but your underwear meditating?"
Damien glanced down—and his jaw dropped.
Not because he was nearly naked in front of Luka. They'd seen each other like that dozens of times in the academy locker rooms.
No, the real shock came from what was etched across his chest.
A tattoo.
Or rather, the runes.
They were inked in glowing blue, running down the center of his chest to his navel. When he'd etched them into his soul, it had felt like carving himself with a blade—and apparently, that's exactly what had happened.
"Nice tat, by the way," Luka added, grinning. "Very stylish. Where'd you get it?"
'The runes.'
After a few seconds of stunned silence, Damien actually found them… kind of cool. The runes varied in shape—triangles, squares, arrows, and more—forming a sentence in a vertical line down his torso.
A memory surfaced—his mom yelling at Blake for getting a small dove tattooed on his arm.
"It's cool, Mom. I don't get why you're so mad about it."
"Blake, it's showing! How do you expect to get a job like this?"
"I'm an awakened, Mom. I don't think the monsters care."
"But I do!" she screamed, launching a sandal at him.
Damien's lips curled up into a smile. Just thinking about them made him feel a little more grounded.
'Thank God she can't see mine. She'd kill me. I mean, Blake's was a tiny dove—I've got a whole damn line of ink.'
Then came a voice in his head.
"Your mom would be lucky to have my tattoos! In fact, you're lucky too, you vermin!"
Damien stared up at the ceiling and sighed. Somehow, talking to his twin-self felt oddly comforting.
'Ah, you're back. Lucky me.'
"Why are you staring at the ceiling?" Luka asked, tilting his head in confusion.
Damien sat up. "No reason. Now let's go—before Summer really does kill us."
The car ride to Summer's house felt long, but time passed quickly. Luka bombarded Damien with questions—what it felt like to awaken, what his ability was, what his soul looked like, why he'd been gone for so long.
Damien answered just enough to keep him satisfied—explaining what he could without mentioning the twin, the golden walls, or the pillar. He trusted Luka, but he wasn't ready to share everything. Not until he understood it himself.
Besides, if word got out that a deviant could potentially gain an infinite number of powers, who knew what kind of hell would follow?
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice.
"We're here," Mrs. Sharp announced.
She was driving. Driving wasn't part of the academy curriculum, so the boys still relied on parents to get around.
As they pulled into the driveway, Damien's jaw dropped.
'It's so huge.'
The house was less of a home and more of a modern mansion. White walls. Endless black-tinted windows that made it impossible to see inside. The front yard was minimal—just a neat rectangle of grass, a winding sidewalk, and a set of steps leading to the front door.
But the backyard?
It looked like it went on forever—at least a mile deep and thirty meters wider than the house itself.
Damien turned to Luka, still in shock. "What do her parents do again?"
Luka shrugged. "I think her dad's like, the CEO of Big Gate? Bat Gate? Uh—"
Damien's hand shot out and grabbed his arm. "You mean Battle Gate?" he asked, voice trembling.
Luka perked up. "Oh yeah! That's the one!"
'What do you mean "that's the one"? Battle Gate makes all the weapons and tech for the military and deviants, you big idiot!'
Clearly, wealth didn't faze Luka. He was too busy casually picking his nose like this was all completely normal.
Damien slumped back in his seat, defeated.
But then they reached the end of the driveway—and Damien saw something that made his blood run cold.
A girl stood on the front porch, arms crossed, short brown hair tousled by the wind. Her eyes—sharp, brown, and murderous—stared into their very souls.
He wasn't the only one who noticed.
In perfect unison, he and Luka muttered:
"Oh shit."