A cold cage looks abandoned with leaves and an old, dead lab vibe.
And then there is this child, a child who happens to have a curse, two of them, really.
The curse of being born into this world with a mythical power. And the curse that's living inside him.
The cage is cold, lonely, dead, and hard to breathe. It's not about its size; what matters is that thinking here feels like drowning.
The overwhelming vision that shows him the worst scenario that might ever exist.
The vision doesn't predict the future; it makes him live it.
Zeka, the child, the cursed, the owner of the title: The Possibilities.
This world that has every power imaginable is all about survival.
And then the first hit is involved, the curse shows him the future where he fails instead of winning, it shows him the scientist who started this all, and Zeka snaps, staring at the person who gave him this curse, who ruined his life, who made him live in torture instead of actual life.
He tries to break the cage, but that just makes it stronger; it makes the scientist's grin just widen even more.
Then someone enters the room. Another child, maybe a friend, and when Zeka realizes who that is, his eyes instantly go wide and open.
He immediately tries to warn them about it, but the child enters anyway.
Zeka screams in pain to make them leave, to make them escape, but it is already too late.
The scientist grabs the child by the neck and lies them down in front of him. Just showing how vulnerable both of them are in the sight of the scientist. And he takes out a knife, just a small kitchen knife.
And the torturestarts.
The scientist starts playing with the child's body as if it's a toy.
Each cut follows an order only he knows. Starting with the neck.
The cut missed every nerve on purpose. The scientist knows how to kill in one cut, but he decided to make it longer. No aggression. Just precision, and Zeka is just witnessing this in tears, trying to stop the cut, trying to stop the pain he feels, even though he's not the one getting cut directly; he feels the pain from just watching it.
And Zeka finally collapsed inside the vision, which makes no sense but happened anyway.
15 years earlier
A child was born with a mythical rare power, called the fire power.
Even though the mother was already dead, the child was born in an abandoned hospital where his mother didn't even survive; it was a coffin birth.
And the scientist was there; he was just waiting for the experiment to get out, to have life, so he could officially start.
And the child didn't get a name; he was just experiment number 1009.
And the child was handed to his father, and happens the father was already cursed.
black eyes feel like you're looking at the dark sky with no stars in sight, and one sword the father is holding, the legendary black cursed sword, a sword that's literally made out of pure black aura, not from a single metal involved.
The scientist warns the father to care about the child, to make sure he comes out as an actual experiment instead of just a child who got taken care of.
And the scene changes. We are now at the house, a small house with a single room and chains all around the place.
The first thing the child met was food; he gets food, he eats, he drinks milk, and he gets to grow enough, so the father finally starts the order the scientist warned him about.
The way he gets food wasn't just feeding. It was forced, without a single love in it, and just growing in a flat state where he can't learn anything except surviving.
And after that, the child hits the age of six, from eating and growing healthy, he meets the room that has been waiting for him.
The child gets chained inside that room, and the father is doing it without a single thought in his mind. He seems to be controlled by a person, or maybe the curse itself?
And the first torture he will ever meet starts. The swings feel mechanical, feel cold, but the father wasn't even there; he's lost somewhere behind his own eyes.
The first few swings were the hardest of all.
The first one was directly on the left eye, making a jagged, long scar on a child who's only six, and he survived by the will of his power; it's like a promise where the power makes you feel the torture instead of letting you die in one shot.
The swings continue, another one on his left arm this time. Instead of only one hit in that specific spot, it was two, making an ugly V-looking scar.
The hit isn't just hard; it's killing.
This isn't a ruler across the palm. Every swing kills a nerve on contact — death, over and over, just wearing a different face each time.
And that wasn't it; the child was forced to count every single hit. If he forgot just a single one, he would get a harder hit and a reminder of where he stopped. He continues.
six... seven... eight... uhh...
And a harder hit fell on his hand, making him scream out loud. And the father reminds him, casually.
Nine.
And the count continues like this for what feels like eternity, reaching a number that shouldn't have been reachable from a body still breathing.
One hundred and one... one hundred and two... one hundred and... and three... o-one hundred and... uhhh... I-I mean one hundred a-and five?
Another swing in his hand made him scream in pain.
One hundred and four.
The father reminds...