Micheal stared at the report until the words blurred.
Sunlight absorption. That was it.
No mention of devastating blasts. No monstrous regeneration. Just a body that drank in light and did almost nothing with it other than a small push. In a place like the Insurgency—where bitter, dangerous ability users gathered like storm clouds—bringing in a kid like that would be throwing a spark into a powder room.
But not the way anyone wanted.
"He'd just get himself killed," Micheal thought, a quiet regret tightening his chest.
How did a kid with only sunlight absorption and mediocre force push escape a research base?
The question flickered across his mind, but he shoved it aside and fed himself easier answers. Chaos in the lab. Underestimation. A lucky break.
He went back to the health section of the file.
That was worse.
He sighed, looking toward the small bedroom where the boy lay, and a faint pity softened his usually hard gaze.
Might as well treat the kid decently while he's still breathing.
He clearly doesn't have long.
He closed the file, stood, and walked back to the room.
"Hey kid, what's your name?" he asked, stepping inside with a cup of water in hand. "You can call me Micheal."
"Thank you," the boy replied, pushing himself up a little. He hesitated, then said, "You can call me Sol."
Micheal nodded and handed him the water.
"Do you know about your health?" he asked, pressing the back of his hand to Sol's forehead. "You're still running a fever. Here—antipyretics."
He set a few tablets from the bedside table in Sol's palm.
Sol thanked him aloud.
Inside, he only sighed.
He knew his body was a mess—dizzy, weak, everything aching like he'd been run over. The only thing easing the pressure even slightly was the sunlight leaking through the window and warming his skin.
[Energy Points +1]
[Energy Points +1]
Maybe… time to push the template again.
He called up the panel.
[Name: Sol Walker]
[Age: 16 (Remaining Lifespan: 87 days)]
[Current Template: God of Light]
(Unlock Progress: 18%)
[Abilities: Energy Absorption, Energy Release]
[GoL Abilities: (Dark Projectile (6/100) Level 1) | (Echo Shield (1/100) Level 1) | (Spatial Shift (5/100) Level 1)]
[Energy Points: 218]
His brows knitted.
Eighty-seven days.
"It should've been around one-twelve by now," he thought, a cold knot forming in his gut. "How did it drop this fast?"
Even counting the bullet wound, blood loss, the fever that had burned through him in the rain… it shouldn't have shaved off that much.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
"What did those bastards do to my body?"
Memories of labs and instruments and cold hands surfaced. His expression darkened.
Micheal stepped out of the room a moment later.
The door clicked shut.
Sol moved fast.
He slid a hand under his clothes, pulled out the folded documents he'd stolen from the research base, and spread them in the stripe of sunlight across his lap.
His eyes raced down the pages.
The words hit like a punch.
They had grown multiple types of cancer cells from his own tissues.
Then implanted them back into him.
Just to see if his body would reject them. To test whether his sunlight absorption would do anything to the cancer's growth.
Not content with that, they'd layered other invasive procedures on top. Some experiments had produced no visible side effects.
Others…
He swallowed hard.
A sharp, ugly urge flared—an image of walking back into that base and tearing it apart, room by room. Of watching every last researcher feel a fraction of the helpless terror they'd poured into him.
His hands shook slightly, the papers crinkling.
Clearly, the cancer cells were already at work inside him.
"What do I do…?"
Panic clawed up his throat.
His gaze jerked back to the floating panel.
"No," he whispered, fingers tightening. "I still have a chance."
His eyes moved over his abilities—Dark Projectile, Echo Shield, Spatial Shift—a fragile scaffold of power. If he kept climbing, if he kept unlocking…
Somewhere in that template, there had to be something that could save him.
Before doubt could poison the thought, he poured every last Energy Point into the unlock progress.
The bar jumped.
18%.
19%.
20%.
A clear chime rang in his mind.
[Ability: Celestial Finger (Unlocked)]
His breath caught.
"This is…"
Instinct tugged at him.
He lifted his right hand and pointed forward, toward empty air.
[Celestial Finger Experience +1]
[Ability: Celestial Finger (1/100) Level 1]
Nothing obvious happened.
His finger just hung there.
Sol frowned, thinking, then shifted his target. He picked up the empty glass cup on the bedside table with his left hand and held it in front of him, palm up.
He pointed at it.
[Celestial Finger Experience +1]
Space fractured.
No flash. No beam.
One instant, the glass was intact. The next—
Bang!
It exploded.
Shards sprayed outward in a tight, violent cone, like a shotgun blast at point-blank range.
Pfft. Pfft. Pfft.
Slivers of glass buried themselves deep into the opposite wall, half the white paint now bristling with glittering fragments.
"Hiss…"
Sol sucked in a breath, wincing as he realized several small cuts had opened across the back of his own hand, tiny beads of blood welling up where flying shards had nicked him.
His shock drowned out the sting.
If that had been someone's chest…
Ribs shattered. Lungs punctured. Flesh turned into a bloody mess.
"And that's just level one," he thought, a chill sliding down his spine.
The shattered area of space had only been about the size of a baby's fist.
It didn't need to be bigger.
Humans were fragile.
"I can keep people from getting close now," he realized, pulse quickening. "Dark Projectile for long range. Spatial Shift to dodge at the last second. Echo Shield for bullets. Celestial Finger if they rush in."
For the first time since reading the cancer report, his sense of vulnerability eased slightly.
He was still dying.
But at least he wouldn't be easy to drag back.
He was still marveling at the raw, compact violence of the new ability when the doorknob rattled.
The door swung open.
"What happened?"
Micheal's voice boomed in first, then he stepped inside, eyes sweeping the room in a single, trained scan.
His gaze flicked from Sol—alive, upright—to the far wall.
It stopped there.
The once-clean surface was now studded with a cluster of glass shards, embedded so deep they looked hammered in.
Micheal's eyes narrowed.
"How did you do this?" he asked, genuine surprise roughening his tone.
Sol coughed twice, forcing his face into an awkward grimace.
"I… wasn't feeling great," he said. "Thought of some stuff that pissed me off. Guess I just… threw the cup at the wall a little too hard, and it ended up like that."
He spread his cut hand a bit as if to sell the story.
"Sorry about the mess. I'll clean it up later."
"Is that so?" Micheal replied.
His words were neutral.
His eyes weren't.
He looked at the shards, then at Sol's slender arm, then back at the wall again.
If smashing a cup could drive glass that deep into wood and plaster, he'd spent his entire life underestimating his own strength.
He didn't buy it.
Not really.
But he only nodded, a noncommittal tilt of the head.
"Fine," he said. "If you can stand, come down for breakfast later."
He stepped back, closed the door behind him, and headed downstairs.
In the small living room, he sat at the table and pulled a laptop toward him.
A few keystrokes, and several camera feeds appeared on the screen—grainy images from corners high up on walls outside and inside the house.
As an ability user, he'd installed them for security.
He'd never imagined he'd use them to spy on a half-conscious teenager.
His fingers hovered over the touchpad for a moment.
Then curiosity won.
He scrubbed back the timeline to just after he'd left Sol's room and hit play.
