On a night bathed in the resplendent glow of a full moon, the forest stood enveloped in an eerie stillness, as if nature itself held its breath. Moonlight cascaded through the towering trees, illuminating the bark in shimmering silver and casting elongated shadows that danced like phantoms across the forest floor. The air was thick with humidity, rich with the scents of damp earth and pine resin, tinged with an electric charge that hinted at the tempest brewing in the distance. Somewhere deep within this secluded expanse, a lone house rose—a modern marvel of architecture, fortified and resolute, an anomaly amid the wild embrace of the forest. No paths led to its door, no signs marked its presence. The house appeared as though the very earth had conspired to conceal its existence, a fortress hidden from the encroaching world.
Inside, life erupted.
The anguished screams of a woman reverberated through the sterile walls, echoing the raw intensity of her suffering. Pain clawed through her in relentless waves, each contraction a tempest that threatened to tear her apart. Sweat cascaded down her brow, mingling with tears as she gritted her teeth, her body trembling violently with each surge of agony. She felt her muscles strain and tear with effort; her legs quaked uncontrollably beneath her. Every scream was a testament to the primal struggle within her, a raw cry that shook the very foundations of the sterile room. Her breath came in ragged gasps, a rhythm of pain and determination.
I can't— I must survive for him. The thought flickered like a candle flame in the wind, battling against the darkness creeping in around her. She clenched her eyes shut, momentarily drifting into memories of a life before this moment—of laughter, of love, of the family they had left behind.
Beside her, her husband stood like a bastion of strength, his grip unwavering on her trembling hand. But beneath that calm facade lay a tempest of turmoil. Every contraction brought forth visions of dread: the shadows of assassins lurking outside, specters of the families they had fled, the blood that had already stained their lives. Each thought converged at this pivotal moment, magnifying the stakes of their choices, the weight of the life they sought to protect.
A faint vibration pulsed against his wrist, drawing his attention away from the chaos of labor.
Once. Twice.
He lifted his arm and activated the wristband. A translucent hologram bloomed in his vision, revealing a multi-angle surveillance feed that flickered with ominous clarity. The medical room faded from focus, replaced by a view of the perimeter.
Figures.
Nine of them.
Dark, silent, methodical. Surrounding the house. Cutting off every path of escape. They moved like shadows, gliding through the underbrush with lethal precision. The man's jaw tightened, his heart racing as he faced the unyielding truth. A tremor coursed through his body, the faintest hint of unease, steam rising from his clothes—an almost imperceptible sign of the energy he was regulating unconsciously.
"So they've found us," he muttered, the weight of dread settling in his gut. The full impact of the danger loomed large, but he refused to succumb to fear.
His wristband pulsed again, combat mode engaged. Diagnostics flared: heart rate, reflex speed, energy levels—all readings surged, a cacophony of urgency flooding his senses. He could feel the latent gene fusion potential stirring within him, muscles tensing, instincts sharpening, preparing to respond to the encroaching threat.
The woman groaned, caught between pain and fear. "Please… come back…" she gasped, her voice quivering, her eyes wide with desperation. The sincerity of her plea pierced his heart, igniting a fierce determination within him.
He glanced at her one last time, their eyes locking for a brief moment. Her face was etched with pain but held a flicker of strength amidst the chaos. "I always do," he promised softly, his voice steady, a tether in the storm.
The door hissed as it sealed behind him.
The night air enveloped him like a shroud—wet, charged with electricity, thick as a storm brewing on the horizon. The trees surrounding the house seemed to sway, alive with a subtle energy as he stepped into the open, moonlight draping his form in silver. As he flexed, the contours of his body rippled, revealing the first traces of his gene-fused reflexes. The predatory instincts surged within him, a primal force ready to respond to danger.
The figures outside moved closer, their bodies taut with intent, ready to strike. They hesitated for a heartbeat, shadows flickering as they scanned the area, calculating their next move. The man felt the electricity charging the atmosphere, a prelude to violence, and stepped forward, determination flooding his veins.
Without warning, they lunged.
Blades sliced through the air, shadows lunging at him with lethal precision. The man reacted instantly, muscles coiling with preternatural speed. Every dodge and counterstrike was a blend of instinct and lethal precision. Leaves and branches were shredded in the wake of his movements, energy flaring like wildfire around him. Each strike carried the weight of desperation, the urgency to protect his family. The forest itself seemed to respond to his fight—animals scattered, the ground quaking beneath his feet, the air thickening with tension as he engaged his assailants.
With each blow, he struck decisively, instinct guiding him as he countered their attacks with the fluidity of a predator. He tuned into the rhythm of battle, energy coursing through him, setting the pace of the fight.
Meanwhile, inside the confines of the medical room, the woman screamed once more, the agony of labor reaching a fever pitch. Every contraction felt like fire igniting within her, muscles tearing, writhing, fighting for release. She could sense the life within her, struggling, responding, pushing against the confines of the womb. Just a little longer! You must survive! You will be safe!
Then it happened—the first cry.
A sound that tore through the tension like a beacon. It sliced through the chaos, sharp and clear, alive. Within the newborn, four energies—Qi, Spiritual Energy, Mana, and latent Gene Potential—swirled violently. They collided, spiraled, and compressed until they converged into a singular, radiant droplet hidden deep within the child's chest.
The universe reacted.
Miles away, the nearest city erupted into chaos. Thunder roared across the skyline, deep and resonant, reverberating like a drum beat through the air as lightning cleaved the sky in jagged arcs that illuminated the landscape in eerie flashes. The sheer force of the storm seemed to echo the newborn's cry, as if the universe itself responded to the child's first breath.
Auroras danced across the northern hemisphere in colors never before witnessed, shifting in patterns that defied logic. Instruments and satellites faltered; air traffic came to a screeching halt as the world reacted to a force it could neither comprehend nor contain.
In a remote northern village, villagers stood transfixed, their eyes wide with wonder as vivid auroras painted the sky in impossible colors. Dogs howled, birds fled into the trees, and fishermen abandoned their nets, unable to comprehend the surreal spectacle unfolding before them.
At a high-tech observatory, scientists scrambled, voices raised in panic as instruments screeched alarms. Data flowed chaotically across screens, charts spiking into the red. "This cannot be happening!" one scientist exclaimed, glancing at his colleagues, desperation etched in every line of his face, fingers trembling over keyboards.
In orbit, astronauts floated in their vessel, watching the spectacle unfold beneath them. The Earth's surface was alive with color, the auroras swirling like rivers of light, and yet the storm spiraled into chaos, an angry roil of energy that made their hearts race with both fear and awe.
Far beyond the confines of space and time, in the ultimate nothingness between realities, a presence stirred.
It was neither being nor void, yet somehow both—a pulse threading through existence, stretching across the realms. Threads of countless realities shimmered, bending and twisting under its gaze. It felt the energies coiling within the newborn, and a single, subtle motion reverberated through the cosmos.
A thread, shimmering and ethereal, extended from this presence, weaving itself through the multiverse, connecting the newborn to the tapestry of possibilities. Time became malleable; seconds stretched into eternity, and in some worlds, centuries flickered by in the blink of an
eye.
This was not destruction. Nor creation. It was pure possibility, flowing like water, shimmering like starlight, an essence that transcended the mundane.
No god, no mortal, nor force could comprehend its nature. Yet it observed, calm and patient, quietly acknowledging the threads of potential now interwoven with the newborn.
In that moment, the energies thrummed in resonance, drawing the attention of something much greater than mere mortals—something that had existed long before them.
Back in the forest, the man felt it—not as awareness, not as understanding—but as a weight pressing against the edge of perception. The energies swirling within the newborn pulsed softly, a hidden promise of what was to come.
He shook it off, returning to the fight. The last of the assailants fell, shadows retreating into the depths of the forest as he turned back toward the house, breath heavy with adrenaline.
Inside, the woman cradled the newborn, tears of relief streaming down her face as she held her child for the first time.
"He's… alive," she gasped, the weight of the moment pressing upon her.
The father stepped closer, awe washing over him, yet he felt the undercurrent of energy still swirling within the child. They had no idea of the potential that lay dormant, waiting to be awakened.
As the storm raged and the auroras flickered overhead, a connection formed, unseen but undeniable, between the newborn and the vast multiverse he would one day influence.
As the father turned to embrace his wife, the world outside began to settle. The storm subsided, the auroras faded, and yet the echo of that first cry lingered, resonating throughout the cosmos.
Sixteen years later, the world would call him ordinary.
They would be very wrong.