I landed outside my window and climbed in.
The room was exactly how I'd left it.
Broken desk, scattered books, general aura of depression. But I didn't care. I tossed my shopping bag onto the bed, pulled off my bloody hoodie, and grabbed one of the new shirts I'd just bought. The black t-shirt. Clean and fitted, actually my size for once.
I pulled it on, looked at myself in the cracked mirror on my closet door.
"...Huh."
I looked... different. The fitted shirt actually showed that I had a body under all those oversized hoodies. My dark hair was still a mess, and the dark circles under my eyes were still there, but overall...
"Not bad, Noel. Not bad."
I headed downstairs.
Sylvie was on the couch.
She was wearing an oversized t-shirt—probably John's, based on the football logo—and a pair of tiny shorts that were basically invisible under the shirt. Her golden hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and she was scrolling through her phone with the kind of intense focus that only someone stalking their ex's social media could achieve.
She looked up when she heard me on the stairs.
"Hey, have you seen my—"
She stopped. Her eyes traveled from my face down to my shirt, then to my jeans, then back up to my face. Then back down to the shirt. Then up again.
"...What the fuck are you wearing?"
"Clothes."
"Since when do you wear clothes that fit?"
"Since today."
She stared at me for another long moment, her brow furrowed. Her eyes kept darting between my face and my outfit like she was trying to solve a puzzle.
"Did you... buy new clothes?"
"Yep."
"With what money?"
"Mine."
"You don't have money."
"I do now."
"Where did you get money?"
"None of your business."
She squinted at me, her blue eyes narrowing. "You look weird. Like, actually weird. Not your usual weird. Different weird."
"Thanks."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"I know."
She stared at me for another few seconds, then shook her head and went back to her phone. "Whatever. I don't care. You're still a freak."
"Love you too, Sylvie."
"Go die."
I stood there for a moment, looking at her. She was curled up on the couch, her legs tucked under her, her phone glowing in her face. The oversized shirt had slipped off one shoulder, showing the strap of her tank top underneath. Her shorts were riding up, showing the curve of her ass where it met her thigh.
I focused.
[Name: Sylvie Blackwell]
[Age: 21]
[Rank: Blank]
[Occupation: College student / Cheerleader captain]
Deep Focus.
[History: Born to Stephanie Blackwell and an unknown father—likely a one-night stand during Stephanie's party years. Grew up spoiled, received everything she wanted. Was a popular girl in high school, peaked socially at 17. Attended Calder Community College on a cheerleading scholarship. Currently a senior, barely passing. Has been dating John Jackson for 8 months purely for social clout—his connection to Gravity Queen gives her perceived status.]
[Secrets: Runs an active OnlyFans account under the username "bitchyvixen69" where she posts body-focused content without showing her face. Has 1,247 subscribers and makes approximately $3,800 per month. Has never told John about this. Has never told anyone. Her content focuses on her ass and tits, with occasional feet content for "whales" who pay extra. Once accidentally posted a photo that showed her cheerleading uniform in the background and had to delete it within 30 seconds. Spends 60% of her OnlyFans income on designer clothes and handbags. Has a folder on her phone labeled "Tax Stuff" that actually contains nudes she's considering posting. Cried once when her monthly earnings dropped below $3,000. Has searched "how to hide OnlyFans income from family" on Google 14 times.]
[Psychological traits: Deeply insecure about her intelligence. Projects confidence through aggression and social manipulation. Is sexually frustrated and unfulfilled by John—which she blames on him but is partly due to her own inability to communicate her needs. Has a subconscious attraction to men who don't validate her, which confuses her. Is terrified of aging and losing her social currency. Genuinely believes she will become a famous influencer "someday."]
"..."
I stared at the text. Then at Sylvie. Then back at the text.
Then I started laughing.
A quiet, contained chuckle that I couldn't hold back. Because—bitchyvixen69? One thousand two hundred and forty-seven subscribers? $3,800 a month from posting her ass on the internet?
What was with these people and OnlyFans?
"Are you... laughing?" Sylvie looked up from her phone, her eyebrow raised. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Nothing. Just thought of something funny."
" You're so fucking weird." She flipped me off. "Go back to your room. Your face is annoying me."
"Right~"
I headed upstairs, still chuckling. bitchyvixen69. That was gold. Absolute gold. I wasn't sure how I'd use it yet, but the information was filed away in my brain under "things that could fuck with Sylvie's life if the wrong people found out."
Which, you know, was always good to have.
I closed my door, sat on my bed, and pulled out my new phone. The Stellar X3. 6.2-inch display, triple camera, 128 gigabytes of storage. Way better than my old piece of shit.
I went through the setup, downloaded a few basic apps—browser, YouTube, maps, music—and then started browsing.
First, I checked the news.
"Just the usual high ranking hero garbage and gate news... huh."
I moved on to more interesting stuff. YouTube. I searched for "gravity manipulation powers" and was immediately flooded with results.
The first video was a compilation of Gravity Queen's most famous feats. Stopping a meteor. Lifting a cargo ship. Floating an entire building to prevent it from collapsing during an earthquake. The video had 47 million views and was set to dramatic orchestral music.
"...Okay, that's cool. But not helpful."
The second video was titled "GRAVITY POWERS EXPLAINED: How They Work and What They Can Do!" by a channel called "Power Science." It was a 20-minute animated breakdown of gravity-based abilities.
I watched it. Twice.
The video explained that gravity manipulators fell into many categories; including enhancers, negators, manipulators and many others. Enhancers could increase gravity in a specific area, crushing objects or pinning people to the ground. Negators could decrease or remove gravity, making things float or fly.
I was a negator. But based on what the video said, most negators couldn't completely remove gravity—they could only reduce it. The ability to fully negate gravity, to remove it entirely from an object or zone, was apparently rare.
"Huh."
The video also listed common applications: flight (by negating gravity on oneself), telekinesis-like effects (by negating gravity on objects and then pushing them), and area control (by creating zero-gravity zones that disoriented enemies).
I scrolled through the comments, absorbing information. Then I found a thread that caught my eye.
"If you can negate gravity on a specific body part—like someone's feet—they can't walk. They'll just slip and slide like they're on ice. My brother does this to me all the time. It's annoying as fuck."
"Can gravity negators create black holes? Asking for a friend."
"No, Karen, a C-rank cannot create a black hole."
"You can also negate gravity on someone's organs. There's a B-rank villain who does this—he negates gravity on someone's stomach and it floats up into their chest cavity. Messed up but effective."
"Holy shit, really?"
"Yeah, but it requires insane precision. Most gravity users can't do internal targeting."
"..."
I bookmarked that thread.
Then I searched for more. "Gravity negation combat techniques." "Gravity powers advanced applications." "How to fight with gravity manipulation."
Most of the results were forum posts and theory videos made by nerds who had way too much time on their hands. But some of the ideas were genuinely useful.
I kept browsing. More videos. More forum posts. More theory-crafting about gravity powers and their applications.
I closed the phone and lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
[Gen 2 parasite status:]
[Host: Bucky Morris]
[Fill: 0.3%]
[Lifespan: 9:31:12]
Nine hours left. The parasite was draining Bucky's E-rank power slowly but steadily. When it was full, I'd have a choice.
Feed or Breed.
Feed would give me Bucky's rat traits. Gross. Useless. Not interested.
Breed would spawn more parasites. Gen 3s. With inherited traits from speed, gravity, and rat. More worms to plant in more hosts.
"..."
Breed. Definitely breed.
I closed my eyes and smiled.
"I'm going to need more hosts."
◇◇◇
A real, proper, eight-hour nap. The kind where you close your eyes and your brain just... shuts off. No dreams. No nightmares. No David Collins bleeding out in a wheat field. Just darkness, and then light.
When I opened my eyes, my room was dark. The clock on my nightstand, the one sitting on my broken desk that I'd propped against the wall read 10:25 PM.
"..."
I'd been out for eight hours. My body felt rested, but my brain was foggy—that groggy, disoriented feeling you get when you sleep too hard during the day and wake up not knowing what year it is.
Then the screaming started.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU KILLED SOMEONE DURING YOUR TRAINING?!"
"...!?!!"
I sat up, rubbing my eyes. That was Sylvie's voice. Coming from downstairs. Very loud and panicked.
"You lost control—you NEVER lose control on your powers! What do you mean you—wait, wait, wait. Slow down. Babe. BABE. Just—listen to me. Just—"
I got up and crept to my door, cracking it open. The hallway was dark, but I could hear Sylvie's voice clearly now. She was in the living room, pacing. I could hear her footsteps—fast, erratic, back and forth.
"Are they—did someone see? Did anyone—okay. Okay. Are you hurt? No, I don't—I don care about the other guy, I care about YOU. Are you okay? Are you—"
She went quite for a second, then she immediately started talking again.
"Wait for me, babe! I'm coming. Don't—don't talk to anyone. Don't call anyone. Just wait. I'm coming right now."
I heard her footsteps racing up the stairs. I closed my door quietly and listened as she slammed into her room, rummaged around for about thirty seconds—drawers opening, closet doors banging—and then came barreling back down the stairs. The front door slammed shut.
"..."
Well. That was interesting.
John killed someone during training. Lost control of his powers. John, who was an A-rank gravity manipulator and Gravity Queen's sidekick... lost control.
That was... significant. A-ranks didn't just "lose control." Their powers were too refined, too trained. If John had actually lost control enough to kill someone...
Either something was seriously wrong with him, or something had seriously messed him up.
And I had a pretty good idea what that something might be.
"..."
Had the drain been enough to make him lose control? Probably not on its own. But combined with whatever else was going on in his life, the stress, the training, whatever Gravity Queen had him doing, it might've been the tipping point.
"..."
I should've felt guilty. A normal person would've felt guilty. Someone had died because John's powers had malfunctioned, and his powers had malfunctioned because I'd been draining them.
I didn't feel guilty.
Did I care? Maybe a little. But not enough to stop.
I shrugged, grabbed my hoodie, the new one, clean and unstained, and climbed out the window.
The night air was cool. Not raining tonight, which was nice. The city was lit up below me—streetlights, neon signs, car headlights—all of it glowing like a circuit board.
I negated gravity on myself and jumped.
*WHOOSH.*
The rooftop across the street was easy. One hop. I landed, rolled, and kept moving. Jumping from building to building was becoming second nature now. I could feel the rhythm of it—negate, jump, release, land, negate, jump, release, land. Like breathing.
I was faster too. Not just in running—in everything. My jumps were more controlled, my landings smoother, my gravity negation more precise. Practice was paying off.
The city blurred past me.
Midtown... The Flats... The worn-down streets and broken buildings that I'd grown up in....
I knew this route by heart, every rooftop, every gap, every landing spot. I'd memorized them all those nights I'd spent running from Bucky and his gang.
Funny. The same route I'd used to escape them was now the route I was using to visit their chained-up member.
The abandoned building came into view. I landed in front of it, my feet touching down on the cracked sidewalk.
"Quiet and nice~ Beautiful."
I pushed the door open, and walked inside. The building was dark—no lights, no electricity. I navigated by memory, stepping over debris and around broken furniture, heading for the door behind the reception desk.
The stairs down were narrow and damp. I could smell mold and rust and something else... sweat. Body odor. The smell of someone who'd been trapped in a room for hours without water or food.
I pushed open the office door.
Bucky was there.
He was exactly where I'd left him—chained to the pipe, his arms bound to his chest, his legs secured to the floor. But he looked... different. Worse. His face was still swollen from the beating I'd given him, but the bruises had darkened to a deep purple-black. His skin was pale—paler than usual, which was saying something for a rat-faced kid from the Flats. His cheekbones were more prominent, his eyes sunken. He'd lost weight. Not a lot, but enough to notice.
His rat-like eyes were open. They tracked me as I entered the room, following my movement with a slow, deliberate focus that told me he'd been awake for a while. Waiting.
"Noel..." His voice was hoarse. Cracked. Like he'd been screaming for hours and his throat had given out. "You... you came back."
"Of course I did~ I said I would, didn't I?" I smiled.
He stared at me. His nose twitched—that involuntary sniffing that his rat traits gave him—but it was weaker than before.
"What... what did you do to me?" he whispered. "I feel... weak. I can't... my claws won't come out. My senses are... everything's fuzzy. I can't smell anything. I can barely see straight."
"Parasites," I said simply. "Little worms inside you. Draining your power."
"...What?"
"You heard me~"
Was I causing an issue by telling him this? Maybe.
Buuut~ I'd rather much feed my ego a little now.
I was actually enjoying this.
He stared at me like I'd just told him the moon was made of cheese. His hazy eyes tried to focus, tried to process the information, but his brain was clearly running on about 10% capacity.
"You're... you're crazy. You've lost your mind."
"Maybe. But I'm not the one chained to a pipe."
"..."
He closed his eyes. His head lolled forward, his chin touching his chest. Even that small movement seemed to exhaust him.
"How long..." he muttered. "How long are you going to keep me here?"
"Not that long~ Heh. Actually, I'm here to wrap things up."
I crouched down in front of him and grabbed his wrist.
[Skin contact established.]
[Gen 2 parasite status:]
[Host: Bucky Morris]
[Fill: 15% (Maximum)]
[Lifespan: 0:58:41 remaining]
[Gen 3 ×3 (natural litter) status:]
[Host: Bucky Morris]
[Gen 3-A: Fill 5% (Maximum)]
[Gen 3-B: Fill 5% (Maximum)]
[Gen 3-C: Fill 5% (Maximum)]
[Total drain: 30%]
Less than an hour left on the Gen 2. And the three Gen 3s were already full—born from the Gen 2's natural litter, they'd been draining Bucky independently this whole time.
Thirty percent of his power, gone. That explained the weakness, the weight loss, the dulled senses. He was deep in the Yellow band, approaching Red. Another few hours and he'd be practically catatonic.
"Recall all."
[Ding!]
[Recalling parasites...]
[Gen 2 recalled.]
[Gen 3-A recalled.]
[Gen 3-B recalled.]
[Gen 3-C recalled.]
I felt them come home. Four little pulses of warmth, flowing through my palm, up my arm, into my chest. Like swallowing four gulps of hot tea. The sensation was... not unpleasant.
[All parasites recalled successfully.]
[Gen 2: 15% of E-rank Rat Traits absorbed.]
[Gen 3-A: 5% of E-rank Rat Traits absorbed.]
[Gen 3-B: 5% of E-rank Rat Traits absorbed.]
[Gen 3-C: 5% of E-rank Rat Traits absorbed.]
[Total: 30% of E-rank Rat Traits available.]
[FEED: Absorb the stolen power.]
I didn't even hesitate.
"Breed."
[Ding!]
[Gen 2 selects BREED.]
[Spawning extra litter...]
[Gen 3-D created.]
[Gen 3-D inherited traits: Enhanced Speed (minor), Gravity Negation (minor), Rat Traits (minor)]
The warmth in my chest pulsed again. Another worm, born from the Gen 2's harvested power. It carried traits from all three of its parent's lines—speed, gravity, and rat.
[Gen 3-A natural litter spawning...]
[Gen 4-A created.]
[Gen 3-B natural litter spawning...]
[Gen 4-B created.]
[Gen 3-C natural litter spawning...]
[Gen 4-C created.]
My eyes widened.
"Wait—they're breeding too?"
[Gen 3-A, Gen 3-B, and Gen 3-C have reached their natural litter point.]
[Each Gen 3 has spawned 1 offspring (Gen 4).]
[Gen 4-A inherited traits: Enhanced Speed (minor), Gravity Negation (minor), Rat Traits (minor)]
[Gen 4-B inherited traits: Enhanced Speed (minor), Gravity Negation (minor), Rat Traits (minor)]
[Gen 4-C inherited traits: Enhanced Speed (minor), Gravity Negation (minor), Rat Traits (minor)]
[Current parasite inventory:]
[Gen 2]
[Gen 3-A]
[Gen 3-B]
[Gen 3-C]
[Gen 3-D]
[Gen 4-A]
[Gen 4-B]
[Gen 4-C]
[Total: 8 parasites]
I stared at the notification.
Then I read it again.
Then I started laughing.
"Hahahaha! Eight! I've got eight fucking parasites!"
The sound echoed through the abandoned office, bouncing off the concrete walls. I was cackling like a cartoon villain, doubled over with my hands on my knees, tears streaming down my face.
Eight parasites. From one. In less than a day.
The Gen 2 was dying—it had less than an hour left—but its children and grandchildren would carry on.
Exponential growth. That was the real power of this system.
Bucky was staring at me. His sunken, hazy eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and confusion. He didn't understand what was happening. He didn't understand why the kid he used to beat up was standing in front of him, laughing like a maniac, while he wasted away on a chain.
"Noel..." he whispered. "Please..."
I stopped laughing. Looked at him.
"Noel, please... I need... I need to go home." His voice cracked. Tears were running down his hollow cheeks, cutting tracks through the grime and dried blood. "I need my momma. Please. I feel so weak. I can't... I can't move. I can't think. Just... just let me go. I won't tell anyone. I promise. I won't tell Jack. I won't tell anyone. Just let me go home to my momma."
"..."
I looked at him.
He was pathetic. Chained to a pipe, crying for his mother, his rat-like face contorted with fear and exhaustion. He'd lost thirty percent of his power, and it showed. His enhanced senses were gone. His claws wouldn't come out. His speed was a memory. He was just a scrawny, rat-faced teenager, begging for mercy.
I should've felt something. Pity, maybe. Empathy. Something.
Instead, I felt... amused.
"Your momma, huh?"
He nodded, sobbing. "Please... I just want to go home..."
"Okay."
His eyes widened. Hope flickered in them—desperate, fragile hope. "You... you'll let me go?"
"Sure. But first..."
I crouched down and grabbed both of his wrists.
[Skin contact established.]
[Deploy all parasites?]
"All eight. At once."
[Deploying Gen 3-A... Gen 3-B... Gen 3-C... Gen 3-D... Gen 4-A... Gen 4-B... Gen 4-C...]
[All 7 parasites deployed to host: Bucky Morris.]
[Note: Gen 2 lifespan expiring. Deployment skipped.]
"AAAAAAGH!"
Bucky screamed. Not a scream of fear—though there was plenty of that. A scream of pain. Pure, raw, agonizing pain. His body convulsed against the chains, his back arching, his muscles seizing. Seven parasites, burrowing into his skin simultaneously, each one latching onto his power and starting to drain.
"NO! STOP! PLEASE, NOEL, STOP! IT HURTS! IT HURTS SO MUCH!"
He thrashed against the chains, the metal links clanking and scraping against the pipe. His eyes were rolling back in his head, foam forming at the corners of his mouth. His rat-like nose was twitching violently—faster than I'd ever seen it—like his body was trying to process an overload of sensation.
"AAAAGH! MOMMA! MOMMA! HELP ME! SOMEBODY HELP ME!"
I stood up and watched him thrash. His screams echoed through the abandoned building, bouncing off the concrete walls, filling the empty rooms and hallways with the sound of his suffering.
Nobody would hear him. Nobody would come. This was the Flats. People screamed all the time.
"How far can I push this, I wonder?" I muttered, tilting my head.
"PLEASE! NOEL! I'M BEGGING YOU! I'LL DO ANYTHING! I'LL—AAAAAGH!"
His body convulsed again. Harder this time. I could see the veins in his neck bulging, his skin turning a sickly gray, his eyes bloodshot and watering.
[All 7 parasites active.]
[Host: Bucky Morris]
[Current drain: 0%]
[Estimated time to full drain: ~12 hours]
[Warning: Host is already at 30% loss. Additional 70% drain will result in total power loss exceeding 100%. Host will become Blank.]
"..."
I stared at that last line.
Over 100%. He'd become Blank.
I hadn't even known that was possible.
"Huh."
I looked at Bucky. He was still screaming, thrashing, and crying for his momma.
"I'll be back," I said with a very wide smile.
He didn't hear me over his own screaming.
Although I really wonder what caused the pain... I guess while one or three parasites are not felt, eight is a bit much no?
Meh. Whatever~
I turned and walked out of the room, up the stairs, through the lobby, and out the front door. I rewrapped the chain around the handles and clicked the padlock shut.
His screams followed me into the street, muffled by concrete and distance, but still audible if you listened closely.
I couldn't help but leave a slight chuckle.
I negated gravity and jumped.