I was in my lab, typing away at my terminal. Code streamed down the screen as my latest invention neared completion—a prototype magneto-turbine pulse engine, designed to recycle solar energy into limitless clean propulsion. Of course, my calculations were flawless. My fingers flew over the keys in rhythmic precision when—
ZAP!
A sharp, pulsing jolt struck my back. I jerked upright, my console flickering with static. The scent of ozone filled the air. I turned around swiftly, fists clenched, but there was no one there. No Dee Dee. No intruders. But I knew that beam signature.
"Mandark," I muttered, narrowing my eyes.
He must have somehow gained access to my lab from a distance—an outrageous breach of protocol, but nothing I could not fix. Still… I felt odd. Not in pain. Just… off. I shook my head and returned to my work. Nothing would stop my progress.
By 11:59 AM, I was outside, walking the short distance to my backup storage shed. I needed a rare alloy—compressed vibranium-titanium, just a sliver—to complete the prototype. The air was warm, the sun unusually bright.
Then the clock struck noon.
And everything... changed.
My foot froze mid-step. My limbs locked. It was like gravity suddenly increased tenfold. The sun flared with blinding intensity above me—far too bright, far too hot. A high-pitched, needle-like sound pierced my ears, impossible to pinpoint, like static from a dying star.
My vision blurred. My knees buckled.
And then—dark mist.
It slithered around me like living smoke, coiling through the air, curling up from beneath the earth like tendrils. My thoughts grew sluggish. A pulse echoed in my head, deep and ancient. I fell to my knees. The sun vanished behind the dark haze, and I collapsed against the ground.
"What… is happening…?" I murmured.
Then darkness took me.
I awoke to the soft humming of machines, sterile lights above me. Familiar surroundings. My lab's hospital wing. I blinked, then slowly sat up. A diagnostic scanner hovered beside me, beeping gently. One of my assistant robots approached, holding a tray with water and a data tablet.
"DEXTRON UNIT 3 reporting: Subject Dexter recovered from unconscious state at 12:48 PM. Retrieval location: Pismo Beach, 35.1428 N, 120.6413 W."
"Pismo Beach?" I asked. "That's… thirty miles from here. How did I get there?"
The robot clicked. "Unknown. Subject was unconscious and surrounded by residual dark energy readings."
I took the tablet and turned on the news feed. The screen lit up with bold headlines and frantic news anchors:
"Breaking News: Unknown Supervillain Emerges at Noon!"
"Calling himself The Dark Lord, the flying figure struck downtown Genius Grove, overwhelming police forces and vaporizing steel with mere gestures. Witnesses describe him as resembling a character from a video game—Ganondorf, but with black hair and glowing crimson eyes. He vanished moments later, last seen flying west… toward Pismo Beach."
I stared at the screen. My mind moved with perfect clarity now.
"So that's what happened…"
Mandark's beam. The strange paralysis. The blinding sun. The dark mist. The sudden blackout and awakening near where the villain was last seen.
This was no coincidence.
This "Dark Lord"… he had done something to me.
And I was going to find out what.
I stood up. No panic. No fear. Only resolve.
"Dextron, begin scanning the residual energy in my bloodstream. Prepare the quantum satellite to track dark energy signatures. And contact the aerial drone fleet—I am going to Pismo Beach. Immediately."
"Confirmed," the robot said, nodding.
I turned back to the screen, watching the villain's silhouette fade into the sky.
"I don't know what you did to me," I said under my breath. "But I'm coming for you."
The next day, at precisely 11:58 AM, I was prepared.
I had equipped myself with a temporal stabilizer, a solar dampener vest, and a neural shield, just in case. I stood at the edge of Pismo Beach, sensors engaged, eyes sharp.
And then… the sun reached its peak.
The exact same sensation overtook me.
Blinding light.
Piercing sound.
Dark mist.
And then—
Darkness.
Again, I awoke in my lab. The same robot beside me. The same expression on its metal face.
"YOU WERE FOUND ON THE BEACH. AGAIN."
The news played again. The Dark Lord had returned. Again.
"Why don't I ever see him?" I muttered, rubbing my temples.
And then… a thought. A horrible, impossible thought.
"…No," I whispered. "It cannot be."
But the scientist in me would not rest without proof.
I returned to Pismo Beach. And there—caught on a jagged rock—I found a single black strand of hair. I stared at it, my heart pounding.
I ran back to the lab and placed the strand into the DNA comparer. Then, carefully, I added a strand of my own fiery red hair.
The machine whirred to life. Beeps echoed through the lab. My breath caught in my throat.
RESULT: 100% MATCH.
My vision blurred. My legs nearly gave out beneath me.
"I… I am The Dark Lord," I whispered.
A horrible silence filled the room.
But no. I would not panic. I am Dexter. A scientist. A genius. I solve problems. Even terrifying ones.
I took a deep breath, fingers already flying across my console.
"If my DNA transforms at noon… then there must be a trigger. A mechanism. I just need to find it. I need to understand it. And then—I will stop it."
No matter what it took.
The next day, I was determined.
I stayed inside the lab. No sun. No open sky. No exposure. My plan was simple: if the transformation only happened when I was outside at noon, I would eliminate that variable.
I reinforced the lab's ceiling panels with solar filters. I triple-checked the clock. 11:57 AM.
I stood still in the center of my control room, arms crossed tightly. I watched the second hand tick closer to noon. My palms were sweaty, but I kept my stance firm. I would not become him again.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
My master clock chimed. Noon.
Instantly, it began.
Even from within the lab—blinding light burst behind my eyes. The same paralyzing dizziness. The same high-pitched screech that no filter could block out. My knees buckled, and I slammed into the console.
"No—NO!" I shouted through gritted teeth. "I reinforced everything! I'm inside!"
I grabbed onto the edge of my workstation, willing myself to stay conscious.
But the dark mist was already curling in from the corners of my vision. My limbs felt like rubber, my muscles turning against me.
"I won't—let this—happen again!" I hissed.
But my body betrayed me. My vision flickered. My mind slipped.
And I collapsed.
When I opened my eyes again, the sun was low in the sky. I was lying on warm sand.
Pismo Beach.
Again.
I sat up with a gasp, heart racing, goggles askew. The wind whipped through my hair as I looked around.
No destruction in sight. Not here. But I knew what had happened. I could feel it in my bones.
I sprinted back to the lab as fast as my legs could carry me, through alleyways and side streets, ducking behind buildings to avoid witnesses.
When I finally got home, I slammed the lab door shut and bolted it behind me.
My hands trembled. I tried to steady them.
"Okay… okay, Dexter. Think. This is still science. Science can be solved."
I forced myself into my chair, sweat dripping from my forehead, and opened a fresh schematic. A device began to take shape—a Darkness Remover. If I could isolate the dark energy signature responsible for my transformation, perhaps I could counter it with concentrated light particles.
I was barely halfway through the blueprint when the lab monitor blinked.
Incoming video call.
Mandark.
Of course.
His smug, triangular face filled the screen. "Hello, Dexter."
I narrowed my eyes. "You."
"I see you've been enjoying your little noon excursions," he said, voice dripping with smugness.
"You're behind this," I growled.
"But of course!" Mandark grinned. "My solar beam was merely a catalyst. A little… genetic trigger embedded in the light spectrum. You should be proud, Dexter. You're quite the supervillain. All I had to do was give you the push."
My fists clenched on the edge of my desk. "You—you turned me into a monster!"
He smirked. "Correction. I simply revealed the monster already inside you."
The screen went black.
I stared at the monitor, stunned.
For a moment, my heart sank—but I shook it off. I wouldn't let Mandark win.
Not today.
I turned back to my schematic, faster than ever. Circuits, lenses, containment crystals—all designed to extract and neutralize dark energy at a molecular level. I calibrated it down to the millisecond. The final product gleamed on my workbench: a compact, wearable photon emitter with reverse flux shielding.
The Darkness Remover.
Just as the lab clock beeped my bedtime, I set it gently on the table, powered down the monitors, and climbed into bed.
The next morning, I awoke early.
I activated the device. A pulse of warm, golden light washed over me, humming softly as it spread. The lab glowed for a moment… then fell silent.
I glanced at my hands. No change. I looked in the mirror. Still me.
Could it be…?
The seconds ticked toward noon. I braced myself, standing beside the reinforced window.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Noon.
The light hit me.
And—
It happened again.
The same blinding brightness.
The same sound.
The same mist.
I collapsed.
"No! I stopped it! I built something to stop it!"
My voice echoed in the lab.
I struggled. Fought. Every muscle burned.
But… I lost.
Darkness swallowed me again.
When I woke up this time, I was on the pavement—just outside the Genius Grove Supermart.
Or rather… what remained of it.
The building was in ruins.
Glass shards littered the sidewalk. Smoke curled up from shattered windows. The grocery carts were twisted wrecks. I stood there, trembling.
I had done this.
He had done this.
I turned and ran back to my lab, faster than I ever had before, heart pounding like a war drum in my chest.
Something had to change.
And fast.
The next day, I made an antidote.
A bioluminescent serum of my own design—reverse-engineered from a mixture of my DNA, ultraviolet light cells, and a synthetic counter-agent designed to neutralize the mutagenic particle Mandark embedded in his beam.
If light had failed, then this—this had to work.
I held the vial in my gloved hand.
"Let this end it," I whispered. And without hesitation, I threw the antidote onto my chest. It splashed, sizzled, and absorbed instantly into my skin with a faint glow.
I waited.
Tensed.
Monitored.
11:59 AM.
My lab clock ticked like a countdown to doom.
12:00 PM.
The ringing came first.
"No—" I gritted my teeth. "No! The antidote—!"
Then the light—too bright to be natural—burst behind my eyes.
Dark mist coiled through me like smoke through shattered glass.
"Fight it, Dexter!" I screamed in my mind. "Resist it! Resist—!"
But my knees buckled.
The console flickered away.
And once again—I fell.
I woke up in a tank.
Or what used to be a tank.
Water spilled out all around me, stingrays writhing, robotic dolphin props shorting out in fizzing heaps. A giant fiberglass whale head bobbed in the flooded plaza.
I staggered upright.
Sea World.
Ruined.
The gift shop was in cinders. The entrance arch collapsed. Flames and water mixed on every surface, as though a battle between elements had taken place—and both had lost.
People had run. Evacuated. Screamed.
Because of me.
I grabbed a piece of twisted rebar to steady myself.
"No more," I whispered.
And I launched back to the lab.
The next day, I was at school.
The halls buzzed.
Whispers, gasps, dramatic reenactments.
All about him.
"Did you see the footage?"
"The whole orca stadium collapsed!"
"They say The Dark Lord can melt glass with his eyes…"
I clutched my books tighter.
Every voice made my stomach twist. They didn't know. Couldn't know.
That he was me.
In class, Mr. Luzinsky paced back and forth at the front.
Tall. Stern. His suit always smelled faintly of chalk and stale coffee.
He set his textbook down with a dramatic thud. "Class, I assume you've all heard what happened at Sea World yesterday."
A wave of murmurs passed through the room.
Mr. Luzinsky adjusted his glasses. "This—Dark Lord—is dangerous. And we still don't know what he wants. He's appeared four days in a row, each time more destructive. We must be vigilant."
My breath caught in my throat.
My pencil snapped in half.
Mr. Luzinsky kept talking, but I could no longer hear him. My eyes drifted slowly to the clock.
11:59.
My heart stopped.
No. Not here.
Flashes of my classmates screaming filled my mind.
Their faces—terrified, betrayed. Running from me. Whispering about me. Never looking me in the eye again.
Rejected.
Alone.
I clenched my fists, trembling, fighting every part of my body that wanted to run.
"Think, Dexter. Think rationally. Find a way to isolate."
I raised my hand. "Mr. Luzinsky, may I use the restroom?"
He nodded without hesitation.
I didn't wait for the usual bathroom pass routine—I bolted.
Down the stairs. Through the hall. Out the exit door into the empty school yard.
The second my shoes hit the asphalt—
NOON.
The sound hit like a tuning fork inside my skull.
No. Not again. Not here!
The sun exploded overhead. The light was too bright. The mist too thick.
I screamed.
Not from fear—but from effort.
I fought it.
I resisted with every calculation, every hypothesis, every ounce of will I had.
But I couldn't stop it.
I woke up on scorched concrete.
The air smelled like burning wires and sulfur.
I sat up.
My school—on fire.
But not red flames.
Dark purple.
Unnatural. Vile. The kind that devoured without smoke. Flames that didn't rise—they slithered.
Evacuation sirens wailed in the distance. Fire trucks surrounded the perimeter. Teachers and students watched from across the street in stunned silence as the school burned.
As I had burned it.
I stumbled back. Behind a fence. Out of sight.
And ran.
All the way to the lab.
I threw open the hatch, descended, and collapsed into my chair.
I had tried the antidote.
Tried the light.
Tried staying hidden.
Nothing worked.
And now… I had nearly destroyed my school.
I sat in silence, staring at my reflection in the lab monitor.
Something inside me stirred every day at noon.
And tomorrow… it would happen again.
Unless I could stop it.
The next day, there was no school.
Because my school no longer existed.
It still hadn't hit me completely. The smell of those dark flames haunted my nose even now. But I was determined to keep functioning.
Mordecai invited me over.
He thought we could hang out, play Breath of the Wild, clear our heads.
I agreed.
Not because I wanted a break.
But because… I needed to observe myself. In a different setting. I needed to be certain this transformation was bound to time, not place.
By 10:00 AM, I was sitting on Mordecai's couch, watching as Link soared down a cliffside, shield-surfing at blinding speed through Hyrule.
The remote was in Mordecai's hand. It was his turn. His focus was absolute, tongue poking out in concentration.
I tried to relax.
But my mind was somewhere else entirely.
Every second that passed felt like a countdown.
The sun streamed through the window, resting warm and bright on my back.
Still fine, I told myself. It's ten in the morning.
But then—
I noticed it.
On the wall opposite me.
My shadow.
At first, I thought it was just… odd. Stretched wrong.
But no.
It wasn't wrong.
It was him.
Spiked shoulders. Sharp clawed fingers. Flowing cape. Horned silhouette.
The Dark Lord.
As my shadow.
I froze.
Then slowly, silently, I scooted into the dark corner of the room, out of the sunlight.
The shadow disappeared.
Gone. Like it had never been there.
Mordecai hadn't noticed.
I exhaled, slow and steady.
Just a trick of the light. Or maybe not.
Either way—I wasn't ready to confront that possibility yet.
"Your turn," Mordecai said, tossing me the remote.
I caught it, hands a bit too tight around the plastic.
Time to play.
I tried to focus—really, I did. Hyrule needed saving, after all.
Link galloped across grassy fields, and I engaged some Bokoblins near a stable.
But my heart wasn't in it.
My mind kept circling back—
To shadows.
To flames.
To him.
Suddenly, an electric arrow zipped out of nowhere—ZAP—and Link collapsed in a flash of sparks and ragdoll physics.
"Bwahahaha!" Mordecai wiped tears from his eyes. "Did you see that Bokoblin's face before the arrow hit you?! That was pure art!"
I forced a chuckle.
"I… suppose."
Mordecai clapped me on the back. "Let's take a ten-minute break. I'll grab snacks. Want anything?"
"No, I'm good," I replied, standing up.
I headed to the bathroom.
I just needed a moment.
Alone.
The fluorescent light hummed overhead.
I leaned over the sink. Cold water. Splash. Breathe. Focus.
Then I looked up—
And staggered back.
Because it wasn't me in the mirror.
It was him.
The Dark Lord.
Looking back at me from the glass.
Same pose. Same movement.
My hands, but his claws.
My eyes, but glowing red behind the glasses he shouldn't even have.
I blinked.
Still there.
I looked down at myself.
Just Dexter.
Same red hair. Same round glasses. Same lab coat.
I reached up. Touched my face.
Normal.
But the reflection said otherwise.
A slow chill crept through my spine.
And then—
The mirror changed.
It was me again.
Just me.
Pale.
Trembling.
I gripped the sink.
This doesn't mean anything, I told myself. You are not him. Not entirely. This is something you can still solve.
I took a deep breath.
And another.
Then I walked out.
By 11:00, Mordecai was leaving for a dentist appointment.
I headed home.
This time, I was ready.
I activated the containment chamber in my lab. A sealed pod. Reinforced titanium walls. Quantum seals on every axis. Coded to respond only to my voice.
I climbed inside.
Locked it down from the inside.
Let's see The Dark Lord escape this.
11:59 AM.
I braced myself.
12:00 PM.
And like always—
it began.
Light. Screaming light.
Ringing.
Mist.
Power.
I tried to hold it back.
I tried everything.
But like every time before—
I failed.
I woke up in a pile of rubble.
Smoke.
Shattered seats.
A giant, glowing sign that read "NOW PLAYING" lay crumpled and sparking on the floor.
I was inside a movie theater.
Or… what used to be a movie theater.
The roof was completely gone. Torn away like paper.
Popcorn littered the aisles.
Screens were scorched and half-melted.
I stood slowly.
A third public place destroyed.
I couldn't breathe for a second.
But then I made myself breathe.
No panic.
Just data.
Back to the lab.
Once I arrived, I slammed the hatch shut, bolted it, and collapsed into my chair.
I buried my face in my hands.
Then I made myself stop.
Think.
Panicking wouldn't get me anywhere.
I had already wasted too much time being shocked. Being afraid.
This was a puzzle.
An equation with moving parts.
I would reverse this.
The mirror didn't change that.
The shadow didn't change that.
The Dark Lord would not win.
Not if I had anything to say about it.
And I always have something to say.
That night, I didn't sleep well.
I tried—I really did. I followed all my protocols: blackout curtains, low-frequency white noise, optimal pillow alignment. But even with all that, sleep crept in slowly, and when it did, it brought a storm with it.
In my dream, red and blue lights flashed across my face. Sirens blared.
"There he is! That's the one! The Dark Lord!"
I was surrounded—police, soldiers, hazmat suits.
No one listened when I tried to explain. They didn't see Dexter. Only him.
Hands grabbed me, dragged me away, metal doors slammed shut. Cold, hard concrete surrounded me. I was in a prison cell, alone and condemned. And the worst part—when I looked into the mirror in the corner of the cell, I didn't see myself.
I saw him.
I jolted awake, heart pounding so loud it echoed in my ears.
My bedroom was dark, shadows stretching long across the walls.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
My alarm clock.
I reached over and slapped it quiet. The screen blinked softly: 6:00 AM.
I sat up slowly, wiping sweat from my forehead.
"It was just a dream," I whispered. "Nothing more. Just a dream."
It felt real, yes—but dreams were not data. They were not fact. I wouldn't let fear drive me. That was his realm, not mine.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. I needed to get ready. A new day meant new data. New ideas.
I shuffled into the bathroom, flipped on the light, and glanced at the mirror like I always did.
And froze.
Dead in my tracks.
My hair.
It wasn't red.
It was black.
Inky, unnatural, Dark Lord black.
Exactly like his.
I stared at my reflection, heart hammering in my chest.
"No," I said softly. "No, no, no—this is a prank. It has to be. Dee Dee. Or… Mandark. Of course. Somehow—somehow they got in. Dyed it in my sleep."
I forced a breath through my lungs and moved fast.
In the lab's grooming bay, I grabbed a bottle of my custom hair dye-removing solution—one I'd invented myself, capable of reversing even permanent molecular pigment restructuring. I applied it in a swift, mechanical process, the way I'd done a dozen times during lab safety dye tests.
I rinsed.
Looked up.
Still black.
I scowled. "Fine. We'll do it the old-fashioned way."
I grabbed a bottle of my classic red formula and dyed it back to its original color.
I checked the mirror.
Red.
Perfect.
Then—before I could even turn away—I saw it.
The red color began to move.
It melted like wax, rippling downward and turning black, starting at the roots and crawling like wildfire across every strand, until the red was completely gone. My hair returned to his shade—raven-dark and wrong.
I stared at my reflection, stunned.
This… this wasn't chemical.
This wasn't a prank.
This was something else.
I stormed back into my lab, barefoot, still in pajamas, and sat down at my central console. I activated the overnight surveillance footage, pulling up the feed from my bedroom.
I watched as I slept—if you could even call it that. I tossed and turned like someone being pulled by invisible strings. My whole body was tense, shifting, twisting. My face grimaced every few minutes. I could almost feel the dream all over again.
Then it happened.
At exactly 3:17 AM.
My hair—his hair—began to spread across my head like smoke, washing out the red completely, strand by strand, until all that remained was that dark, void-like black.
It hadn't been a prank.
It hadn't even required transformation.
It had just happened.
I sat back in my chair, staring at the screen.
So. The transformations weren't just at noon anymore.
He was creeping in, more and more, like a virus infecting its host.
I closed my eyes and took a long breath.
Panic wanted in. But I locked the door.
No. Not now.
Panicking was his way. I would stay calm. Rational.
This was dark magic. That had to be it. A manifestation of his essence—slipping through the cracks of my consciousness, anchoring itself more permanently every day.
But if he could change me, then surely… I could change me back.
I stood up and went straight to the lab's chemical wing, scanning my previous formulas. This was no longer just about reversing transformation.
Now it was about purging influence.
Detoxifying my biology from his presence entirely.
First step?
Get my hair back.
One strand at a time if I had to.
And I would.
Two hours. Gone.
And my hair? Still black.
I tried everything. Molecular cleansing agents, chroma-cellular stabilizers, even a reverse polarity beam calibrated to my exact DNA.
Nothing worked.
No matter what I did, the color stayed. That deep, unnatural raven-black. Not a trace of red. It clung to me like a shadow that refused to let go.
I stared at my reflection for a long moment, arms crossed, lips pressed in a flat line.
This wasn't surface-level. The truth finally settled like a weight in my chest:
My hair wouldn't go back until he was gone.
Not temporarily suppressed. Not locked away.
Gone.
Fine. Then I'd hide it—for now. I refused to let him win even the smallest battle.
I reached into my hologram tech drawer and grabbed a prototype: a micro-projector the size and shape of a small button. I upgraded its color fidelity and adaptive lighting, then programmed it to project a realistic overlay of my original hair color and texture. I attached it behind my right ear and activated it with a blink.
In the mirror, my red hair returned. Every strand perfectly reconstructed. I let out a breath.
Better.
I tucked a soft gray hat into my pocket, just in case the device broke or fizzled out in the field. Always have a fallback. That's rule number four.
With that handled, I turned back to the real problem—the transformations. I had a new formula brewing on my lab bench, a variation of my first darkness antidote potion, with adjusted ratios of purified light essence and molecular stabilizers. I'd added photonic amplifiers this time. Maybe they'd make a difference.
Time passed in a blur as I measured, mixed, and monitored, all while running simulations on the containment field's last failure. I worked steadily, the ticking clock above the workstation my only companion.
11:59.
Almost there.
With a final stir, the potion turned from blue to silver—just as I'd hoped. I scooped it into a reinforced flask and splashed it over myself with practiced precision.
"This has to work," I murmured.
12:00.
Instantly, the symptoms hit me like a freight train.
Dizziness. A blinding light.
Then the mist—dense, choking, dark.
I fought it. Gritted my teeth and pushed back with everything I had. But it was stronger this time. As if he was learning. Adapting.
My knees buckled. My vision blurred.
Then—blackness.
When I came to, I was lying on scorched pavement.
I sat up slowly.
Smoke clung to the air. Around me, a large amphitheater stood—barely. The entire structure was charred, crumbling. The stage was engulfed in purple fire, the same cursed flame that had haunted my previous destructions. The kind that devoured everything.
People were screaming.
Running.
Police had arrived, weapons drawn, trying to restore order.
My chest tightened—not with fear, but urgency. My nightmare from last night—it was so close to this.
No. They couldn't see me. Not like this.
Without hesitation, I tapped my watch and whispered the override teleport command.
"Lab Return. Priority One."
With a flash, the amphitheater vanished.
I reappeared in the middle of my lab, stumbling slightly, still reeling from the transformation.
I gripped the edge of my workstation to steady myself.
I'd failed again. The potion hadn't stopped it.
I let out a long breath. "Okay," I muttered. "Back to work."
I turned toward the chemical bay, then froze.
My reflection in the mirror.
Black hair.
Again.
I instinctively reached behind my ear.
Nothing.
The projector—gone.
Destroyed in the chaos. Probably incinerated by the purple fire.
I set my jaw and immediately began building a new one—this time from indestructible materials: titanium casing, quantum-protected circuits, and a built-in recharging cell that could survive even dimensional rifts.
Ten minutes later, it was done. I clipped it behind my ear and watched my hair return to its normal red in the mirror.
A small comfort.
But not the solution.
Not yet.
I sat back down, fingers flying over my keyboard, determination burning behind my eyes.
He was gaining ground. But I wasn't about to give up any more of myself.
That night, sleep did not come easily.
And when it did… it betrayed me.
The nightmare returned—more vivid than before.
I was standing in a cold interrogation room, surrounded by agents and officers. Floodlights glared down at me. My wrists were bound. And every pair of eyes in the room was locked on me with suspicion, fear, hatred.
"Your hair," one of them sneered, pointing. "That's all the proof we need. No one has hair like that—not unless they're him."
"The Dark Lord," another officer growled. "You're harboring dark energy. And that makes you a threat."
Before I could even open my mouth to speak, to explain, they slammed the cell door shut.
I was alone.
Powerless.
Trapped.
I bolted upright in bed, chest heaving, my blanket tangled around me like vines.
Darkness filled the room—no moonlight, no sounds. Just the beeping of my alarm clock, blinking 3:12 AM in crimson digits.
I reached over and shut it off manually, even though it hadn't gone off.
My heart pounded in my ears. My head throbbed.
It was just a dream, I told myself. Just a dream. A neural byproduct of stress and subconscious fear. It holds no bearing in reality.
Still… my hand went instinctively behind my ear.
The device was still there. Still secure. Still projecting the perfect illusion of red.
I got out of bed, barefoot and silent, and padded down the hallway to my lab. The familiar hum of my machines greeted me like old friends.
I flicked on the main lights and took a seat at my central console, wiping a bit of sleep from my eyes.
I wasn't going to let a bad dream derail my progress. I had too much work to do, too many variables to test. The situation was evolving rapidly, and I had to stay ahead of it.
I glanced at a nearby reflective panel as I passed it—my hair still looked red. The projector hadn't faltered.
They won't find out, I told myself again, this time with quiet certainty. Not unless I let them.
And I wouldn't.
Not ever.
I opened a new blueprint file and began designing something that could not only suppress the Dark Lord's influence, but perhaps neutralize it entirely.
The hours ticked by.
And I didn't stop working.
Not once.
I headed back into the lab.
The blue glow of the monitors bathed the room in light as I took my place at the main workstation. I had already run tests on five different serums since sunrise, and none of them had any effect. Every formula I'd devised to suppress the Dark Lord's influence either fizzled out or destabilized under stress testing. And now, as the clock in the corner struck 11:00 AM, I still had… nothing.
I leaned back in my chair, fingers steepled, eyes narrowed.
Think, Dexter. There has to be something you're missing. A counteragent. A neutralizing field. A—
Wait.
I was rising.
My first reaction was confusion—I wasn't moving the chair. Then I looked down and froze.
I wasn't on the chair.
I was a full foot above it.
Hovering.
Floating.
I blinked in disbelief. "What in the—"
I was about to be intrigued—flight without assistance? Fascinating. My mind immediately began to calculate lift ratios, energy balance, the quantum interface of—
Then I saw it.
A glow.
Purple.
Not just any purple, but that shade. A dark, violent amethyst crackling around my body like electric fog. The same color as the Dark Lord's destructive energy.
I dropped to the ground instantly, forcing myself down with sheer will.
As soon as my feet touched the floor, the glow vanished.
I stood there in the silence of my lab, eyes wide behind my glasses.
First the black hair.
Now the magic.
It was unmistakable.
The Dark Lord's essence—his power, his presence—was bleeding into my own body. Slowly. Subtly. Cell by cell.
And if this progression continued…
I shuddered.
If I start to manifest his personality traits… if my own thoughts become warped…
I clenched a fist. No. That will not happen.
I would stop this before it went that far.
I forced myself back to the console, laser-focused, typing code, recalculating formulas, simulating new potions. No time to hesitate. No room for fear. I had work to do.
Time passed faster than I realized. When I finally glanced at the clock, it read 11:59 AM.
I set everything aside and stood up. Shoulders squared. Muscles tensed.
Here we go again.
The digits changed to 12:00 PM, and the transformation hit.
The dizziness.
The white flash.
The dark mist coiling like a living shadow.
I gritted my teeth, trying harder than ever to resist, to hold on—
But the power overwhelmed me.
And everything went black.
I woke up on my side.
The air was hot.
Choked with smoke.
I sat up quickly, coughing once. My vision cleared—and what I saw made my stomach lurch.
Across the street stood the remains of a local hamburger restaurant.
Or rather… what used to be a restaurant.
The entire structure was blasted open, blackened walls groaning, the roof entirely gone. Flames—those unnatural, purple flames—curled along the sides, consuming everything they touched with slow, smoldering hunger.
Screams echoed through the air. People ran from the scene, some ducking behind cars, others stumbling down the street in sheer panic.
And then—sirens.
Red, white, and blue lights flashing in the smoke.
The police.
They were almost there.
If they found me now—if they connected me to the Dark Lord—there was a chance the nightmares might not stay nightmares.
I didn't wait.
I pressed the teleport function on my watch and vanished in a crackle of blue light.
I reappeared in the lab a second later, still catching my breath.
Straight to the security system.
I called up the footage from the restaurant's vicinity, syncing the time stamp with the moment I must have transformed.
There.
There I was—or rather, the Dark Lord—swooping down out of the sky like a meteor, hands glowing with that same violent purple energy.
He raised his arms. The fire erupted in seconds.
People screamed. The crowd scattered.
And then he turned and flew out of frame.
I fast-forwarded, scanning the end of the footage.
Relief surged through me.
No transformation caught on camera.
If even one frame had shown the Dark Lord shifting back into me, it would've been the end. No device or disguise would've saved me from that.
But it hadn't. I still had time. Still had a chance.
I turned back to the workstation and got to work again.
No matter how impossible it felt, no matter how much darker this was getting—I would find a solution.
I had to.
That night, I dreamed again.
One second, I was nowhere—and the next, I was in the middle of Disney World.
Or… what was left of it.
The colorful signs, the cheerful music, the crowds—all of it was gone.
What surrounded me now was nothing but ruin. Twisted metal. Scorched attractions. Rides melted into their tracks. Smoke filled the air, rising from blackened buildings and smoldering statues of cartoon characters. Purple fire flickered in broken fountains, devouring the water itself.
My heart sank as I turned in place. The ground beneath me was cracked and darkened, scorched with the unmistakable imprint of magical destruction.
Dark Lord destruction.
I reached for my watch. I have to get out of here.
But before I could activate it—shouts erupted all around me.
"Freeze!"
"Hands where we can see them!"
I spun around.
They were everywhere.
Officers. Agents. Drones in the sky. Floodlights snapped on from all directions, blinding me in a heartbeat. Laser rifles pointed straight at my chest. There was no escape.
"No—wait, this isn't—!" I began, stepping back.
That's when I saw it.
A shattered mirror off to the side of a wrecked building caught my reflection—and my breath caught in my throat.
My hair was raven-black again.
Worse, my hands—both of them—were glowing.
The same dark, electric purple that belonged to the Dark Lord's magic.
The same glow that destroyed everything I touched.
"No," I whispered. "No, that's not—this isn't what it looks like!"
But the officers had already drawn their conclusions.
"It is him. He's the Dark Lord."
"Look at his hair. His hands. That magic—it's the same signature!"
"He is the threat. We knew it!"
"No!" I shouted again, desperate now. "I'm not him! I'm not—I'm trying to stop this!"
But they didn't hear me.
Or maybe they didn't care.
"You're just like him," one of the agents sneered. "You may not know it yet—but you're becoming him."
Before I could protest again, they rushed me. Cold metal clamped around my wrists. My legs gave out, and the next thing I knew, they were dragging me away. The sky above me spun. Chains clicked into place. The air turned cold.
A cell door slammed shut.
I woke up with a sharp breath, bolting upright in bed.
It was pitch black.
Silent.
Only the faint glow of the moon lit my bedroom ceiling.
My heart was hammering in my chest—but I forced myself to breathe slowly. It's just a dream. Just a dream.
"That scenario is highly unlikely," I told myself quietly, voice steady. "No one knows. The evidence is under control. I'm not going to let it happen."
I sat for a moment, staring at the ceiling.
Then I climbed out of bed, adjusted my glasses, and padded silently down the hall.
The lab welcomed me with its cold, blue light.
I sat down at my desk, opened a new schematic, and resumed working on a solution.
Because this wasn't just about stopping a transformation anymore.
This was about making sure that nightmare never came true.
By 11:00 AM, the pressure was mounting. The clock was ticking, and the next transformation loomed ever closer.
I stared at the same equations on my screen for the fifth time in a row. Still no progress. Still no breakthrough.
And then—suddenly—it hit me.
I froze. My eyes widened. The pieces clicked together in my brain like gears finding the perfect rhythm.
The ray.
The one that started all of this.
Mandark's infernal ray—the one he blasted me with during our last confrontation!
That ridiculous show-off. That's when the transformations began. If the original ray caused it… maybe, just maybe, it could be reversed.
My fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up every scrap of data I'd archived from that day.
Then I paused.
Knowing Mandark, there was a good chance he'd built a reverse switch into it. He always likes to gloat about "fail-safes" and "built-in contingency modules." He talks too much, and he builds even more than he brags.
If he added a reverse setting…
I jumped onto the web and scrolled through some of his posts on his personal subreddit, r/MandarkGenius1999—a digital landfill of delusional rants and poorly formatted blueprints.
But there it was.
A full schematic. Posted publicly. With color-coded labels.
I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.
The idiot actually uploaded the entire blueprint!
And yes—YES—the ray had a REVERSE SWITCH. A small toggle nestled inside the primary circuit board, which would theoretically reverse all active effects caused by the ray's original blast. That included the corruption. The Dark Lord. All of it!
But of course, Mandark had one more fail-safe built in.
According to his notes, the ray was protected with a mobility lock—a device that made it impossible to move, teleport, or disassemble without a full system override.
Which meant…
I'd have to activate the reversal sequence from inside Mandark's lab.
On site.
Alarms would trip. Danger levels would skyrocket. But the reward?
The reward could be freedom.
I cracked my knuckles and smirked to myself.
"Time to be cleverer than the idiot."
Before I launched, I checked Mandark's location one last time—using, of course, the schedule he posted online.
On Reddit.
I honestly didn't know whether to laugh or scream.
According to his ridiculous post: "MANDARK'S FRIDAY AGENDA: 10:00 – conquer local physics club, 10:30 – floss, 11:00 – dentist (UGH), 12:30 – lunch (organic kale smoothie only)."
Perfect. He was at the dentist. Sedated, distracted, and nowhere near his lab.
Now was my chance.
I brought up the coordinates for the precise location of the ray in Mandark's lab—I'd mapped them long ago in case of emergency.
I didn't hesitate.
No time to waste.
My fingers danced across the keyboard, locking in the coordinates. My watch glowed bright blue as the teleportation system charged.
I took one deep breath.
And then—FLASH.
I disappeared in a blink.
Straight into the lion's den.
A second later, I materialized inside the room with a silent whoosh.
The air smelled faintly of ozone and machine oil.
I was in.
Mandark's lab was just as ridiculous as I remembered—this particular chamber was small, circular, and colored in a rather predictable red-and-black aesthetic, as if evil were a brand. LED lights glowed faintly along the curved ceiling. Everything looked like it had been inspired by a villain's lair in a third-rate comic book.
And there—near the far wall—was the ray.
Mounted neatly on a metal desk. Fully charged. Humming softly. Its sleek barrel gleamed under the overhead lights, and a familiar pulse radiated from its core—the same energy signature I remembered from that fateful blast.
This is it. The beginning of the end.
My heart thudded in anticipation.
But then—my hands began to glow.
That same unsettling purple light. Malevolent. Crackling faintly. Crawling across my fingers like living fire.
No—no, no, no! Not now!
I froze. Took a breath. Focused.
Calm down. Don't let it escalate.
The glow flickered… sputtered… and vanished.
I exhaled.
Crisis averted—for now.
Then, in the reflection of the curved observation window, I caught a glimpse of myself—and my stomach dropped.
Raven-black hair. Again.
No…
I reached up quickly, fingers scrambling behind my ear—the device! It's gone!
A cold wave of panic swelled in my chest.
It must've been dislodged during the teleportation process—disintegrated or displaced mid-transfer.
But there was no time to worry about that now.
I'm here. And this nightmare's about to end.
I turned toward the ray, stepping cautiously across the room.
The label on the side was as ridiculous as everything else Mandark ever built. The toggle switch currently pointed to:
"DARK LORD MODE"
I rolled my eyes, then glanced at the opposite setting:
"DARK LORD REMOVER"
Subtle, Mandark. Very subtle.
I reached for the switch, fingers brushing the cool metal—
—and then I heard something.
A breath.
Low. Slow. Drawn out.
I stopped. My heart skipped.
I'm alone.
I looked around quickly. The room was completely empty. Monitors flickered. Nothing moved.
Then—
"Dexter…"
A voice. Deep. Sinister. Echoing inside my head and all around me at once.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
I spun around, scanning the chamber.
Nothing.
No shadows. No movement. Just me—and the ray.
"Who's there? Show yourself!"
"I can't do that, Dexter," the voice rumbled, dark amusement oozing from every syllable. "I am the Dark Lord, after all."
My eyes widened in horror.
He's speaking to me.
He's grown strong enough… to manifest his voice inside my mind!
This had gone far past corruption—he was becoming sentient. Alive.
But I clenched my fists and narrowed my eyes.
No matter. You're about to be erased.
I turned back to the ray. Reached for the toggle.
Flicked it to "Dark Lord Remover."
One press. That's all it takes.
I extended my hand toward the activation button.
And then—my arm froze.
I gasped.
My hand hovered inches away from the button—but refused to move. Like something invisible had seized it midair.
No—NO!
I strained, trying to force it forward. But it was as if my limb were locked in an invisible vice.
"You see, Dexter?" the voice purred again, now closer. Stronger. "You're not in control anymore. I am."
No…
I lunged with my other hand—only for it to be flung back as if struck by a gust of wind, then yanked against my side, held immobile by some unseen force.
He was inside me. Manipulating my very body like a puppet.
I grit my teeth. Fought. Struggled.
"Let… me… GO!"
"You belong to me now," the Dark Lord whispered. "There is no Dexter. Only us."
And then—
A dog barked.
A distant, ordinary, everyday bark—just outside the lab window.
And the grip faltered.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
I twisted forward, channeling all the force I could into that one free movement—and SLAMMED my hand down onto the button.
The ray exploded in a flash of brilliant yellow light.
It swallowed me whole—heatless, weightless, radiant.
And through it all, I heard the Dark Lord SCREAM—
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—!"
His voice cracked… then warped… and then evaporated into static.
Silence.
The light faded.
I staggered back, catching myself against the desk.
Panting.
Was it over?
I turned slowly… and looked into the window again.
My reflection stared back at me.
Red hair.
No glow.
No purple.
Just… me.
Dexter.
A wave of relief washed over me, so powerful it nearly buckled my knees.
He's gone.
I did it.
But deep down, somewhere in the quiet, a small part of me still listened—just in case the silence decided to speak again.
I allowed myself a moment to breathe.
Just one.
The fight had drained me more than I expected. Not physically, but mentally. Fighting an invisible presence in your own mind takes a toll.
I leaned on the desk, watching my red hair shimmer faintly in the reflection, still trying to process the fact that the Dark Lord… was gone.
Or so I thought.
That's when I felt it.
The air behind me shifted—subtle at first, like the molecules themselves were rearranging.
Then came the sound: a low, whispering hiss, like shadowy silk being pulled through the air.
I turned.
And my blood ran cold.
A dark mist was swirling behind me—inky tendrils coiling through the room, dancing and thickening, spiraling into a vortex that pulled light inward.
"No…" I whispered.
The mist formed a shape.
A tall, cloaked figure.
It twisted, folded, and then—solidified.
Standing before me, cloaked in living darkness, eyes glowing with malevolent glee… was the Dark Lord.
Separate.
Alive.
Smiling.
He threw his head back and let out a maniacal laugh that shook the walls.
I staggered back, staring in utter disbelief.
This wasn't possible. The beam—the calculation—it was supposed to erase him!
The Dark Lord stepped forward, grinning wickedly.
"Oh, you thought the beam would erase me?" he sneered. "Well, you thought WRONG, Dexter!"
His eyes gleamed as he spread his arms wide.
"And now… I am FREE to destroy EVERYTHING in this city!"
Before I could react—before I could even move—he spun around and leapt straight through the window.
The glass shattered outward as his cloak flared like wings.
He flew.
Vanished into the sky.
I rushed to the window, heart racing, watching his dark silhouette shrink against the clouds.
No. No no no.
He wasn't destroyed. He was extracted.
I spun back to the ray—its containment locks had short-circuited from the blast, the safety system offline.
Perfect.
I grabbed it—slung it over my shoulder—and activated the teleportation override.
A pulse of light shot through me, and a second later, I was outside, sprinting across the rooftops.
I scanned the skies—then stopped in my tracks.
There he was.
Hovering in the air above Genius Grove's town square.
People screamed and scattered like ants below. The sky dimmed under his presence, swirling with unnatural storm clouds. His laughter echoed off every building.
Then his voice boomed over the chaos, amplified by some dark force:
"Greetings, people of Genius Grove!"
"Please stand back while I DESTROY the city!"
A terrified voice rose from the crowd.
"Why?! Why are you doing this?!"
The Dark Lord tilted his head, amused.
"Why would an evil genius such as myself need a reason?"
He sneered, eyes glowing brighter.
"I just like destroying things."
My jaw clenched. No more.
I dropped to one knee, calculated the distance, and adjusted the power setting on the ray.
One hit. That's all I need.
I aimed carefully—
—and fired.
A brilliant beam of golden-yellow light burst from the barrel, slicing through the sky.
It missed. By an inch.
The Dark Lord recoiled slightly, startled—then slowly turned and looked down at me.
His lips curled into a sinister smile.
"Dexter… I was wondering if you'd try and stop me."
I aimed again, finger tightening on the trigger.
But before I could fire—
He raised his hand.
A flash of dark energy surged from his palm, and suddenly—I was flying upward.
No propulsion. No machine. Just his magic.
He's lifting me—like a puppet!
The wind whipped past my ears as I ascended, rising to his height, until I hovered face to face with him above the city.
I didn't hesitate. I fired again.
The beam screamed toward him—
But the Dark Lord casually flicked his wrist.
And the world froze.
The beam. The clouds. The people. The very air around us.
Everything stopped.
Except me.
And him.
My breath caught in my throat.
He had frozen time.
I floated there, stunned, as the unmoving beam hovered mid-air just inches from his shoulder.
He leaned in, his grin twisted and smug.
"Oh, I don't think so, Dexter."
His voice was like molten iron—slow, heavy, deliberate.
"Let's you and I have a little chat, Dexter."
In the utter stillness of frozen time, I watched as the Dark Lord slowly extended a single finger toward the beam—still frozen in midair—mere inches from hitting his chest. My breath caught. With a twisted smirk, he touched the beam and effortlessly turned it around so it now pointed straight at me.
"I know what you're thinking, Dexter," he said silkily, his voice curling like smoke. "If this beam hits me, it would destroy me… but do you know what would happen if, say, it were to hit you?"
I narrowed my eyes, trying not to show any reaction. But before I could even form a reply, he leaned in closer and hissed, "I'll tell you what would happen, Dexter! I would merge back with you… this time, for the whole world to see. They'd put you in jail—just like all those lovely little nightmares you've been having."
My stomach turned, but I wasn't surprised. Deep down, I knew those dreams weren't random. He grinned, reading my silence. "Yes… I know about those. I gave them to you, so you'd live in fear of me. Of yourself."
Fear flickered at the edges of my mind, but I shoved it down hard. I didn't have time for fear. Not now.
"But that," the Dark Lord continued, pacing around me like a predator, "would ruin my plans. Do you know why I was created, Dexter?"
Again, I didn't answer. There was no point.
"As you may know," he went on, his voice smug, "Mandark—my master, your annoying little archnemesis—created me. Why? To get rid of you, of course. Mandark figured that if he turned someone into a supervillain, the world would live in fear of me, while he sat pretty behind the scenes."
He circled behind me now. I kept my eyes forward, focused.
"But I needed to be merged with someone to survive initially," he continued, "and who better than his most brilliant rival? You. He planned to let you keep transforming into me, to let me destroy everything until he was ready to expose you. To show the world you were the Dark Lord all along. To let them throw you in jail. Then Mandark would swoop in and save the day. A great plan, really."
I grit my teeth. I could see the smugness in his grin without even turning.
"But then you had to figure out that the ray has a reverse setting. And now… here we are. The world can't think you're me if you're battling me, can they? Perhaps you're smarter than Mandark thought…"
He leaned in right next to my ear and whispered, "SIKE! You'll never be as smart as him!"
I turned to face him just as he stepped back, sneering. "Especially now, since I'm about to destroy you. It's so much easier to just blast you with dark magic than go through the trouble of turning you in."
His hand ignited with that familiar malevolent purple light. And then—he fired.
I instinctively raised my hands to block it, expecting impact—but instead, something… changed.
My hands started to glow.
Bright yellow.
Crackling with energy.
The Dark Lord's magic fizzled out the moment it touched the light. Then the glow surged outward, spreading to my entire body, enveloping me in a shimmering aura of golden lightning.
I blinked, stunned. "Wh-What…?" I whispered.
Even he looked shocked. "WHAT?! Impossible! How do you have your own magic?!"
Magic? My own?
That couldn't be. I'm a scientist, not a sorcerer! But… the only explanation was the beam. When it hit me and separated him from me, it must've left something behind. Some energy signature… some latent power… a side effect of the split.
A mystery for later.
Right now, I had a villain to destroy.
The Dark Lord's expression darkened with uncertainty. "You know, Dexter, that kind of magic is very powerful," he said, his voice suddenly smooth, persuasive. "Imagine what we could do together! Join me, and you may be spared!"
Please. Even he knew that was a desperate bluff.
I didn't even respond. I simply raised my glowing hand—and blasted him.
He shrieked, tried to fly away, but it was too late. My yellow energy hit him square in the chest.
"Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo—!"
The blast swallowed him whole.
And then—boom.
He was gone.
Time unfroze.
The beam dropped harmlessly to the ground behind me. Below, I could hear people cheering. From their perspective, it must have looked like the beam had hit him and vaporized him. Maybe that was for the best.
I floated gently down, still glowing, still buzzing with that new energy. I could fly—actually fly—with this magic.
As I landed, the crowd erupted around me in cheers and applause.
I couldn't help but smile. Not just because I'd defeated the Dark Lord, but because I had done it my way. Logically. Courageously. Decisively.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him.
Mandark.
He was glaring at me from across the plaza, his fists clenched, seething with rage.
Looks like someone's plan didn't work out.
Good.
Back in the sanctuary of my lab, I stood in front of the wall where I displayed my most notable achievements—scientific breakthroughs, dimensional patents, quantum awards. But today, I added something… different.
With a small, deliberate motion, I hung up the medal I'd been given earlier that day.
It gleamed under the lab's cool lighting—sleek, gold, and inscribed with the words "To Our Greatest Hero."
The applause from the crowd still echoed faintly in my memory. Not that I did it for the recognition, of course. But still… it meant something. This wasn't just any medal. This was the medal Mandark had probably dreamed of. He must have fantasized about wearing it, soaking in the adoration, being praised as the savior of the city—if not the world.
Too bad for him.
I stepped back and admired how the medal looked among my other accolades.
Then my eyes drifted downward… to my hands.
They looked normal now—no glow, no sparks. Just regular, unremarkable hands. The kind that built machines. Wrote equations. Programmed robots.
But today, they had also wielded magic.
Actual, bright, crackling, impossible magic.
I took a slow breath and raised my right hand in front of me, focusing. Channeling. Willing it to return.
For a moment… nothing.
But then—
Fzzzzzzzzttt!
A spark of golden light flickered at my fingertips, then expanded, engulfing my hand in a brilliant, sparking yellow aura. It didn't burn. It didn't sting. It felt… alive. Like energy I could almost understand—but not quite.
The magic responded to my concentration. My focus. My will.
I stared at it, a thousand questions storming my brain.
Why did the ray do this to me?
Was it because of the separation from the Dark Lord? Or something about my unique brain chemistry? Could this happen to anyone… or was it only me?
Could I control it?
Better question—should I?
What even is this magic? Was it truly magic at all? Or some form of concentrated energy that could be explained scientifically with enough analysis?
The questions wouldn't stop.
But I didn't mind. Questions were the first step toward answers.
I slowly clenched my glowing hand into a fist. The energy sparked brighter for a second, then I exhaled and released it, allowing the glow to fade.
No more distractions.
I turned toward my workstation and activated the holo-console. Panels slid open around the lab, screens lit up, scanners calibrated. I carefully extended my hand onto a diagnostic pad and began configuring a full-spectrum energy analysis.
If I had this power… I needed to understand it.
Not fear it. Not hide it.
Understand it.
Study it.
Whatever this magic was—it had chosen me.
And I was going to figure out why.
To be continued…