Blood and Sparks: The Edge of Power

The hum under my skin wouldn't quit. It wasn't loud—just this steady thrum, like a second pulse, threading through me. Regeneration, the system called it. Minor wounds gone in seconds. Stamina boosted. I kept staring at my hand, flexing my fingers, waiting for that little cut to reopen or for the whole thing to unravel like a bad dream. It didn't. The skin stayed smooth, mocking me with how real this was.

I stepped back from the window, legs shaky, and slumped onto the kitchen floor. Coffee still stained the counter where it'd spilled during the first blast. Out there, the city groaned—distant booms, screams cutting through the air like knives. My street was quiet now, but that alien corpse sprawled on the pavement wasn't going anywhere. Neither was the blood smeared on my wall.

Twenty-four hours. That's what the system gave me. One day with this… whatever it was. A borrowed power. A taste. I pressed my palms into my eyes, trying to think, but my brain felt like it was short-circuiting. Aliens. Superhumans. My system suddenly pulling tricks I didn't know it had. None of it fit together.

I dragged myself up, grabbing a dish towel—stupid, useless instinct—and wiped at the blood on the wall. The human stuff came off easy, red soaking into the fabric. The other gunk, the alien crap, stuck like tar. My system flickered again.

Unknown Organic Matter. Partial Analysis Complete. Additional Samples Required for Full Breakdown.

"Great," I muttered, voice cracking. "What am I supposed to do, scrape this shit off with a spoon?"

No answer. The system didn't do sarcasm. Never had.

I tossed the towel onto the counter and paced, sneakers squeaking on the tile. My apartment felt too small now, walls pressing in. Out there, people were fighting—dying, probably—and here I was, hiding with a power I didn't ask for and didn't understand. Regeneration. What good was that against them? The alien I'd seen tanked a point-blank energy blast and still nearly gutted that guy. I'd heal a papercut while they carved me open.

But it wasn't nothing. It was a start.

A crash outside snapped me out of it—metal on metal, loud and close. I crept back to the window, heart thudding again. Down the street, one of those smaller alien crafts had smashed into a parked car, flattening it like a soda can. Smoke curled up from the wreckage, and something moved inside. Not human. Too big, too jagged.

I ducked low, breath shallow. The thing climbed out—same armored shell as the dead one, same glowing weapon clutched in spindly claws. It scanned the street, head jerking side to side, then started lurching my way.

"Shitshitshit." I scrambled back, knocking over a chair. It hit the floor with a clatter that felt deafening. The alien's head snapped toward my building.

I froze. Could it hear that? Did they even hear like we did? My pulse hammered so loud I swore it'd give me away anyway.

Then—footsteps. Not mine. Heavy, deliberate, coming from the alley beside my house. I edged toward the side window, barely breathing, and peeked through the blinds.

It was him. The guy from before. The superhuman. He looked worse now—shirt torn, blood caked on his side, one arm hanging limp. But he was moving, fast and quiet, slipping along the wall. His good hand glowed faintly, that same white-hot energy I'd seen him use.

The alien spun toward him, weapon flaring. I didn't think—just reacted. I bolted to my door, flung it open, and hissed, "Hey! In here!"

He didn't hesitate. He darted inside, slamming the door shut behind him. I locked it, hands fumbling, and shoved the couch against it for good measure. Dumb, maybe, but it felt better than nothing.

The guy collapsed against the wall, chest heaving. Up close, he was younger than I'd thought—mid-twenties, maybe, with sharp features and dark hair plastered with sweat. Blood dripped onto my floor, pooling under him.

"You're hit," I said, stupidly stating the obvious.

He grunted, eyes flicking to me. "Yeah. Noticed."

Outside, the alien's steps crunched closer. I held my breath, waiting for it to smash through the door. It didn't. The sound faded, moving off down the street.

I let out a shaky exhale and turned back to him. "You're—you're one of them, right? The… superhumans?"

He smirked, but it was weak, pained. "What gave it away?"

I didn't answer, just nodded at his hand. The glow was gone now, but I'd seen it. "What's your deal? Fire? Lightning?"

"Energy," he rasped. "Raw kinetic stuff. Hurts like hell to use right now." He shifted, wincing, and pressed a hand to his side. Blood seeped through his fingers.

My system pinged again. Human Blood (Type AB+). Enhanced Cellular Structure Confirmed. Current Condition:Critical.

"You're dying," I blurted.

He snorted. "Thanks, doc. Figured that out."

"No, I mean—" I stopped, fumbling. How do you explain a system in your head? "Look, just—stay there. Don't move."

I grabbed the first-aid kit from under the sink—bandages, antiseptic, some gauze I'd bought years ago and never used. My hands shook as I knelt beside him, peeling back his shredded shirt. The gash was ugly, deep, running from his ribs to his hip. Too much blood. Too red.

"I'm not a medic," I muttered, pressing gauze against it. "This is gonna suck."

"Do it," he said through gritted teeth.

I worked fast, sloppy, wrapping him up as best I could. The whole time, my system kept chattering. Regeneration Potential Detected. Mimicry Window Closing: 23 Hours Remaining. I ignored it, focusing on the guy bleeding out on my floor.

When I finished, he was pale, breathing shallow, but alive. "Thanks," he muttered. "Didn't expect… random civilian help."

"Yeah, well, I didn't expect aliens," I shot back. "We're even."

He chuckled, then winced. "Fair."

I sat back on my heels, wiping my hands on my jeans. Blood smeared everywhere—his, mine, the alien's from earlier. My head spun. "What's your name?"

"Rylan," he said after a pause, like he wasn't sure he should tell me. "You?"

"Kai."

He nodded, then tilted his head, studying me. "You're not freaking out as much as you should be."

I shrugged, dodging the real answer. "Adrenaline, I guess."

"Uh-huh." He didn't buy it, but he didn't push.

Silence stretched between us. Outside, the city kept burning—muffled blasts, faint screams. I glanced at my hands again. That hum, that borrowed power, still buzzed in me. Twenty-three hours left.

Rylan shifted, grimacing. "You got a plan, Kai? Or you just gonna sit here 'til they find us?"

I didn't have a plan. Not really. But his question lit something in me—something restless. "You're the superhero. What's your plan?"

"Wasn't supposed to be solo," he said, voice bitter. "Team got split. I'm just trying to not die before I find them."

"Team?" I leaned forward. "There's more of you?"

"Yeah. Scattered now, thanks to these bastards." He jerked his head toward the window. "We've been tracking them for months. Didn't expect them to hit this hard."

I swallowed. Months? Superhumans and aliens, and I'd been clueless, fiddling with croissants. "What are they?"

"No idea. Not human, obviously. Fast. Strong. Tech's insane." He coughed, a wet, ugly sound. "We call 'em Skraiths. Means nothing—just sounds right."

Skraiths. The word stuck, sharp and cold.

My system flared again. Mimicry Active. Suggest Secondary Sample Collection: Subject 'Rylan.' Enhanced Kinetic Energy Potential.

I blinked, shoving the thought down. Steal his power too? While he's bleeding out? No way. Not yet.

But the idea lingered.

Rylan's eyes narrowed. "You okay? You zoned out."

"Yeah," I lied, standing up. "Just… thinking."

He didn't press, just leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. "Better think fast. They'll be back."

I nodded, even though he couldn't see it. He was right. The Skraiths weren't done. The city wasn't safe. And me? I wasn't the same guy who woke up this morning.

That hum in my skin wasn't going away. Neither was the blood on my hands—or the possibilities it opened.

I didn't know what came next. But sitting here wasn't it.

"Rest up," I told Rylan, grabbing a kitchen knife from the counter. Not much, but better than nothing. "We're moving soon."

He cracked one eye open, smirking faintly. "We?"

"Yeah," I said, surprised at how steady my voice sounded. "We."

The world was broken. My system was waking up. And I was done hiding.