The Golden Destroyer

A month had passed since my encounter with the two thugs. I had traveled hundreds of miles, changed my appearance several times, and made an effort to stay under the radar. The life I led was simple, bleak, but it allowed me to survive.

However, at some point, the weight of loneliness, the stale air of abandoned areas, and sleeping in the woods began to weigh on me. I wasn't the most sociable guy, but I wasn't a hermit either. Having only two contradictory voices in my head as interaction didn't help my mental health. And poor mental health meant a potential loss of control. Little by little, living on the fringes of civilization began to be more detrimental than anything else. Especially since my clothes and money had been stolen; a situation that was starting to bother me more and more.

There was still talk of my appearance on the news, except for my last feat. If until now no agency or third party had come to ask me questions, given the threat I represented, it was irrefutable proof that my escape was a complete success. That I should try to be less paranoid, settle down for a few months before hitting the road again, giving me time to make some money.

-------------

By a stroke of luck, after a few days of searching, I was able to find a job in a garage on the outskirts of St. Louis, even though it was off the books. The owner, a massive man with a face marked by years and beatings, was named Earl. He didn't ask me questions as long as the work was done well, and with my experience in mechanical engineering, I quickly became indispensable.

"The mute is efficient," Earl would say, shrugging when asked why he employed an undocumented man.

To avoid unnecessary interaction, I pretended to be mute. This reduced the risk of people talking to me too much or asking questions about my past.

—

A month later.

My days followed a precise rhythm:

6:00 AM: I would get up, clean my small room in the warehouse adjacent to the garage, and go to work.

7:00 AM – 6:00 PM: Repairing cars, maintaining machines, and sometimes illegal modifications to vehicles.

7:00 PM: Return to my room, a simple meal consisting of canned goods or leftovers from the garage. I didn't need to eat, but it made me feel human.

8:00 PM: Physical exercises to keep my human form in shape and relieve stress.

The rest of my time was spent thinking about my situation. But every time I tried to plan, a question haunted me: What for?

Certainly, I had powers that, in any world, people would kill for. But basically, they were completely useless to me. If I wanted to play the hero, it was a lost cause; my size wasn't suitable. If I wanted to stop an extraterrestrial threat, the same problem. Invaders, whether human or extraterrestrial, tend to invade urban centers; my powers aren't adapted to that kind of place. Besides, when you think about it seriously, an adversary could even lead me to fight them in a city, so I would cause maximum damage.

"Live in the moment, and plan as we go."

—

One evening, while I was working on a particularly recalcitrant engine, I felt a strange shiver run down my right arm. An electric sensation, as if a discharge was spreading under my skin.

"Crap, crap. Not again," I cried, panicked.

I quickly pulled my hand away from the engine, hoping I had been electrocuted, but the electricity was off. No such luck, I could clearly see those thrice-damned sparks dancing between my fingers.

Panicked, I backed away and tried to calm my breathing.

What was it?

The voice of Reason resonated in my mind.

— You spend most of your time in human form. "Your essence is remodeling this sack of flesh, so that it can be in line with your true form."

Even though I wanted to answer, I ignored the voice and, with a lot of self-control, resumed my work. But I was unable to concentrate. I waited for Earl to leave for the night, then headed to a secluded area behind the warehouse.

I looked at my hands, took a deep breath, and tried to recreate the sensation. This time, a violent discharge shot out of my palm, striking an old metal barrel.

The two personalities within me spoke almost simultaneously:

Reason: "This could be useful."

The Monster: "This form is less pathetic now."

"Shut up, both of you. I didn't call you."

—

In the following days, I began to test the limits of my abilities. I discovered that I could lift loads far beyond what an ordinary human was capable of doing. When I was repairing cars, I sometimes surprised myself by lifting an entire body without effort.

However, I was careful. I made sure no one saw me and I imposed strict rules on myself: Only use my powers in cases of absolute necessity.

I had already happened to catch a wrench that was falling faster than I would have thought possible. Every time I pushed my limits, I felt a strange satisfaction, but also a growing terror.

If anyone found out what I was, I was finished.

—

Gravitational Lightning

One evening, while I was meditating on my new abilities, I felt another strange energy emanating from my body. It wasn't classic electricity, but something more powerful, older.

I concentrated, and a gravitational field seemed to form around me. An old tire a few meters away slowly lifted into the air before crashing heavily to the ground.

The Monster's voice roared with pleasure.

— You are not human. You are a god among men. »

Instead of getting angry as usual, I just sighed with annoyance. The ramblings, although annoying, were becoming blasé now. Always the same lines.

—

Despite all these discoveries, I made an effort to stay under the radar. I avoided all social interaction, contenting myself only with greeting the other employees with a nod or laughing at jokes from time to time.

One day, a new colleague tried to start a conversation.

"Hey, aren't you a little too buff for a guy who spends his nights in a rat hole?"

At his tirade, I simply shrugged, feigning indifference.

Earl, who had observed the scene, intervened:

"Leave the mute alone. He works well, and that's all that matters."

With a nod, I thanked Earl for his intervention. My time here, although pleasant, would soon come to an end. One day, someone would ask too many questions, or an unexpected event would reveal my abilities, or the fact that I wasn't mute in the slightest. By the way, even I am still shocked that I was able to maintain the charade for so long.

But for now, I would just survive, one day at a time.

—

Elsewhere.

"Sir, you should hear this," Maria Hill said, entering Fury's office.

"I assume it's about the ghost dragon."

"Yes, the latest analyses from our experts have just arrived. Besides the fact that it caused a hurricane, the yellow rays it projected are a gravito-electric force according to them."

"What's that gibberish, Hill?"

"Even I have trouble grasping what they're saying. But to simplify, these aren't just lightning bolts, but lightning bolts with gravitational powers."

"That's less vague. But only observation could give us a more intelligible explanation. It's been months since we've revealed anything. Maybe he's not even there anymore."

— "Indeed, sir. Our teams have scoured all of Kansas and Missouri, still nothing."

"However, my gut tells me it's just the calm before the storm," Fury replied, his gaze distant.