Damien woke a few hours later, still sprawled on the rooftop. The fact that no one had bothered to check on him stung more than he cared to admit. He pushed himself upright, and when he glanced down at his body, his breath caught. Black scales covered nearly every inch of his skin, gleaming like polished obsidian in the moonlight.
He ran his fingers across them, feeling their sharp edges and unyielding hardness. "What if I pull one?" he muttered, gripping a scale between his thumb and forefinger. He tugged, but nothing happened. The scale held fast, as if it had always been part of him.
Damien decided to experiment with this strange armor. The scales covered his arms, legs, and torso—everywhere except his hands, which remained normal, though disturbingly pale. He concentrated, willing the scales to retract. To his amazement, they slid beneath his skin like liquid metal. When he summoned them again, they emerged just as smoothly.
"If I keep them retracted, maybe no one will notice anything has changed," he said, looking down at the city below. His voice wavered with uncertainty. "At least, I hope that's all that's going to change about me."
He walked toward the rooftop door, opened it, and descended the stairwell. His footsteps echoed in the empty space, each sound amplifying his isolation. At the bottom, he spotted a mirror down the hall inside a nearby bathroom. The academy appeared deserted—it had to be eleven or midnight by now. But Damien knew better than to relax. Guards always patrolled at night, and if one caught him, he'd have to answer questions he couldn't begin to explain.
He moved quietly, each step deliberate and careful. When he reached the bathroom, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The fluorescent lights flickered to life, harsh and unforgiving. He approached the mirror, and his eyes widened in shock.
His eyes were pitch black—as black as midnight itself. His face had grown pale, almost ghostly, and he seemed taller than before. With the scales hidden beneath his skin, everything else looked normal, but those eyes... those eyes were wrong.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Damien spun around, his heart hammering against his ribs. He cracked the door open just enough to peer out, and his stomach dropped. A guard stood directly in front of him, staring down with stern eyes.
"Damien Rose, what are you doing here?" the guard demanded.
Damien's mind raced for an excuse, but he'd always been terrible at lying. The truth sat heavy on his tongue, impossible to speak.
The guard stepped forward. "You're trespassing, right?" He crossed his arms. "I could call law enforcement and have them escort you out, but since I'm feeling generous today, I'll let you leave on your own. If you don't leave the premises within thirty minutes, I'm calling the cops."
Damien nodded and walked past the guard, who stepped aside and resumed his patrol. Relief washed over Damien, but it was short-lived.
"Where's the exit?" he whispered to himself. "This place is way too big."
He wandered through endless halls, ducking into classrooms and checking corridors. After at least twenty-five minutes of searching, he finally found the exit—two double doors leading outside. He pushed them open and stepped into the night air, grateful to be free of the academy's oppressive walls.
Something felt different, though. He could see better in the darkness—not dramatically so, but enough to notice. "Has my vision improved, or can I just see better at night?" he wondered aloud.
He continued walking until he left the academy property behind. "Guess I just have to walk home," he muttered, resigning himself to the long journey ahead.
A few feet away, hidden in shadow, a man wearing a black mask that revealed only his eyes smirked beneath the fabric. "We found our target," he said.
The man beside him, identically masked, looked at his companion. "All right. We have to get the timing right."
They both leaped forward, closing the distance to Damien in seconds. The first attacker kicked Damien in the face. Caught completely off guard, Damien flew backward, his body slamming into a brick wall. Waves of agony radiated through his spine. He fell to the ground, catching himself on his hands before his entire body could collapse.
He looked up, and instinctually, his scales emerged, forming protective armor across his body. Damien rushed forward and shoved one of the assailants, sending him tumbling into the dirt. But the other attacker leaped forward, grabbed Damien by the hair, and slammed his face into the ground.
A tooth, mixed with blood, fell from his mouth. His lips split open. The man punched Damien in the face, breaking his nose. A sickening crack echoed through the area.
"The scales aren't helping," Damien thought bitterly. "If only they covered my face. That would have been helpful."
The assailants advanced, ready to pound him into the dirt. Then, from nowhere, another figure appeared—a boy with a frisbee in his hand, wearing a blue shirt, black pants, and sporting gorgeous black hair. He threw the frisbee toward the attackers.
They didn't think much of it at first. How much damage could a frisbee do? But something strange happened. The frisbee cut through both assailants like they were paper. The mysterious boy controlled it mid-air, slicing them into pieces. When it was done, the frisbee flew back to him, and he caught it effortlessly, his hands somehow uncut.
"Why in the world—" Damien was shocked. He backed up, getting ready to fight this man who had just killed the people after him.
"Relax, Damien," the man said.
"How does he know my name?" Damien wondered. "Is he someone from the academy?"
The man sighed. "Sorry, introductions. My bad. My name is Jack."
"That's great, Jack, but how do you know my name?" Damien demanded.
"We've met before," Jack said. "I just didn't have my frisbees out." He threw his frisbee in the air and caught it with one hand.
Damien searched his memory but had no recollection of the guy in front of him.
"Anyway, besides the introductions, I want to give you something," Jack said with a smile. "A gift, you could call it."
"Why are you giving me a gift? You know I'm just some random kid you saved from being murdered, right? What could I possibly have that would interest you enough to give me a gift?" Damien asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.
"Listen, since I like helping other people, I'm going to give you a sword," Jack said casually.
"So he's just stocked on weapons now," Damien thought.
Jack drew out a pitch-black sword that gleamed under the moonlight. He threw it up into the air and caught it with his other hand. "This sword can cut through anything, by the way," he said nonchalantly, as if he weren't talking about a weapon that could literally slice through anything. "And my frisbees can do the same."
"I know, impressive, right? Just give me the sword," Damien said, holding out his hand.
Jack handed it over. "Here you go." He placed his frisbee behind his back and looked at Damien one last time. "By the way, before you go, just letting you know—to prepare you for future troubles—some guys are after you. I think their names are Michael and Jake, something like that. Just keep a lookout for them."
"Couldn't you tell me what they look like so I can actually identify them?" Damien asked.
"Nope. You already got my sword. What more do you want?" Jack grinned. "Anyway, bye, Damien. See you tomorrow, I guess."
Jack left the area, leaving Damien standing alone, holding the black sword. The blade was warm—unusual for metal, which should have been cold. Damien ran his fingers along the entire length of the weapon. The hilt, the blade—all of it radiated heat.
He sighed, exhaustion settling into his bones. "Maybe when I go to sleep tonight, when I wake up tomorrow, these black scales, this sword, this vision—all of it will just be a simple dream," he said quietly as he walked toward his apartment, hoping against hope that morning would bring normalcy.