Jayden Stark's POV
The sound of the television pulled me back from the void. My eyes opened slowly, the glow of the screen flickering across the room. For a moment, I didn't know where I was. My head throbbed, my body felt heavy, and the air smelled faintly of iron.
I sat up, confused. That's when I saw it—the floor. Blood. My blood. It was smeared across the tiles, soaking into the pizza box I had left behind.
Panic surged through me. I looked down at my left arm.
It wasn't the same.
Patterns stretched across my skin, glowing faintly, running from the Omnitrix on my wrist all the way up to my shoulder. The device wasn't just attached—it had embedded itself into me, fused with my body.
"This… this isn't how it's supposed to be," I whispered, my voice shaking. My chest tightened. "Was it because this is a different universe? Did something go wrong?"
Questions raced through my mind, each one without an answer. My breathing grew shallow, panic clawing at me.
I stumbled to the fridge, desperate for something to ground me. I grabbed a soda, cracked it open, and drank until the fizz burned my throat. The cold liquid steadied me, if only for a moment.
Then my phone rang.
I picked it up, my hand trembling. It was the company I worked for. The voice on the other end was blunt, almost rehearsed. I was fired. Four days absent without explanation. Four days unconscious.
I hung up, staring at the phone. No words came.
I needed air.
I checked the clock—10:25 p.m. I pulled on my hoodie, shoved my hands into the pockets, and stepped outside.
Brooklyn at night was alive in its own way. Neon signs buzzed, cars rumbled down cracked streets, and the smell of fried food drifted from corner diners. I walked aimlessly, trying to clear my head.
That's when I noticed it. My senses.
Everything was sharper. The streetlights seemed brighter, the distant chatter clearer. I could hear conversations blocks away, smell the grease from a fast food joint before I even saw it. My body felt different—stronger, faster, alive.
I stopped at a restaurant, bought a quick meal, and kept walking. Hunger gnawed at me, deeper than usual, like my body was burning fuel faster than it could replenish.
I was so distracted that I didn't notice them at first.
The thugs.
Five of them, shadows moving in sync, trailing me. By the time I realized, it was too late. They had already blocked my path.
The leader was short, tattoos crawling up his arms and neck. He pointed a gun at me, his voice sharp.
"Hand over all your valuables."
I froze, my mind racing. Confused, I handed over what little I had—wallet, phone, cash.
But then one of them sneered.
"Hey, aren't you the bastard Stark?"
Another laughed.
"Mommy been spreading them legs wide, huh?"
The words hit harder than the gun. My chest burned, my vision narrowed. Rage swallowed me whole.
I wanted to kill them. Burn them. Reduce them to ash.
Heat surged through my body. My skin glowed, cracks of light racing across the embedded Omnitrix patterns. My blood boiled, my breath turned to fire.
Then it happened.
My body erupted in flame.
I grew taller, my frame stretching to seven feet. My skin hardened into dark volcanic rock, glowing cracks revealing the plasma beneath. Fire roared from my head, a blazing mane that lit the alley in violent orange. My hands grew massive, my wrists bridged with molten seams. Even my tongue flickered with flame.
I had become Heatblast.
The thugs staggered back, eyes wide, faces pale.
"What the hell—" one of them shouted, his voice breaking.
But I didn't hear them. Not really.
I had lost all reasoning. The fire inside me drowned out thought, drowned out restraint. All I wanted was destruction. All I wanted was to kill.
The flames danced higher, the air around me shimmering with heat. The gun in the tattooed man's hand melted, dripping onto the pavement. Their fear only fueled the fire raging inside me.
And in that moment, I wasn't Jayden Stark anymore.
I was something else.