Rain sliced through the heavy New York air, stinging Arin's face as he stepped deeper into the narrow Hell's Kitchen alleyway. Cold water dripped from the brim of his hood, blurring his vision, but his eyes remained locked on the dark silhouette stumbling ahead of him. The rumble of a distant subway line vibrated through the wet asphalt beneath his boots, a low hum that echoed the nervous tension twisting in his gut. Puddles of oily water reflected the flickering neon sign of a failing dive bar nearby, casting distorted, blood-red shapes onto the wet brick walls. Hell's Kitchen in 2007 was a raw, gritty place, entirely ignorant of the cosmic terrors and armored gods waiting to shatter the world's illusions. Steam rose from the sewer grates, mixing with the smell of rotten garbage and wet cardboard that always seemed to cling to these forgotten corners of Manhattan. Arin adjusted his grip on his damp collar, his knuckles white, his breath coming in shallow, controlled gasps. Underneath his dripping jacket, a deep, primal fear warred with an even stronger obsession: the absolute, desperate need for power. "Stop right there," Arin called out, his voice low but cutting through the steady patter of the storm. He didn't want to make a scene, but time was running out, and the man ahead was already on the verge of collapsing. Ahead, the shadow froze, leaning heavily against a rusted metal dumpster that leaked a dark, greasy trail into the gutter. Jack, a rogue mutant mercenary whose name had popped up on the low-level underworld boards, turned around slowly. His chest heaved as he struggled to stand straight, his boots slipping in the greasy mud. Breathing heavily, Jack spat a mouthful of thick, metallic-tasting blood into the mud, his face pale from a deep wound in his side that sluggishly leaked dark crimson onto his torn leather jacket. "Who the hell are you?" Jack growled, his voice a ragged rasp of pain and exhaustion, his fingers twitching defensively. Jack's eyes were bloodshot, his pupils dilated with the wild, unpredictable panic of a trapped animal who knew his time was running out. "Nobody," Arin replied, taking another step forward, his boots squelching in the greasy mire. "Just someone who needs what you have." Sparks of blue electricity suddenly danced across the mercenary's knuckles, spitting and hissing against the damp air like angry hornets. The sudden light illuminated the alley, throwing long, erratic shadows against the cracked brick walls. Blue light flared, reflecting in Arin's wide eyes as he stared at the crackling energy, a mixture of terror and awe washing over him. "I don't know who sent you," Jack hissed, his teeth bared in a desperate snarl, "but you're going to die in this alley." Arin didn't flinch, though every instinct in his body screamed at him to run, to hide, to seek safety in the mundane world. Safety was an illusion in this universe, a temporary luxury before the sky tore open and the mad titans came down to play. He remembered his past life with agonizing clarity—the terrifying sensation of being trapped under tons of concrete during a sudden disaster, unable to breathe, unable to save his family as they died feet away from him. Weakness was a death sentence, a slow, agonizing crawl toward inevitable destruction at the hands of beings who wouldn't even notice they had crushed you. He had vowed, upon waking up in this volatile timeline, that he would never be helpless again. If survival meant stealing the divinity of others, he would do it without a single second of hesitation. "You're bleeding out, Jack," Arin said, his voice dropping to a dangerous quiet that seemed to anger the mercenary further. "Your heart is straining to keep up with that electrical output, and your body is shutting down." "Shut up!" Jack roared, lunging forward with a desperate, wild swing that sent a wave of heat rolling through the rain. A jagged arc of lightning shot from his palm, slicing through the darkness straight toward Arin's chest. Pain exploded across Arin's left shoulder as he threw himself to the side, the smell of singed fabric and burnt flesh instantly filling his nostrils. He hit the wet ground hard, sliding through the mud, his teeth grinding together so hard his jaw ached, his vision swimming with white-hot spots of agony. Smoke curled from his ruined jacket, the searing heat of the blast leaving his skin blistered and raw beneath his shirt. Instead of retreating, Arin scrambled to his feet, fueled by a sudden spike of pure, desperate adrenaline. Jack was panting heavily, his hand trembling as he tried to summon another charge, his body visibly shaking from the physical toll of his mutant ability. "My turn," Arin whispered, sprinting across the short distance between them before the mutant could recover his balance. Lunging forward, Arin slammed his weight into Jack's chest, forcing the heavier man back against the wet brick wall with a dull thud. Grime scraped against his knuckles as he pinned Jack's arms, but the mutant fought back with savage, desperate strength, flailing wild elbows. Jack's elbow cracked against Arin's cheek, splitting his lip and sending a metallic tang of blood pooling in his mouth. Arin ignored the pain, his focus narrowing down to a single, desperate objective as he forced his hand upward. His hand shot through the cold rain, his fingers clawing through the wet air to wrap tightly around Jack's thick, sweat-slicked throat. "Copy," Arin commanded in his mind, triggering the dormant, hungry power that resided deep within his soul. A jolt of pure, unadulterated agony ripped through Arin's entire arm the moment his skin made contact with Jack's bare flesh. It felt as if hot liquid lead was being poured directly into his veins, burning its way up his arm and directly into his chest. Deep inside his mind, a cold, empty void opened up, a bottomless pit that began to pull violently at Jack's genetic essence, ripping the power from his cells. Jack's eyes went wide, his pupils dilating with a terror that went far beyond the fear of physical death as his power was forcibly uprooted. "What... what are you doing to me?" Jack gasped, his voice barely a whisper as his muscles locked up, his strength evaporating into nothing. Blue veins began to bulge under Arin's skin, glowing with a faint, unnatural light that crawled from his hand up to his neck, mapping his nervous system in fire. He could feel it—the raw, chaotic frequency of the bio-electric power flowing out of Jack and merging with his own biology, rewriting his synapses. It was beautiful, a wild, crackling current of energy that promised him the strength he had always craved, filling him with a cold euphoria. But the copy was not free; it demanded a sacrifice, a toll paid in the currency of his own memories. Images of his past life began to flash behind his eyelids, vivid and warm, a stark contrast to the freezing rain of Hell's Kitchen. He saw his past-life mother standing in their sunlit kitchen, her face bright with a smile as she called his name, her voice clear and sweet. He could smell the vanilla she was baking with, could hear the soft hum of the old radio playing in the background of his childhood. Suddenly, a wave of grey static swept across the memory, biting into the edges of her face like acid on film, tearing the image apart. "No," Arin tried to scream, but no sound escaped his throat as he fought desperately to hold onto the fading warmth. Static swallowed her eyes, her smile, her voice, dissolving the memory into a chaotic blur of white noise until there was nothing left but a blank, terrifying void. She was gone, erased completely, leaving behind a hollow ache in his mind where a piece of his identity used to live. A cold, euphoric realization washed over him as the power settled into his bones, replacing his grief with raw, electric potential. He could defend himself now; he was no longer just an ant waiting to be crushed by the titans of this world, no longer the helpless boy in the rubble. But survival in this universe would demand a sacrifice of his own soul, piece by piece, memory by memory, until nothing of his original self remained. As Jack collapses into the mud, Arin's hand crackles with blue lightning, but he realizes he cannot remember his own past-life childhood home's address—and a silent, glowing orange portal begins to spark open at the end of the alley.

Chapter 1: The Price of a Touch