Lumian stepped into the hospital, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling his nostrils. The bright fluorescent lights cast a dull glow on the pristine white walls, the quiet murmur of voices and distant beeping of monitors creating a backdrop of artificial calm.
His boots clicked softly against the polished tile floor as he made his way to the reception desk. The nurse on duty barely spared him a glance, her attention fixed on the computer screen in front of her.
He leaned against the counter, offering her a charming smile. "Excuse , I’m looking for a patient. lanie Adams."
The nurse looked up, finally acknowledging his presence. She was middle-aged, her graying hair pulled into a tight bun. Her eyes held the tired wariness of soone who had seen too much and cared too little.
"Are you family?" she asked, her fingers poised over the keyboard.
Lumian nodded. "Jason Adams. I’m her father."
The nurse’s eyes narrowed slightly. "I’ll need to verify that. Give a mont."
She turned her attention back to the screen, typing as she pulled up the patient records. Lumian’s smile never wavered, but his fingers twitched at his sides.
He wasn’t here for a normal visit.
As the nurse scanned the monitor, Lumian activated [Dread Step], his body flickering like a shadow. In an instant, he was behind her, his sharp eyes scanning the screen.
Room 304.
He was gone before she even noticed.
By the ti the nurse looked up again, he was already stepping into the dimly lit hallway, vanishing from her sight.
(Room 304)
Lumian stopped in front of the door, tilting his head as he listened.
The faint, steady sound of a heart monitor humd behind the walls. A slow, shallow rhythm.
He pushed the door open.
The room was dark and cool, the artificial hum of machines filling the silence. A single fluorescent cast a weak glow against the pale blue curtains, barely illuminating the small figure on the bed.
lanie Adams.
She looked fragile. Too pale. Too small. Her frail chest rose and fell with labored breaths, her lips slightly parted beneath the oxygen mask. She couldn’t have been older than twelve, her features untouched by the harshness of the world.
But that wasn’t why Lumian was here.
He stepped closer, looming over her motionless form.
His gloved fingers traced from her forehead down to her chest before stopping abruptly. He pulled back, exhaling softly.
"lanie has to go," he murmured, tilting his head. "I can’t have anything tying Shirley down to this island."
His eyes glead in the low light.
"I need her to have absolutely nothing. No one else to turn to but ."
He reached for the oxygen mask, fingers curling around the edges.
"This way, it’ll be painless," he said. "She’s already asleep. It’s my own form of leniency."
A smirk ghosted his lips.
"It wouldn’t be the first ti I’ve killed a child."
Just as he was about to pull the mask away, a weak, trembling hand wrapped around his wrist.
Lumian stilled.
His eyes flicked down.
lanie’s small fingers clutched at his sleeve, her grip barely there, yet stubborn in its resolve.
Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing glassy, unfocused eyes.
"...What is this?" he muttered.
She was awake.
Barely, but awake.
lanie’s lips parted, her voice weak, struggling against her own exhaustion.
"Please..." she whispered, barely audible. "My sister... is waiting for ."
Lumian’s expression didn’t change.
He simply tilted his head, his amusent barely hidden.
"lanie," he sighed. "You’ve gone ahead and made this difficult for yourself. If it makes it any better, know that I am doing this for your sister’s sake"
Her fingers tightened, her entire body trembling with effort.
Lumian shook his head.
He gently pried her hand off his sleeve.
Then, without hesitation, he placed his gloved hand over her mouth and nose.
lanie’s eyes widened. A muffled whimper broke past her lips, but she was too weak to fight.
Her small hands clawed at his wrist, her body jerking with futile resistance.
Lumian remained unmoved. His grip was firm, unwavering.
Her kicks grew weaker.
Her fingers trembled, then stilled.
Her body sagged.
And then
Nothing.
Silence.
Lumian exhaled, pushing his hair back with one hand, his lips curling into a bold, satisfied smile.
"...I almost forgot how good that feeling was."
The quiet stillness of the hospital room surrounded him.
He stepped away from the bed, glancing down at the lifeless girl one last ti. Then, with practiced ease, he moved to the window.
He unlatched it, pushing it open.
The cold night air greeted him as he stepped onto the ledge. Below, the hospital’s back lot was empty, untouched by prying eyes.
Perfect.
Without a second thought, Lumian leaped.
He landed soundlessly in the shadows, straightening his coat as he disappeared into the night.
Shirley woke up with a start.
Her body ached, her limbs heavy yet... different.
The dim lighting of the underground chamber bathed everything in an eerie glow. She blinked, disoriented, before slowly pushing herself up.
Sothing felt off.
She looked down.
New clothes.
A loose, oversized shirt draped over her fra, soft against her skin.
She staggered to her feet, wobbling slightly as she found her balance.
She felt different. Stronger. Lighter.
Her heart pounded as she turned toward the mirror on the far wall.
The mont she saw her reflection, she gasped.
Her skin was brighter, smooth, free of any blemish.
Her hair? longer, silkier, fuller.
Her body? curved. Her chest fuller, her fra more toned, her figure enhanced in a way that was impossible.
She lifted the oversized shirt, examining herself more closely. Turning side to side, she took in the changes.
A slow, growing smile spread across her lips.
She liked this.
She slapped her own hip, chuckling to herself.
She cupped her chest, experintally squeezing before biting her lip.
"...Not bad," she muttered.
A deep chuckle broke the silence.
"Nice, isn’t it?"
Shirley froze.
She spun around, dropping her shirt instantly.
Lumian stood in the doorway, watching her with that ever-present smirk.
In his hand, he held a takeout bag from a nearby fast-food joint.
"The changes that co with this power... amazing, isn’t it?" he mused, stepping inside. He placed the food on a small wooden table, the scent of fried at and grease filling the air.
Shirley’s stomach growled.
Lumian chuckled. "Food. For you. I know you’re hungry."
Shirley hesitated. Her body still felt strange, adjusting to whatever had happened.
But the scent of food was too tempting.
She stepped forward, grabbing the container and flipping it open. A hot al, simple but rich, greeted her.
She took the first bite and shuddered.
It tasted good. Better than she ever rembered food tasting. The flavors exploded on her tongue, richer, deeper, more intense.
She barely noticed the way Lumian watched her, amusent dancing in his eyes.
"Eat up," he murmured.
"You’ll need your strength."
Shirley didn’t ask what for.
She already knew.
The warmth of the food spread through Shirley’s body as she took another bite, the rich flavors lting on her tongue in a way that felt almost unnatural. Every sense seed sharper, more vivid, the texture of the al, the heat against her fingers, the faint scent of Lumian still lingering in the air.
She swallowed, then hesitated before glancing up at Lumian, who stood against the far wall, watching her with quiet amusent.
"Did you... change my clothes?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lumian raised a brow. "Who else would’ve done it?"
Her face turned red.
She quickly looked back down at her food, stuffing another bite into her mouth as if that would make the conversation disappear.
Lumian chuckled. He pushed himself off the wall and took a few slow steps toward her, his presence pressing down like a shadow.
"You have questions," he said. "About . About what happened to you."
Shirley swallowed hard, eting his gaze.
He smirked. "I’ll give you answers. But only the ones that matter. Anything I leave out? Figure it out yourself."
Shirley nodded slowly, her fingers tightening around the fork.
Lumian lifted a gloved hand and gestured toward her.
"Look at your hand."
She frowned but obeyed, turning over her left hand.
And there it was.
A dark, intricate mark had burned itself into the back of her hand. It curled and twisted like veins of ink, shifting subtly beneath her skin as if alive.
Shirley sucked in a sharp breath.
"What is this?" she whispered.
Lumian tilted his head. "That mark ans you have my power inside you."
Her heart pounded.
"My power isn’t just sothing you have," he continued, watching her reaction closely. "It changes you."
Shirley traced the mark with trembling fingers. "What... does that an?"
"It ans that, right now, you possess ten percent of my strength."
She blinked, looking up at him.
Lumian’s smirk widened. "You’re faster, stronger, and process things quicker than any normal human on this planet. There’s almost no one who can match you in a battle of strength."
Shirley’s mouth opened slightly, but no words ca out.
She looked back down at the mark, her mind racing.
Ten percent of his strength.
Ten percent.
If this was only a fraction of what he could do...
Her grip on the fork tightened.
Lumian’s voice cut through her thoughts.
"I gave you power."
She snapped her gaze back up at him.
"But I don’t need to tell you why I gave it to you."
Her expression shifted. The excitent dulled slightly, her brows knitting together in thought.
Then, slowly, her face hardened.
Lumian’s smirk widened.
"Good."
He turned slightly, pointing to a neatly folded pile of clothes on a nearby chair.
"Change into that," he instructed. "When you’re done, et outside."
Shirley looked at the clothes, then back at him. "Where are we going?"
Lumian’s eyes glead.
"You don’t want to test the limits of your new strength?"
The mont the words left his mouth, Shirley’s entire deanor shifted.
Her eyes lit up.
A slow, eager grin spread across her face.
Lumian chuckled. Without another word, he turned and left the room.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Shirley sat in silence for a mont, staring at the surprisingly well folded clothes.
Then, suddenly, she grabbed her fork and excitedly wolfed down the rest of the food in record ti.
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