The Big Bad and Bigger Feelings

The air crackled, not with the usual static of my perpetually unimpressed existence, but with something… potent. Something that made the fine hairs on my arms stand at attention, a sensation I usually reserved for realizing I’d forgotten to charge my phone or that my last slice of pizza was tragically gone. Kai, bless his annoyingly perfect features, had been drilling me on energy manipulation for what felt like an eternity, which, considering my newfound immortality, was technically true. But the man had the patience of a saint who’d accidentally invented a time machine and was just rewatching his favorite episode.

“Focus, Sky,” he’d said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated somewhere deep in my chest. “The resonance needs to be pure, not laced with… what is that? Existential angst and a craving for McNuggets?”

I’d scoffed, trying to channel the cosmic energy that was supposed to be flowing through me like a well-trained Amazon delivery driver. Instead, it felt more like a confused toddler trying to operate a complex piece of machinery, mostly bumping into things and making a mess. “It’s called realism, Kai. Not everyone wakes up as a superhero with a wardrobe that rivals a galactic runway. Some of us are still trying to process the whole ‘being dead but not really’ thing.”