MUTOSTERONE

8 Baram, Kinbi 1294 – Yorsin Fortress

The gates of Yorsin Fortress loomed high, their jagged steel edges catching the light of the torches held by the Capitol Patrol Guard (CPG). The wind howled through the valley, carrying the scent of fear and sweat.

Inside the fortress walls, hundreds of civilians were crammed together, their faces hollow with exhaustion, their hands clutching at whatever little they had left. Men, women, and children—all mutants—pushed and shoved, desperate to avoid the armored enforcers surrounding them.

"Move! Move!" A CPG officer barked, shoving a frail old man forward. The elderly mutant stumbled and fell, but no one helped him—no one dared.

Among the crowd, a mother clung tightly to her son, her arms wrapped around his frail body. He was thin, barely teen, with wild silver hair and dark, terrified eyes.

A CPG officer spotted them and strode forward, armor gleaming under the torchlight. "You two," he barked, pointing at them. "Step forward."

The mother's grip tightened around her child. Her heart pounded. "Please," she whispered. "Take me. Do whatever you want. Just… not him."

The officer paused. His visor gleamed as he tilted his head. "Why not?" he asked mockingly.

The woman swallowed hard. She didn't want to beg, but this was her for son. "He's just thirteen," she whispered. "He's just a child."

The officer's expression remained unreadable. Then, with a scoff, he turned to the other guards. "Take the kid."

"No!" The mother lunged forward, gripping the officer's arm.

In an instant, his gloved fist crashed into her face. The sickening crack of bone and flesh echoed as she fell hard onto the dirt, blood streaming from her split lip. "Stay down, mutant filth."

The boy froze. His mother groaned in pain, clutching her face. And something inside him snapped. A piercing scream erupted from his throat.

The very air shuddered as the metal surrounding the fortress trembled—quivered—then lifted.

The walls shook violently. Iron bars bent like soft clay, the chains that bound the prisoners snapped apart, and even the fortress gate groaned and twisted.

The CPG guards turned, eyes wide in disbelief. "W-what the hell—?!"

Before they could react, the metal shards—razor-sharp—BLASTED outward like a hurricane.

Steel beams shot through armor, impaling soldiers where they stood. Swords and rifles ripped from their owners' hands, twisting into spears of death that pierced through flesh and bone. One officer screamed as a shattered gate crushed him instantly. Blood splattered the walls.

The boy's silver hair whipped wildly in the storm he had unleashed. His eyes glowed like molten steel, his hands trembling as the world around him bent to his fury.

The mother crawled toward him, voice weak. "J-Joseph…" he gasped, reaching for him.

His breathing was ragged, his face streaked with tears. He looked down at his hands, still shaking.

The ruins of Yorsin Fortress still smoldered, the air thick with the scent of blood and burning metal. Amidst the devastation, two figures stepped forward, their boots crunching against shattered steel and broken bodies.

His uniform crisp despite the carnage. His name was Commander Elias Reinhardt—a seasoned veteran of the CPG, known for his ruthless efficiency. His cold blue eyes scanned the massacre, taking in the corpses of his men, the twisted ruins of the once-impenetrable fortress, and the boy standing amidst the wreckage, trembling.

Beside him stood Commander Prasetya Wibowo, a high-ranking officer from the CPG's Eastern Division. His dark eyes were sharp, calculating, his expression unreadable beneath his military cap. Unlike Reinhardt, who led with an iron fist, Prasetya was a strategist, a man who understood that raw power—if harnessed—was far more valuable than fear alone. The boy—Joseph—did not resist when they took him.

When Joseph awoke, he was seated in a small, sterile room. The walls were white, the air cold, the only furniture a metal table and two chairs. A single lamp overhead cast harsh shadows.

Across from him sat a man in a lab coat. Not a soldier. A doctor. A psychiatrist? A psychologist? Maybe something worse.

The man leaned forward, placing a file on the table. "Do you know where you are?" his voice was calm, measured.

Joseph didn't answer. His silver hair hung over his eyes. The doctor sighed. He tapped a pen against his file. "What is your name?"

Joseph stared at the coin on the table. A simple, ordinary silver coin. The doctor waited patiently. Joseph lifted a finger. The coin twitched.

Then spun. Slowly at first. Then faster. The doctor's eyes flicked to it—curious, intrigued. "Your name," he repeated, watching closely.

Joseph still didn't speak. The coin stopped mid-spin. Hung in the air. Then—with a flick of Joseph's mind—it shot forward like a bullet.

The doctor barely had time to react. The coin pierced his skull. His head snapped back, eyes rolling, as blood sprayed against the white walls. Joseph exhaled. He stood up. And then—he was gone.

2 Bitgaram, Yamibi 1310, Vanthelis, Industrial State, Velkan Motors Manufacturing

The air inside Velkan Motors Manufacturing was thick with the scent of engine oil, molten steel, and the steady hum of machinery. The factory, located in Vanthelis, the heart of the Industrial State, was one of the largest in all of Edenia if not Tanasma.

Towering assembly lines stretched across the massive facility, where workers meticulously put together the latest Velkan vehicles—a brand synonymous with durability and power. Robotic arms whirred and sparked, welding car frames with inhuman precision, while workers in thick gloves and protective gear installed engines, mounted tires, and checked every bolt and wire.

At the far end of the plant, motorcycles were crafted with the same precision. Workers hand-assembled sleek frames, fitting engines into their steel bodies, before passing them down the line for paint jobs and final touches. The deep growl of Velkan motorcycles being tested echoed through the massive space, a symphony of machinery and human labor.

Among the workers was Joseph. A quiet man, young but hardened, his silver hair often hidden beneath a grease-streaked cap. He wasn't the most talkative, but he worked hard, and that was enough. Or so he thought.

And then... faulty crane, overloaded with steel beams, lurched dangerously above the factory floor. The warning siren barely had time to blare before the massive metal arm buckled.

A thunderous crash. Screams. The beams came down—fast and heavy. One worker—was trapped beneath the wreckage. His leg pinned, his voice raw with agony. Sparks rained from broken machinery, and smoke coiled from severed wires.

Men scrambled, pushing against the fallen crane, but it was useless. Too heavy. Joseph rushed forward, hands trembling. He's panicked eyes locked onto him, silently pleading. More workers tried to help, but it was no use. The steel wouldn't budge.

Then, in a moment of pure desperation, Joseph closed his eyes and reached out—not with his hands, but with his mind. A shuddering breath. A pulse of unseen energy. The air crackled around him. Slowly, impossibly, the fallen crane began to rise.

Gasps filled the factory as Joseph lifted the wreckage, his eyes burning silver, veins glowing faintly beneath his skin. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he focused every ounce of his will on pulling the steel upwards.

Finally, he was free. Workers yanked him away as Joseph released his grip, letting the crane crash down again, harmlessly this time.

Silence. Breathing hard, Joseph looked up, expecting relief, maybe gratitude. Instead, every pair of eyes in the factory stared at him in horror.

He, still catching his breath, stumbled backward. "W-what… what the hell was that?"

Joseph swallowed. "I… I just—"

"You're one of them." A murmur spread through the crowd. A mutant. Here. Joseph had saved a life. But it didn't matter.

Workers whispered, fear twisting their expressions. One of them, a supervisor, turned on his heel, marching straight toward HRD.

Joseph clenched his fists. "Wait. You can't—"

But the damage was done. By the time the factory bell rang, Joseph was no longer an employee of Velkan Motors.

Joseph walked away, step by step, through the thick woods that separated him from the rest of the world. He had no car, no bike, and no place among those who feared his kind. The trees whispered with the evening wind, their rustling leaves the only sound accompanying his lonely journey home. For three hours, he walked—feet sore, hands trembling from the day's events.

Fired. Banished. Feared. All for saving a life. But none of that mattered now. He just wanted to go home.

His cabin was a humble thing, nestled deep in the heart of the forest—a safe haven, away from those who despised him. There, his wife and daughter waited. Ana, his beloved. Elise, his little girl. They were the only reason he endured, the only thing that made life bearable in a world that saw him as a monster.

As he neared the clearing, his tired body stiffened. Something was wrong. The front door—broken. The windows—shattered. The air—thick with something vile. Then he saw them. The Horror Before Him CPG agents. Four of them.

Their dark uniforms bore the emblem of the Capitol Patrol Guard, the so-called enforcers of order. They stood around, laughing, drinking, and sneering at the two figures in front of them.

His wife and daughter. Their clothes—torn. Their faces—streaked with dirt and dried blood. Ana clutched Elise to her chest, shielding the girl's face as one of the soldiers yanked at her hair.

Joseph's breath hitched. One of them, a man with a cruel smirk, tilted Elise's chin up with his boot, making her look at him. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" the soldier cooed mockingly. "Your daddy's not home to save you?"

Ana spat at him. The soldier's grin vanished. He grabbed Ana by the throat, lifting her off the ground as she choked for air. Elise screamed. The sound tore through Joseph's heart.

Something inside him snapped. He didn't think. He didn't hesitate. A scream of pure rage tore from his throat, shaking the very air. The earth trembled beneath his feet. The CPG agents turned, too late.

With a single, blinding burst of energy, the metal around them—knives, armor plates, even the broken steel hinges of his door—rose into the air, spinning violently. Then, it struck.

One agent barely had time to raise his rifle before a jagged metal shard impaled him through the chest. Another tried to run, but a twisted steel rod wrapped around his neck, yanking him into the air before crushing his throat.

Joseph's eyes burned silver, his veins pulsing with raw power. The remaining two agents opened fire. Bullets screamed toward him—only to halt mid-air.

With a flick of his fingers, Joseph sent them flying backwards, smashing against the trees with bone-shattering force.

Then, silence. Only the sound of the wind and the heavy breaths of a man consumed by fury. Joseph ran to his family.

Ana collapsed into his arms, sobbing, Elise clinging tightly to his side. He held them—held them as if they would vanish if he let go.

Their clothes were torn, their bodies bruised, and they die shortly after. Joseph clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together as a single, primal scream of pure, unfiltered agony erupted from his throat, shaking the forest.