Adam : From a man to a God

“Wow, it’s really gone,” Eddie said, staring down at the edge, his voice a mix of disbelief and awe.

“Yeah, and it’s all my fault,” Adam replied, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture of frustration.

“Don’t worry about it too much. The training grounds were kind of small anyway,” Eddie said, turning to look at Adam. He was surprised at how quickly Eddie reverted to his usual attitude, a mischievous spark lighting up his expression.

“That settles it then. We will be training at my place,” Tilda announced, her resolve firm.

“Man, I really gotta go wash up. I look like I was in a war zone,” Eddie added, gesturing at his torn T-shirt and scuffed pants with a laugh.

“Yeah, you can use the shower if you want,” Adam offered, relieved to see some normalcy return to the situation.

As they started to move, Tilda lightly tugged at the hem of Adam’s T-shirt, her voice dropping to a more serious tone. “Adam, I really need to talk to you.”

Adam turned to face her, noting the concern etched on her face and the hint of nervousness that accompanied it.“ Sorry, but I think I’ll use the bath at my place. Plus, I’m probably gonna faint right after getting out—I feel exhausted,” Eddie continued, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Isn’t that all the more reason you should bathe here?” Adam replied, his expression tinged with disappointment.

“Sorry, dude, but I can’t do that. I gotta go. But don’t worry, we’ll catch up. You’ve got a lot to tell me,” Eddie said, heading down the stairs with a lighthearted wave.

“Adam…” Tilda’s voice cut through the air, soft yet tinged with regret.

“What is it?” Adam asked, his gaze fixing on her, sensing a shift in the atmosphere.

“Can we go outside first?” Tilda requested, making her way down the stairs.

Adam nodded, following her but also catching sight of his own T-shirt, which had torn in several places. The loss of their training space—and now the state of his clothing—contributed to a sense of surreal disorientation that lingered in his mind. Tilda led Adam to the backyard, her footsteps steady yet hesitant. Adam couldn’t shake the feeling of curiosity mixed with unease. “Why is she bringing me here?” he wondered, glancing around at the familiar surroundings that suddenly felt charged with anticipation.

She finally stopped and turned to face him, her expression shifting. Adam noticed the nervousness in her eyes, as if she were grappling with something significant. A weight hung between them, unspoken yet palpable.

“I wanted to share something with you,” Tilda began, her voice steadying as she spoke. “I’ve wanted to tell you this for some time now, but I never really knew how to begin, and I never found the right moment.”

Her gaze dropped for a moment, gathering her thoughts before meeting his eyes again, a flicker of determination igniting within her. Adam sensed the importance of what she was about to reveal, his heart quickening with anticipation.

“What is it, Tilda?” he prompted gently, stepping a little closer, his curiosity piqued. “You can tell me anything.”

Taking a deep breath, Tilda’s grip on her own resolve tightened. “It’s about something that happened to me when I was younger—an experience that changed everything for me.”

Adam's brow furrowed in concern as he prepared himself for the weight of her revelation.“ It started when I was still in school—three years ago, when I was in high school.” She paused, searching for the right words as the ghosts of her past surfaced in her mind.

*3 years ago*

Tilda hurried through the bustling corridors of Aspire Academy, her mind racing with thoughts of the task she had been assigned. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the hallways as students chatted and laughed, but she had lingered after school to finish up a group project that had needled at her for the past week.

“I’ll catch up with you all later!” Tilda called out to her friends, who were headed to the nearby café. “I just need to finish this presentation.”

“You’re such a nerd!” one of her classmates teased, ruffling her hair as they passed. “Always the last one to leave.”

Tilda smiled at the banter but felt a twinge of regret that she wouldn’t be joining them. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow!” she replied, trying to sound cheerful. As she collected her notes and closed her laptop, she looked out the window, watching the golden light of dusk illuminate the schoolyard. The thought of walking home in the dark unnerved her, but the project was worth the late hour.

Finally finished, she slung her backpack over her shoulder and stepped out of the school, the evening air cool against her skin. The vibrant hues of sunset transformed the sky into a canvas of oranges and purples, but as the sun dipped lower, shadows crept over the path ahead.

Despite the beauty of the moment, a sense of unease settled in her stomach as she started down the road. She glanced around, feeling a bit jumpy, as if the world had suddenly quieted. Tilda picked up her pace, eager to reach the safety of her home.

As she walked, she replayed her day in her mind—discussing the project with her classmates, listening to her favorite teachers, and laughing at silly inside jokes. Yet, that joy was marred by the persistent fear of being out alone after dark. Tilda shook her head, trying to shake off the feeling. *It’s just a walk home,* she told herself, *I’ve done it a thousand times before.*

As she turned onto a side street, the sounds of the city began to fade, replaced by an eerie stillness. But just as she took a deep breath, a sudden commotion echoed behind her. Tilda’s head whipped around, and she saw a group of masked figures sprinting toward her, pursued by two frantic museum guards shouting for help.

“Stop! Thieves! They’ve stolen artifacts!” one of the guards yelled, his voice tinged with urgency.

Panic surged through Tilda, and she instinctively stepped back, her heart racing as the robbers careened toward her, wild-eyed and relentless. In a desperate attempt to avoid the chaos, she stumbled, losing her balance as one of the criminals collided with her hard enough to send her sprawling to the ground.

“Ow!” Tilda gasped, the air knocked from her lungs, her backpack slipping away and spilling its contents across the pavement. She could hear the guards closing in, the pounding of footsteps echoing around her.

In the chaos, her gaze was drawn to something glinting on the ground—a golden bracelet that shone under the faint glow of a nearby streetlight. It lay just out of reach, catching her attention as if it had a magnetic pull. An inexplicable urge compelled her to touch it.

As her fingers brushed the cool surface of the bracelet, a faint light engulfed her, washing over her body like a wave. Tilda felt an overwhelming surge of energy coursing through her—the sensation was foreign, intense, almost intoxicating. She gasped, feeling warmth enveloping her as if every fiber of her being was lighting up.

“What is happening?” she thought in panic as the world around her blurred. For a fleeting moment, she felt untouchable, like she could harness any power she desired. But just as quickly, the warmth reached a crescendo, swirling into her body in a flash of a faint golden light then everything went dark.

****

Tilda awoke in a sterile, white room, the soft beeping of machines and the faint scent of antiseptic greeting her senses. Blinking against the brightness, she turned her head slowly, confusion clouding her mind.

“Mom? Dad?” she croaked, her voice hoarse.

Her parents were sitting by her bed, their faces etched with worry. “Oh, Tilda!” her mother exclaimed, rushing to her side and grasping her hand tightly. “Thank goodness you’re awake! We were so worried!”

“What happened?” Tilda managed, still disoriented as memories of the night flooded back— the bracelet, the thieves, the surge of power. “I… I don’t remember.”

Her father rubbed the back of his neck, his expression a mixture of relief and concern. “You fainted on your way home. Some bystanders called for help when they saw you. The doctors said your body went through a shock.”

“It felt… different,” Tilda murmured, a part of her still caught in the remnants of the transformation. She could sense something within her, something that pulsed with energy, but she couldn’t articulate it yet.

“Just focus on healing for now,” her mother said softly, brushing Tilda’s hair back from her forehead.

****

Tilda stepped into the house, the familiar scents of home wrapping around her—but today, they felt foreign. Her mind swirled with memories of the hospital, the bright lights, and the sterile scent that lingered, a stark contrast to the warmth of her home. She dropped her backpack unceremoniously by the door, a habit she had yet to shake off.

“Welcome back, Tilda!” her father called from the kitchen, lifting his head from a cookbook. “How was school?”

“Fine,” she muttered, the word feeling hollow as she tried to shake off the heaviness in her chest. She didn't want to lie, but she also didn’t want to bring up fainting or the chaotic encounter with the robbers.

“Are you sure?” her mother chimed in, drying her hands on a dish towel. “You seemed a little out of it when we came to get you from the hospital. It’s only natural to feel tired after something like that.”

Tilda felt a pang of frustration at her mother's concern. “I’m just… tired from all the excitement. You know how it is,” she said with a forced smile. “Just a little overwhelmed.”

Her mother studied her carefully, eyes narrowing slightly. “You know you can talk to us about anything, right? We just want you to be okay.”

“Yeah, I know, Mom,” Tilda replied, rubbing the back of her neck uncomfortably. “It’s just been a long day. I just need some time to settle back in.”

Her mother’s expression softened, but Tilda could see the worry lingering behind her eyes. “Okay, but don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything. You fainted quite hard, Tilda. It’s important you take care of yourself.”

“I will!” Tilda said, a bit sharper than she intended. She turned away and stormed into the kitchen, her heart racing with frustration. Why couldn’t they just let her be? It felt like everyone was watching her, waiting for something to happen.

Feeling overwhelmed, she grabbed a glass from the counter and poured herself some water, trying to calm her nerves. As she raised the glass to her lips, her grip tightened involuntarily. The glass slipped from her grasp and shattered on the floor, water splashing everywhere along with shards of broken glass.

“Ugh! Tilda!” her mother exclaimed, rushing into the kitchen. “Be careful! You could cut yourself!”

“I know, I know!” Tilda snapped, embarrassment flushing her cheeks as she crouched down to pick up the pieces. The remnants of the glass felt sharp and jagged under her fingertips. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Just take a breath,” her mother said, her voice softer now as she knelt beside Tilda. “It’s okay. We all have our moments; it’s just a glass.”

Tilda’s frustration simmered just below the surface. “Easy for you to say. You didn’t just get released from the hospital! I’m just trying to sort everything out!”

Her mother paused, clearly taken aback by Tilda's sudden outburst. “I’m just trying to help, Tilda. You don’t need to take your frustration out on me.”

“I’m sorry; I just… I’m feeling really off,” Tilda admitted, her tone softening as she met her mother’s gaze. “I’m trying to adjust, and I thought maybe things would go back to normal, but they haven’t.”

“You don’t have to hide how you feel. We’re here for you, no matter what,” her mother reassured her gently, placing a comforting hand on Tilda’s shoulder.

Staring at the mess on the floor, Tilda felt a wave of guilt wash over her. “I just want to be normal. I don’t want to be the reason for concern all the time.”

“Normal is overrated,” her mother chuckled lightly, trying to lighten the mood. “Just be yourself, and things will work out, I promise.”

Tilda nodded, albeit reluctantly. The conversation lingered in the air, an unspoken understanding hanging between them. But there was still an undercurrent of anxiety within Tilda, the feeling that something was coming—something she didn’t yet understand.

As she helped clean up the shattered glass, a flicker of unease swept through her.

Tilda stepped into her room, the familiar creak of the door closing behind her offering a moment of solace. Her sanctuary was a small space crammed with remnants of childhood; posters of her favorite celebraty lined the walls, and the soft lavender paint gave the room a cozy warmth. A worn-out teddy bear sat perched on her bed, its button eyes reflecting innocence and comfort.

In the corner, an old television captured her attention—a bulky model with a rounded back that looked like a relic from another era. It was one of those ancient pieces her parents had gotten for her when she was just a little girl, a constant companion during lazy afternoons spent lost in animated adventures. She couldn’t bear to part with it, a thread connecting her to simpler times—before the weight of expectations and the harshness of reality pressed down.

Near the TV, her favorite doll, Written Little Princess, sat elegantly, donning a tattered pink dress. The doll had once been a source of joy and solace, a listener for Tilda's childhood secrets. Now, it seemed a relic of a past life, a time when her biggest concern was picking out what to wear for a tea party with imaginary friends.

Tilda moved to her vanity, brushing her fingers across the mirror's surface. The reflection looking back at her was tired and worn, a stark contrast to the vibrant colors surrounding her. She leaned closer, examining the dark circles under her eyes, remnants from sleepless nights filled with doubts and fear.

As she tried to gather her thoughts, something shifted in that reflection. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a flicker, a shadow that shouldn’t have been there. Blinking hard, she squinted, attempting to shake off the remnants of disorientation. But the shadow solidified, morphing into a twisted version of herself—a reflection with a sadistic smile etched across its face, a grotesque mockery of her own image.

Tilda stumbled back, her heart racing wildly, panic flooding her veins as she felt a cold sweat break out across her skin. “What the…?” she gasped, instinctively rubbing her eyes as if to dispel the nightmare before her.

The figure in the mirror leaned closer, its grin widening impossibly, eyes filled with a darkness that chilled her soul. “Your parents don’t understand you, Tilda. They don’t see you for who you really are,” it whispered, the voice a soft, insidious caress that slithered into her ears.

“No!” she cried, recoiling instinctively. “That’s not true!”

“Isn’t it?” the reflection taunted, undeterred. “Their love is conditional, based on expectations and their own fears. You are nothing but a burden to them, holding them back from what they want.”

Tilda's heart thundered in her chest, the insistent drumming echoing her mounting anxiety. She could feel the words wrapping around her like a vine, squeezing tightly, threatening to suffocate her resolve. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” she shouted, voice shaky but defiant. “They care about me!”

But the figure only laughed, a low, mocking sound that reverberated in the silence of her room. “If they cared, they wouldn’t push you so hard. They want a perfect daughter, one who fits neatly in their little boxes. They don’t understand the pain you feel every day. Wouldn’t it be nice to show them the truth?”

Fear churned within her, a maelstrom of emotions as she felt the darkness creeping in, tingling at the edges of her thoughts. “Show them?” she whispered, horrified yet intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“Let me guide you,” the reflection urged, its smile unfaltering, eyes flickering with a manic delight. “Together, we can create a world where you control your own destiny—and no one can tell you what to do.”

As if on cue, a strange, exhilarating energy began to swirl within her, wrapping around her like a suffocating embrace. It was powerful and intoxicating, igniting a sense of liberation that felt both terrifying and exhilarating. Tilda felt a deep pull, as if something dark inside her was awakening, yearning for release.

“No! This isn’t who I am!” she protested, but her voice felt distant, trapped beneath an ever-growing weight. She fought against it, but the urge to spiral deeper into that darkness grew stronger, the promise of power tantalizingly close.

Her mind raced with thoughts—her parents’ worried faces, the way they hovered over her now, their fears palpable. “They just don’t understand what I’m going through…” she murmured, uncertainty slipping into her tone. “But I don’t want to hurt them.”

“Why not? They hurt you every day with their expectations! You can take control of your own life,” the reflection coaxed, its voice a venomous whisper curling around her thoughts, dissolving any remaining defenses.

Tilda felt herself getting swept away as the energy thickened, cocooning her in its dark embrace. “No! Stop!” she cried, but it was too late. That whisper edged her closer to the brink, the power enveloping her senses and drowning out her original will.

With an involuntary shudder, she turned, compelled by an unseen force, and stepped away from the mirror. As she moved, the weight on her chest grew heavier, a sense of finality hanging in the air. The insidious voice guided her toward the open door, prompting her downstairs, into the flickering shadows of the home that had once been her safe haven.

Descending the stairs, Tilda felt like a marionette, strings pulled taut by something far beyond her understanding. The warm glow of the living room light beckoned her, but it felt distant, almost an enemy as the dark energy thrummed within her, pulsing with every step she took toward the source of her fear.

Tilda clenched her fists, desperately grappling for control, but the darkness was far too enticing, whispering promises of liberation. As she reached the bottom step, she hesitated, her heart racing with fear and anticipation. The shadows stretched long in front of her, and the voices grew louder, beckoning her to embrace the strength surging through her.

With every fiber of her being, she pushed against the encroaching power, but she felt trapped inside her own body, her resolve slipping as she approached the door to the living room where her parents awaited, oblivious to the storm brewing within their daughter. Her heart raced, pounding in her chest like a war drum, as the power thrashed within her, demanding to be unleashed. It was as if the very essence of her being was at odds, her mind screaming in protest while an alien force began to slither its way to the forefront.

“Let’s show them,” the reflection’s voice whispered seductively, wrapping around her thoughts like a vice. “They need to learn their place. They’ve ignored you for too long.”

“No! You’re wrong!” Tilda fought back, her inner voice a frantic plea against the rising tide of anger and darkness. “I can’t! They’re my parents! I won’t hurt them!”

But the power surged stronger, amplifying her frustration into something primal, feeding on her fears and insecurities until they became a twisted echo in her mind. Tilda felt her hands clench into fists, fingers trembling with barely-contained energy, the sensation urging her to act against her will.

“Enough!” she shouted, but the voice that escaped her lips was far from her own, laced with a chilling calmness. “You don’t understand what you’ve done to me!”

Her parents turned at the sound, the warmth in their expressions instantly turning to fear. “Tilda?” her mother asked warily, concern etched deeply into her features. “What’s wrong, honey?”

The words flowed from Tilda’s mouth, smooth and venomous like honey mixed with poison. “You’ve held me back my entire life! You think I’ll just sit quietly and let you dictate my worth?”

“No! That’s not true!” her mother protested, stepping forward. “We’ve always loved you—”

“Love?” Tilda interjected, a cruel smile forming her lips that didn’t belong to her, distorting her features. “Your love is nothing but a prison!”

Before she could even comprehend what she was about to do, the golden energy swirled around her. Tilda felt the power surge through her, and suddenly, a shimmering sword, brilliantly forged from gold, materialized in her grasp. It glittered ominously in the light, pulsing with a life of its own, as if it recognized its master.

“No! Tilda, put that down!” her father cried, frantic as Tilda raised the sword, ready to strike. Panic surged through her, battling desperately against the instincts that now ruled her body.

But all Tilda could hear was the deafening roar of power calling to her, urging her to attack. “Do it! Show them!” The voice taunted, drowning out her pleas for sanity.

In a moment of horrifying clarity, her body moved, the sword slicing through the air with deadly precision. Her heart sank as she realized the impending violence but felt utterly powerless to stop it.

“Tilda, please!” her mother cried, reaching out in desperation.

Before she could grasp the gravity of the situation, the blade connected with her mother’s arm—a sickening crunch resounded, followed by a gasp of pain. Tilda’s eyes widened as she witnessed the horrific reality of her actions: warm crimson blood splattered across the wallpaper, the glow of the golden sword soaked in tragedy.

“No! What have I done?” she thought, but the dark voice drowned out her sorrow.

She swung the sword again, this time toward her father, and felt the rush of adrenaline and fury cascading through her. The sword carved through the air, a cruel extension of the darkness that now claimed her mind. The blade met flesh, cutting deep into her father's shoulder.

He stumbled back, eyes wide with shock and pain, clutching the wound as blood seeped between his fingers. “Tilda, don’t! Please, don’t hurt your mother! Don’t kill her!” he pleaded, his voice shaking with desperation.

It was the sound of her father's plea that finally pierced through the fog of darkness. *No! I can’t do this! They’re my family!*

In that instant, a blinding pulse of clarity surged through her, breaking the grip of the malevolent force that had taken hold of her. Tilda blinked sharply, and her reality snapped back into focus as horror washed over her.

There, in the chaotic aftermath of her actions, she saw her parents—their faces contorted in fear and pain, blood staining their clothes. “What have I done?” she gasped, voice trembling as she dropped the golden sword, the sound of it clattering to the floor echoing through the room.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as the magnitude of her actions settled in. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! I wasn’t in control!”

In that moment of realization, she felt utterly broken, the darkness within her recoiling as the gravity of her family’s injuries loomed large before her. Tilda felt a wave of panic wash over her as the reality of her actions settled in like heavy stones dragging her down. Her parents’ anguished expressions haunted her, their pained cries echoing in her ears. “What have I done?!” she thought, heart racing as adrenaline surged through her veins.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she bolted for the door, the world around her blurring in a dizzying rush of motion. She felt the cold air hit her face as she flung the door open, but as she stepped outside, the shadows of the night loomed larger, swallowing her whole in their embrace.

Run. Get away.

The impulse surged within her, a primal instinct overriding every other thought. She didn’t know where she was going; she just needed to escape the whirlwind of chaos and guilt that surrounded her. The neighborhood stretched out before her, familiar yet alien under the cover of darkness. Every step felt heavy, as if an invisible weight pressed down on her shoulders.

But as the cool night air burned against her skin, the darker part of her—the sadistic side she hadn’t fully understood—began to stir again, whispering insidiously in her mind. “You can’t run from who you are. Embrace it. Let me out.”

“No!” Tilda protested silently, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “I won’t let you take over! I’m not like that!”

But the voice only grew louder, the power within her thrumming with dark energy, and she could feel the pull from deep within, clawing at her insides like a beast desperate to break free. She needed to fight it, to resist, but the fear of losing control sent tremors through her body, hurling her forward into the night.

As she raced down the streets, the houses blurred into a stream of frantic shapes and shadows. She leaped over a fence, narrowly avoiding a metallic trash can that threatened to impede her path. Heart pounding wildly, she sprinted deeper into the neighborhood, the distance between her and her home stretching wider with each step.

The chill of the night wrapped around her like a suffocating shroud, but she pressed on, fueled by both fear and anger. The thought of what she had done clawed at her mind, but it was the darkness within that filled her with dread. *They're going to hate you. Just let it out!*

“No!” she screamed, the sound breaking free from her throat. “I can’t! I won’t!”

But the words felt weak against the rising tide of darkness, the seductive allure of releasing the power threatening to unseat her conviction. She could feel it seeping through the cracks of her sanity, wanting to consume her whole.

“Just let go,” the voice purred, wrapping around her like a vine. “It will feel so good. You’d be so powerful… they’ll understand once they see your true strength.”

Tilda stumbled, nearly losing her footing, but regained her balance and pushed on. She could see the first glimmers of streetlights ahead, leading her away from the residential streets that felt increasingly like a trap. Each step pulled her closer to freedom, but she feared the price—what would it mean to embrace that darker side?

She burst into the wider streets, panting and desperate, as the night wind whipped through her hair. There were no streetlights here, just the sounds of cars rushing by in the distance, the flickering shadows from the nearby trees casting an eerie glow around her.

It was in that moment of exhilaration and dread that she felt the power shift again, surging like a wave trying to crash over her will. She gasped as the golden energy crackled at her fingertips, threatening to break free, to unleash itself upon the world.

“I won’t hurt them! I can’t hurt them!” she shouted into the void, imploring the darkness to retreat. The fight was becoming more difficult to maintain, her resolution faltering under the weight of her fear.

With every ounce of her being, she willed herself to run faster, to escape not just from her neighborhood but from the very entity trying to claim her. The world beyond felt like an abyss, a terrifying unknown, yet it felt better than the binding fear of what she had already done.

As she continued her flight, the shadows danced around her, taunting her choice to embrace or reject what was in her. A broken sob escaped her lips as she realized she was running from everything she had ever known.

“If I can just get away…” she thought frantically, each step carrying her further from those she loved, but deeper into the darkness that echoed inside her.

The night stretched endlessly before her, a path of uncertainty, but it felt better than the confines of her home, the place where love had been twisted into something so much darker. As she crossed the threshold into the unknown, she felt something inside her crack—an unsettling choice lingering just beneath the surface, urging her out into the darkness. Gasping for breath, Tilda stumbled into a narrow alley, the air thick with the scent of damp concrete and despair. She pressed her back against the cool, gritty wall, trying to gather herself. Sweat dripped from her brow, mingling with the chill of the night. The rush of adrenaline began to fade, leaving her with a throbbing pulse in her ears and a sinking feeling of vulnerability.

“What are you doing out here all alone, sweetheart?” a voice drawled from the shadows, causing her to snap her head up.

Two men stood a few feet away, their figures silhouetted against the faint light spilling in from the street. One leaned casually against the wall, flipping a coin with a predatory gleam in his eye, while the other approached her with a sly grin curling his lips.

“Thought the dark was a little scary, huh?” said the man moving closer, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be wandering around looking so… lost.”

Tilda’s heart raced as she took a step back, instinctively sizing them up. “Leave me alone,” she said, trying to mask the tremor in her voice with a facade of confidence.

“Oh, come on,” the man chuckled, exchanging a knowing glance with his companion. “We just want to have some fun. What’s the harm in that? You look like you could use a little excitement in your life.”

Tilda pressed against the wall, feeling the panic rise within her. The laughter echoed menacingly off the alley's narrow confines, a sound that sent shivers down her spine. She felt trapped, the shadows around her swirling into a suffocating haze.

“Yeah, we can show you a real good time,” the man said, stepping even closer, eyes glinting with predatory intent. “Don’t be scared. We don’t bite… unless you want us to.”

But in that moment, as the terror clawed its way to the forefront, she felt something deep within her stir—a dark, primal impulse that beckoned her to embrace the depth of her rage. *No! Don’t give in!*

But she couldn’t fight the tide forever. Tilda’s breath caught in her throat, heart pounding wildly as she felt the shadows coiling around her, inviting that darker side she had tried to suppress.

“Stay away from me!” she screamed, the words ripping from her lips as she reached for her power, instinct taking over.

Suddenly, golden light flared around her, illuminating the alley in an eerie glow. A golden sword manifested in her grip, contrasting starkly against the darkness surrounding her. The men froze, their expressions shifting from amusement to disbelief.

“What the hell?!” one of them shouted, taking a step back.

Tilda felt the darkness within her surge to the forefront, transforming her fear into something sharp and deadly. “You should’ve thought twice before approaching me,” she snarled, voice low and guttural, devoid of her usual innocence.

With a primal cry, she lunged forward, the blade slicing through the air with lethal precision. The sword met flesh, and without hesitation, she plunged it deep into the first man’s side. Blood sprayed in a vivid arc, painting the walls around her in crimson.

He gasped, eyes wide with shock as he crumpled to the ground, the glint of terror fading from his gaze, leaving only disbelief in its wake. Tilda's heart raced, but she didn’t feel pity; instead, it was as if the very essence of her being had been unleashed, and the thrill of power ignited within her.

The remaining man stumbled backward, panic evident on his face. “What the—you’re crazy!” he shouted, brandishing a knife that glinted menacingly in the dim light.

But the power had gripped Tilda completely, drowning out any remnants of hesitation. She lunged at him without thought, the golden blade gleaming as she ducked under his wild swing. With a swift movement, she thrust the sword through his midsection, feeling the resistance of his flesh give way as she buried the weapon deep.

As he fell to the ground, the adrenaline flowed through her like a drug, leaving her breathless. The sight of blood pooled around them was exhilarating and horrifying all at once. Tilda’s gaze fell to the blade, glistening with the remnants of her actions.

And for a brief moment, a wicked thought flickered through her mind—a desire to taste the blood that stained her weapon, to embrace the darkness that surged within her. A twisted smile crept across her lips, seductive and dark, but she quickly repressed it. *No! I won’t let you take control!*

Stepping back from the chaos she had wrought, Tilda felt a moment of clarity pierce through the fog of power. The alley echoed with the dying breaths of the men she had just attacked, and the weight of her actions crashed down upon her like a wave.