#alterum

The child had wept. The marks of protocore syndrome had spread, consuming his right side like a flaking rash.

“No, Jason. You’ll make it bleed.” Zayne had reached for him, his gloved hand coming away cold.

A cryogenic power. A chasm had split Zayne in two. An evolution like mine.

Only it wasn’t evolution. It was cancer, one brought on by ignorance, curiosity, and greed.

He hadn’t been the first patient who caused Zayne to lose sleep, pouring over case studies and experimental treatments, grasping at straws even as exhaustion pushed him toward delirium.

But nothing had worked. Zayne had failed.

The transformation consumed him quickly, Jason’s body succumbing to become a frenzied Alterum who killed a doctor and two nurses before fleeing the hospital. The police couldn’t stop him. Zayne couldn’t stop him. Two friends had lay dead in the creature’s wake, their bodies frozen in places where the creature had struck.

Alterum. Creature.

His name was Jason. He was only a child. This should never have happened.

Days later, the news had broadcasted stories of a cryogenic Wanderer wreaking havoc, destroying anything and anyone in its path. Reporters and bystanders alike had captured its blue-white shape fleeing scenes, leaving destruction in its wake.

Zayne had faced it–it, not him–and had failed to strike fast enough. The Wanderer had aimed true, its right arm resembling stone and crystal, sharpened to a point. It had penetrated Zayne’s shoulder easily, muscle and bone offering little resistance. Too late had Zayne seen the soft flesh exposed when the Wanderer fully extended his afflicted limb, the stone-like areas of his body shifting with cracks and crevices between. There, glowing an eerie, unnatural blue, was the soft flesh his power could exploit.

Critical seconds had ticked by as blood flowed freely, his right arm weak and almost useless.

The Wanderer had ripped through whatever and whoever crossed its path, and Zayne had hesitated, remembering the child it had been, fear filling his eyes. 

The ache in Zayne’s heart…

Failure. Grief.

Protocore syndrome had swallowed him whole, creating a being crafted into something terrifying.

As Zayne fled, the wound throbbing as though it carried its own pulse, guilt and fear had gnawed 

For all of Zayne’s work, for all his time and devotion and obsession, he still wasn’t enough. His skilled surgeon’s hands wouldn’t come away clean.

FIVE DAYS LATER

There was no blood on his hands, but the Alterum died screaming.

Tremors cascaded down his right arm, held flush against his side as he navigated through the crowded sidewalk, eyes forward and steps determined. His shoulder wound was nearly a week old but throbbed as though freshly given. His Evol had helped to numb the pain, but healing was far from done.

His phone vibrated in his breast pocket, two short pulses for a text received.

Two more.

Two–

His phone vibrated for a call, the pulse’s rhythm longer, insistent. He knew before he looked that he would see her face, the photo he’d taken at the fair. She’d hidden behind her cotton candy, her eyes peeking from behind a pink cloud of spun sugar.

Zayne dipped into an alley to answer her, a rock forming in his core.

“Zayne.” The worry in her voice. Concern shaped his name.

Anxiety tightened around his chest like a vise.

“Zayne, I just saw the news. Are you alright?”

He grimaced, closing his eyes. “I should ask you the same question.”

“I know some of what you’re feeling.”

A high-pitched ringing sounded deep in his ear canal, disrupting his other senses. The cold touch of his Evol bloomed from his shoulder across his back. “Don’t.” The word shot out of him like a warning. “Don’t say that.”

“I face this, too. Every hunter does.”

“I’m no hunter. I swore an oath to do no harm. Yet my treatments fail as more people die. Protocore Syndrome. Alterum. Wanderers.”

“No one was prepared to face what’s happened.”

“Yet we welcomed protocore technology with open arms.” He didn’t mask his bitterness. “For all their benefits, we should have further studied what protocores are capable of.”

“No one can know the future,” she said. “It’s useless to wallow in what might have been.”

“There are reports of the Wanderer with powers like mine.”

“His power isn’t like yours, Zayne.”

“Cryogenic power.” But he was too defeated to argue semantics.

“Where are you?” she asked. “I’m coming to you.”

“Don’t. I…” Burning cold ran down his spine. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Too late.”

She appeared in the alley, phone still against her ear. Relief framed her worried eyes as she ended the call and rushed to him. His right arm ached, black frost spreading across his skin, though he longed to wrap it around her. He stepped back, nearly breaking at the hurt on her face.

“Zayne–”

“You always do what you want, don’t you?” Defensive retaliation fueled his words. A weak attempt at a laugh did little to dull their jagged edges. “No regard for what the other person asked for.”

Her anger-laced glare was exactly what he deserved. Not softness and comfort.

“You’re not doing this,” she said. “I won’t let you.”

“And what is it I’m doing?”

“You’re trying to get me to hate you as much as you hate yourself. It’s not going to work.”

He clenched his jaw, every inch of him raw and exposed. “Why?”

“Because I care about you.” She reached for his hand, even as he recoiled.

“You’ll get hurt. Don’t–”

She resonated without a word, warmth spreading through his skin like a healing balm. The barbs around his heart snapped free one by one. At last, he drew a deep breath, the first in ages.

“How’s your shoulder?” she asked.

The walls of ice he’d constructed cracked. Her soft voice. Her shimmering eyes. “It hurts.”

When she held his face in her hands, all defenses shattered. Her thumbs wiped away tears he didn’t know had fallen. She wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe even as he bent to her. He struggled to keep his emotions barricaded inside as she buried her face in the bend of his neck. She smelled like sunlight and jasmine.

But they weren’t alone.

“You…”

They turned, a rattling rheumatic voice coming from deeper in the alley. The man shivered, his lips pulled tight across his teeth as he tried in vain to mask the pain rolling through his body. One arm struggled to fit in the unforgiving fabric of his coat’s sleeve. Crystalized spikes peaked like mountains, straining as the man removed one side of the coat to reveal his other arm, completely taken over by protocore syndrome. The limb was deep green rock with turquoise crystals, all tapered to a deadly point where his hand had been.

“You don’t want to do this,” Zayne said.

The Alterum lumbered forward, the once-human eyes lifeless but for the iridescent light shimmering behind them. The man’s mind was gone. All that remained was the urge to destroy.

She whispered quickly into her Hunter’s watch. He heard Tara’s voice come through. “Units are on their way.”

Black frost spread up Zayne’s arm as he readied a blast of ice. He grimaced through the pain flickering beneath his skin like lightning, growling as he aimed at the Alterum. “Get behind me.”

But as Zayne reached for her, she’d already drawn her weapon.

“We do this together,” she said before firing two rounds. The bullets hit the man’s chest, but damage was minimal.

Zayne offered his other hand. “Together.”

Her touch awakened the strength of his power, even as it soothed the shadows swirling within. With her resonance, his blast of frost penetrated the hardened stone nearly consuming the Alterum’s body.

The Alterum fell to one knee.

No. He is a man. Zayne’s breath caught in his chest. The sickness wasn’t his fault, altering his body to something foreign. He’s still a man.

A man, overtaken by protocore sickness, hurting innocents.

A man whose mind had gone.

Zayne, overtaken by his cryogenic Evol, hurting her.

Her body, so small in the hospital bed.

Zayne blinked, seeing the Alterum’s face as his own, every inch of his skin covered in black frost, his eyes no longer human.

An Evol he didn’t ask for.

A body, no longer his.

With a cry of rage, the Alterum swung wide with his crystallized arm. Zayne’s own rage surfaced, flames fueled by injustice and powerlessness.

The gunshot broke through his spiraling. Even as the Alterum fell, lifeless, Zayne stared in shocked wonder.

“You should go,” she said, slipping her weapon into its holster. “I have to call this in.”

The man’s chest did not rise.

Do no harm.

“Zayne.” She touched his shoulder. “Look at me.”

The high-pitched buzzing returned. He winced this time, his head twitching before his hands try to rub away the sound. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed, knowing the disappointed he would see reflected back to him as soon as their eyes met. Sights and sounds of death hovered, the air growing more and more oppressive. 

Frost bloomed over his skin. Everything was cold.

“Zayne.”

Her hand cupped his cheek. “Zayne. Your Evol.”

More warmth spread from her touch. A warmth he didn’t deserve. The black frost receded, though the cold winds of guilt raged to a tempest in his core.

“You should go,” she repeated. “I’ll see you at my place, OK? Don’t go home.”

Voices of pedestrians grew louder. 

“Your place,” he said. “Why?”

“Because people know you as Dr. Zayne from Akso Hospital,” she said. “Let’s keep your identities separate as long as we can.” She squeezed his hand before wrapping her arms around his neck. “You shouldn’t blame yourself, Zayne. You didn’t do this.”

He leaned close to her ear, smelling her hair, stealing comfort he didn’t deserve. “Too late.”

He kissed her forehead before slipping out of the alley, using the backstreets to navigate to her apartment. He removed his coat before going in, his typical black shirt and pants a signature look for Zayne the Doctor instead of the man known as Dawnbreaker. No one in the apartment lobby batted an eye as he crossed through to the elevator. He put on his glasses as he waited, the digital floor numbers descending to one.

“Zayne?”

Panic seized his muscles for only a second before, composed, he met Xavier’s welcoming smile.

“Haven’t seen you here in a while,” Xavier said, slipping his hands into his pockets. He wasn’t in his Hunter’s Association uniform but a hoodie and loose-fitting jeans. “The hospital must be keeping you busy.”

Zayne fought the urge to tug at his collar. “There’s always something.”

The ring of the elevator preceded its opening, but there was no relief as Xavier and Zayne both stepped in. Zayne adjusted his coat, draped over one arm, and reached for buttons for floors five and six. Black frost feathered from beneath the cuff of his sleeve.

“What about you?” Zayne’s voice remained level as he adjusted his coat over his arm, stealing a glance at Xavier. The latter scrolled lazily on his phone. “You must be swamped with work too.”

“Yeah. It’s…a lot.” He rubbed the back of his head as he sighed. “I’m sure you know. We’re both busy for the same reason.”

Zayne swallowed, waiting for Alterum and Dawnbreaker to cross Xavier’s lips, but he merely shrugged before switching apps on his phone to send a text. Etiquette averted Zayne’s gaze before he could invade Xavier’s privacy and check either the recipient or the message.

“It doesn’t show any signs of stopping,” Xavier went on, locking his phone and putting it in his pocket. “Captain Jenna isn’t getting much sleep.”

Frost tingled up Zayne’s shoulder toward his throat, spreading fast enough for alarm but slow enough to wrap him in agony. The collar of his shirt wouldn’t cover it for long…

When the elevator dinged and the doors opened, Zayne barely nodded in farewell before slipping out toward her apartment.

Around the corner.

Down the hall.

There.

He reached for the security lock, fingers poised to key in the passcode, as black frost feathered down his fingers. His hand trembled with each number as fear dampened his palms and underarms.

Every distressing second passed in slow motion with Zayne almost witnessing his own life as a spectator. His tall frame bent, shoulders slumped, trembling hand trying to press each number.

The approving chime sounded. Zayne turned the handle as the door unlocked, the mechanism not allowing him entry at first. This level of panic was rare for him.

Breathe. Don’t lose control. You’re stronger than this.

The truth of it was hard to believe as he succumbed to a metaphorical freefall. He’d never been so untethered, the bindings of discipline falling away as his mind raced and heart thundered a staccato against his ribs. 

Once inside, he leaned against the closed door in a sweat, his breathing labored as his lungs starved for air. His heart pounded an anxious staccato within his ribcage.

The door lock reset. He was safe.

Rest. He needed rest. A bed. A blanket. Total silence.

But every inch of his fatigued body was soaked with adrenaline.

Rest. Sleep.

A hot shower. Melt away the frost clinging on his skin.

Yes.

He removed his coat and, with it, a hundred pounds of weight. The rest of his clothes fell easily before he stepped in, surrounding his chilled body with steam. The hot water was perfect. The front melted. His muscles relaxed.

Breathe in.

The boy’s eyes tear-filled, his hand clutching his arm.

Breathe out.

Her touch warm on his face.

Breathe in.

After, everything was lighter. His steps. His clothes. His mind. The gift of a steaming baptism, washing his skin clean.

Until he looked at his phone.

Three missed calls.

One from Caleb.

One from Greyson.

One from her.

How long was he in the shower? 

It was her voicemail he checked first, the only voice he wanted to hear.

“Zayne!” Static crackled. Something roared.

Frost bloomed across his skin as panic laced through his blood, imagining her association-issued firearm as the only thing between her and an elite Wanderer.

“What the hell did you do?” Caleb’s accusation stabbed Zayne’s pounding heart.

“Zayne.” Greyson, his voice disquieting in its calm. “She’s here. The Wanderer’s cryogenic power almost killed her. Several other hunters are dead.” He paused, the weight of his silence plummeted in Zayne’s core. “You need to get to Akso. Now.”

Cryogenic power.

Cryogenic power.

The Wanderer who’d escaped.

Oh, God.

Lightning shot up his legs as he ran, the concrete harsh and unyielding with every step.

You’re a fool. 

His lungs burned, chest and back aching. But he couldn’t stop.

A fool with the complex of a careless god.

Zayne ran faster.

The Wanderer’s cryogenic power had rivaled Zayne’s in strength, and its ferocity pushed Zayne to his limit before survival pushed him toward escape. And imagining her with her team, confronting such a powerful Wanderer with her team, using every technique the Hunter’s Association had taught them…

Nothing would have been strong enough. Their bullets would have been useless.

What the hell did you do? Caleb’s words sank deeper, their bladed edge slicing through muscle and bone.

The Wanderer must have left traces of its power on her. Frostbite. Hypothermia.

Not again.

Flashbacks to their childhood when his Evol slipped free of his control. She’d laid there, her body so small in the hospital bed.

His fingernails stabbed his palms, threatening to break the skin. Sweat crawled down his back despite the cold touch of dread.

When he burst through the entrance to Akso Hospital, Greyson was there waiting.

“She’s in a room,” he said, hurrying to Zayne’s side. “She’ll be fine.”

But that did little to curb the anger and fear that burned through his muscles. He didn’t stop until he reached the door, seeing her through the window with Caleb there holding her hand.

Jealousy sparked an aching flash in his chest before rationality helped it simmer. At least she wasn’t alone.

“No signs of any lasting damage.” Curiosity furrowed Greyson’s brow. “Aren’t you going in?”

Zayne almost said no before Caleb turned, hearing them through the door. When their eyes met, Zayne suffered each dagger shot from Caleb’s lethal gaze. A barrage was imminent, and Caleb would hold nothing back.

Caleb stood quietly, kissing her hand before clearing the distance between her bed and the door in two long strides.

“Take it outside,” Greyson said as Caleb closed the door, the latch almost silent. “Don’t kill each other.”

“No promises,” Caleb muttered, leading the way to the nearest exit. “Come on, Iceman. We need to talk.”

Caleb burst through the door, the exterior handle slamming against the wall with a bang. “It’s like when we were kids all over again. You lose control, and someone gets hurt. Every. Single. Time.”

“What did the Wanderer do to her?” he asked calmly. “I haven’t seen the report yet.”

“Don’t change the subject. I know what you did.” Caleb closed the distance between them, his eyes burning in anger. “I know what you do. The cases of protocore sickness and the Alterum terrorizing Linkon, and the infamous Dawnbreaker cleaning up the mess.”

“One made by those who shouldn’t have power,” Zayne snapped. “Rebirth cocoons. The Fountain of Atei.”

“And you’re what? The savior of humanity? A serial killer with a noble cause?”

“It seems we both have triggers that turn us into someone else,” he sneered. “How’s the Toring Chip, speaking of? No more side effects?”

Caleb’s fist slammed against Zayne’s jaw, the lightning flash of pain surging through his muscles and bones.

“You’re not going anywhere near her. Do you understand me? You keep your death touch away from her.”

Death touch.

Failed treatments. Sleepless nights. Everything, crashing down.

Do no harm.

Zayne cradled his jaw as he stared at the angry colonel, both of them seething in frustration that stemmed from a similar place.

“Go,” Caleb said. “Before I kill you myself.”

The Wanderer was reported near No-Hunt Zone No. 4.

Dawnbreaker slipped through the broken fence, the chain link snagging his coat and trousers as though to hold him back. Don’t go. It’s too dangerous. 

But danger was precisely what he wanted.

It wasn’t difficult to find the Wanderer’s blue-white form against the shadowy dark of the No-Hunt Zone, the bioluminescence highlighting the trees and underbrush as the creature moved. Its footsteps left frost in their wake, the earth suffering the premature touch of winter through a creature that should not exist.

Creature. No longer the boy he’d been. The form was even taller, too, past the shape of a fully grown human. Large, broad, with jagged spikes and edges.

Dawnbreaker didn’t resist the black frost spreading across his skin. He didn’t fight the Evol itching for release. Rather, he faced his anger and failure made manifest, the living embodiment of his defeat and grief.

“You dared to touch her.”

The Wanderer stopped, turning slowly with eyes the color of winter’s cloudless sky.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” Dawnbreaker read the creature’s distorted face, its features so far from human. But a glimmer of hope surfaced despite the oppressive pessimism that drove him. “Jason?”

The Wanderer bore no reaction, its glowing eyes devoid of humanity. More frost manifested on the spire at the end of its arm.

Dawnbreaker didn’t hesitate, hope of any salvation long gone. All that remained was the product of greed and ignorance from men playing at godhood.

His Evol bore a slight burn as it burst from his skin, his aim true and strikes deep. The Wanderer hadn’t varied its fighting style from before, its aggression leading it to strike without much planning or thought. The same moves, the same execution, the same rage.

It made it easier to fight.

Dodge, strike, repeat.

Medical studies theorized Wanderers could still carry sentience with a consciousness capable of rationality that thrived in inhibition. Clear planning and guiltless execution. But this Wanderer was driven by primal urges to destroy, its behavior and actions devoid of humanity or conscience. 

Doctors and psychologists alike hungered for as much information they could gather to feed theories and fuel academic papers. Such understand would be valuable research…

But that wasn’t his world anymore. 

The Wanderer lunged, its spired arm aiming for Dawnbreaker’s stomach this time, seeking to match the wound in his shoulder. But this strike left the creature vulnerable, his other, weaker arm extended back to help his maligned body balanced. Dawnbreaker seized this opening, aiming his frost-covered hands for the soft flesh exposed through the protective, hardened shell.

The Wanderer cried out, its voice reminiscent of a rockslide. The bioluminescence dimmed.

When the creature fell to its knees, Dawnbreaker watched its chest heave, desperate for breath, before it collapsed. The form stilled.

Dawnbreaker looked at his hands, creases painted with black frost, the power receding as fatigue seeped in.

His phone vibrated in his breastpocket. One pulse.

The screen was already illuminated when he pulled it free, seeing the notification banners.

Three missed calls, all from her.

He wouldn’t answer. Not after this. Not after everything.

He strode out of No-Hunt Zone No. 4 with long, determined steps. So much had changed. His present. His future. The structure of his life had shattered, leaving him untethered for the first time. What awaited him in the days to come?

He couldn’t tell, and a large part of him didn’t want to. The rational edge of his brain rejoiced in the lack of knowing.

Fate. Change. Whatever he’d want to call it. It was time for something else to take the lead. He was done.