Max_Striker
patreon
Chapter 3: First Charge
🕑 Added 2025-06-21 09:43:17 +0000 UTCDean stepped into what felt like the world's most expensive movie set, except nobody had yelled "cut" yet. New York traffic mixed with sounds that definitely weren't in any tourism brochure—someone flying overhead, the crackle of magic, and gunfire from three blocks over.
There it was: Avengers Tower, gleaming like a chrome middle finger pointed at the sky. To his left, a brownstone practically vibrated with mystical energy—the Sanctum Sanctorum.
"If this is a dream, my subconscious has a Marvel Unlimited subscription," Dean muttered.
A figure in red swung between buildings, pursued by someone in a discount ninja costume. Civilians barely glanced up. A hot dog vendor kept selling lunch like masked vigilantes were just Tuesday's entertainment.
Dean's hand went to the Tallus on his wrist. The crystalline device sat silent and unhelpful.
"Alright, Tallus," Dean said, trying to look like he was on a hands-free phone. "Tutorial mode? GPS? Anything?"
The Tallus remained stubbornly quiet.
He weaved between pedestrians who moved with practiced indifference. A woman stepped around a crater without breaking stride. A teenager sidestepped green goo that was definitely not Earth-based.
"You're basically a cosmic Fitbit with zero customer support."
Glass shattered above. Someone in a devil-horned mask leaped between fire escapes, chasing a monkey in an expensive suit with two Magnums running along the side of a building.
"Not my circus, not my monkey business," Dean said, picking up his pace.
Chunks of brick and concrete scattered the sidewalk where some super-fight had gotten enthusiastic about property damage. Dean might have walked around it like everyone else, except for the elderly woman clutching her walker, staring at the obstacle course like it was Mount Everest.
She was maybe seventy, with steel-grey hair and a walker with tennis balls—the kind that screamed "fixed income" and stubborn independence. Other pedestrians flowed around her, filing it under "someone else's responsibility."
Dean stopped. "This is stupid. I don't even know how to be helpful in my own world."
He approached carefully. "Ma'am? You need help getting through here?"
She looked up with New York suspicion. "You don't have to—"
"I'm here, you're here, and this mess isn't going anywhere."
Dean grunted and sweated through moving concrete chunks heavier than they looked. His back protested, his sneakers lost traction, and he nearly dropped rebar on his foot. But slowly, he cleared a path.
"There," he panted. "Not exactly Broadway, but it'll work."
Her expression softened. "Thank you, young man. Not many people would..."
"Just seemed right."
He offered his arm. She accepted with practiced dignity. Three steps later, Dean's world tilted sideways.
Light-headedness hit like a wave from his chest outward until his vision went fuzzy. Dean staggered, grip tightening.
"You alright, dear?" she asked, more concerned about him now.
Something was happening. A quiet pulse thrummed through his chest like a second heartbeat. The world took on a faint tint, and flickering in his peripheral vision appeared:
[Karmic Battery: +1 Unit
Action: Altruism – Assisted a civilian in need.
Total Charge: 1/100 (Tier 0)]
Dean froze. "Wait. Waitwaitwait."
"Should I call someone? You look pale."
"No, I'm..." Dean flexed his fingers. Tiny warmth spread through his palm, and a spark flickered between his fingertips. Not fire, just static discharge that felt like potential.
"Just low blood sugar," he said quickly, helping her through. She patted his arm and continued on.
When she was gone, Dean stared at his palm. "That wasn't the Tallus. That came from me."
The website. The quiz. The spinning wheel that had given him those abilities. He'd thought it was all fake, but...
Karmic Battery - Stores karmic energy from your actions and performs miracles.
"Holy shit," Dean whispered. "It was real."
But what about the other two?
Power Tweaking—analyzing and tweaking others' abilities.
Power Sharing—temporarily gaining and sharing powers with allies.
"One miracle at a time."
Finding a quiet spot, Dean settled on a loading dock behind a bodega. He sat on concrete and tried to recreate whatever had happened. Focus. Breathe. Think good thoughts.
His palm grew slightly warm. That was it. No visible flames, no energy orbs, just lukewarm coffee warmth with poor circulation.
Dean concentrated harder. The warmth increased marginally, then his vision went wonky and his knees decided they'd rather be acquainted with the ground.
Another message flickered:
[Charge - 0
Note: Further Karma accumulation required for stable manifestations.]
"Fantastic," Dean panted, leaning against brick. "I need to do more good deeds to even light a match. It's like a cosmic rewards program, except instead of airline miles, I get superpowers, and instead of free flights, I get dizzy spells."
The Tallus remained silent, but Dean was starting to suspect it wasn't entirely responsible for what was happening. The device might have brought him here, but this felt different. Personal.
"Great. I'm either developing superpowers or having the world's most elaborate psychotic break. Either way, this is not how I planned to spend my interdimensional vacation."
The tests started small and accidental. Dean wasn't trying to discover abilities—he was just trying to navigate a city designed by someone who thought "pedestrian safety" was a suggestion.
Crossing against the light, a taxi decided to make a right turn like a guided missile. Dean jumped back, his foot caught on pavement, and he went down hard.
Except he didn't.
Dean landed in a crouch that would have made his gym teacher weep with pride, rolled smoothly to his feet, and found himself perfectly balanced on the curb like some discount ninja. His ankle, which should have been twisted, felt fine. Better than fine.
"Huh," he said, flexing his foot. "That's new."
Over the next hour, he noticed other things. Reflexes were faster—not superhuman, but properly caffeinated. Vision was sharper, able to pick out distant details that would have been blurry. When he accidentally bumped into a lamp post while gawking at a flying superhero, he barely felt it.
"I'm not Spider-Man," Dean told his reflection in a storefront window. He looked the same—disheveled, confused, out of his depth. "More like Spider-Intern. Or Spider-Guy-Who-Helped-One-Person-Cross-A-Street."
But it was something. A beginning.
Three thousand feet above, a SHIELD drone adjusted its position and zoomed in on the young man sitting on a fire escape, apparently talking to himself. The drone's sensors had picked up the subtle energy fluctuation twenty-seven minutes ago.
In a war room that officially didn't exist, Agent Maria Hill studied the readout. The energy signature was minor—barely registering—but unregistered, which in the post-Avengers world was the kind of thing that kept security agencies awake at night.
"Unknown powered activity," she said to the technician. "No match in any database. Natural manifestation or external catalyst?"
"Unknown, ma'am. Signal's too weak to determine origin. Could be newly activated Inhuman, alien tech, or magic. Want me to prep a contact team?"
Hill watched the figure stand and walk down the street like any other civilian. "Not yet. Keep monitoring. Flag any increase in activity level."
The drone followed from a discrete distance. The young man never looked up.
By sunset, Dean found his way to a rooftop through the mundane magic of finding an unlocked stairwell and a propped-open maintenance door. He sat on the ledge, legs dangling, watching the city spread below.
Lights came on in windows. Traffic moved in patterns that somehow made sense to people who weren't from another dimension. Somewhere in the distance, someone flew between buildings, and nobody was calling the police.
Dean, sitting on a roof, processing that helping one person had unlocked the world's most low-key superpower.
Dean's hand went to the Tallus again. Still silent, still mysterious, still offering zero guidance. But the device had brought him here for a reason. And now he was developing abilities that seemed tied to helping people. The connection felt deliberate. Intentional.
"Alright," Dean said to the city spread below, to the Tallus on his wrist, to whatever cosmic force had decided to make his life complicated in the most interesting way possible. "If kindness is currency... guess it's time to start earning."
A cool breeze ruffled his hair. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed. The city hummed with eight million people trying to get through another day.
Dean smiled, just a little, and started planning how to help.
