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Storm of Crimson

By Alex Crisp All Rights Reserved ©

Scifi / Action


Vincent Vinge is an average slacker, content to just float by in his job. Hanging out with his friends, talking about generic nerdy stuff. Then he gets hit with a thunderbolt. Shockingly, he survives. Not only that he somehow gains the power to transform into a superhero. He doesn't know what this power is or how to control it. However he has to learn fast. For now he is part of a world with heroes and villains who will not take it easy on him. But unknown to all, a great danger is approaching down from the stars. And Vincent might be the only one who can combat it.

Chapter 1

1: What in the hell just happened to me?

After the thunderbolt hit me I didn’t expect not to feel pain. Hell I didn’t even expect to be breathing afterwards.

Slowly I open my eyes. Not sure that I’m not in heaven.

No, still in the cemetery. In fact it looks like nothing’s changed.

The sky’s still black with storm clouds, cold rain sporadically spitting rain.

I wonder if there even was a thunderbolt, or if I just imagined it. Then I look down. The grass around me, even though it was damp, is scorched. Now I’m standing in a black circle.

“Whoa,” I say.

I pause. Is that my voice? It sounds weird, deeper, and more powerful. I start making noises, saying random words, testing out my voice. No, I definitely can tell a difference.

Maybe the thunderbolt changed it. That’s pretty cool! Not only did I survive getting hit with about a thousand volts but now I can make an awesome outgoing message.

I look around for people, just for a possible witness. This is all kind of weird, it’d be nice just to have a second person to confirm what actually happened.

There’s nobody, bummer.

I scratch my head, in that way I do when I’m trying to make up my mind.

Suddenly the reason why I actually came here hitting me as hard as…well that thunderbolt. Except that, well, the bolt mustn’t have hit all that hard if I’m still breathing.

Not that I’m complaining.

I look down to the gravestone, ashamed that I forget her for even a moment.

Virginia Vinge, carved into the stone. It reads; Mother, Friend, wonderful spirit. Then the dates where she was born and died. A year ago to the day.

“Sorry, Mom,” I say. Not just meaning about now. I reach up to my left ear. Dangling on the end of a chain is her old wedding ring. I fondle it, half remembered senses coming back to me.

The warmth of her hugs. The smell of her terrible cooking, and unfortunately the taste too. Even the sound of her humming whilst she did the dishes. Always the same song, the one that she met Dad to.

They say that this sort of pain fades with time. I wish I could say they’re full of crap. But it’s true. It’s not gone. All of it sits on my chest, like a cold piece of metal pressing down on my lungs, making me feel a thousand pounds heavier.

I touch the top her gravestone. Hoping somehow that I can feel something from it. Almost like the cold stone could radiate the same warmth she did.

Then I actually look at the hand. It’s not mine.


The hand isn’t mine, but when I pull it back it follows. I hold it out in front of me, turning it over, making fists. It definitely feels like I own it. But it’s about twice as big as my regular hand.

Looking at my other hand I see it’s the same.

Then when I hold them out further I see I’m wearing something completely different. When I came here I was wearing my traditional baggy hoodie. Now I’m wearing spandex.

Dark blue material that ends at my wrists. When I look down I see that it covers my entire body. The insides of my arms and legs a stark crimson. As I’m trying to work all of this out I see that there are golden buttons just next to my armpits, on the edges of my pecs, holding some red coloured material.

I’m wearing a cape.

I lift it up to see it fully. Yep it’s definitely a cape. When I let go it reaches down to my feet, which now I see are red too, dark blue returning at the ankles.

As I twirl around, trying to take this new costume in I finally realise that it’s not just my outfit that’s changed. My body’s radically different.

I’m about two feet taller. Not only that, I’m ripped to all hell! Like I’ve hit the gym constantly for years and not even realised it.

For some reason I pull my hands back to my face, possibly to try and stop my head from exploding. Then I feel something on my face. It feels like a mask. Something like hard leather, almost ceramic. Held on by thick leather straps that reach around to behind my head.

The panic fills my entire body.

My new hands start scrambling over the mask, trying to take it off. I start to pull, already feeling like I can summon new levels of strength.

The air seems to get thinner by the millisecond. My body getting hotter and hotter. A thousand screams try to get out and get clogged in my throat.

As I frantically struggle I flip upside down. Face the ground. Then I stop.

If I flipped upside down why am I looking at the ground instead of being on it?

It hits me way too late that I’m flying.

Well hovering really, but who cares! My feet aren’t touching the ground!

Just as I notice this, new kinds of panic mixing with awesomeness, I fall. I expect to “oof!” when I land. But no, it doesn’t even hurt. Even though I must’ve been ten or seven feet in the air.

I get up. Taking deep steady breaths. Trying to make sense of it all.

Then I give up, because how the hell can I make sense of it all!

I start to panic again. May breaths becoming faster and sharper.

Something bubbling in me. Not even the fear I’m feeling, because that’s trapped in all my veins and arteries. Something new and different, right in my chest.

I reach out to it with my mind.

My body explodes. Literally.

I feel every single scrap of flesh I have jump away, breaking apart into individual atoms. It goes beyond words on what it feels like to be a cloud of energy.

Then all at once everything I am collapses in on itself. Already I can feel my heart beating in my chest. The cold air on my skin, air entering my lungs, a moan/croak coming out of my throat.

It’s all over.

My frantic hands slapping my body, checking all over it. This is my old body, no my regular body, no my…I don’t even know.

The old me, the same body I walked up here in, wearing the same clothes.

I stop. Frozen in place. I wait for something strange to happen. Every muscle tense, poised to jump and piss myself for the slightest sign.

When nothing happens I just keep breathing. Finally after about a couple minutes of statue imitation it clocks that nothing’s happening. I relax with a deep sigh.

“Okay,” I say. “What the hell was that?”

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