Chapter 7

Scott stared at the crushed remains of the phone in his palm, fragments of plastic and circuitry spilling between his fingers like sand. His brow furrowed in confusion, mind still too shocked to process what he was seeing. "Why would the phone just break like that?" The thought barely had time to form before reality shifted again.

Seeking stability, he placed his other hand on the kitchen counter – and watched in horror as his fingers sank into the granite surface as if it were foam. The stone didn't crack or shatter; it simply gave way, like butter left in the sun. His weight, suddenly unbalanced, sent him stumbling forward. As he hit the floor, the impact created a spider web of cracks in the ceramic tiles, spreading outward from his body like frozen lightning.

Panic began to bubble up in his chest, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The world around him – the solid, dependable world he'd known his entire life – was suddenly as fragile as tissue paper. In the midst of this chaos, a familiar "meow" cut through his rising hysteria.

Ru, his silver tabby cat, padded into the kitchen with typical feline nonchalance. The cat's green eyes regarded him with their usual mixture of affection and mild disdain, completely oblivious to the fact that its owner was in the middle of destroying their home. The sight of something so normal, so mundane, in the midst of this insanity almost made Scott laugh – until he tried to move.

One moment he was in the kitchen, the next he found himself face-first in the third step of the staircase, his head and shoulders embedded in the wood as if he'd been fired from a cannon. He yanked himself free, leaving a perfect impression of his upper body in the stairs. The fact that he felt no pain barely registered – his mind was too occupied with trying to understand how he'd crossed fifteen feet of space in what felt like an instant.

His attempt to climb the stairs turned into an unintentional demonstration of destruction. Each step crumbled beneath his feet, leaving crater-like impressions. His left hand, seeking balance, crushed the wooden railing into splinters. His right hand, brushing against the wall, left a series of perfect handprints punched into the drywall, exposing the studs and insulation behind.

Reaching his bedroom door, Scott's fingers reduced the doorknob to metal dust. In his panic, he pulled back too hard, ripping the entire door from its frame with a screech of tortured metal and wood. The door went flying, embedding itself halfway through the hallway wall like a thrown playing card.

"What the hell... what the hell is happening?!" His shout echoed through the partially demolished house as his vision suddenly flooded with crimson. The world turned red, as if someone had dropped a filter over his eyes. He spun around, taking in his room through this bloody lens, hands raised before his face in disbelief.

Ru appeared in the doorway, tail held high with casual confidence. The cat had followed him upstairs, still operating on years of ingrained trust and affection. Each step brought it closer to potential disaster.

"Get away Ru! Run!" Scott's voice cracked with desperation. But the cat, raised in an environment of nothing but love and safety, interpreted his panicked tone as an invitation for attention. It trotted forward, whiskers twitching with interest at this new game.

The beam erupted from Scott's eyes without warning – twin lines of scorching red energy that cut through the air with a sound like tearing silk. They caught Ru's back leg for just a fraction of a second, but it was enough. The limb vanished in a flash of superheated air, cauterized instantly by the intense heat. Through the hole burned through his floor, Scott could see the beam continue down through the kitchen below, through the foundation, and into the earth itself.

Ru's scream was unlike anything Scott had ever heard – a sound of pure animal agony that would haunt his nightmares for years to come. The cat launched itself through the open window in blind panic, landing awkwardly on the front porch below. Scott watched in horror as his beloved pet struggled to its feet, dragging itself away on three legs, leaving a trail of scorched fur and blood on the concrete.

"Shit! No! Ru?!" His cry of anguish triggered another burst of energy from his eyes, this time shooting straight up. The beams punched through his ceiling like it was paper, then through the roof above. They pierced the night sky like red searchlights, visible for miles around – a beacon announcing that something had gone terribly wrong in this quiet suburban home.

Scott slapped his left hand over his eyes, finding temporary refuge in self-imposed darkness. He stood there, trembling, in what remained of his room. "Fuck! Ru! I'm sorry! Please... come back," he pleaded, knowing it was futile. The cat was gone, and with it, the last vestige of his normal life. He could feel the energy building behind his eyelids, pressing against his palm, seeking release. One thing was crystal clear – the moment he moved his hand, the destruction would begin again.

James burst through the crowd like a man possessed, his suit jacket torn in the process. The mass of worried parents and onlookers had grown so dense that breathing had become a luxury. As he finally broke free, he gulped the night air, his hand clutching his phone like a lifeline. That call from the house phone – it had to be Scott. It had to be.

His dash to the Mercedes was anything but graceful, his feet tangling twice in their desperate hurry. The keys jingled mockingly in his trembling hands as he fumbled through the ring. House key, office key, storage unit – why did he have so many damn keys? Finally, the car key emerged, and he practically dove into the driver's seat.

The engine roared to life, and James drove like a man in a dream – or a nightmare. The park shortcut he took would have earned him a license suspension on any other night, but tonight the police had bigger concerns than a frantic father breaking traffic laws. The explosion's epicenter had turned his usual route home into an apocalyptic wasteland, forcing him to circle halfway around the city. Every detour felt like torture, every red light an eternity.

Nearly an hour later, James screeched to a halt in front of his house, the car askew across the driveway. The moment he stepped through his front door, his world tilted sideways. The kitchen counter – solid granite that he'd installed himself five years ago – was split like it had been hit with a wrecking ball. A trail of destruction led up the stairs, each footprint punched clean through hardwood that had weathered eighteen years of family life.

His human instincts screamed danger, but his father's heart pushed him forward. The stairway told its own story of violence – a mangled railing, walls punctured with perfect handprints, as if someone with fists of steel had climbed up in panic. At the top, Scott's bedroom door lay embedded in the opposite wall like a thrown playing card.

Nothing in his eighteen years of fatherhood had prepared him for what he found in Scott's room. His son – his boy – was floating near the ceiling, one hand clamped desperately over his eyes, the other reaching blindly for support but destroying everything it touched. Debris rained down with each movement, and the ceiling groaned ominously.

"Who's there?!" Scott's voice cracked with fear. "Speak or die, I'm warning you!"

"Scott?" The name escaped James's lips as a whisper.

"Dad! Dad, stay back! Run!" The raw terror in Scott's voice cut straight to James's heart. This wasn't the voice of a threat – this was his son, scared and alone.

"Scott, what's going on?"

"Dad, I don't know, but just run! Okay? Run! I don't wanna hurt you!" Scott's voice broke on the last word, and James felt his chest tighten.

"Hurt me? What do you mean, kid?"

"I... I don't know what's happening. I keep destroying everything!" A pause, then softer, more broken: "I hurt Ru! I didn't mean to but I hurt him."

James took a deep breath, falling back on years of crisis negotiation training. But this wasn't some stranger on a ledge – this was his son, floating near a ceiling he'd once stuck glow-in-the-dark stars to.

"Scott, listen to me. I'm gonna walk in now, slowly alright?"

"No! Dad, listen to me! My eyes keep shooting lasers and I keep breaking everything I touch. You need to run!"

"I hear you, son, I do. And I can tell you're scared..." James raised his hands, approaching with measured steps. "...but I also know you don't wanna hurt me. You wouldn't hurt me."

"You don't understand Dad... please, stop." Scott tried to float higher, causing chunks of ceiling to rain down.

"I don't, so let's understand this together." James's voice remained steady, though his heart raced. "I'm gonna walk to you slowly. I need you to listen to my voice and breathe after I count three numbers, alright?"

"Dad, please," Scott's plea was barely a whisper.

"It's okay, son. We'll figure this out together, just me and you, like we always have, alright?"

The silence stretched for a moment before Scott's quiet "Alright, alright."

"Good, now. One... two... three... breathe." James watched as his son followed the instruction.

"Good, four... five... six... breathe..." They continued this dance of numbers and breath, he slowly noted after the second time Scott slowly began to descend down

"Ten...eleven...twelve...breathe..." said James as Scott went down inch by inch making progress

Finally, Scott got to a level James could reach him and he did so.

When James finally touched his son's shoulder, Scott didn't flinch or destroy anything. His trust in his father ran deeper than his fear of his new powers. When Scott lowered his hand from his eyes, they were normal again – no more deadly beams, just the same eyes that had looked up at James for eighteen years.

"You okay?" James asked, his hand steady on Scott's shoulder.

"Y-yeah..." Scott's uncertainty was palpable.

"Good." The word was simple, but the embrace that followed said everything else. Father and son held each other, and somehow, Scott's newfound strength knew not to crush the one person he trusted most in the world.

In the ruins of Scott's room, surrounded by the evidence of power beyond understanding, they found an island of normalcy in each other's arms