4. Shadows Over the World.

At eighteen, Brandon Breyer discovered that the world looked different from above. His ability to fly, one of the many powers he was still mastering, became his escape. Several kilometers above the earth, where the air was thin and clouds danced around him, he felt free. He didn't have to think about nightmares, about Caitlyn's broken arm, about his parents' gazes that mixed love with unease. Up there, it was just him and infinity.

He explored the world in seconds. He soared past the snowy peaks of the Himalayas, glided over the turquoise waters of the Caribbean, hovered above the neon-lit nights of Tokyo. He saw beauty, chaos, life—everything that made Earth so fascinating and terrifying. His super-senses registered every detail: conversations on the streets, the hum of oceans, even the heartbeat of a bird flying nearby. But that day, over the wilderness of South America, something caught his attention.

Voices. Harsh, vulgar, filled with anger.

"Fuck, the bastard's tough, kill him, he's got nowhere to run!" he heard, though he was kilometers from the source.

His super-hearing picked up every word, and instinct told him to act.

In the blink of an eye, he dove down, slicing through the air with a speed that parted the clouds behind him. He appeared over a clearing in a dense jungle. Three men in tattered clothes stood over a fourth, who knelt with his hands tied behind his back. One of the attackers held a knife, another a gun, and the third kicked the kneeling man in the stomach. It looked like an execution.

Brandon's eyes blazed red, as if their gaze alone could incinerate the world. He didn't think. He didn't need to. A stream of energy—hot, destructive—shot from his eyes, striking the attackers. They didn't even have time to scream. Their bodies collapsed, charred, lifeless.

Brandon landed softly, the red glow in his eyes fading. He turned to the kneeling man, who looked at him with a mix of shock and relief. He was gaunt, his shirt torn, but his eyes burned with determination.

"It's okay now," Brandon said calmly. "They won't hurt you anymore."

The man, still panting, nodded.

"Thanks… I don't know who you are, but… thanks."

Brandon gave a faint smile, ready to take off and disappear. But then he felt it—a chilling pulse, like a blade stabbing into his back. His instincts, honed by superhuman senses, screamed: danger. He spun around instantly.

The man who had just thanked him no longer looked human. His skin had turned green, his eyes narrowed to slits, and a low, guttural growl escaped his throat. This wasn't a man. It was a Skrull.

Brandon didn't hesitate. Another beam of energy shot from his eyes, hitting the creature in the chest. The Skrull fell without a sound, its body crumbling to ash. The clearing was silent again, only the smell of burning lingering in the air.

He stood for a moment, staring at the spot where the Skrull had been. His mind raced. Skrulls. He knew of them from TV, from internet rumors, from stories about the Marvel Universe. Shape-shifting aliens who worked with Nick Fury, S.H.I.E.L.D., and sometimes operated on their own. But what was this Skrull doing here, in the middle of the jungle? Why were those men trying to kill it? And why did the Skrull turn on him, Brandon, who had just saved its life?

There was no time for answers. If Skrulls were involved, someone might already know what happened. Brandon didn't want anyone—S.H.I.E.L.D., the Avengers, or anyone else—connecting him to this place. Not now, when he still didn't know who he truly was.

He looked up, and his eyes blazed red again. A stream of energy swept the clearing, burning everything—the attackers' bodies, the Skrull's remains, even the grass and nearby trees. In seconds, nothing remained but scorched earth. No one would find traces. No one would know he was here.

He took off, vanishing into the clouds. But questions swirled in his mind. Skrulls. Nick Fury. The Marvel Universe. And that laughter from his nightmares, which suddenly felt closer than ever.