Power Ghost
Dawn broke gray and cold over Haven's Rest, the harbor fog rolling in like a shroud over Kaine's decision. He stood at his bathroom mirror, staring at the faint glow of the crystals beneath his skin, knowing that in a few hours, he would awaken powers he had spent three years trying to forget.
When he'd left the Temple's service, Kaine had emptied his Soul and Nightmare crystals, releasing the stored spirits and dream-terrors back into the ether. He had severed most of his high-level weapons from his Weapon crystal as well—the legendary blades and exotic armaments that had made him the Temple's most feared asset. For three years, he'd relied only on his Power and Element crystals, using basic enhancement and elemental manipulation for his maritime security work.
It had been enough. More than enough to deal with crystal pirates and sea serpents.
But Senator Vance wouldn't be some half-mad raider with stolen crystals. She'd have elite protection—perhaps even Temple-trained bodyguards. If he was going to do this—and the weight of his debt left him little choice—he would need to become the weapon he once was.
---
The Hillcrest Cemetery sat on a bluff overlooking the harbor, its weathered headstones stretching back nearly two centuries. Morning mist clung to the ground as Kaine moved between the graves, his Soul crystal beginning to hum with the spiritual energy that lingered in places like this. Most people couldn't see them, but to someone with his particular gift, the cemetery was alive with translucent forms of the dead.
He knelt beside a headstone that read:
Thomas Chen – Beloved Husband and Dockworker – 1987–2051
The ghost that materialized was middle-aged, still wearing the coveralls he'd died in, his spectral form radiating quiet strength.
"I'm sorry," Kaine whispered, as the Soul crystal pulsed and drew the spirit into its matrix.
The process wasn't painful. The ghosts simply faded, their essence stored within the violet crystal embedded in Kaine's palm. But even after all these years, Kaine felt the guilt of taking something so final: their rest.
Each spirit brought flashes—memories not his own. Thomas Chen's decades of physical labor, his understanding of endurance and weight and balance. Maria Santos, a retired boxer who had trained dockhands in her spare time. Viktor Petrov, a ship's engineer who had self-modified with minor enhancement crystals. And others: teachers, builders, soldiers, and survivors.
Twelve spirits in total. Each one a master of physicality in their own way.
As their energies merged within the crystal, Kaine stepped back. A violet glow spilled from his palm, and then the Power Ghost took shape—nearly three meters tall, gaunt and wrapped in ribbons of ethereal muscle. Its bones looked carved from shadow; its face hidden behind a mask forged from moonlight and grief.
Reality seemed to blur slightly around it, as if gravity and inertia bent in its presence.
"I am ready to serve," it intoned—a dozen voices speaking as one.
Kaine gave a silent nod and dismissed it. It wouldn't be safe to manifest in public—not with something so deeply unnatural.
---
Back in his apartment, Kaine set a plain steel knife on the kitchen table. It wasn't special—just an eight-inch blade from a local shop. But it would serve as a foundation.
He'd also bought a small vial of nightmare dust from a maritime store, usually used to coat ship hulls against psychic sea creatures. Carefully, Kaine activated his Weapon crystal. The blade shimmered faintly as crystalline energy flowed into it, sharpening the metal far beyond what mundane forging could accomplish.
Then came the harder part.
Fragments of dread still lingered in his Nightmare crystal—shards of old horrors, memories that refused to die. He pulled them forth, weaving them into the blade alongside the nightmare dust. The metal darkened, turning oily black, its surface swallowing light instead of reflecting it.
He tested it on a plank of wood. The knife cut effortlessly, leaving behind a faint aura of unease. Anyone struck by it wouldn't just feel pain—they'd drown in terror.
A fear blade.
Thomas would be horrified to know what his soul was being used for.
---
The flight to New Arcanum took four hours—plenty of time to wrestle with his conscience.
The manifest listed him as Kane Williams, maritime security consultant. His modified ID would pass a casual check, but if the Temple wanted to find him, they would.
The Power Ghost rested silently inside his Soul crystal. His Element crystal buzzed, filled with lightning he'd absorbed that morning from the harbor grid. Enough to level a small building. The fear blade was strapped along his spine, cool and quiet—for now.
As the plane began its descent, Kaine spotted the Convention Center through the clouds: a gleaming glass-and-crystal spire where Senator Vance would speak the next night.
Beside him, a businesswoman with a minor telepathy crystal glanced his way—then turned pale and looked away, unsettled by a power she couldn't understand. Even suppressed, his presence leaked danger.
Twenty-four hours.
Do the job. Clear the debt. Go home to Sarah.
But as he walked through the terminal, surrounded by thousands of strangers, Kaine felt it: the weapon inside him was fully awake now. And weapons, once drawn, never sheathed easily.
From the taxi window, the city glittered. Somewhere in it, Senator Patricia Vance was probably having dinner with her family—unaware that tomorrow, she'd either die… or spark a revolution that would set the world on fire.