Joseph awoke the next morning angry. His energy was back – and he felt electrified, buzzing with frustration. There were no clocks in the room, nor were there any windows for him to watch the outside world. Breakfast had been set up for him – a bowl of scrambled eggs and bacon, which he ate with a quiet sort of frenzy, glaring up at the door, waiting for someone - Becenti, Wakeling, anyone - to come through it. He knew, deep in the back of his mind, that he needed to be patient. They would come for him.
Right?
But as the hours dragged on, and no one opened the door, he felt more and more upset. His blood began to boil, and that acidic feeling came back – a fierce heartburn that raged in his chest.
Finally, the door opened. Becenti stepped through. The man looked around the room for a few brief moments, before his gaze settled on Joseph.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked.
“Fiiiine, just fine,” Joseph drawled, “I'm not pissed off. No, not at all. Trust me.”
“I understand your anger,” Becenti said, “Trust me, all too well. But being a metahuman means being patient with yourself and your surroundings. I apologize it took me so long to retrieve you. I needed to get the arena set up.”
A bit of Joseph's anger fell away into confusion, “...The arena?”
“The local arena, here in Scuttleway,” Becenti said, “Usually, mercenaries and adventurers use it to hone their skills with blade and magic. I've reserved it for our own purposes.”
“You're going to fight me?”
“No,” Becenti stated, “I'm going to help you come to terms with who you are now. Please, come along.”
He began walking out of the room. Joseph got up to join him, running over to walk alongside the older man.
“Let me be clear,” he muttered, “I don’t want to be in that room ever again, got it?”
“If today goes well, you won't need to,” Becenti said, “First, we'll go to my office. Please, try to keep your temper down.”
Joseph glared at him as they went up the stairs and into the Great Hall. No one Joseph recognized was there, save for Nole, who gave him the old stink-eye as they walked out of the hall and up towards Becenti's office. Becenti was quiet the whole time - his steps measured, even careful, as though at any moment the floor would explode.
“Hey,” Joseph said, “You got something going on? Why are you so... fidgety?”
Becenti shot Joseph a look. Joseph decided to shut up.
Finally, Becenti opened the door to his office. He strode in, heading towards his shelf, moving aside a few piles of paperwork and clicking a button on the shelf's backside, which began opening up to reveal a hidden row of books.
“Damn,” Joseph said, “You're secretive.”
“Comes with the job,” Becenti replied, “One can never be too careful. Please, sit down. I'm afraid I don't have any cookies or wine like Wakeling, but I trust your breakfast was filling enough.”
He began rifling through a few of the books, opening them and skimming through their pages. Joseph sat down, taking another glance around the room. He took a look at the blanket hanging on the wall, with its diamond patterns and dark orange and blue hues.
“This is from your home plane?” he asked.
Becenti looked over for a brief moment at the blanket, before turning back to his book, “Yes. Diné.”
“Diné?”
“To you, that would perhaps be 'Navajo,'” Becenti answered, “There are still Navajo on your Earth, right?”
“Y-yeah,” Joseph said. He struggled to remember his history classes. One of his friends had been Native American, back in High School. Ohlone, he remembered her being. “So... you're from Earth?”
“I am from a plane very similar to Earth,” Becenti said. He seemed satisfied with one of the books, closing it up and carrying it with him to the desk, “A place known as Prime.”
“Cool name.”
“The World of Heroes,” Becenti said, “Well, that's its designation. It shares similar historyies and continents with Earth. A United States of America. A Soviet Union.”
“Hey, buddy,” Joseph said, “The Soviet Union collapsed back in the 90s.”
“Really?” Becenti raised an eyebrow, “Interesting.”
“So, what makes Prime so different from Earth?” Joseph said.
“There are heroes there. Beings who have special powers, special abilities, with which they fight crime.”
“No way,” Joseph laughed, “You got superheroes there? Are you a superhero?”
Becenti shot him a venomous look.
“Sorry,” Joseph said, “Y'know, I've always liked…”
Becenti continued to glare.
“...Never mind.”
“Well, Prime is as good a place to start as any,” Becenti said, “It has a large amount of metahumans there. More than most planes, in fact.”
Pieces were beginning to form in Joseph's mind. He looked down at his hands.
“So what you're saying...”
“You are metahuman,” Becenti said, “And that means, upon your awakening, you have been given special abilities.”
“Given?” Joseph laughed, “So, what, can I fly?”
“Perhaps,” Becenti admitted, “But calm yourself, Mr. Zheng. This is not a simple congratulations. Far from it.”
“What do you mean?”
“We locked you in that room downstairs because of the fact that, at any moment, unless we can reveal your metahuman abilities, you could undergo what is called 'going meta,' where your abilities overtake your organic body. Your mind breaks from the pressure of the new feelings you're experiencing, and you go insane. Your power overflows as a result, causing quite a bit of chaos.”
“Oh,” Joseph's excitement drained away, “Explains why you're so morose about it.”
“I have seen it far too many times,” Becenti said.
“So, why am I a metahuman?” Joseph asked, “If they come from Prime...”
“Metahumans are not from Prime,” Becenti explained, “They are, in fact, an ancient race of beings whose plane of origin has been lost to time.”
He placed the book on the desk, sliding it over to Joseph. Joseph looked down on it. The cover was green, with a small, circular symbol of a Dragon holding its tail in its claws, with a title in gold that was in a language he didn’t recognize. A sticky note translation had been taped on top of the book, reading 'Epochia: Legends and Truths.'
“Epochia...”
“The legendary nation of metahumanity,” Becenti said, “Said to extend far across the multiverse, rival to the High Federation, ancient and ever-enduring.”
He gave a dry smirk, “Well, that last part turned out to be false. Epochia fell a long, long time ago.”
“And, since it was a nation across the multiverse...” Joseph reasoned.
“Then its people were spread across the multiverse,” Becenti finished, “The survivors of Epochia's fall integrated into human societies. Their genes still persist to this day – a 'metagene,' that connects to the basic, underlying energy of reality. When awakened, the metagene bends reality as we know it, giving rise to abilities for its owner.”
“So, me and my family... we're all descended from metahumans?” Joseph asked.
“Correct,” Becenti said.
“Are you a metahuman?”
“I am.”
“What can you do?”
“That’s… not important, right now,” Becenti dodged, “What is important is learning what you can do, how we can control your power, and training you in how to use it.”
“You're...” Joseph mulled over his question, “Real quick, before we do this, you and the guild aren't going to, like, muzzle me or anything, right?”
Becenti raised an eyebrow, “I'm... sorry?”
“You know, make sure I can't use my power because it's too dangerous, or something.”
“Control, and the decision to use one's metahuman abilities, comes from the self,” Becenti said, “I will help you control your power. But you are ultimately the one who decides how you use it.”
“What's stopping me from going nuts?” Joseph mused.
“Me.”
The tone he used had a hint of finality to it. Joseph’s eyes narrowed
“You?”
“You can use your power, and all of its freedoms, as you wish,” Becenti said, “But that does not mean you shouldn't expect consequences. You have bodily autonomy – that will not be taken away from you. But if you use your power to do harm to the guild, you will be hearing from me. And not with words, but with action.”
A bit cowed, Joseph nodded, “I was joking, anyways.”
“I assumed. Come, let us get to the arena.”
***
“Oh boy, always a good day to see you, Mr. Becenti.”
The excited owner of the arena – a rather portly-looking ogre, had a big, wide smile on his face. He was shirtless, revealing muscular arms and a sizable pot belly. One of his eyes had been replaced by what seemed to be a cork, and half of his teeth were missing. The others were mottled yellow.
“Good to see you too, Grobak,” Becenti said, “I'm here for my reservation.”
“Of course, of course,” Grobak patted Becenti on the shoulder. Joseph was sure that the Navajo man was going to throw him to the ground, but Becenti smiled in a good-natured way.
“You'll find that everything's been set up for you,” Grobak gruffed, “I had Needle and Beetle clean up the main arena, nice and fresh. Swords are stocked up on the side, if you want.”
“I think we should be alright with just the plain arena,” Becenti said, “But I'll let you know if we need anything.”
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“Of course, of course,” the ogre chuckled. He guided them through the circular halls of the arena. They went underground for a few moments, before taking steps up to the battleground. A large, round sandpit greeted them, with spectator stands encircling them like the Roman Colosseum. Two goblins – Needle and Beetle, by the looks of it – were in the stands, sitting down to watch.
“An audience,” Joseph commented.
“They're supposed to be tending to the krem,” Grobak growled, “I'll set them straight, don't you worry.”
The ogre started roaring at them in a language Joseph didn't recognize, at which Needle and Beetle jumped and scampered off with a chorus of high-pitched squeals. Becenti ignored their little scene, walking towards the center of the arena. He turned to Joseph when he had reached the middle.
“Now,” Becenti began, “Under normal circumstances, the average metahuman will never awaken their abilities. Had you not joined the guild, there is a very good chance you would have spent your entire life not knowing of your heritage.”
“But the Dragon woke me up to it all, right?”
“Correct,” Becenti took a look around the arena, eyes narrowing as he saw the goblins setting back up in the stands again, “Dragons were often used in the symbology of Epochia. They have a... special relationship to metahumanity, for they draw from the same source that we do.”
“That... underlying energy of reality thing?”
Becenti nodded, “It has different names on different planes, but it is pure potential realized into a physical form.”
“So, Dragons have the ability to awaken metahumans?”
“Precisely. Now, let us get into it. Metahumans often describe themselves feeling different after their awakening.”
“Yeah, that tracks, actually,” Joseph said, “I feel weird.”
Becenti sighed, “You'll have to be more specific than 'weird.'”
“I'm trying, I'm trying!” Joseph snapped, “Come on, give me a break.”
“Then try, please.”
Joseph glared at Becenti.
“Alright,” he said, “My blood feels like battery acid. I feel jumpy, trapped.”
“Good, what else?”
“I feel-” Joseph tried to collect his thoughts, but found it difficult to put them into words. Becenti must have realized this, as he took a few steps forward and put a hand on Joseph’s shoulders.
“Every metahuman's awakening is different,” he said, “Take your time. Try not to put your thoughts into words, but into action. Your emotions help you control your powers. Think of what you're feeling, and put it into physical form.”
“Into... physical... form.”
Joseph brought out his hands. The feelings he had been holding in for the past few weeks – his homesickness, his resignation of being with the guild, his anger for being stuck here, even that horrifying feeling that he was going to fail his classes on Earth – bubbled over. He felt a brief flash of blue light – bright and far too intense for his eyes, which slammed shut.
The air in front of him exploded. Joseph sailed back, slamming into the ground, dust kicking up around him. He coughed and cursed. Becenti walked over to his prone form.
“A good start,” he said, a wry smile on his face. He extended a hand down. Joseph took it, grunting as he pulled himself up.
“Feels like I was just run over by a truck,” he muttered.
“Well, there was at least a good result,” Becenti pointed. A cloud of smoke hung where Joseph had been standing, crackling a bit with...
“Electricity,” Joseph said.
“Yes,” Becenti said, “An astute observation.”
Joseph ignored his sarcasm, his heart hammering as he stared at the cloud. It was already dissipating, blown away by a stray, cool wind. It picked up and blew in his direction, tinged with a static that made the hairs on his arms stand on end.
“...Let me do it again.”
Becenti's smile became more genuine, “Of course.”
They went back to the same spot. Joseph brought out his hands again, keeping them in front of him as though he were doing a perpendicular push-up. He took a deep breath.
Then another.
Becenti waited, and watched.
“It's like...” Joseph whispered. But he was right - he couldn’t put what he was feeling into words. Only feelings. Reaction. The base instinct of the animal mind, without form and ever-fluid. His heart continued to pound, but he realized it wasn’t like pumping blood. No, he felt like a circuit, always producing energy that zoomed around his body. He could visualize it – hands and arms beneath his skin, a being that collected power from every blood vessel. It was too much-
He exploded again, flying back. He shouted in frustration, slamming his fist into the ground.
“Again!” he shouted.
Becenti was silent, simply nodding in answer to Joseph's determination. Joseph thrust his hands out again.
There was more of an effect now, as he breathed, as he gave language to a feeling that was not in words. Instead of smoke and explosions, blue lightning curled around his arms. Joseph could see they had begun to form something. Hands.
No. Claws.
And then the energy overloaded, causing a third explosion that blew Joseph back like a ragdoll.
“God DAMMIT!” he screamed.
“Calm yourself,” Becenti said, walking forward, “You're almost there.”
“It's just-” Joseph sat up, “It's just not enough!”
The emotions he'd been holding in over the last few weeks were back in the forefront of his mind, as real and raw as they had been when he first fell through the sarcophagus. Joseph gritted his teeth, letting them wash over them. Becenti waited, his face impassive, as Joseph curled himself into a ball.
“It's just not enough,” Joseph repeated, “It's just... I feel like a thunderstorm, trapped in a bottle.”
“Apt words,” Becenti replied, “Try again.”
Joseph scowled at him.
Becenti’s face relaxed a bit, as he took on a more morose expression. He walked over and kneeled down next to Joseph.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“I feel…” Joseph was quiet for a moment as he eyed Becenti with suspicion. Becenti stared back, waiting for his answer.
“I feel lost,” Joseph continued, letting the mask of sarcasm fall away for a moment, “I feel… different. Weird. I don’t know if I like it.”
“Like it or not, this is who you are now,” Becenti responded, “It is a sudden shift, from who you were before into this new being, this thing that is you but is not.”
“I don’t feel comfortable with myself anymore,” Joseph said.
“Indeed,” Becenti said, “I remember a mentor of mine telling me that it was much like feeling that you were rearranged. Nothing was added, nothing was removed, but things were put into different places where they hadn’t been before.”
“Something like that” Joseph said, “I’ve… I’ve always had these feelings, haven’t I? This trapped feeling.”
“Your emotions right now are your strength,” Becenti said, “They are what gives you power, what allows you to summon these... claws of electricity.”
“So what gives?” Joseph asked, “Why does it keep blowing up on me?”
“It appears you are allowing the thunderstorm to get the better of you,” Becenti said, “Control those emotions, let them circulate in your system.”
“My body feels like a circuit,” Joseph growled, “I lose control, the circuit breaks. But I don't feel like I can really keep the circuit going. If I do, I'll overload and explode.”
“That is a possibility,” Becenti said, “Are you just going to let it lie, then?”
“Sorry?”
“We can go back to the guild,” Becenti said, “You'll be put back in that room every time your emotions get the better of you. Training and honing your metahuman abilities is much like when one begins to wear glasses. With glasses on, one can see the world in sharp detail. If one takes them off, however, they will find their vision deteriorated even further.”
It took Joseph a moment to dissect what he was saying.
“So what you're saying is, now that I've started learning about my powers, every time I get angry, I'll spark up and explode.”
“Correct.”
Joseph got up. He felt hot – even with the relative cool of the afternoon. Needle and Beetle were laughing at him, high above in the stands, twin sets of white teeth snapping and hollering.
“Ignore them,” Joseph said to himself. He stuck out his hands again, “Flow with your emotions. Control that circuit you feel.”
The feeling in his chest, his heart thumping with frustration and anger, began to speed up once more. Memories mixed in his head – of his childhood, always left behind, talked down to, always the youngest and always catching up; when he was fifteen and hollering at Jonathon for accidentally running over the family dog; now, with the past two weeks on his back, feeling helpless and so, so alone. Becenti was right - nothing was particularly different about these memories. Yet Joseph felt them more sharply, the emotions no longer dull annoyances like they had been in the past. They were raw, as though they had happened yesterday.
For a moment, they threatened to again overwhelm him.
Then Joseph clenched his hands into fists, sweat beading off his arms as he concentrated, breathing in time with the waves of memories crashing through his mind. Easier said than done, of course, as each wave felt as powerful and overpowering as the last. It was a rebuilding and re-introduction of the mind, as though each memory was re-asserting itself in Joseph’s head, his life falling back into place like a set of building blocks. Through it all, Becenti observed him. How often had he done this? Watched as a metahuman rebuilt themselves, put the puzzle back together?
The electricity formed again over his body. It felt strange – not painful, as he had assumed it would be. Blue sparks tingled across his back, a blanket of TV static that poked and prodded at his body. Joseph blinked, suddenly aware that he was seeing through more than just his two eyes. Beetle and Needle screamed, and began to run.
“My word,” Becenti chuckled, “Very impressive.”
Joseph turned around, and saw it. Something gigantic. Electric blue, crackling like a thunderbolt suspended in time, head towering three feet over him, humanoid, hands curved into oversized, wicked talons. The being protruding from Joseph's back had the head of a bird of prey, with piercing eyes that he could see out of – he saw his own, relatively frail form staring up at it. He could see the electrical bird-man’s glare bore into him. But the electrical being's sight – it was too much – too much detail and information. Joseph shut his eyes...
And the form disappeared, dissipated, dissolved. Joseph fell to the ground. The anger was gone, replaced by an exhaustion that came deep from the heart.
***
“What was that?” Joseph asked.
Becenti had given him a few minutes to compose himself. The older man had sat them down in the arena with two collapsible camping chairs. He handed Joseph a bottle of water, which he gratefully accepted.
“I have theories,” Becenti replied, “I was observing the whole thing. Most impressive, Mr. Zheng. You adapt quickly.”
“I feel like shit.”
“No doubt,” Becenti nodded, “Take your time. Catch your breath.”
Joseph did so. Sweat had beaded on his brow, which he wiped away. His shirt was soaked. The goblins had run off back to their chores, no doubt shocked at what Joseph had just demonstrated. Overhead, clouds rolled across the sky. With the anger gone and his mind clear, he wondered if they looped around the landmasses of Londoa like everything else seemed to.
“Are you aware of astral projection, Mr. Zheng?” Becenti's voice cut through his thoughts.
“Hmm?” Joseph looked at the man, “Uh, no.”
“It's an old magician's term,” Becenti explained, “Astral projection is the act of having one's soul temporarily leave the body.”
“Weird shit,” Joseph said, “So, what, the soul just... hangs there?”
“More than that,” Becenti said, “The soul can phase through walls, explore at its leisure, see things the body cannot, before it returns back to its vessel.”
“Odd,” Joseph said, “My old man, he always told me that the soul was two parts. One that leaves the body when we die, the other that stays in the body, like an old lady in an old house.”
“A good reasoning,” Becenti supposed, “There are many who view the organic body as a shell – a vessel to be inhabited by a soul. It is very much like your concept of hun.”
“You know the name,” Joseph said.
“I do my research,” Becenti said, “The hun governs the spiritual, knowledgeable aspects of a being. It leaves the body after death. The po is the physical soul. The instinct to survive, the base parts of evolution left over like… dregs at the bottom of a cup of coffee.”
Joseph nodded, “So what's that got to do with me?”
“The picture of one's soul is difficult to comprehend,” Becenti said, “Souls, as far as we know, do not have corporeal forms.”
“But...”
“But I believe yours does. Or has become corporeal, in some way. The po, made real.”
Joseph’s eyes narrowed, “What do you mean?”
“You described the energy roiling in your body as like a circuit, only breaking when you lost control of it. It took emotion to get that energy going.”
“Yeah,” Joseph said, “When I got angrier, when I felt like I was losing control of myself, the circuit broke. My emotions got the better of me.”
“But when you kept the circuit going, you felt like you were going to explode.”
“Yeah, instead, that big electrical thing popped out of my back,” Joseph took another drink, “What was that?”
“I believe that was your soul, Mr. Zheng.”
Joseph spit out his drink.
“What the hell do you mean? How do you know?”
“I told you, I have done… research, we'll say, into the nature of the mortal soul,” Becenti said, “I believe your soul has taken on a physical form, one that now resides in your body.”
“And when it builds up power, it can leave my body?”
“It was still connected to you,” Becenti said, “I would be very careful, now. If your electrical, physical soul is cut off from your body, it may not be able to crawl back in.”
“...Oh,” Joseph leaned back in his chair. His chest was hammering again. It felt familiar now.
“You said you did research into the soul?” he asked.
“You can call it that,” Becenti replied, “My eyes have been, shall we say, attuned to specific magical stimuli that activate in order to see the soul. Usually, to the normal eye, the soul is invisible.”
“But your eyes can see souls,” Joseph said.
“Indeed. And I saw yours, both with my attuned eyes and my non-magical ones.”
“Which is how you know, then.”
“Indeed.”
Again, there was that air of finality. Becenti, despite his stoic nature, was staring at Joseph, his eyes almost pleading with him not to continue that line of thought. Joseph nodded. Obviously, the older man had a past he didn't want to go into.
“Shall we try again?” Becenti asked.
Joseph looked up.
“Are you rested up enough? Ready to summon your soul once more?”
He could feel the circuits start up again, thundering through his body – zipping across his bones as though they were wires. Joseph, despite how tired he felt, smiled.
“Sure, why not.”