Dread.

Mind numbing dread.

Clutching his racing heart that threatened to give out, Adrian's limb locked up and his mind grind to a halt and almost impossibly the dread ramped up. Standing over him and growing ever larger and more menacing was something that had been his father. After what felt like years, the feeling of dread abruptly disappeared and like a puppet with its strings cut, Adrian dropped to his knees breathing roughly.

Through swimming vision and the pounding of blood in his ears, Adrian heard his father telling him to control his breathing. With a monumental amount of will, Adrian focused on his breathing and his racing heart and mind calmed down. Dreading it but needing to know, Adrian looked up and saw his father's concerned face looking down at him, with no sign of the haunting visage anywhere.

With a ragged breath of relief, Adrian croaked out, “What was that?”

Concealing a look of surprise that flashed across his face, Adrian's father sat beside his son in the dirt. “That is what gave us the name Apex. That feeling of being in the cross hairs of a predator and the inevitability of death that feeling carried. The strongmen of yore didn't know how to do this. And about what it is though.”

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His father shrugged, “Some call it Aura the science folk call it a low-level mental attack. The people that invented it call it the killing intent. Remember how I said we did everything better, well other superhumans can do it to varying degrees but we're the best at it. Oh and good job, you held up better than I did when I was first hit with it.”

Hearing nothing from his question-filled son and knowing he'd pushed him enough for one day. With strong arms, he cradled his son who promptly fell asleep as he should, and carried him into the house.

Looking down at his son's sleeping face and the delicate lines he'd gotten from his mother, the surprised look was back and this time with a hint of worry. His son had done well at resisting his intent, too well. He remembered all too well how he'd felt when he'd been hit with the intent, he had passed out and soiled himself. He was lucky. There was a feeling of relief and pride at the late blossoming talent of his son and also a feeling of dread at the outside world finding out about it.

It was subtle but the winds of war were brewing again and soon the powers that be would need bodies to throw at their enemies. The only way to stop his son from being fed to some maniac's quarrel was to make him strong enough to defend himself. Gods knew he wasn't strong enough to protect his son.

Firming his plan in his head and knowing both he and his son were in for a world of pain. The father carried his son into their home with one thought prominent in his mind.

Tomorrow they'd train.