In a small town on the outskirts of Metro City, where the quiet of midnight blanketed the streets, a young boy's screams shattered the stillness. On the floor of his bedroom, he writhed in agony, his body convulsing as if being torn apart from the inside. His parents, faces etched with concern and desperation, hovered over him, trying in vain to offer comfort.

The mother, her voice trembling with panic, cried out, "Oh shit, what's wrong with our son?"

The father, holding his son tightly, tried to soothe him. "Shhh, shhh. It's okay, son. Everything will be fine."

But the boy's screams only grew louder. "Aaahhhh!!"

"We should take him to a hospital," the mother pleaded, tears streaming down her face.

The father shook his head vehemently. "Are you kidding me? Do you know what they might do? They could take him away from us. He’s not exactly normal. He has a tail and cat ears instead of human ears."

The mother sobbed, her voice breaking. "Then what are we going to do for him? This is the third night in a row! I can't keep watching him suffer!"

The father, his expression grim, replied, "We knew what we were getting into when we took him in."

The boy's cries continued, a heart-wrenching symphony of pain that echoed through the small house. His body, marked by the distinct features of a cat ears and a tail—was a testament to his unique heritage. In a world where 20% of the population had powers and were labeled as deviants, his parents had always known the risks.

As the boy's agony persisted, the parents exchanged a look of helplessness. They had taken him in, knowing he was different, but the reality of his suffering was more than they had ever anticipated. The father held his son tighter, his own heart breaking at the sight of the boy's pain.

The mother, her voice barely a whisper, asked, "What do we do now?"

The father, his eyes filled with a mix of determination and sorrow, replied, "We stay strong. We protect him. No matter what."

Three years ago, in the quiet of a late evening, a young married couple, Devon Green and his wife Justus Smith, were returning from a night out. Devon was driving, his attention divided between the road and the lively conversation with his wife. Suddenly, a sickening thud jolted them both from their reverie.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! What did you do? Who did you hit?" Justus's voice was a panicked crescendo.

"Hey! Let's not jump to conclusions. It could be a raccoon. Stay in the car. I'll go check it out," Devon replied, trying to sound calm. But inside, his thoughts were racing. Please, oh please, be a raccoon!

Devon stepped out of the car, his heart pounding. As he approached the front of the vehicle, dread pooled in his stomach. Lying on the ground was not an animal, but a child. The boy looked to be no more than three or four years old. Miraculously, he appeared uninjured, just unconscious. Devon knelt beside him, checking for signs of life.

Okay, Devon, let's think on the bright side. At least the kid is okay, he thought, trying to steady his nerves.

From the car, Justus's frantic voice broke the silence. "What is it?"

"It's a kid, but don’t worry, he’s fine. Just unconscious," Devon called back, trying to keep his voice steady.

"You hit a kid!" Justus's voice was a mix of disbelief and horror.

As Devon turned back to the car, he noticed a large dent in the hood. Did this come from the kid? No way, that's impossible. A small child couldn't have done this.

Suddenly, Justus screamed, "Devon, behind you!"

Devon spun around to see the child standing, illuminated by the car's headlights. The boy's features were now clear—he had a tail, cat-like ears instead of human ones, and his nails had grown into claws. His eyes glowed orange with rage.

Out of fear, Justus honked the car horn. The sound seemed to cause the boy immense pain. He clutched his ears and roared in agony, a sound so powerful it cracked the windshield. Devon had to cover his ears against the onslaught. The roar subsided, and the boy collapsed to his knees before passing out on the ground.

Still dazed from the roar, Devon tried to process what had just happened. The boy lay motionless, his strange features bathed in the harsh light of the car's beams. Devon's mind raced, grappling with the reality of the situation. This was no ordinary child; this was something else entirely.

As Devon stood there, the weight of the night's events pressing down on him, he knew their lives had just changed forever.

Devon stood frozen, his mind reeling from what he had just witnessed. The hell? Was that the kid? I don't see anyone or anything else around here that could have done that. The impossibility of the situation threatened to overwhelm him.

Justus's frantic screams pierced through his shock, urging him to get back in the car. But Devon couldn't bring himself to leave a three-year-old alone on the road at night, deviant or not. With a deep breath, he scooped up the unconscious child and gently laid him across the back seat.

"What the hell are you doing?" Justus exclaimed, her eyes wide with fear and disbelief.

"I can't just leave him alone," Devon replied, his voice firm despite his own uncertainty. "We'll decide what to do when we get home."

The drive home was tense, filled with worried glances at the rearview mirror and hushed arguments. Once home, they grappled with their next steps. They set up flyers around town, searched for missing person reports, but as days turned into weeks, no one came forward to claim the child.

The boy, unable to speak and without a name, became Desmond in their care. Two months passed since that fateful night, and looking back, Devon and Justus marveled at how unexpectedly their lives had changed. The couple found themselves growing attached to the strange, silent child, his unique features becoming endearing rather than frightening.

As their affection deepened, they began to consider the unthinkable – raising Desmond as their own. But their newfound joy was tempered by the nightly ordeal that awaited them. Every night, without fail, Desmond would wake screaming in pain, his small body wracked with spasms.

Devon and Justus would rush to his side, their hearts breaking at the sight of his suffering. They would hold him, whisper soothing words, and do everything in their power to bring him comfort. As they cradled their adopted son through these harrowing episodes, they silently prayed for answers, for a way to ease his pain.

In the quiet moments between Desmond's cries, Devon and Justus would exchange worried glances. They knew they were in over their heads, dealing with something beyond their understanding. But as they looked at the small, vulnerable child in their arms, they knew they couldn't abandon him. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, as a family.

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The road ahead was uncertain, fraught with questions about Desmond's origins and the source of his pain. But Devon and Justus were committed to navigating this new reality, bound by their love for the extraordinary child who had so unexpectedly entered their lives.

As summer's warmth faded into memory, the crisp embrace of fall descended upon the Green household. The air grew cooler, carrying with it a symphony of scents and sounds that marked the changing of seasons. For young Desmond, this transition brought not only new smells to explore but also a world of novel tastes to experience.

In the kitchen, Justus carefully prepared a meal for her adopted son. "Let me cool this off for you, big guy," she said, blowing gently on a spoonful of food. "Now, we can't always be getting you eggs and meat, with things being the way they are." She watched with a mixture of amusement and concern as Desmond's cat-like ears twitched at the new aromas.

Most nights, Desmond slept peacefully, his unique features relaxed in slumber. But there were other nights—nights when sleep proved elusive for the entire household. On these occasions, the air hung heavy and still, too warm for comfort despite the season's change. Desmond would toss and turn, his small body restless with discomfort.

Devon and Justus, attuned to their son's rhythms, found themselves lying awake, their pillows damp with sweat. The night sounds seemed amplified in their sleeplessness—crickets chirping their endless songs, a cacophony of nature that once seemed soothing but now grated on their nerves.

"The quiet life, they say," Devon would mutter, his voice tinged with irony as he stared at the ceiling.

These challenging nights served as a reminder of the unique journey they had embarked upon. Raising Desmond was no ordinary task, filled with joys and trials that no parenting book could have prepared them for. Yet as they listened to the soft breathing of their extraordinary child in the next room, they knew they wouldn't have it any other way.

The fall air continued to cool, promising relief from the stuffy nights. For the Green family, it was another season of adaptation, of learning to navigate the world with their special child. As the leaves changed color outside their window, they looked forward to new adventures and challenges, bound together by love and the shared experience of their unconventional family life.

The crisp autumn air carried the sounds of laughter and the soft thud of a ball being caught. Devon and Desmond were in the backyard, engaged in a spirited game of catch. Desmond, always careful, treated the ball as if it were a fragile soap bubble. He knew his strength could easily break things—or worse, hurt his parents.

"Hah! Got you there, son!" Devon called out, catching the ball with a grin.

"Awwww," Desmond groaned, watching the ball sail over his head and into the high grass.

Devon chuckled. "Aww, it's off in the high grass...we’ll never find it."

"I see it, Dad, clear as day under the car. I’ll go get it," Desmond replied, his keen eyesight picking out the ball's location effortlessly.

Devon watched his son with a mixture of pride and concern. What an arm on that boy… another year and he'll punch that ball clean through this old glove. Not like there’s anything stopping him from doing it now...he’s getting much stronger. Over time, there won’t be anything holding him back.

"Dad!" Desmond's voice snapped Devon out of his thoughts.

Turning around, Devon saw Desmond standing triumphantly with the ball in his hand. But his triumph was overshadowed by the sight of Devon's car, now tilted precariously to one side.

Back in the present day.

"Ahhhhhhh!! Mom! Dad! Please…" Desmond's anguished cries pierced the night, echoing through the quiet house.

Devon and Justus watched in horror as the child they had taken in and cared for began to behave like a wild animal. Desmond's eyes glowed with an unnatural light, and with a feral leap, he crashed through his bedroom window, landing outside with a thud. Both parents ran after him, desperate to help their son.

Devon reached Desmond first, his voice trembling but firm. "Desmond! It's me! Your father! Everything will be alright, son! Everything will be fine! It’s going to be okay. Just try to calm—"

But before Devon could finish, Desmond turned towards him, his eyes filled with a primal rage. Without warning or hesitation, Desmond's fist shot out, striking Devon with a force that sent him crumpling to the ground, lifeless.

Justus screamed, her heart shattering as she watched her husband fall. "Devon! No!" She turned to Desmond, her voice a desperate plea. "Desmond, please! Control yourself! It's Mom! Please, baby, stop!"

Desmond's gaze fixed on Justus, his eyes still glowing with that terrifying light. He took a step towards her, but before he could move any further, he was suddenly frozen in place, unable to move an inch.

A mysterious man stepped out of the shadows, his presence commanding and otherworldly. "Stop right there. You will terrify these people no longer." His voice was calm but filled with authority. "When I sensed your energy, I couldn’t believe it, but now that I see you with my own eyes… you're probably the last one left. How can such a small child cause so much damage? Hello, woman, I'm Nibarusu, a member of GEA, Galactic Enforcement Agency. I was sent to your world to exterminate this child. I'm deeply sorry for your loss, but I shall make this quick."

"No!! Don’t you dare hurt a single hair on his head!" Justus cried, her voice breaking with emotion. "He’s not a monster! He’s not dangerous! He didn’t mean to do any of this, especially hurting his father!"

Nibarusu looked at her incredulously. "Woman, you can’t be serious!? This boy, this thing, just murdered your husband. And you want me to spare his life so he can run off and kill who knows how many more people? You saw what he did to this man. That one blow was all it took to kill him."

Tears streamed down Justus's face as she knelt beside her fallen husband. "I’ll miss my husband. True, there won't be a day I don't think about him, but we both raised this child all on our own. Please don’t hurt him! That’s our son!"

Desmond's fists began to glow a bright yellow, and a beam of energy shot from his hands. Nibarusu deflected it effortlessly, sending the blast back at Desmond and knocking him out cold. Justus ran to her son, cradling him in her arms, her tears falling onto his unconscious form.

Nibarusu watched, his expression softening at the sight of the grieving mother. He sighed, then reached out with his mind, using his telepathic abilities to suppress the child's animalistic instincts as much as he could. "I will entrust you with this child," he said quietly. "Do not make this night a mistake. Raise him right."

With that, Nibarusu disappeared as quickly as he had come, leaving Justus alone with her son and the body of her husband. She held Desmond close, her heart heavy with grief and determination. She vowed then and there to protect her son, to help him control his powers, and to ensure that Devon's death would not be in vain.

Four Years Later

Since that fateful night, Desmond had transformed into a different child. Gone were the wild, uncontrollable outbursts. In their place was a boy who was kind, gentle, inquisitive, joyful, and adventurous, though not particularly book smart. His mother, Justus, had found solace in raising him, channeling her grief into nurturing the unique child who had come to mean everything to her.

Justus decided it was best to homeschool Desmond. She wanted to shield him from the harsh judgments of the outside world and to teach him to understand and control his extraordinary powers. The bond between mother and son grew stronger with each passing day, but Desmond was acutely aware of how different he was from everyone else. The guilt of being responsible for his father's death and his unique physical traits made him feel isolated, despite Justus's unwavering love and support.

Most nights, Desmond stayed in bed like he should. But there were nights when sleep eluded him, nights when the memories of his father's death haunted him. On those nights, Justus would find him sitting by the window, staring out into the darkness, his eyes reflecting the moonlight.

As the days turned into weeks, the bond between mother and son only deepened. Justus taught Desmond to use his powers to help others, instilling in him the values of kindness and empathy. She hoped that by focusing on the good he could do, he would find a sense of purpose and belonging.

One evening, as they sat together on the porch, Desmond turned to his mother. "Mom, do you think Dad would be proud of me?"

Justus smiled, her eyes filling with tears. "Oh, Desmond, your father would be so proud of you. He loved you more than anything in the world. And so do I."

Desmond leaned into his mother's embrace, finding comfort in her words. Despite the challenges they faced, they had each other. And in that, they found the strength to keep moving forward, one day at a time.