The scream was ripped from Zane Valerius's throat, not by fear, but by the sheer, unbridled velocity of his descent. Wind, a roaring, merciless beast, tore at his expensive suit, flattened his styled hair against his skull, and clawed at his eyes, turning the gleaming cityscape below into a streaking, distorted nightmare. He was not falling; he was being expelled. Spat out from the apex of the Titanium Tower like a spent projectile, a glittering, useless piece of debris from the very pinnacle of his father's empire.
The grav-lift, a supposed marvel of anti-gravity engineering, had buckled. Or so the official reports would undoubtedly claim. Zane knew the truth, a bitter, metallic taste on his tongue, a taste compounded by the wind forcing itself into his mouth. It wasn't the lift that had malfunctioned. It was him. Another failed demonstration. Another disastrous moment etched onto the cold, unforgiving ledger of the Valerius legacy. His father's words, sharp and precise like a laser-scalpel, echoed in his ears, amplified by the wind's shriek: "You are weak, Zane. You lack the resolve. The fire. You are nothing but a shadow of your potential."
The ground rushed up to meet him, not as a solid mass, but as a cruel, mocking reflection. The sprawling, holographic tapestry of Neo-Olympus, with its impossible spires and shimmering energy conduits, blurred into an incandescent smear. He could see his own reflection, distorted and elongating, in the vast, polished plaza below – a boy in a man's suit, utterly out of his depth. He saw the cold, unforgiving gleam of the Valerius Corporation's sigil embedded in the plaza surface, a stark reminder of the legacy he had failed to uphold, the name he had dragged through the dirt.
A flash. Not of light, but of memory, searing itself onto his mind like a hot brand. The grand hall of the Valerius estate, echoing with his father's booming laughter, not for him, but for his younger, more gifted cousins, effortlessly manipulating minor energy constructs while Zane struggled to even focus a simple light. The humiliation burned like acid in his chest, the forced smile, the casual dismissal. He'd craved their approval, their acknowledgement, but always, always, he was overlooked, dismissed as the soft, unaccomplished heir. He was a prince in a kingdom of demigods, but a prince who couldn't even keep his own hover-chariot stable without crashing it.
Another memory, sharp and vivid: the glares of the board members during a disastrous presentation, their faces a mask of thinly veiled contempt. He'd tried to articulate a vision, a new approach, but his voice had wavered, his arguments felt flimsy, lacking the inherent authority that seemed to radiate from others, from those who just knew how to command respect and outcomes. He was just Zane, a boy with potential that everyone spoke of but no one, least of all himself, could ever find or bring forth.
Weak. The word reverberated in his skull, the wind chanting it, the city screaming it from every shimmering building. Useless.
No! A sudden, incandescent fury ignited in his gut, burning hotter than the friction of the wind against his falling body, hotter than any shame. This was hatred, pure and distilled – hatred for his weakness, for their judgment, for the wasted years. He was not useless. He had plans, he had dreams, he had a vision for Valerius Corp that went beyond mere profit. He saw a future where technology and latent talent weren't mutually exclusive, where his father's rigid, old-world methods were obsolete. He knew he was right. He knew it. He just hadn't had the chance. He'd been too caught up in trying to fit in, to please, to earn a scrap of respect from those who saw only his flaws.
If he had just one more chance. If he could just have one more second. He wouldn't waste it on validation. He'd plunge into the research, seize the opportunity, find that latent talent, force his body to unlock whatever dormant power lay within. He'd stop trying to impress them and start forging his own path, ruthlessly. He'd show them the fire he did possess, a different kind of fire, one born of intellect and iron will. He wouldn't be a shadow. He would be Zane Valerius, and he would be more. He would shatter their expectations and build his own empire.
The plaza surged, impossibly close. The geometric patterns of its paving stones resolved into chilling detail. The final, crushing impact was inevitable, a certainty etched into the very fabric of his plummeting existence. There was no time, no escape, only the roaring silence of his demise. He was nothing but an unfulfilled promise, about to be obliterated.
Then, into the void of his last, desperate thought, as the world exploded around him, an alien presence asserted itself. No sound, no light, just a cold, mechanical intrusion. Stark, impossible-to-ignore symbols coalesced into searing words, projected directly into the core of his dissolving consciousness.
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