2.2 New Semester, New Me

“Worse than a pus-filled pimple right on my nose,” I said. “Or not. I think I’ll take this growth over a pimple like that. Could an Adumbrae get a pimple?” I didn’t know the answer, but I knew this tiny crystalline lump wasn’t the last of it. “How to hide this…?”

A band-aid? Make-up? A pimple patch? Such a hassle. It wasn’t like I could remove it.

I jerked at the thought. Why not?

I rushed out of the bathroom naked, not even pausing to wrap myself in a towel, and went to the kitchen. I didn’t want this sudden resolve to fade. Mom had bought me an adorable set of knives before; the handles had different colors and patterns. I grabbed the orange one with orange pictures. It had the biggest blade. I turned on the faucet and watched the water hit my palm.

“Am I going to do this?” I asked my reflection on the shiny, white backsplash. “Yeeeep.”

I held the knife’s sharp point against the white crystal on my palm. Holding the knife with my left hand felt awkward because I was right-handed. If I could gouge out the white crystal before it grew bigger, it’d be one less thing to worry about. I’d do the same for the next growth that’d show up. And the next, and so on. I was such a genius.

Here goes… I clenched my teeth, stopped breathing, and drove the knife’s tip into my skin, just below the crystal.

Blood spurted out of my palm and dripped down to the sink. My face contorted in pain… pain that was bearable. Somewhat. I expected worse. I drove the blade deeper to find the crystal's bottom. Pain shot up my arm. The knife hit a snag. A bone? I pulled the knife out and chose another entry point.

Another stab at a different angle. I worked the knife around the bottom of the crystal, hoping to dislodge this stupid thing. It was as if I were removing a blemish on a potato. I tensed all the muscles in my body at the grating feeling of cutting my own flesh.

Blood continued flowing to the silver of the sink, mixing with the water from the faucet. My flesh looked frayed, but the crystal remained.

“Stubborn little shit,” I hissed, stabbing my palm even deeper. Whatever this hard thing was under the crystal, I was going to break it.

My hand trembled from the pain of each stab. Then, it broke. I felt it snap.

I bent the knife up and pried the crystal away.

It… came off.

A tiny clink as it dropped to the sink.

I placed the knife on the counter and stared at both of my hands. My right hand shook uncontrollably. The middle of my palm looked like my botched first attempt at filleting a fish in my high school home economics class. Just add way more blood. Bits and pieces of flesh jutted out like petals around the tiny hole.

“Holy… I did it.” I started to chuckle. “There’s a way. There really is a way to maintain my human appearance. Just do this again and again.”

Pain wasn’t an issue. Well, it was. But I could handle it. I didn’t care if I had to scoop out chunks of my body every day. Fascinating how much pain I could shrug off. My blood had stopped flowing. Flesh and skin fixed themselves anew.

Then my heart sank.

The crystal was back.

I grabbed the knife and was poised to dig out the crystal again.

However, I didn’t go through with it. I breathed deeply and drew out my exhale as I lowered my arm. The same thing would happen. Just accept that I had a new decoration on my body. I turned off the faucet and picked up the first crystal I had removed. I placed the crystal on the table, next to the squished bullet, before returning to the bathroom.

“Man, this new semester isn’t turning out so well.”

I cranked the water heater to the max—lava pouring from hell—and calmed my mind as steam fogged up the glass. The old me would’ve been scalded by the water. My superhuman body could feel the heat, no questions there. But I could endure it. Made me feel indestructible. Made me feel better, even though my future was now gone.

Only now did it sink in that I was no longer human, and would never be again.

Worse, I’d slowly turn into a glitzy, sparkling monster. Maybe a diamond golem. This wasn’t so bad. Better crystals than tendrils or spikes. At least, not something ugly—a small consolation. I hoped that I’d kill a lot of people someday when the Adumbrae would take over my body.

“I really have no future… My cute self would be replaced by a monster.”

I would say that this was depressing, but I couldn’t feel that much of an emotion. What was I actually feeling?

Am I in denial? No, no. I have pretty much accepted I was an Adumbrae.

Anger? Anger at fate or something? I guess I felt some of that.

More like annoyance. I hated change. Such a hassle. It would take an enormous amount of effort to hide that I was an Adumbrae, and this would continue for the rest of my life. Life could be long or short. If I did great at hiding, I’d still become an Adumbrae at the end.

Sadness? Not really. I was giddy for some reason.

Normal life was boring. But my new life had potential for thrill and adventure, unlike anything that could’ve happened to me had I stayed human. Since it had come to this, and I had accepted this fate, I should learn how to enjoy it.

I could do some strolling at night later, see the sights, hopefully get accosted by muggers. Then I could test my superstrength on them.

“I could be a superhero,” I said, looking up at the shower head, marveling at my epiphany. I was the main character of the movie. “This is my origin story. I’m going to—blargh!” Almost boiling water got into my mouth.

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Cue in dark and mysterious noir jazz background music.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

I narrated with a sinister voice in my head. All alone, walking late at night… the rough and seedy part of the city isn’t safe to traverse for a girl like me…

To be fair, the area became less safe because of my presence. But I wasn’t going to advertise that I was a monster.

Earlier, I searched the internet for ‘bad places’ to visit and was presented with tourist traps like the clown-themed café a few blocks away from my condo. An overpriced place that could give children nightmares. They should’ve gone for an all-year Halloween theme instead.

Then I typed the correct term to search: ‘Highest crime rate areas in La Esperanza’.

I recognized the names of some of the places, but I have never been to any of them. I chose the one furthest from the city center—Marsh Row. This area used to be a marsh long ago. And when it was eventually developed, there were a lot of problems with ground integrity, so no large buildings got built here. It was left behind by the rapid modernization of the city and became a ghost town as establishments were abandoned.

Then the bad elements moved in. There should be drug deals and other crimes going on here.

“Mug me, mug me, mug me,” I sang under my breath, my voice obscured by my face mask.

I wore a hoodie. Another one; I had a large collection. I was lucky entering the subway while following an employee pass through a service entrance. It was going to be difficult moving around now as a monster with all the scanners. While on the train, I pulled the hood low to obscure my face.

But now, I removed the hood and let my hair flow so everyone could see I was a hapless girl. The hoodie was bright red to stand out in the dark streets. I kept my mask on, hiding the specifics of my face. I had a small duffel bag that might attract thieves. There wasn’t anything valuable inside. Just the clothes I wanted to burn, a liter of gasoline, and a lighter I bought from the convenience store. Maybe I could find an empty area to burn these later.

I wasn’t violating Rule #4. This wasn’t an entrapment, which was illegal under the law. I was presenting an opportunity for a criminal to be himself, not coercing anyone to commit a crime. Bothering me would always be the other person’s choice.

Always have good manners. Wasn’t I nice?

I thought I’d instantly get mugged. But, so far, no one has approached me. Where were the criminals? The drug dealers and stuff? Just a few homeless people sleeping on the sidewalk.

Since nothing was going on, I decided to continue the video I was watching. Maybe a thief might be interested in snatching my phone. The light from the video also illuminated my face, showing that I was a girl.

Just presenting opportunities…

“For self-defense,” barked the overly upbeat, brawny instructor guy displayed on my phone, “better use low kicks. Those are much harder to block compared to high kicks. And while you’re at it, you can also put your attacker off-balance by sweeping their legs. All of that, and more, coming up in this episode of…”

I flinched when the intro music blared out of my earphones. “Fucking hell,” I murmured. “But I do like the idea of sweeping legs.”

I had watched a few videos on how to box while at my condo. But my arms were short; my punches wouldn’t reach far.

Even for an absolute novice in fighting like me, it was obvious kicks were way more powerful than punches; they had longer range too. Most importantly, they looked insanely cool, especially those flying kicks in kung fu movies. I knew those were stunts, with wires and stuff. But with my superhuman body, I bet I could do it for real if I practiced hard enough.

Erind, your goal isn’t to do a flying kick, I sternly reminded myself.

It was to survive. Which meant I needed to know how to run… and to fight. Maybe I could do a flying kick against a ComExo someday.

After hopping from one random internet video to the next for ten minutes—very reputable source materials, I know—I came to learn that kicks weren’t advisable in a serious fight. ‘Street fighting’ was the appropriate term. It was too slow and could easily put me off-balance. Low kicks seemed more useful.

This could be the reason why the taekwondo varsity members back in high school rarely did those fancy kicks when they sparred. When the cheerleading squad practiced at the gym, the taekwondo team was often also there, doing their own thing in an area that was sort of modified into a makeshift dojo with tatami mats laid on the floor.

I sometimes watched them, amazed that they could kick higher than their height. Some of them were more flexible than me, and I was plenty flexible. Was. Now, I wouldn’t dare try to split.

Though I could probably do it with my new body.

Observing the taekwondo varsity members, I was perplexed by how they used mostly low kicks when fighting with each other. Now, I know.

Brawny Instructor demonstrated a foot sweep in the video. It didn’t need much power, but mainly focused on speed to put the enemy off-balance. Hard to guard against because it was unexpected. A quick way to take down someone. I was warming up to this move. Once my enemy was on the ground, I could make a run for it… or stay around and bash his head in.

“Note I’m sweeping at an angle,” Brawny Instructor said, repeating the low kick—an ‘outside sweep’, whatever that was—in slow motion on his demo partner. “I’m hitting the front leg of Dennis—see that my kick is connecting at ankle level—bringing it to the back leg. And there, sweep both feet off the ground.” Brawny Instructor completed the move, and his partner fell.

“I can probably do that,” I whispered to myself. It was way easier than those over-the-head kicks, and seemed more practical too.

I recalled a move like this when I took judo as my PE class for one semester in college. Yep, it was a fancy college.

Too bad I didn’t pay attention back then because I hated that class. Since I was one of the smallest girls, I was used by the other girls as a test dummy when they wanted to practice a move. So much easier to throw someone as small as me. Fuck those annoying bitches.

“Guys, note it’s not just the feet.” Brawny Instructor swayed his partner to the left and right like they were dancing. “Both arms and feet work together to sweep your opponent off their feet. If Dennis here just—Dennis, can you just stand straight? See, if he stands straight, and I do this, I can end up the one off balance. So, you should coordinate pulling your opponent with sweeping their feet.”

I nodded. Makes sense. I could also wait for my opponent to move, like step forward or something, then hook his feet.

It all sounded good in theory, but watching videos wasn’t enough. I should practice this on someone. I couldn’t exactly sweep a concrete column off its feet, the lack of actual feet of a post being the hardest obstacle.

I scrolled through the video’s comments section to find helpful inputs. I didn’t. Figures.

It was full of people bragging that they could do better moves, or pointing out this or that supposed mistake of Brawny Instructor. Everyone on the internet was an expert.

“Just kick him in the balls,” I read one comment. It made me snort, spooking a couple making out in the darkness. They could also be playing Rock, Paper, Scissors. Hard to tell in this dim light.

What if I did kick a guy’s junk? I vaguely recalled hearing about a man who died after getting kicked in the balls. Whether that was true or an urban legend, I could positively kill someone with a superstrength kick to the nuts. Amusing how a man’s gonads have so many terms.

Scrambles eggs, I mused, giggling.

I was being immature. I couldn’t help myself. The image of a super-powered groin kick got stuck in my head.

“I might be in luck.” Flashing bright lights and blaring loud music up ahead.

A group of heavily-tattooed men was hanging out by a couple of decked-out sports cars under a flickering street light. They were smoking blunts and drinking. They could be my victims. Erm, I meant I’d be their intended victim and I’d fight back. Not my fault that I have super strength.

Some of them noticed me approaching. I veered a bit away, putting on the face of a scared lady who got lost in a bad neighborhood. I flicked my eyes their way, then looked at the pavement as if to ignore them. I bowed my head and clutched the strap of my duffel bag with both hands.

Bother me, bother me. Come on!

“Hey!” one of them yelled. “Little Red Riding Hood over there! Want to party?”