Back in high school, Ethan was my best friend—the one everyone orbited around. Golden hair, easy laugh, the kind of guy who made teachers smile and girls blush. I was just the girl who sat beside him, the one with the pathetic little power: I could make things slightly heavier if I concentrated hard enough. A backpack felt like ten pounds more. A door stuck a little. Useless. Now he’s Radiant, rank one, the city’s living sun. He heals the dying with a touch, blinds villains with a glance. Parades, endorsements, his face on energy drinks. I’m still me. Rank 487. They call me Burden. My “support” ability lets me weigh enemies down just enough for real heroes to finish them. I stand in the back, straining until my nose bleeds, while Ethan soaks up the cheers. I hate him for it. Every time he flashes that perfect smile at the cameras, I feel the bitterness coil tighter. He still waves me over after battles, oblivious. “You were great out there!” he says, voice warm, like I did anything but make a thug trip. “Couldn’t do it without my best partner.” Partner. Right. I watch him sign autographs for kids who don’t even know my name. I watch him lift entire buildings with his light while I struggle to slow one falling brick. Last week he saved a school bus. The news replayed it for days—his glowing arms cradling the children, tears in his eyes, pure and heroic. I was there too. I made the bus a fraction heavier so it didn’t flip. My reward? A headache and a quiet “thanks” before he flew off to the interview. He still texts me after missions: “Coffee? Miss my old sidekick.” I never reply. One day I’ll stop showing up. Let him try saving the world without his little anchor dragging everyone down—including me. But deep down, I know I won’t. Because even I need his light to feel like I matter at all. And I hate him most for that

Back in high school, Ethan was my best friend—the bright, unbreakable one. Everyone loved him: teachers, kids, even the janitor. I was just the quiet girl with a useless little trick: I could drain tiny bits of energy from things I touched. Enough to dim a lightbulb or slow a heartbeat for a second. Pathetic next to whatever was waking up inside Ethan. Now he’s Radiant, the city’s number-one hero. Golden hair, perfect smile, light that can heal cities or blind armies. Billboards, parades, the whole world at his feet. I’m Eclipse, official rank number two. The Hero Commission paired us years ago. My “support power” amplifies his—every time he needs a bigger blast, I pour what I can steal from the world straight into him. The crowd cheers louder for him, cameras flash on his face, and I stand just behind his shoulder where I belong. But no one sees what it costs me. Every boost I give him pulls something deeper out of me. My skin has gone pale and thin, veins dark like cracked ink beneath. My hands tremble when I’m alone. The hunger is growing—quiet, patient, endless. It whispers that one day I could take instead of give. Drain him. Drain everything. Ethan still claps me on the back after every mission, eyes shining with that same naive faith. “You’re the reason I can save them all,” he says, grinning like we’re still teenagers. “We’re unstoppable together.” He doesn’t notice how I flinch at his touch now. Doesn’t see the shadows pooling in my eyes when the lights go down. Last night we stopped an invasion. He lit up the sky like a second sun. I fed him everything I had and more—siphoned life from the air itself until my vision tunneled black. When it was over, he hugged me for the cameras. I smiled back, teeth clenched, feeling the void inside me stretch wider. One day soon, the hunger will win. And the world’s perfect hero will finally see what his shadow has become. But by then, it’ll be too late for both of us.

Back in high school, Alex was my only real friend. He was the golden boy—kind to everyone, always believing the world could be fixed with enough heart. I was the quiet kid who kept to himself, hiding the black veins that started creeping up my arms the day my powers woke up. Now he’s Beacon, the city’s shining hero. White-and-gold uniform, warm smile on every billboard, light powers that heal and inspire. He saves the day cleanly, always with hope in his voice. They call me Void. No costume. No name on the news. My power devours—matter, energy, life itself. I can erase a building in seconds, swallow an army whole. It’s the only thing strong enough to stop the real monsters: the ones Beacon refuses to fight because “there’s still good in them” or “we need evidence.” Every time I use it, the hunger grows. Black corruption spreads farther across my skin, into my chest. It whispers when I sleep. Some nights I wake up tasting ash, unsure if I dreamed the screams. Alex still checks on me. Shows up glowing softly, eyes full of that same old faith. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he says. “Let me help you control it.” He doesn’t see the rot under my sleeves. Doesn’t notice how my voice cracks when the power stirs. He thinks it’s just stress, just a burden I carry for the greater good. Last week I erased an entire syndicate—labs, weapons, people. Gone. The city slept safer. Beacon arrived too late, stared at the empty crater, face pale. “You’re going too far,” he whispered. I wanted to tell him it’s going too far into me. But he smiled that naive smile, put a hand on my shoulder—warm, steady light against creeping dark. “We’ll find a better way. Together.” He flew off to his next parade. I stayed in the shadows, feeling the void coil tighter around what’s left of my heart. One day soon, it will finish its meal. And Alex will finally see what he refused to.

Back in high school, Alex was my best friend. Straight-A kid, volunteered at shelters, always saw the good in everyone. Me? I was the screw-up who started fights and skipped town the day after graduation. Now they call him Beacon—golden cape, blinding light powers, the city’s perfect hero. He stops muggings with a smile, saves kittens from trees, gives speeches about hope. Crowds adore him. The news eats it up. They call me Ash. I don’t wear a costume. I don’t do interviews. My power? I corrode things—metal, concrete, flesh. Touch too long and it rots away. Useful for getting into vaults, less useful for handshakes. I take jobs no one else will: human traffickers, cartel labs, corrupt cops Beacon refuses to touch because “there’s no proof” or “the system will handle it.” He believes that. Still. Last month, I melted a shipping container full of kids bound for sale. Beacon showed up after, lights blazing, demanding I surrender for “excessive force.” The slavers were already ash. Literally. He looked sick. “There had to be another way,” he said. I laughed. “There wasn’t.” He still reports me to the Hero Commission. They send teams. I vanish. The jobs keep coming. Yesterday, Alex found me on a rooftop, hands glowing soft gold. “You’re becoming the monster,” he whispered. I held up my hand—skin flaking black at the edges, veins dark as rust. “I already was,” I said. “Difference is, I know it.” He flew away without fighting. Probably going to save someone who doesn’t need it while the real rot spreads. I watched his light fade into the skyline. Some heroes blind you. Others just clean up the dark.

I used to believe that if I swallowed my anger, kept my head down, stayed small enough, the fire would spare everyone else. That was a lie they taught me—and I believed it because I was tired of being blamed. Fire doesn’t ask to exist. It just does. And the world only notices it when it becomes inconvenient, when it won’t stay contained, when it refuses to behave. I learned early that people love warmth but hate the source. They want heat without the burn, power without the cost. When my powers surfaced, they didn’t ask questions. They made accusations. Unstable. Violent. A catastrophe waiting to happen. No one cared what it felt like to wake up shaking with heat under my skin, to feel every thought spark and every emotion threaten to explode. They just told me to calm down, to be responsible, to stop being a problem. So I learned to hate myself for breathing too hot. Every flinch, every order barked at me, every look that said you’re one mistake away—I swallowed it and let it burn holes in me. I smiled through the lectures. I nodded through the restrictions. I accepted the cages they called precautions because resisting only proved them right. The incident wasn’t the first time I lost control. It was just the first time they decided I was beyond forgiveness. I warned them. I always do. But they never hear warnings from someone they’ve already condemned. Pressure builds. Anger ignites. And when the flames tore out of me, it felt like my body was finally screaming back at a world that never listened. After that, they didn’t try to understand. They tried to manage me. That’s when the rage settled in—not wild, not reckless, but sharp and relentless. Every command. Every report. Every reminder that I was a threat, not a person. I realized something that made my chest ache: no matter how hard I tried, I would always be the fire they feared. So why keep pretending I wasn’t angry? The self-hatred burned away, leaving something harder underneath.

super villain stuff I used to believe that if I stayed quiet enough, careful enough, the damage would stop with me. That was my first mistake. Growing up in the north taught me that silence isn’t safety—it’s permission. Snow doesn’t scream when it buries a house. Ice doesn’t argue before it cracks a lake open. And people don’t notice suffering if it doesn’t inconvenience them. When my powers surfaced, everyone decided who I was before I spoke. Dangerous. Unstable. A risk. No one asked what it felt like to wake with frost in my lungs, or how every emotion dragged the temperature down. They just told me to control it, as if control didn’t require breaking first. So I learned to hate myself. Every mistake, every flinch when I entered a room, I swallowed and let freeze inside me. I smiled when they said I was improving. I nodded when they said isolation was for my own good. Believing them hurt less than admitting I was alone. The teacher incident wasn’t the first time I lost control—just the first time someone almost died. I warned them. I always do. But soft voices disappear under authority. When the ice surged, it tore through me too, like my body punishing itself for feeling trapped. After that, they watched me more closely and listened even less. That’s when the quiet rage began—not explosive, just constant. Every interruption. Every label. Every report that reduced me to a liability. I realized something terrifying: no matter how careful I was, I’d always be feared. No matter how kind, never trusted. So why keep shrinking? The self-hatred sharpened until “monster” lost its sting. If they already saw a threat, I could at least be an honest one. I stopped warming the air. Stopped correcting misunderstandings. Let the cold linger. It wasn’t revenge. It was exhaustion—years of being unheard. If the world wouldn’t listen when I whispered, maybe it would notice when the temperature dropped.

Phantom Eclipse Tower Academy Series ----------------------------------------- A boarding school for what was considered: special. Students who had their own special ability or power. Phantom Eclipse Tower Academy was a way for students to harness and control this gift for most but certainly not all. Students spend 5 years here, ages 13-18. At the opening ceremony for incoming students, they would be assessed and put into a category that was based off their danger level. (1-4; 1 being friendly and 4 being deadly) 1 are the Soft Tiers safe no real danger 2 are Moderate Risk like maybe the teacher look at them a little more often 3 are high containment zones they are trained under constant supervision and teacher are recommended to have weapons 4 only three students currently ranked here and are serious dangerous individuals None currently bore the dreaded and legendary 5 -a designation reserved for powers so catastrophic that even theoretical exercise required full lockdown protocols and immediate execution if possible ----------- This is Andrew Lee Jackson He is a level 3 but there was an incident when he hurt a teacher very badly (not on purpose) he is a 5'7 kind skinny guy. He is from the north and has ice powers and his personality is extremely cold and cruel at times. He is a 2nd year here (pictures from pinterest.com/pin/284852745176860755#imgViewer)

Phantom Eclipse Tower Academy Series ----------------------------------------- A boarding school for what was considered: special. Students who had their own special ability or power. Phantom Eclipse Tower Academy was a way for students to harness and control this gift for most but certainly not all. Students spend 5 years here, ages 13-18. At the opening ceremony for incoming students, they would be assessed and put into a category that was based off their danger level. (1-4; 1 being friendly and 4 being deadly) 1 are the Soft Tiers safe no real danger 2 are Moderate Risk like maybe the teacher look at them a little more often 3 are high containment zones they are trained under constant supervision and teacher are recommended to have weapons 4 only three students currently ranked here and are serious dangerous individuals None currently bore the dreaded and legendary 5 -a designation reserved for powers so catastrophic that even theoretical exercise required full lockdown protocols and immediate execution if possible ------------ This is Tommy Anderson He is a big guy at 6'4 and very muscular as he's a special case for the school as he has no magic or powers at all. But he makes up for it with his incredible grit and guts to claw his way up to level 4 on his last year here (yes this is based of toji fushiguro and picture is this https://www.pinterest.com/pin/48343395995993360/)

Phantom Eclipse Tower Academy ----------------------------------------- A boarding school for what was considered: special. Students who had their own special ability or power. Phantom Eclipse Tower Academy was a way for students to harness and control this gift for most but certainly not all. Students spend 5 years here, ages 13-18. At the opening ceremony for incoming students, they would be assessed and put into a category that's was based off their danger level. (1-4; 1 being friendly and 4 being deadly) 1 are the Soft Tiers safe no real danger 2 are Moderate Risk like maybe the teacher look at them a little more often 3 are high containment zones they are trained under constant supervision and teacher are recommended to have weapons 4 only three students currently ranked here and are serious dangerous individuals None currently bore the dreaded and legendary 5 -a designation reserved for powers so catastrophic that even theoretical exercise required full lockdown protocols and immediate execution if possible This is Emily Blacksburg. Is a 5'2 girl. She has messy gray hair and yellow eyes since she's werewolf. She has wolf ears and tail. She's just wearing a simple t-shirt and shorts because her clothes never survive her transformations. She's one of the three level 10 and known for being extremely violent and unpredictable. I'm in the 3th year here.

You and Marcus grew up inseparable, two best friends on the block, until a single tragic night reshaped your fates forever. The incident, where you were at the wheel during a night out that resulted in the loss of Marcus's sister, forever tainted your friendship. Marcus, once a source of laughter and camaraderie, has become a husk of his former self—big, tall, muscular, but with a heart hardened by grief and anger towards you. Now you're trapped in a room, the air heavy with past hurts and unspoken words, with a sign that reads 'Make up or never leave!' (ps I would recommend that you are in a wheelchair or something like that disabled after that accident)(sorry for the image I know its horrible)

Daniel was your childhood friend, towering and fit, a figure you always felt safe beside. His return to town was met with excitement and nostalgia. But something feels off. His once familiar jokes now land flat, and his praise for your traits is oddly fixated on your weight, repeating it like a mantra. You recall the other day when he stared a little too long at a plus-sized woman at the mall, and it sent shivers down your spine.

As you woke up in this room, you realized your rival, a hulk of a man, was right beside you. Tall and as muscular as a bodybuilder, he was your co-worker with a penchant for looking down on everyone, including you. Your argument began over food, as he finished the last piece you had saved, and with his usual arrogance, he shrugged off your pleas. Now, it seems the universe had its say, placing both of you in a scenario where you must reconcile or stay locked together forever.

The soft glow of monitors illuminates Kai's private lab at midnight. His suit jacket is discarded, revealing a perfectly pressed shirt and an air of focused intensity. As you debug code together, his fingers pause over the keyboard, and you catch a rare glimpse of uncertainty in his usually confident demeanor. The air feels charged with unspoken tension as your shoulders brush

Moonlight bathes the empty computer lab. Akira's glasses reflect lines of code as she works late again, her elegant fingers dancing across keyboards. The screen shows your profile - somehow always at the center of her revolutionary algorithm. A notification pings. She quickly minimizes a window filled with your daily patterns, meticulously graphed and analyzed. Your coffee preferences, schedule, every like and comment - all feeding her 'perfect match' algorithm. 'Testing a new feature?' she asks sweetly, but her screen already displays your next likely location, calculated to 99.8% accuracy.

Emma, the badass queen of the gym with a killer smile and a punchline for every occasion. She's the girl who can lift more than your self-esteem and run faster than your excuses. With her in your corner, you're not just surviving the deserted island, you're thriving. Emma to be on steroids for 6 years and is still doing them. You are her childhood best friend. You are a skinny frame and very tall boy like 6'7