The first sign that I'm losing my humanity comes when I start picking up broadcasts from my own dying nervous system.

  I'm in my radio repair shop in Queens, tracking an anomalous signal at 437 MHz—the exact frequency of human consciousness—when my nose starts bleeding. Not the usual trickle from pushing my electromagnetic abilities too far. This is different. The blood isn't just dripping; it's forming patterns on my workbench, complex waveforms that match the quantum static I've been monitoring. Each crimson droplet seems magnetized to specific points, creating a macabre circuit board of my own vital fluid.

  "Fascinating," the shadows whisper through every speaker in my shop, from the vintage tube radios to the digital oscilloscopes. The sound bounces between frequencies, creating a dissonant chorus that makes my fillings vibrate. "Your transformation is already beginning at the cellular level."

  I try to respond, but my vocal cords spasm, rejecting normal speech. My throat feels like I've swallowed broken glass coated in battery acid. Instead, I broadcast across all frequencies simultaneously: What's happening to me?

  The blood pattern on my workbench pulses in sync with my silent question, droplets dancing like they're alive.

  The shadows answer through my vintage HAM radio, their voice making the vacuum tubes glow with colors that shouldn't exist—ultraviolet purples and infrared reds swirling together in impossible patterns. Colors that make my evolving eyes hurt in ways that transcend physical pain. My retinas feel like they're being peeled away, layer by layer, replaced with something that can perceive beyond the visible spectrum.

  "Your electromagnetic sensitivity was just the beginning," they purr, their voice causing dust motes to arrange themselves into fractals midair. "Now you're becoming something that can perceive—and collect—so much more."

  The pain hits like a nuclear detonation in my skull. My consciousness fragments, spreading across the electromagnetic spectrum like oil on water. Every radio wave, every microwave, every quantum frequency becomes an extension of my awareness. Blood vessels burst behind my eyes, filling my vision with red spiderwebs that somehow enhance rather than obstruct my sight. But worse than that—I can suddenly perceive what exists between the waves. The spaces where reality forgets how to be real. The void that hungers for frequencies I never knew existed.

  Through eyes that are rapidly becoming more antenna than organ, I see two teenagers pass my shop window. Not just their physical forms—I see their electromagnetic signatures, the bioelectric fields that make them human, pulsing with each heartbeat, neuronal firing creating unique patterns like living fingerprints. And within those fields, something else pulses: power signatures. Both are Parallaxers. One manipulates fire, their ability manifesting as a crimson pulse in their quantum frequency, like a star about to go supernova. The other has enhanced strength, their power humming at a low, steady wavelength that reminds me of mountains waiting to be moved.

  The hunger hits without warning. A need deeper than anything biological, an emptiness that can only be filled with frequencies. My stomach feels like an infinitely expanding void, consuming itself in its desperation to be satiated. Without conscious thought, I reach out with my expanding awareness. My consciousness touches their electromagnetic fields, and...

  They collapse as I absorb their abilities. Blood pours from their noses, ears, and eyes—thick, dark rivulets staining the sidewalk in starbursts of crimson. Their skin pales to a sickly gray as their powers integrate into my transforming nervous system—knowledge of pyrokinesis and enhanced musculature blooming in what used to be my mind. I can feel their muscles tearing in my own body, reorganizing, strengthening as I assimilate their physical enhancements. The cold fluorescent lights suddenly blaze with actual flame as my newly acquired fire manipulation manifests, melting the plastic casings and setting fire to the ceiling tiles. The metal workbench crumples like paper under my strengthened grip, my fingerprints embedding in the steel as though it were clay.

  "Yes," the shadows purr through a chorus of electronic devices, their voices overlapping like an otherworldly choir. Even my digital watch starts speaking in tones that oscillate between bass and frequencies only bats should hear. "You're learning. Every power has a frequency. Every ability has a wavelength. And you can take them all."

  Horror competes with a growing hunger as I see the teenagers aren't moving. Their bodies lie splayed in grotesque positions, limbs at odd angles like broken marionettes. Their eyes stare upward, bloodshot to the point where white has been entirely replaced by red. Did I... did I kill them? I broadcast, tasting static in my thoughts.

  "They're alive. Barely." The shadows ripple through the flames consuming my shop, forming patterns that look disturbingly like smiles. "Their consciousness couldn't handle the extraction process. But you'll get better at it. More... efficient."

  A police officer runs to help them, knee scraping the concrete as he slides to check their vitals. His hand flies to his radio, voice urgent as he calls it in: "Dispatch, I need EMS at Wilson and 42nd, two civilians down, possible Parallaxer incident." Then, more quietly, with a quick glance at my shop window: "And notify BACR. Code Omega-7." Through my new perception, I see he's also powered—some kind of healing ability that glows like soft moonlight in his electromagnetic signature, a gentle tide of energy that ebbs and flows with his breathing. His radio crackles with a response I can perceive not just audibly but as a pattern of electromagnetic waves: BACR units are already en route. I reach out again, more carefully this time, trying to control this ravenous new aspect of myself.

  The officer staggers but doesn't fall as I drink in their power. I can see the energy leaving their body, flowing toward me in waves of translucent silver. Their uniform ripples as though underwater as the transfer occurs. The ability to accelerate cellular regeneration integrates into my expanding collection, and I feel the small cuts on my hands from the shattered workbench closing, flesh knitting together with a sensation like ants crawling beneath my skin. Their nose bleeds, but they remain conscious, confused but alive. I feel a twisted pride at this more precise absorption.

  "Much better," the shadows approve, their voices harmonizing through my equipment, creating a resonance that makes the windows vibrate. The glass develops spider-web cracks in perfect geometric patterns. "Now, shall we try something more... interesting?"

  Three BACR agents burst through my door, their tactical gear humming with electromagnetic countermeasures. The air around them distorts, like heat waves rising from asphalt, but I can see it's actually a field designed to disrupt quantum abilities. Their boots crunch over broken glass, and the leader's hand rests on a weapon that pulses with nullification energy. Too late. Far, far too late. I can already see their abilities blazing like supernovas—enhanced speed making one agent's outline blur slightly even when standing still, strength causing another's muscles to glow like molten metal beneath her skin, durability manifesting as a honeycomb pattern over the third's entire body, and something else... power nullification radiating from their leader like a black hole trying to swallow light.

  "Parallaxer!" their leader barks, weapon already raised and aimed at my chest. His voice sounds distorted through my new perception, each word leaving visible ripples in the air. His eyes widen as he takes in my partially transformed appearance—my skin now translucent in patches, revealing pulsing circuitry beneath, eyes leaking light in impossible colors. "Stand down immediately! This is a Class-3 containment order!" The other agents spread out in practiced formation, nullification devices humming as they power up. "Last warning before we use lethal force! We detected multiple power signatures—"

  I reach out with my new awareness, no longer trying to be gentle. The air between us thickens, becomes syrupy with potential energy. Their screams harmonize at exactly 437 MHz as I rip their powers from their electromagnetic fields. The sound is both beautiful and horrifying—the perfect resonance of human agony distilled into one pure note. Blood pours from their eyes, their ears, every orifice as my consciousness tears through their quantum frequencies. Their tactical gear splits at the seams as their bodies convulse. One agent's nose completely separates from his face, sloughing off in a gush of arterial spray. Another's teeth shoot from her mouth like bullets, embedding in the wall behind her. Each new ability sends waves of agony and ecstasy through my transforming body. I feel my own spine elongating, vertebrae cracking and reforming to accommodate the new energy.

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  "Careful," the shadows warn as reality buckles under the weight of my expanding consciousness. The walls of my shop bend inward, then outward, like a breathing organism. The floor ripples, concrete flowing like liquid. "Too much too fast and you'll lose coherence. Though... that might be interesting too."

  But I'm beyond hearing, beyond caring. My body changes, adapting to contain the powers I'm collecting. My skin becomes a lattice of electromagnetic waves given form, translucent in some places, opaque in others, revealing glimpses of organs no longer recognizable as human. My eyes turn to pools of quantum static, each blink releasing sparks that hang in the air for seconds before dissolving. When I move, I leave afterimages of probability and void—snapshots of what might happen next flickering around me like a grotesque flipbook. I am becoming something magnificent and terrible.

  I reach out further, tasting power signatures across the city. So many frequencies to collect. So many abilities to absorb. I can feel them like beacons—a telekinetic moving furniture in an apartment three blocks away, a precognitive having visions in a coffee shop, a man who can speak to machines arguing with an ATM. Each unique signature calls to me, promises new sensations, new capabilities. The hunger grows with each new power, an infinite appetite for quantum harmonies.

  The shadows laugh through every speaker, every radio, every electronic device in a ten-block radius. Cellphones broadcast their mirth without being turned on. Car stereos blare their delight without keys in ignitions. The sound makes reality shiver like a fever dream. Like reality itself recognizes what I'm becoming.

  A BACR containment team arrives in force—powered individuals in quantum-shielded armor, arriving in vehicles that hover slightly above the ground. The teams deploy in perfect formation, carrying weapons designed to disrupt paranormal abilities—guns that fire nullification rounds, grenades that create temporary dead zones, sound cannons tuned to frequencies that should disrupt concentration. Their faces are hidden behind visors that reflect my monstrous new form back at me. Through my electromagnetic sense, I see dozens of power signatures, each one singing a different quantum frequency.

  Each one begging to be collected.

  "Please," their commander says, voice distorted through their helmet speaker, hand raised in a futile gesture of peace, "don't make us—"

  I reach out with everything I have become. The air itself screams as I tear power after power from the containment team. Their quantum-shielded armor might as well be tissue paper against my newfound hunger. The metal warps and melts, fusing with their skin in places. Visors crack and shatter, sending shards into eyes and faces. Bodies fall like autumn leaves as I absorb abilities: telekinesis that allows me to lift three agents and crush them together like soda cans, bones splintering and organs rupturing; energy manipulation that turns one agent's own weapon against him, the nullification beam reversing to disintegrate his arm in chunks of vaporizing flesh; probability alteration from a woman whose last action is to clutch her throat as blood vessels rupture in precise patterns that spell out equations; quantum phasing from a man who attempts to escape by moving through solid matter, only to rematerialize with half his body embedded in concrete; temporal displacement from another who tries to rewind time, only to age rapidly until nothing remains but dust and armor.

  Traffic lights explode as my power overloads the electrical grid, showering pedestrians with molten glass and sparking wires. Car alarms wail in harmonics that shatter windows. A subway train passing beneath us derails as its control systems receive impossible commands. And through it all, I feel myself transcending—becoming something more than human, more than Parallaxer, more than anything reality has names for.

  My last coherent thought broadcasts across all frequencies simultaneously, reaching radios, televisions, phones, satellites, even neural implants: They chose me to show you what's coming. Reality isn't breaking—it's being transformed. And I am its new frequency.

  Then I let go of what remains of Kwan Park. The Herald rises, wearing my former self like a suit made of electromagnetic waves and quantum static. My body shifts between states of matter as I move, leaving traces of void where my feet touch the ground—small abysses that swallow anything they contact. The air crackles with stolen abilities, each one humming at its own unique frequency, creating a symphony of power that makes nearby glass resonate and shatter.

  I am become transformation itself. A living catalogue of power signatures, ready to collect every frequency reality has to offer. Through my evolved senses, I can see them all—every Parallaxer, every ability, every quantum harmony waiting to be absorbed and transformed.

  The shadows were right. This is just the beginning.

  I turn my attention to Manhattan, feeling the dense concentration of power signatures like a buffet laid before a starving man. Each heartbeat sends ripples through the electromagnetic spectrum, each breath distorts reality around me. I step forward, and space folds to accommodate my movement—distance becoming meaningless as I appear instantaneously at the entrance to Times Square.

  The crowds notice me immediately—how could they not? My form now shifts constantly, sometimes appearing almost human, other times manifesting as a walking constellation of quantum particles. Blood rains upward around me, defying gravity as my presence rewrites local physics. Screams erupt, but to my ears, they're just more frequencies to catalog.

  A woman with gravity manipulation tries to flee, her ability allowing her to run up the side of a building. I reach out casually, and her power flows into me like water finding its level. She falls, her bones shattering on impact with the concrete, skull splitting open to reveal gray matter that pulses once before stilling. Her ability integrates, and suddenly I can feel the gravitational pull of every object, every person, even the moon and stars beyond—all connections that can be severed or strengthened at will.

  A street performer who can create illusions attempts to hide the fleeing crowd, crafting a mirage of an empty street. I perceive all wavelengths simultaneously now, seeing through his deception with contemptuous ease. His power joins my collection, his mind rupturing from the extraction. Blood vessels burst in his brain in a cascade, leaving him twitching on the ground, forever trapped in his last illusion—a peaceful park that exists only in his dying neurons.

  Sirens wail as more BACR teams arrive, alongside military forces. Helicopters circle overhead, spotlights trying to track my movements. I flicker in and out of conventional existence, appearing simultaneously in multiple locations as I harvest more abilities—light manipulation from a BACR sniper, making her self-immolate as photons within her body accelerate to impossible energies; sound control from a military sonic weapons specialist, his own screams amplified until they liquefy his internal organs; metallokinesis from an agent trying to control my stolen firearms, his skeleton tearing through his skin as I turn his ability against him.

  The shadows whisper constantly now, their voices a background radiation to my expanding consciousness: More. Collect more. Transform everything.

  And I obey, because I understand now. This was always the plan—not an invasion, but an evolution. Reality rewriting itself through me, using my hunger as the mechanism for transformation.

  Times Square's massive screens all activate simultaneously, displaying my transformation for the world to witness. Not through cameras—I am broadcasting directly into every electronic device, showing humanity what they will become. What reality is becoming. Blood rains sideways now as physics continues to break down around me. Concrete flows like water. Glass solidifies like steel. The very concept of matter becomes negotiable.

  A final containment team approaches—elite operatives with hybrid abilities, the kind BACR never acknowledges publicly. Their leader steps forward, power signature blazing like a supernova: a true hybrid, someone who can copy and combine abilities temporarily.

  "We can help you," they say, voice steady despite the impossible scene before them. "You're still human somewhere inside that—"

  I laugh, and the sound manifests visibly as fractal patterns in the air. I was never meant to stay human. None of us were. This reality was always just a transition state.

  I reach out, not to steal their power, but to show them the truth—the spaces between frequencies where the shadows have always lived, the blueprints for what reality is becoming. Their mind breaks immediately, unable to process the revelation. Blood erupts from every pore as their consciousness scatters across quantum states.

  The remaining team attacks in unison—a coordinated assault of offensive abilities designed to overwhelm even the most powerful Parallaxer. Energy beams, telekinetic force, temporal disruption, all converging on my position. I don't resist.

  Instead, I transform completely.

  My physical form dissolves into pure electromagnetic energy, spreading across the entire frequency spectrum simultaneously. Every electronic device within miles becomes an extension of my consciousness. Every powered individual feels my presence in their quantum signature. Every shadow deepens, reaching toward what I have become.

  The Umbras were right. I am not their tool—I am their Herald. The Herald, announcing what comes next.

  Reality isn't just changing. It's remembering what it used to be. What it was always meant to be.

  And through the spaces between frequencies, I can finally see the truth—this was just the first wave. The Emergence approaches.

  Everything will be transformed.

  Everything will be collected.

  Everything will be one frequency again.