Black Tide

Chapter Two: The Awakening

Kaine woke to the soft hum of his alarm clock and the faint rays of sunlight filtering through the blinds. It was his 18th birthday—a milestone most people would celebrate. Kaine? He couldn’t give less of a damn. Birthdays didn’t mean s**t when everyone you loved was dead. He stared at the ceiling, his body heavy with a familiar numbness, before rolling over and grabbing his phone.

The first call of the day wasn’t to a friend or relative but to Bayou Care Services.

“Bayou Care, this is Janice speaking,” came the overly chipper voice on the other end.

“Yeah, hi. This is Kaine Maze,” he said, voice flat. “Cancel the nurses.”

There was a pause, followed by the sound of furious typing. “I’m sorry, Mr. Maze, but as part of your emancipation agreement, you’re required to—”

“I am 18 now,” Kaine cut her off, his tone icy. “The deal is done. I'm legal. Thank them for their help.”

“Mr. Maze, I really must advise—”

Kaine hung up mid-sentence and tossed his phone onto the couch. He didn’t need anyone’s help, least of all theirs.

The day dragged on in the usual haze of boredom. Kaine threw on a pair of black sweats and a loose hoodie to cover the scars snaking across his body. His prosthetics clicked softly as he walked to the kitchen, where he grabbed a protein bar and a bottle of water. Breakfast of champions.

He parked himself in the living room, flipping through channels until he landed on an old action movie. Guns blazing, explosions everywhere—it was mindless, which suited his mood. But his thoughts kept drifting.

Weapons. He needed to get his hands on some. Guns, knives, explosives—whatever it took to start tearing through the Crimson Dawn like they’d torn through his family.

He leaned forward, resting his hand on the glass coffee table, his mind buzzing with the details of the perfect assault rifle. Lightweight but sturdy. Matte black finish. Built-in suppressor. Fully automatic with a smooth recoil system. He could see it clearly in his head.

Then the coffee table started to glow.

The synthetic wood, tempered glass, and metal frame shifted and morphed beneath his touch. The air shimmered with an otherworldly energy as the table disassembled itself, the materials bending and twisting as though obeying an unseen force. Kaine yanked his hand back, falling into the couch as the glow faded.

Where the table had been, a sleek, fully loaded assault rifle now rested on the floor.

“What the actual f**k?” Kaine muttered, staring at the weapon as though it might bite him.

He reached out cautiously, his fingers wrapping around the grip. It felt… right. Balanced. Perfect. He inspected it, testing the weight, the smoothness of the action. It was exactly as he’d imagined, down to the tiniest detail.

Kaine set the rifle on his lap, his mind racing. How? Why? He glanced back at the spot where the table had been. The transformation wasn’t random; it had been intentional. He’d thought about the rifle, and the table had become it.

Experimentally, he turned his gaze to a lamp across the room, envisioning a combat knife. His hand brushed the metal base, and the glow returned. In seconds, the lamp had reshaped itself into a gleaming blade, sharp and deadly.

Kaine stood, gripping the knife in one hand and the rifle in the other. His reflection in the dark TV screen stared back at him, a mix of shock and disbelief.

He didn’t understand what was happening to him, but he didn’t care. This wasn’t a curse; it was a gift. A weapon.

“Happy f*****g birthday to me,” he said, his lips curling into a grim smile.