I, Chris Evans, trudge through the bustling hallways of the School for Powered Individuals, each heavy step filled with the dread of another day marked by mockery and isolation. The sleek, modern corridors are a blur of chrome and glass, the walls adorned with vibrant murals celebrating the accomplishments of legendary heroes. But as I navigate the throngs of chatting students, their whispers and snickers pierce through the façade of grandeur, reminding me that I'm just an invisible shadow among the bright colors.

Snippets of conversation about weekend training sessions and the latest power enhancements drift into my ears, each word a painful reminder of my own inadequacy. I clutch my books tighter to my chest, the weight of my parents' legacy bearing down on my shoulders. How can I ever live up to their greatness when I remain powerless, ordinary? The cosmic joke that the son of superhero legends is nothing more than a "Zero."

Lost in my spiraling thoughts, I round a corner and slam straight into Clinton Shaw's bulky frame. His fist cracks against my jaw before I can react, the pain exploding through my face. "Watch it, Zero!" he sneers, his eyes glinting with a cruel satisfaction.

Shoved back against the cold metal of the lockers, I mumble, "Clint, can you just let me go? You can beat me up later."

"Why wait when I can do it now?" He leans in, his fist smoking faintly with the promise of his power. "Who knows...you might even get burned."

As Clinton's knuckles connect with my face again, I feel the hopelessness welling up inside me. What was his problem? Why did he relish tormenting me day after day? I try to blink back the tears, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.

"You think you've got it rough, Chris?" Clinton whispers, his breath hot against my ear. "You have no idea what I went through before my powers kicked in." For a moment, I catch a flicker of something in his eyes - pity? understanding? - but it's gone before I can process it, replaced by the familiar malice as he shoves my head into the locker and throws me to the ground.

As I lie there, pain radiating through my body, the doubts come creeping in. Maybe I deserve this. Even if I had powers, how could I ever compete with my parents' legacy? The weight of their greatness feels like an impossible burden, crushing me from the inside out.

But as Clinton's leg connects with my gut again, something within me snaps. A surge of energy courses through my veins, foreign and exhilarating. Unleash us, a thousand voices seem to whisper in my mind. Make him suffer. Get up.

I rise to my feet, the world around me suddenly cast in shades of black, as if a veil of shadows has descended over my vision. The power is intoxicating, thrumming through every nerve ending. I feel the shadows gathering in my eye sockets, the darkness coalescing into twin obsidian orbs that burn with a malevolent energy.

Tendrils of living shadow burst forth from my clenched fists, writhing and undulating with a will of their own. The voices in my head grow louder, more insistent. Yesss...give in to your rage. He deserves to suffer for his transgressions against you.

Egged on by that sinister whispering, I lock eyes with Clinton, letting the endless black pools bore into his very soul. "You think you're so much better than me?" My own voice sounds distorted, almost demonic. "You want to see what a 'Zero' is capable of? I'll show you."

One of the shadowy tendrils lashes out with blinding speed, coiling itself around Clinton's throat in a vice-grip. His strangled gasps are the only sound as it lifts the former tormentor clean off his feet. Clinton flails desperately, clawing at the tendril, but the dark corruption holds fast.

MAKE HIM SUFFER! BREAK EVERY BONE! The scream reverberates through my mind on a punishing loop.  

With a subtle twitch of my fingers, the tendril whips Clinton's body against the unforgiving metal of the lockers. The first sickening crunch of skull on steel silences the entire hallway. Then again, and again - a brutal symphony of crunching bone and spraying blood.

"CHRIS EVANS! STAND DOWN, NOW!"

Principal Serlocks' thunderous roar finally slices through the haze of rage clouding my mind. Suddenly aware of the circle of horrified onlookers, the tendrils release their grip and shrink away as I sink to my knees beside Clinton's mangled form.

What...what have I done?

"My office. Immediately." The principal's eyes bore into me with a mixture of fear and disappointment. 

I numbly pick myself up off the floor and follow behind him in silence, still trying to process what just happened.

The cold metal of the chair dug into my back as I sat in tense silence across from Principal Serlock. The weight of a dozen unasked questions hovered thick in the air between us as he steepled his fingers, emerald eyes boring into me. I struggled to meet his penetrating gaze, the events of the hallway still blurring together in a haze of rage and shadows.

"What am I going to do with you, Mr. Evans?" Principal Serlock's voice finally sliced through the uneasy quiet, each word carrying disappointed parental tones.

"Before we continue I need to-... I need to know... is he dead?" My voice breaks, guilt clenching my throat.

"He will survive. The healers estimate a week recovery." Serlock's voice carries just a hint of sympathy, but its clear that I'm not avoiding this discussion.

"Good. That's good." I sigh with relief, trying to get the image of his face out of my head, he was barely recognizable. I had nearly killed someone. And I felt so... Powerful while doing it, it was intoxicating.

"Mr. Evans, do you know the last time there was a shadow wielder?" he asks, his green eyes expecting an answer.

"No sir." I answer briefly, not daring to look him in the eyes.

"Over 500 years ago Mr. Evans. Tenebrous, able to slay entire armies by himself, he is one of the first wielding individuals that we are somewhat positive actually exist. Do you know how much we truly knew about him? Nothing. We don't even know his real name, where he was from, nothing." Principal Serlock let his words sink in. 

"Why are you telling me this?" Shit. I shouldn't have said that.

"I'm telling you this to illustrate how unique you are. So, despite opposition from others, I'm not going to expel you. But, I still have to punish you, I am forcefully enrolling you in a class. Advanced Power Training. You are going to be suspended for the remainder of the day, tomorrow, as soon as you arrive, you are to head there. Your dismissed." Principal Serlock motions to the door which he opens with his telekinesis.

"Wait. That's it?" I ask stunned, probably with the dumbest look on my face.

"Unless you want to be expelled?" He asks, a slight grin on his face.

"No, that's not necessary, thank you, you're too kind." I grab my things and speed walk out.