The Titan Who Asked Me to Kill God

The insistent chirping of his alarm carved through Cassian Ward’s tenuous grip on sleep. It was 6:30 AM, precisely, a time he’d come to both resent and rely upon, a steadfast anchor in the swirling current of his university life. He slapped the snooze button with practiced apathy, rolling onto his back, eyes still sealed. The scent of stale coffee from yesterday’s forgotten mug mingled with the faint, comforting aroma of old textbooks. Another day. Another lecture. Another hundred pages to digest before his thesis proposal. His life was a symphony of predictable rhythms, a meticulously orchestrated routine that, while occasionally monotonous, offered a certain peace. He preferred the quantifiable, the demonstrable, the solid ground of academic logic. Strange occurrences, supernatural phenomena, whispers of the impossible – they were diversions for late-night documentaries, not aspects of his reality.He dragged himself out of bed, the familiar ache in his lower back a constant compani

Cassian stumbled back, gasping, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. His entire body ached, his head throbbed, and his palm felt like it had been held in a forge. He leaned against the wall, trying to regain his equilibrium, the acrid smell of ozone still clinging to the air. The crowd was silent, staring at the now-normal subway entrance, then at Cassian, a mixture of awe and terror on their faces.Then, the system interface, which had been flickering wildly during the collapse, steadied. One final message appeared, stark and undeniable:[HOST STATUS: IMPOSSIBLE.]His mind, a void of exhaustion and confusion, struggled to process the message. Impossible. He was impossible. The raw, visceral truth of it settled deep in his bones, heavier than any academic concept. The weight of it, combined with the lingering adrenaline, made his legs tremble. He pushed off the wall, turning to face the onlookers. The mother of the boy he’d saved rushed forward, not to him, but to the normal, st

The world blurred around Cassian. He was half-dragged, half-carried towards the waiting black transport, the armoured figures moving with an unnerving, synchronized efficiency. The device clamped around his left wrist throbbed with a low hum, effectively muzzling the symbol on his palm, dimming its crimson glow to a faint, internal ache. His eyes met Iris Bellamy’s for a fleeting moment – hers wide with horror and a desperate, knowing fear that spoke volumes. Then the heavy door of the vehicle slammed shut, plunging him into near-total darkness, leaving the sounds of the distorted district and Iris’s whispered warning behind.The transport moved with silent speed, its interior devoid of windows. Cassian slumped against the cold, hard seat, his body screaming in protest, every muscle protesting the immense exertion and the sudden paralysis of his unique ability. The hum from his wrist guard was a constant, low thrum, a dull roar in his bones that kept him on edge. Time became a fluid c