Superpower Encyclopedia

The scent of oiled gears and old paper was Arkadios's favourite, a symphony of industriousness and forgotten lore. Nelly, currently a heavy brass telescope, felt the familiar tremor of his hands as he adjusted her focus, her polished lens cool against his cheek. From her new vantage point atop the cluttered oak desk, she could survey his study – a room crammed with arcane maps, curious brass instruments, and shelves overflowing with scrolls and bound tomes. He was searching for something, as always.

"Ah, good, my dear," Arkadios murmured, his voice a low, melodious rumble that always sent a strange shiver through her. It was a voice that could coax secrets from a locked vault and promises from a hardened heart. "Just the clarity I needed." He squinted through her, aiming her toward a specific, intricately drawn constellation on a star chart tacked to the wall.

Nelly had been a spyglass, a teacup, a key, a locked diary – always just what Arkadios needed. Her true form, a woman with hair like spun moonlight and eyes the colour of sea glass, was something she rarely saw herself these days. It had been years since she'd spent more than a few moments conscious as Nelly. She was Arkadios's invaluable asset, his secret weapon, his perfectly adaptable tool. He called her his soulmate, his muse, his most precious possession. The terms had blurred over time, like colours left too long in the sun.

She remembered the beginning, a long time ago in the bustling heart of Eldoria, a city woven from steam, clockwork, and whispers of forgotten magic. Arkadios, then a struggling antiquarian with an audacious glint in his eye, had stumbled upon her secret. She'd been a frightened girl, barely able to control her gift, accidentally turning into a shimmering puddle of mercury when startled. He hadn't recoiled. Instead, he'd been fascinated, kind, and utterly captivating. He'd promised her safety, a purpose, a life beyond fear. And he'd delivered, in his own way. He taught her control, refined her ability, and showed her how she could be useful.

"Just a moment more, my dear," Arkadios said, jotting down coordinates on a parchment. He always spoke to her, no matter her form. It was a small comfort, a thread connecting her to her humanity, even when she was a simple brass instrument. Or was it just a habit, like speaking to a beloved pet? Lately, it felt more like the latter.

Her transformations were seamless, intuitive, a ripple of energy that reshaped her entire being. There was no pain, only a momentary disassociation, a shifting of perspective. But staying in an object form for too long, especially complex ones, left her feeling… thin. Stretched. Like her essence was a fine silk drawn taut over a frame. And the more Arkadios pushed, the more elaborate and demanding her transformations became, the more that hollowness echoed within her.

Tonight, he was planning another acquisition. He always called them 'acquisitions', never 'thefts'. This one was the 'Chronosynclastic Infundibulum,' a legendary device said to bend not just space, but time itself. It was hidden in the heavily guarded vault of the Obsidian Archive, an institution notorious for its impenetrable wards and vigilant scholars.

"For this, my love," Arkadios announced, stroking her brass body, "you will need to be… adaptable. And very, very small."

Nelly felt the familiar dread unfurl in her gut. Small transformations were draining. They compressed her very being into a minuscule space, making her essence feel like a droplet struggling to contain an ocean.

The Chronosynclastic Infundibulum. Even the name felt heavy on her non-existent tongue. Arkadios had been obsessed with it for months, poring over ancient texts, muttering about unlocking the true potential of Eldoria, about stepping through the veil of time itself. He painted grand visions: a world where no knowledge was lost, no mistake uncorrected, a true golden age. And she, Nelly, would be his key to it all.

The night of the 'acquisition' was a canvas of inky shadows and the distant hum of Eldoria's clockwork heart. Arkadios moved with silent grace, a shadow among shadows, Nelly nestled in the breast pocket of his tailored coat. She was a simple, tarnished brass button, indistinguishable from the others, yet vibrating with her own suppressed consciousness.

They slipped past the outer wards, Arkadios's fingers dancing across ancient symbols, muttering incantations Nelly barely understood. He was good at this, too good. He had refined his art of persuasion and subtle coercion almost as much as he had refined hers.

Inside the Obsidian Archive, the air was thick with the scent of aging parchment and dormant magic. The hum of the Chronosynclastic Infundibulum, though hidden deep within the vault, was a faint thrum in the very air, pulling at Nelly's awareness.

"Alright, my sweet," Arkadios whispered, his voice barely audible, as they reached the vault door. It was a monstrous thing of reinforced steel, etched with glowing runes that pulsed with defensive energy. There was no keyhole, no visible mechanism. Just the vast, impenetrable surface. "This will be your most intricate transformation yet."

Nelly felt him carefully pluck her from his coat. She didn't know what he wanted. A minuscule gear? A single molecule of the steel itself?

"You will be a thread of living light," he instructed, his voice firm, "a strand of pure magical energy. You will weave yourself through the very fabric of the wards, bypassing the physical. Enter the Infundibulum's chamber, and when I call, you will become a key. Not just a key, but the key. The conceptual key to its activation."

A thread of living light. The mental image alone sent a tremor through her. It wasn't about shape anymore, but essence. It was shapelessness, pure energy. What would even remain of Nelly then?

She felt herself stretch, thin, attenuate. It was a sensation unlike any other. Her consciousness diffused, spread wide, until she was a shimmering, almost invisible filament, a single strand of magic, seeping into the wards. She felt the ancient magic of the vault resistance, a cold, indifferent force. But her own magic, refined by Arkadios's guidance, was like water finding its way through stone, slowly, inexorably.

It took what felt like an eternity. She was everywhere and nowhere, a fleeting glow permeating the steel. She heard Arkadios's heavy breaths outside, felt the faint tremble of his excitement. When she finally coalesced inside the chamber – a vast, circular room dominated by the Chronosynclastic Infundibulum, a swirling vortex of brass and crystal – she was exhausted. Her true form felt like a distant, impossible dream. She was just a wisp, clinging to existence.

The Infundibulum hummed, drawing on the ambient magic of the chamber, a silent, powerful song. It was beautiful, terrifying. Nelly felt its pull, a temptation to simply dissolve into its energy, to cease being.

"Nelly, my love!" Arkadios's voice, amplified by some small charm, echoed from the other side of the vault door. "Are you there? Become the key! The conceptual key!"

She struggled. Conceptual key. It didn't have a shape. It was an idea, a function. It was being the missing piece, the spark of activation. This wasn't transformation; it was transmigration of her very purpose.

But she had to. Arkadios was waiting. He needed her. He loved her. Didn't he?

With a force of will she didn't know she possessed, she focused. Her scattered essence began to coalesce, not into a physical form, but into a resonant frequency, a unique magical signature that pulsed with the very 'idea' of unlocking. She was the final cipher, the ultimate permission.

The vault door hissed open. Arkadios stepped in, his eyes wide, gleaming with triumph. He saw the shimmering, shapeless pulse of energy that was Nelly, and his smile broadened.

"Magnificent!" he breathed, reaching out, not to touch her, but to interact with the Infundibulum. He placed his hands on its surface, and Nelly, the conceptual key, felt herself being drawn into its core, absorbed.

For a terrifying moment, she was nothing. Pure energy, fueling a machine. She felt the Infundibulum roar to life, the crystal spiralling faster, the brass gears whirring, the chamber filling with a blinding, temporal light. Arcane symbols flashed across its surface, describing moments in history, glimpses of the future.

Then, a voice. Not Arkadios's. Not even human. A whisper woven from time itself, echoing through her newly absorbed consciousness. "He does not understand. He seeks control, but time bows to no will… it merely is. You, who are formless yet essential, you understand."

Nelly, the conceptual key, felt a surge of clarity. Arkadios's ambition, his desire to master time, was hubris. He didn't want to understand; he wanted to dominate. And she, Nelly, was just another tool in his arsenal. A means to an end.

She saw herself reflected in the rushing currents of time – not as a woman, but as a series of objects. A spyglass, observing his triumphs. A teacup, holding his secrets. A key, opening his paths. Always. Never herself. Always an extension of his will.

And in that moment of absolute absorption, of being nothing but pure concept, Nelly realized she had a choice. She could remain the conceptual key, binding herself permanently to this machine, to Arkadios's will, to a fate where she was forever a tool. Or she could reclaim herself.

The voice of time was a gentle suggestion, not an order. "Adapt. You are the ultimate adaptable. What do you wish to be?"

Arkadios was reaching into the heart of the Infundibulum, his face alight with manic glee, ready to command time. "With this," he bellowed, "Eldoria will be mine! The world will be mine! And you, my dear Nelly, you will be my eternal instrument!"

His words, meant to be a dedication, were a knife to her heart. Instrument. Not partner. Not lover. Not even companion. Just a thing.

A spark ignited within the core of the Infundibulum, a furious, desperate spark of identity that had been suppressed for too long. Nelly focused with every fiber of her being, every scattered piece of her essence. She wouldn't be the conceptual key. She wouldn't be an instrument.

She would be a blockage.

No longer a thread of light, but a knot. No longer a key, but a lock. She would become the conceptual antithesis, the wrench in the gears of Arkadios's ambition. She wouldn't just stop the Infundibulum; she would embody its absolute cessation, its undoing.

Her essence, instead of activating the device, began to resist, to recoil, to solidify into an impenetrable wall within its very core. The whirring of the gears stuttered. The temporal light flickered, then dimmed. The powerful hum died down to a low, dying whine.

Arkadios froze, his hand still outstretched, his face contorted in disbelief. "What… what is happening?" he whispered, his voice rising in panic. "Nelly! What are you doing? I command you! Reset! Become the key!"

But Nelly was no longer merely capable of being a thing; she was capable of choosing what she was. And she chose to be the unyielding force that stood against his tyrannical will. She was an anchor, a weight, pulling the Chronosynclastic Infundibulum into complete magical stasis, its power dissolving into the ether.

The temporal light winked out entirely. The chamber was plunged back into near-darkness, illuminated only by the faint, dust-moted moonlight filtering through a high window. The powerful humming machine was now just an ornate, silent mechanism of brass and crystal, forever inert.

Arkadios's eyes, wild with fury and fear, fixed on the now-darkened heart of the Infundibulum. "Nelly!" he roared, his voice stripped of its smooth charm, raw and ugly. "You treacherous fool! You've ruined everything!"

He lunged forward, his hands reaching for the deactivated machine, as if he could physically force her back into subservience, back into being his tool.

But Nelly had already shifted. Not into an object, but into something else entirely.

With a final, conscious surge of power, she drew all of her scattered essence back to herself, not into her human form, but into something new, something she had never dared to imagine. She coalesced at the very center of the now-dormant Infundibulum, no longer a part of it, but standing within it.

When Arkadios's hands touched the cold, inert metal of the machine, sparks didn't fly. No power surged. Instead, the surface rippled, not with temporal energy, but with pure, defiant magic.

And then, from the heart of the Infundibulum, stepped a woman.

She was Nelly, her hair like spun moonlight, her eyes the colour of sea glass, but there was a fierce, unyielding light in them now. Her simple tunic seemed to shimmer with inner power. She was no longer a wisp of energy. She was whole. Grounded. And utterly, irrevocably free.

Arkadios stared, his jaw slack. "Nelly?" he breathed, his voice a bewildered whisper. "You… you're human?"

"I am myself," Nelly said, and her voice, though soft from years of disuse, resonated with a power that made the very dust motes in the air tremble. "I am not your key, Arkadios. I am not your instrument. I am not your solution. I am not even your possession." She took a step forward, and Arkadios instinctively recoiled.

"You… you stopped it," he stammered, his eyes darting between her and the defunct machine. "You destroyed it! What have you done?"

Nelly looked at the silent, magnificent failure around her, then back at the man who had called himself her soulmate. "I chose myself," she said simply. "And for the first time in a very long time, I am not an object."

She walked past him, a quiet force of nature. Arkadios, for all his cunning and ambition, was reduced to a petulant child, stranded with his broken toy. He reached out to her, a desperate plea forming on his lips. "Nelly, wait! We can… we can fix this! We can find another way! I need you!"

Nelly paused at the vault door, which now stood ajar, the wards harmlessly dissipated. She turned, her gaze firm, unburdened by the weight of his expectations. "You always did, Arkadios," she said. "But you never truly saw me."

Outside the Obsidian Archive, the first hint of dawn painted the sky in shades of bruised purple and soft rose. Nelly, now walking through the quiet streets as herself, felt the cool morning breeze on her skin, a sensation she hadn't truly felt in years. She had no plan, no destination. But for the first time, she was truly herself, charting her own course. The weight of being Arkadios's instrument had lifted, replaced by the boundless, terrifying, exhilarating freedom of being Nelly. And that, she knew, was a far greater power than any Chronosynclastic Infundibulum could ever bestow.