Chapter Text
If Miles ever met the person who said “everything happens for a reason,” he was going to bite them. Specifically, he was going to bite them with the same radioactive fangs that had currently turned his nervous system into a flickering neon sign. Like, really sink those radioactive teeth in.
Anyway. Getting bitten by a snake was already a statistically improbable nightmare, but a glow-in-the-dark one? That was just the universe being a bully. It hurt like hell, a sharp, searing venom that made him feel as though he were melting from the inside out.
He lay in bed, contemplating the cosmic irony of his situation.
He had spent a couple of days trying to fail out of Visions Academy. He had handed in a physics paper that was essentially just a collection of sketches, all to prove he did not belong in this elite pressure cooker. He wanted out, but a supernatural fever was not exactly the exit strategy he had in mind.
The door creaked open. His mother, Rio Morales, peered in, already reaching for the digital thermometer in her pocket. She approached the bed.
“Still awake?” she asked, pressing the device to his temple. It beeped an unhappy rhythm. “38.5. Miles, the doctor at the clinic was puzzled because your white cell count was normal, but you’re exhibiting signs of a severe allergic reaction. Your pupils are reacting strangely to the light.”
“I’m okay, really,” Miles lied, squinting as she shone a small penlight into his eyes.
“You’re not okay, and you’re a terrible liar,” she countered softly, smoothing his hair back. “Your skin is clammy, but you say you’re freezing. It’s inconsistent. I want you to stay hydrated. I have put a glass of electrolytes on the nightstand.” She tucked the duvet in. “Sleep. If you feel any numbness in your limbs, you tell me immediately. I mean it, mijo.”
“Sí, Mamá. Te lo prometon.” Miles’s voice sounded thin even to his own ears.
The door clicked shut.
Finally. He let out a breath that felt like it was laced with copper.
How did he know it was a radioactive snake, you ask? Because apparently, with great power comes great—wait, no, that was not his line. Whatever. The point is, the moment those fangs sank into his skin, his “third eye” was ripped wide.
He had seen the birth of galaxies and the spinning of the Earth as if it were a marble in a cosmic playground. It was a lot to take in for a boy who usually just focused on not tripping over his own shoelaces.
Was this karma?
Perhaps the universe did not take kindly to him sneaking out of his dorm to meet Uncle Aaron. His uncle was his hero, the only one who truly saw his art, but maybe spraying a mural in a forbidden underground tunnel was the final straw for fate. He was only fourteen, for goodness’ sake!
At his age, “changing” should involve a deeper voice and awkward growth spurts, not a biological rewrite by a glowing reptile. He was allowed to be dramatic. In fact, he was currently the poster child for Middle School Syndrome—the only difference was that his “delusions of grandeur” were actually pulse-coded into his veins.
The pain was, quite frankly, a massive overachiever.
It was a high-definition, surround-sound experience where Miles could feel every single strand of his DNA being untwisted and knitted back together with snake-flavoured yarn. He did not even know what kind of snake it was. Was it a cobra? A viper? A very spicy garden snake?
Whatever it was, the rent was due and Miles was tired of paying in agony.
“Right, universe, I get it,” he groaned into his pillow. “I’m a chimera now. Half-boy, half-reptile, all-miserable. Can we wrap this up before I start craving frozen mice?”
As if the author of his life had suddenly hit the ‘mute’ button on his nerves, the heat vanished. In a blink, the shivering stopped. Miles blinked, sat up and... he felt brilliant.
He felt light, like he had been hollowed out and filled with helium.
“Oh, so we’re doing this now? Just fine? Okay then,” he mumbled, suspiciously checking his arms. He pulled up his pyjama sleeves, half-expecting scales or a fork-tipped tongue to sprout.
Nothing. Just normal, boring Miles.
He hopped out of bed and marched to the mirror.
“Wait,” he said, staring at his reflection. He turned to the side, then back. “Are you joking? I’ve seen the documentaries—well, the comic books. When the spider bit the other guy, he woke up with a six-pack. Where’s my sudden growth spurt? I’m still just... small. Fourteen-year-old, five-foot-nothing Miles. No abs? No boulder shoulders? I’ve been rewritten by a radioactive serpent and I didn’t even get the courtesy of a bicep? That’s just rude.”