Normal superman superpowers
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 7
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Sarah stood there on the cracked highway, hands still on her newly massive hips, chest heaving with smug satisfaction. The burnt streak of the telephone pole had already faded into the night sky, to be exact—and the cold wind whipping across the empty fields did nothing but make her golden-bronze skin prickle in the most delicious way. Her long black waves danced like they had a mind of their own, brushing the asphalt behind her like a royal train she hadn’t bothered to hem.
Then a thought hit her like a bad bagel at 3 a.m.
“Wait a minute…” she muttered, Brooklyn accent thick as schmaltz. “If I’m super-strong now, what else did that space rock slip me? Like, am I getting the whole deluxe superhero package or what?”
She tilted her head, narrowed her almond eyes, and really concentrated—same way she used to focus when spotting a fake designer bag from across the room at Century 21.
First came the sound.
A low rumble she’d ignored before sharpened into clarity. Not just crickets. Not just wind. She could hear… everything. A deer stepping delicately three hundred yards into the treeline. The faint buzz of a power line half a mile down the road. A trucker on his CB radio cursing about roadwork—way over on Route 22. Her lips parted in shock.
“Oy gevalt,” she whispered. “I can hear that schmuck complaining about potholes from here. This is next-level.”
She turned her head slowly. The night wasn’t dark anymore. Not to her. The moon was a weak sliver, but she could see every pine needle, every frost-rimed blade of grass, every crack in the asphalt like it was high noon under tanning-bed lights. Shadows peeled back. Details popped. She spotted a rabbit’s heartbeat pulsing under its fur two hundred feet away.
Then smell. Oh God, the smell.
Burnt rubber from her own tire skid. Ozone from the crater. Pine sap. Faint diesel from that distant truck. And underneath it all—something sweet and metallic, like blood and copper, from a small animal that had probably gotten too close to the impact zone earlier. She inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring, and licked her lips.
“Mmm. I can taste the air. Like… expensive perfume mixed with scorched asphalt. This is mamash decadent.”
She ran her talons lightly down her own forearm. The touch was electric—every tiny hair, every pore, every microscopic ridge of her golden skin lit up like she’d been dipped in sensitivity serum. Goosebumps raced in waves. She shivered, moaned low in her throat.
“Feh, even my own skin feels like silk sheets from the Ritz. I’m basically a walking spa treatment now.”
She took a breath to steady herself—then accidentally huffed too hard.
A gale-force wind exploded from her mouth.
Trees fifty yards away bent double. Branches snapped like toothpicks. Leaves tore free and spiraled upward in a sudden tornado of green and brown. The blast carved a trench through the underbrush, uprooting saplings, hurling dirt and pine needles into the air like confetti at a bat mitzvah gone wrong.
Sarah’s eyes went wide. Then she grinned—slow, wicked, pure JAP delight.
“No. Fucking. Way.”
She pursed her lips and blew again—harder, more deliberate. A focused hurricane roared out, narrower this time, slicing a perfect thirty-foot corridor through the forest edge. Pines cracked at the base. One mature tree toppled with a groan, crashing across the highway like it owed her money.
She cackled—sharp, nasal, triumphant.
“Take that, nature! You thought you could just stand there looking all rustic? Not on my watch, bubbaleh!”
Still buzzing, she glanced at the fallen tree. Curiosity prickled. She narrowed her eyes, focused on a distant pine cone still clinging to a branch.
Heat bloomed behind her eyeballs.
Twin ruby-red beams lanced out—thin at first, then thickening into searing pillars. The pine cone vaporized in a puff of ash. The branch behind it charred black, then burst into flame. The fire spread fast—dry January needles catching like kindling.
Sarah clapped her hands together once—loud enough to echo—and laughed so hard her massive breasts bounced.
“Lasers! Actual eye lasers! I’m a walking, talking, Brooklyn-accented Death Star! This is better than winning the lottery and finding out the prize is a black card!”
She flexed her quads, felt the power coil in every muscle, and decided to push it.
One step.
Then another.
Then—she was gone.
A sonic boom cracked the night open. The shockwave flattened grass in a perfect circle around where she’d been standing. She reappeared a quarter-mile down the highway in less than a heartbeat, skid marks of displaced air smoking behind her. Hair whipped forward then settled perfectly, like nothing had happened.
She spun on her heel, eyes glittering.
“Speed of sound? Check. I’m faster than the L train on a good day.”
She blurred again—back and forth across the crater three times in a blink—each pass kicking up dirt devils and shattering more asphalt. She stopped dead center, hands on hips, chest heaving with exhilaration.
“Schleppers wish they could move like this.”
Then she looked up.
The stars were sharp, close, beckoning.
A strange lightness bloomed in her core—like gravity had forgotten her name.
She flexed her toes, bent her knees slightly, and pushed off.
Nothing dramatic. Just a casual hop.
She didn’t come back down.
She rose—slow at first, then faster—hair streaming behind her like a midnight comet. Ten feet. Twenty. Fifty. The crater shrank beneath her. The wrecked highway became a thin scar. The forest turned into a dark carpet. Cold air rushed past, but it felt good—like AC on a sweltering August day in Midtown.
Sarah threw her head back and whooped—loud, joyous, utterly smug.
“I can fly! I can fucking fly!”
She banked left, then right—testing, playing, reveling. She climbed higher—five hundred feet, a thousand—then dove, hair whipping, breasts bouncing with the motion, laughing the whole way down. She pulled up at the last second, skimming treetops, sending branches whipping in her wake.
Hovering now, arms spread, she looked down at the tiny, pathetic world below.
“Listen up, planet Earth,” she called out, voice carrying impossibly far on the wind. “Sarah Adler just got the upgrade of the century. From basic JAP to literal goddess. You thought I was insufferable before? Darling, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
She licked her lips once—slow, predatory—then flashed that signature smug grin, brighter and sharper than any laser she could shoot.
“Time to go shopping… and maybe redecorate the whole damn state while I’m at it.”
With a flick of her powerful legs she rocketed upward again—toward the stars, toward whatever came next—leaving a trail of shattered trees, scorched earth, and one very satisfied, very dangerous laugh echoing across the frozen night.
Where she is flying to?
Then a thought hit her like a bad bagel at 3 a.m.
“Wait a minute…” she muttered, Brooklyn accent thick as schmaltz. “If I’m super-strong now, what else did that space rock slip me? Like, am I getting the whole deluxe superhero package or what?”
She tilted her head, narrowed her almond eyes, and really concentrated—same way she used to focus when spotting a fake designer bag from across the room at Century 21.
First came the sound.
A low rumble she’d ignored before sharpened into clarity. Not just crickets. Not just wind. She could hear… everything. A deer stepping delicately three hundred yards into the treeline. The faint buzz of a power line half a mile down the road. A trucker on his CB radio cursing about roadwork—way over on Route 22. Her lips parted in shock.
“Oy gevalt,” she whispered. “I can hear that schmuck complaining about potholes from here. This is next-level.”
She turned her head slowly. The night wasn’t dark anymore. Not to her. The moon was a weak sliver, but she could see every pine needle, every frost-rimed blade of grass, every crack in the asphalt like it was high noon under tanning-bed lights. Shadows peeled back. Details popped. She spotted a rabbit’s heartbeat pulsing under its fur two hundred feet away.
Then smell. Oh God, the smell.
Burnt rubber from her own tire skid. Ozone from the crater. Pine sap. Faint diesel from that distant truck. And underneath it all—something sweet and metallic, like blood and copper, from a small animal that had probably gotten too close to the impact zone earlier. She inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring, and licked her lips.
“Mmm. I can taste the air. Like… expensive perfume mixed with scorched asphalt. This is mamash decadent.”
She ran her talons lightly down her own forearm. The touch was electric—every tiny hair, every pore, every microscopic ridge of her golden skin lit up like she’d been dipped in sensitivity serum. Goosebumps raced in waves. She shivered, moaned low in her throat.
“Feh, even my own skin feels like silk sheets from the Ritz. I’m basically a walking spa treatment now.”
She took a breath to steady herself—then accidentally huffed too hard.
A gale-force wind exploded from her mouth.
Trees fifty yards away bent double. Branches snapped like toothpicks. Leaves tore free and spiraled upward in a sudden tornado of green and brown. The blast carved a trench through the underbrush, uprooting saplings, hurling dirt and pine needles into the air like confetti at a bat mitzvah gone wrong.
Sarah’s eyes went wide. Then she grinned—slow, wicked, pure JAP delight.
“No. Fucking. Way.”
She pursed her lips and blew again—harder, more deliberate. A focused hurricane roared out, narrower this time, slicing a perfect thirty-foot corridor through the forest edge. Pines cracked at the base. One mature tree toppled with a groan, crashing across the highway like it owed her money.
She cackled—sharp, nasal, triumphant.
“Take that, nature! You thought you could just stand there looking all rustic? Not on my watch, bubbaleh!”
Still buzzing, she glanced at the fallen tree. Curiosity prickled. She narrowed her eyes, focused on a distant pine cone still clinging to a branch.
Heat bloomed behind her eyeballs.
Twin ruby-red beams lanced out—thin at first, then thickening into searing pillars. The pine cone vaporized in a puff of ash. The branch behind it charred black, then burst into flame. The fire spread fast—dry January needles catching like kindling.
Sarah clapped her hands together once—loud enough to echo—and laughed so hard her massive breasts bounced.
“Lasers! Actual eye lasers! I’m a walking, talking, Brooklyn-accented Death Star! This is better than winning the lottery and finding out the prize is a black card!”
She flexed her quads, felt the power coil in every muscle, and decided to push it.
One step.
Then another.
Then—she was gone.
A sonic boom cracked the night open. The shockwave flattened grass in a perfect circle around where she’d been standing. She reappeared a quarter-mile down the highway in less than a heartbeat, skid marks of displaced air smoking behind her. Hair whipped forward then settled perfectly, like nothing had happened.
She spun on her heel, eyes glittering.
“Speed of sound? Check. I’m faster than the L train on a good day.”
She blurred again—back and forth across the crater three times in a blink—each pass kicking up dirt devils and shattering more asphalt. She stopped dead center, hands on hips, chest heaving with exhilaration.
“Schleppers wish they could move like this.”
Then she looked up.
The stars were sharp, close, beckoning.
A strange lightness bloomed in her core—like gravity had forgotten her name.
She flexed her toes, bent her knees slightly, and pushed off.
Nothing dramatic. Just a casual hop.
She didn’t come back down.
She rose—slow at first, then faster—hair streaming behind her like a midnight comet. Ten feet. Twenty. Fifty. The crater shrank beneath her. The wrecked highway became a thin scar. The forest turned into a dark carpet. Cold air rushed past, but it felt good—like AC on a sweltering August day in Midtown.
Sarah threw her head back and whooped—loud, joyous, utterly smug.
“I can fly! I can fucking fly!”
She banked left, then right—testing, playing, reveling. She climbed higher—five hundred feet, a thousand—then dove, hair whipping, breasts bouncing with the motion, laughing the whole way down. She pulled up at the last second, skimming treetops, sending branches whipping in her wake.
Hovering now, arms spread, she looked down at the tiny, pathetic world below.
“Listen up, planet Earth,” she called out, voice carrying impossibly far on the wind. “Sarah Adler just got the upgrade of the century. From basic JAP to literal goddess. You thought I was insufferable before? Darling, you haven’t seen anything yet.”
She licked her lips once—slow, predatory—then flashed that signature smug grin, brighter and sharper than any laser she could shoot.
“Time to go shopping… and maybe redecorate the whole damn state while I’m at it.”
With a flick of her powerful legs she rocketed upward again—toward the stars, toward whatever came next—leaving a trail of shattered trees, scorched earth, and one very satisfied, very dangerous laugh echoing across the frozen night.
Where she is flying to?
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·
June 13
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