713 | Use Soul Superpowers 

713 | Evan Learns About Soul Superpowers and Mystic Energy from His Dad

Chapter 1: Evan and His Dad Discuss Developing Mystic Powers and Evil Spirits

Evan and His Dad Discuss Developing Mystic Powers and Evil Spirits. Evan feels overwhelmed by the world's darkness and seeks practical spiritual solutions. Evan sits cross‑legged on his bed, phone balanced in his hand, screen lighting his face in the dim afternoon.

War footage.

Cyberattacks.

Protests.

Another data leak.

Headline after headline scrolls past until they smear into one long bruise.

His stomach tightens, cold and hard, like he just swallowed ice.

He hits pause.

The screen goes black and shows him instead: brown hair falling into his eyes, an oversized hoodie, posters of superheroes plastered on the wall behind him.

All those heroes mid‑punch, mid‑flight, mid‑victory.

All of them sure.

Evan feels wired and exhausted at the same time.

A cabinet door closes in the kitchen.

Dad.

Evan hesitates—one long second where he could go back to doom‑scrolling and pretend none of it matters.

Then he slides off the bed and walks down the hall.

Dad sits at the table, grading papers, red pen in hand. The kitchen light buzzes softly overhead. A coffee mug sits by his elbow, half empty, cooling.

Evan stops at the chair across from him. His chest feels too small for everything inside it.

“Dad,” he blurts. The words tumble out faster than he’s ready for. “I’ve decided I want to save the world. I want the empowerment to stop wars, crime, hacking, spamming, and theft. I want to identify my soul’s enemies.

“Can you explain how superpowers work and how I can develop my soul’s mystic powers?”

The red pen freezes mid‑mark.

Dad looks up, eyebrows raised. For a heartbeat, the room feels very still.

“You’ve been watching too many superhero movies,” Dad says lightly, leaning back in his chair. “And now you want to become like Superman.”

There it is. The joke. The deflection.

Adults always do this—turn fear into something cute.

“My friends at school pretend to have powers,” Evan says. “They joke about it, but…” He shrugs, hands tightening on the back of the chair. “It doesn’t feel like a joke to me anymore.”

He doesn’t say the rest:

How helpless he feels when another school shooting shows up in his feed.

How his group chat trades memes about depression like it’s a punchline.

How sometimes his own thoughts don’t feel like his—dark suggestions whispering in his mind like clickbait headlines he never asked for.

Dad studies him.

Really studies him this time.

There is a weight in Evan’s gaze that doesn’t belong on a fifteen‑year‑old face.

“Wishing for empowerment is not effective,” Dad says slowly.

Evan’s fingers dig into the wooden chair.

“I’m becoming more aware of the evil in the world and feel helpless to fight against it,” he says. The words spill out now, no stopping.

“I can’t pretend it won’t touch me. It won’t magically fade away. Evil is everywhere. I can’t hide under my bed forever.

“This dark force is growing more powerful every day. Bystanders will eventually become victims.”

His voice trembles. He stays standing.

Dad taps the pen on the table, thinking.

“Would you like me to teach you how to shoot a gun?” he asks.

Evan almost laughs. “Sure,” he says. “But that won’t help. Physical weapons can’t destroy these evil spirits.

“Only mystic powers work on them.”

Dad’s eyes narrow just a fraction.

“I saw Harry Potter wands on sale,” he says. “Want one for your birthday? Comes with a book of spells.”

“I don’t want to be a sorcerer or black magician,” Evan says. He meets his dad’s gaze, steady now. “I want to master mystic abilities like alchemy, transmutation, and exorcism.”

Dad folds his arms. “Aren’t you a little young for that?”

“Maybe my body is,” Evan says. “But I feel like an old soul. I have a lot to do in this lifetime.

“I feel like I’m filled with mystic fire, and I’ll get in trouble if I don’t use my energy wisely.

“I have to conserve it and increase my reservoir of Holy Spirit light so I can stand up and fight my invisible adversaries.”

He starts pacing, hands carving invisible diagrams in the air.

“I hear the Tempter’s voices and mostly ignore them,” he says, “but they keep changing tactics.

“You taught me how to create a ten‑foot cylindrical firewall around myself—that helps a lot. But the Tempters are getting more desperate to recruit me into their gang. They see me as a potential threat.

“I want to make their fear come true.”

Dad’s expression shifts.

Pride.

Concern.

A faint shadow of his own unspoken memories.

“Why isn’t your mystic shielding working?” he asks quietly.

Evan stops.

“The Tempters are using my friends,” he says. His voice drops. “They tempt or trick me into misusing my energy.

“They’re inside entertainment, social media, education and government. They’re like an airborne virus.”

He shakes his head.

“The safest place I found is in bed, under my blankets. But I can’t live there. As soon as I step outside, I’m exposed.”

Dad exhales, rubbing his eyes with ink‑stained fingers.

“Wanting to go to war with your enemy can be a curse or a blessing,” he says.

“I know,” Evan answers. “You taught me to be driven by wise, virtuous intentions, not anger, fear, or revenge.

“The Tempters keep trying to push me to use hate, frustration, or selfishness for motivation.

“I can feel the difference now between electrochemical emotions and Holy Spirit energy.”

He pulls out the chair and finally sits, leaning forward.

“I can’t wait for some super‑savior to swoop down like Superman and erase evil,” he says.

“Developing the skills to direct mystic fire myself—that’s what will stop this hopelessness.

“My friends already feel depressed and trapped. The Tempters already have them halfway.

“If I wait any longer, I might not be able to help them. Soon they’ll be full recruits to the dark side—and enemies of my soul.”

Dad lets out a low whistle.

“Teenagehood sure has changed since I was young,” he says. “My biggest concern was getting a prom date. Now my son wants a suit of armor and a mystic sword to slay dragons and demons.”

“You know I’m not exaggerating,” Evan says. “You know the battle between good and evil is real.

“Most people ignore it. Or they deny it.

“Or they say their Savior will fight for them.

“Meanwhile, kids are being targeted, groomed, indoctrinated—and enlisted—while their parents stare at their phones.”

He swallows.

“Please,” he says. The word cracks. “Please, please reveal the secrets to develop my soul’s mystic powers.”

Dad looks at him for a long time.

Evan can see the choice in his father’s eyes: offer the safe half‑truths, or hand his kid the real map.

Finally, Dad sets the pen down.

“Okay,” he says. “Then we start at the beginning.

“With what superpowers actually are.”

Outside, a car drives by, headlights sliding across the kitchen wall.

The ordinary world keeps going—cars, dishes, homework—while something invisible and electric stirs in the space between father and son.

A door Evan cannot see yet is beginning to open.  

Chapter 2: Rev Explains His Energy Vest, and Evan Considers Invisible Soul Power

During lunch, Rev Explains His Energy Vest, and Evan Considers Invisible Soul Power, silently connecting his dad's serious teachings to his friends' casual jokes. The next day at lunch, the cafeteria roars.

Forks scrape.

Trays slam.

Jokes ricochet off cinderblock walls.

Evan sits at the far end of a long table with his usual crew: Diesel, who always smells faintly like motor oil and energy drinks, and Rev, who dresses like he got halfway to a comic convention and then took a wrong turn into public school.

Rev leans in, eyes bright. His hoodie is black today, traced with thin silver lines that glint when he moves.

“I’ve invented a special energy vest,” Rev says in a low, excited voice. “More like a sleeveless hoodie, technically. This e‑vest has seven portals for streaming magic light.”

Diesel snorts into his chocolate milk. “I bought a Harry Potter wand once,” he says, wiping his mouth. “It snapped, flashed, made noise—but never cast anything.

“When the batteries died, I tossed it. I was tired of being the nerd who believed in magic.”

He arches an eyebrow at Rev. “How is your sleeveless hoodie any different?”

Rev smirks. “Your wand didn’t work because it had no source of firepower. Physical batteries can’t produce spiritual flame.”

“So where does your e‑hoodie get power?” Diesel asks.

Rev taps the center of his chest, where the zipper ends.

“That,” he says, “is in the instructions.”

Evan watches them, tray cooling in front of him. To everybody else, this is just Rev being Rev—just cafeteria nonsense.

To Evan—after last night—every word feels like a clue.

He hears Dad’s voice again.

“Soul superpowers,” Dad said, “are abilities that attract, hold, qualify, and direct something unseen but very powerful. People call it chi, prana, life energy, ether, the Force.

“This vital energy is everywhere, even in a vacuum. It is universal—but your thoughts, images, and feelings can re‑qualify it.”

Evan looks around the cafeteria.

Fluorescent lights buzz.

Kids shout.

Grease glistens on pizza.

Underneath it all, he imagines an invisible ocean of particles—tiny bright units of energy bathing everything: his hands, his tray, the crumbs on the table.

“The mystic spirit is like the delivery truck,” Evan had said last night, trying to understand. “And we determine the cargo.”

Dad had nodded.

“Mystic spirit can be like a soft ray of sunlight or a flash of blue lightning,” Dad said. “It can be stored in a reservoir, building a force field in your aura. It can be a spark, a trickle, a river.

“The core is always the same. We change the movement and quality.

“Cosmic law is encoded into every unit of this energy. We can alter its charge—its intensity, color, and frequency—by how we think and feel. We decorate the energy. That decoration is whether it becomes positive or negative.”

Diesel waves a fry like a miniature wand.

“So basically,” Diesel says to Rev, “I paid thirty bucks to LARP with dead batteries.”

Rev grins. “Yes. And you learned more about human cruelty than magic.”

Evan leans forward.

“Those who misuse this energy pay a big price eventually,” he says.

Both boys glance at him.

“What, like karma?” Diesel asks.

“Like physics,” Evan says. “But for your soul.”

Rev’s smile fades into something more thoughtful.

For a moment, cafeteria noise blurs.

Evan feels it again—pressure in the air, like the whole building is standing at the edge of a secret none of them are supposed to see yet.  

Chapter 3: Evan and His Dad Discuss How to Target and Direct Holy Spirit Fire

As Evan and His Dad Discuss How to target and Direct Holy Spirit Fire, Evan realizes the critical importance of using pure intentions rather than anger. That night, the house is calm.

The TV murmurs from the living room—some sitcom laugh track repeating the same hollow laugh.

Dad sits at the dining table with no papers in front of him this time.

Hands folded.

Waiting.

Evan drops into the chair across from him, notebook open, pen ready.

“Divine firepower is pure at the core,” Dad says. “But it can be corrupted.”

Evan writes: PURE CORE. CAN BE HACKED.

“An energy master can be good or evil,” Dad continues. “Both use the same laws to direct the Force. The source and color of the flame differ. The results differ.

“But the laws are the same.

“Cosmic power can:

• build or destroy

• support or crush

• give life or help cause death

“The long‑term consequences for evil users are… uncomfortable.

“However, they sometimes delay their own punishment by shifting the pain onto others.”

Evan’s pen pauses.

“Got it,” he says. “I don’t want to be a sorcerer, witch, or black magician.”

He thinks of charismatic streamers who weaponize shame and rage for views.

Energy masters.

Just turned the wrong way.

“We need to attract the fire,” Dad says. “Let it flow through us. Then send it to a specific target through the seven energy centers.

“You need to:

• get the energy

• store it

• Use some wisely, not all

“Mystic fire is invisible Holy Spirit energy. If you understand the laws guiding it, you get safe, positive results.

“Always build a mystic firewall of virtuous light to shield yourself.

“Use blue fire around your mind to block tempting voices.”

“I told some of this to my friends,” Evan says. “They laughed. They think all superpowers are fairy tales.”

He remembers the way they talk about revenge spells like they’re jokes—and also not.

“Disciplined control of your thoughts, feelings, visualizations, and words,” Dad says, “is how you direct mystic fire accurately.

“Working with fire takes mastery.

“We are born with seeds of superpowers. But we must practice.

“True power comes from self‑controlled intention, not from random fantasy.”

“Today,” Evan mutters, “discipline is cringe.

“Fantasy is the new virtue.”

He thinks of endless scrolling, endless distraction.

No one stays with anything long enough to master it.

“We have free will to access and use superpowers,” Dad says. “But we are completely responsible for outcomes.

“Ignorance is no excuse.

“Learning to drive a bulldozer doesn’t let you level anyone you don’t like.

“Your wisdom guides where you direct holy fire. Your Conscience gives you the ‘why.’”

Evan scribbles: Intention = aim the flame.

“My hopeless friends never think about what they could do to change anything,” he says quietly.

“It’s better to be proactive than reactive.

“If I spend all my time defending, I never get to push back.”

“Enhance your willpower with divine feelings,” Dad says. “Charge your intention with:

• hope

• purity

• justice

• peace

“That magnetizes the fire, defines it.

“Then you send it.”

“Most people,” Evan says, “fuel themselves with anger, hatred and revenge.

“That fire is strong—and short‑lived.”

He remembers the rush of sending a rage text. The emptiness afterward.

“Use your supervision to visualize the flame’s color and nature,” Dad says. “You are blending your:

• wisdom

• virtue

• willpower

“Then choose which of your seven centers will project the energy.”

“Most people use their gut,” Evan says, pressing a hand to his solar plexus. “Solar plexus blasts of rage.”

Dad nods.

“Finally,” he says, “in sync with your thoughts, feelings, and visualization, create a willful fire breath.

“Speak specific words to attract, store, and direct mystic fire toward a virtuous goal.”

The air feels thicker now, like something unseen has leaned in close to listen.

“Don’t I need a magic wand?” Evan asks. “What makes this different from Harry Potter spells? They use words, too.”

“Your soul attracts, stores, and directs the fire,” Dad says. “Harry Potter spells rely on power in the wand.

“Take the wand away, and they’re helpless.

“The curse streams through plastic, not through their chakras.”

Evan pictures mall kids waving dead plastic, shouting Latin at nothing.

Then he imagines glowing portals along his spine and chest, each capable of focusing more power than any toy wand.

The difference is terrifying.

And thrilling.  

Chapter 4: Diesel Knocks on Wood and Evan Rejects Superstition for Real Mystic Power

After Diesel Knocks on Wood and Evan Rejects Superstition for Real Mystic Power, Evan reflects deeply on the foolishness of relying on imaginary luck instead of spiritual truth. A week later, the sky hangs low and grey as Evan and Diesel walk home.

Wind scrapes through bare branches. Leaves skitter across the sidewalk like coins.

“I swear,” Diesel says, kicking at a crack in the pavement, “if I bomb this math test tomorrow, I’m cursed. I need, like, an emergency luck ritual.”

As they pass a leaning telephone pole, Diesel reaches out and knocks twice on the old wood.

“Knock on wood,” he mutters.

The hollow sound echoes down the sidewalk.

Evan stops walking.

Dad’s words replay in his head.

“Many people are tricked into building a personal set of superstitions instead of real mystic powers,” Dad said a few nights ago. “These are the worst false beliefs.

“Everyone knows they have no real basis—but they do them anyway.”

He had rapped his knuckles on the table.

“They think knocking on wood prevents bad luck,” Dad said. “It has to be wood, not rock or metal.

“It’s illogical and childish—but they do it ‘just in case.’

“They feel pressured to do it or think they’ll be cursed if they don’t.

“Superstition doesn’t replace the need for real use of spirit power. In fact, it can displace it.

“Your superpower can be disabled by superstition.”

“How foolish is that?” Evan had said then.

“Believing any scrap of wood can protect you—but refusing to believe in real superpowers.”

Now, on the sidewalk, Diesel knocks on a fence post like he’s signing a contract he doesn’t read.

In Evan’s mind, a scene plays out.

A person knocks twice on any random plank.

“Knock on wood,” they say.

A deep voice booms back:

“Hello! Who is that, and what can I do for you?”

The believer stares upward.

“Oh, great and powerful piece of wood,” they say. “So much grander than plastic or metal. I believe you will bring me good fortune.

“I assume you care about me and know exactly what kind of luck I need.

“You are my servant. I offer nothing. My double rap makes you mine to command.”

The imaginary Wood Genie bows.

“Thank you for the information,” it says. “I am connected to everything and can change the world to suit your desires.”

Back in reality, Diesel knocks a third time for emphasis.

“This is better than a wand or lamp,” Evan mutters under his breath. “Any chunk of wood, anywhere, opens a portal to the Wood Genie.

“If that were real, we should all carry two‑by‑fours, knocking all day, demanding new cars, perfect friends, lottery wins.

“Apparently, the Genie is a full‑time unpaid intern.”

“What?” Diesel asks, glancing over.

“Nothing,” Evan says. But something shifts inside him.

Dad’s other warning echoes.

“Substituting superstition for the Force weakens your ability to use real mystic senses,” Dad said. “Finding pennies and four‑leaf clovers has nothing to do with attracting, storing, and directing Holy Spirit fire.

“We use fire breath, not nose wiggling or heel clicking.

“The etheric power field is all around us—but in another dimension.

“Superpowers require scientific use of mystic laws.”

Evan slips his hands into his hoodie pockets.

His fingers curl into fists.

“Superstitions are easy and empty,” he says quietly.

“What I want is the real thing.”

The wind gusts, carrying his words away.

But somewhere deeper, the question lands.  

Chapter 5: Evan Learns the Seven Steps to Call Upon Spiritual Ray Fire

In his bedroom as the rain falls, Evan learns the Seven Steps to Call Upon Spiritual Ray Fire, visualizing how to focus divine light safely and efficiently. That night, rain taps at the window.

Evan’s room glows softly under his desk lamp. Posters of caped heroes watch from the walls, frozen mid‑battle.

Dad perches on the edge of the desk, arms loosely crossed.

“The key,” Dad says, “is knowing where to get mystic fire.

“You need a mantle—an office of authority.

“Acknowledge the authority under which you access the fire. It’s like permission. Or a badge.

“Ideally, the power doesn’t come from your small internal reservoir alone. That would drain too fast.

“You call for spiritual fire using the name of a graduated divine being.”

He gives an example.

“In the name of Saint Francis, Mother Mary, and Saint Joseph,” Dad says, “I call for holy fire.”

The names hang in the air like invisible signatures.

“Effective firepower must be specific,” he continues. “Focused.

“So:  

Identify the source of the fire outside yourself.  

Visualize the color and qualities of the flame.  

Name the spiritual ray for the kind of fire you need.  

Specify the delivery shape—ray, wave, ball—example: Bolt of Blue Lightning.  

Direct the flow mentally through your energy centers to a clear target.  

Describe the intended action and purpose verbally.  

Maintain your inner reservoir.”

As Dad speaks, Evan’s mind translates every word into images.

He imagines himself standing in a dark gym.

Above him, a shaft of pale light pours down like a waterfall only he can see.

It hits the top of his head.

Drops through him:

• a glow at the crown

• a spark at the brow

• a ring at the throat

• a flame at the heart

He shapes that light into a narrow bolt—pure electric blue.

A Bolt of Blue Lightning.

He releases it.

In his mind’s eye, it streaks across the gym and slams into a shadow crouching near the bleachers.

The shadow shatters like glass and dissolves.

Evan blinks.

He is in his room again.

His chest is rising faster.

“So,” he says, voice a little rough, “how do I actually… breathe this stuff?”  

Chapter 6: Evan Practices Charging Etheric Energy Through Fire Breath

Standing firmly on his carpet, Evan Practices Charging Etheric Energy Through Fire Breath, learning to stamp the air around him with positive willpower. Dad stands in the middle of Evan’s room, feet planted shoulder‑width apart, as if the carpet is a training mat.

“First lesson,” he says. “Fire breath.”

Evan mirrors his stance.

The room smells like laundry detergent and rain.

“Breathe in the air around you,” Dad says softly, “which is charged with ether.”

Evan inhales.

The air feels thicker now, like he is pulling in a fine mist of invisible sparks.

“Hold your breath for a moment,” Dad continues. “While you hold it, charge the ether—with your mind, your heart, your insight.”

Evan holds.

In that pause, he crams the breath full of:

• love for his friends

• refusal to join the Tempters

• stubborn hope for a world that looks broken

“Now,” Dad says, “breathe out.

“Imagine you are stamping the ether with your will—directing it.”

Evan exhales.

He imagines the air leaving him glowing faintly, tinted blue and gold.

He pictures it drifting in a narrow arc across the room and soaking into the walls, leaving behind a soft shimmer.

“Hold the emptiness,” Dad says.

“Relax.

“Appreciate the perfection around you.

“Prepare your next in‑breath—your next intention.”

They stand still.

The house hums quietly.

“Repeat that,” Dad says, “for the rest of your life.”

Evan lets out a short laugh.

“That’s a long assignment,” he says.

“In advanced stages,” Dad adds, “you attract more ether than what’s in the lungful of air.

“You can pull it in from miles around.

“So be very conscious of what you charge it with.

“Add sound to the out‑breath. That turns heat into visible firelight.”

Evan tries again.

He inhales deeper, imagining drawing in subtle light from the whole neighborhood—not stealing, but refining.

He holds.

Charges.

Then he exhales on a low hum, a single note that vibrates through his chest.

In his mind, the breath leaves as a thin river of shimmering energy, curling around the edges of his room.

He opens his eyes.

The posters, the desk, the lamp—everything looks the same.

He does not.

Something in him has clicked on.  

Chapter 7: Evan Directs Charged Prana to Comfort Casey in the Hallway

Putting his morning training into practice, Evan directs Charged Prana to Comfort Casey in the Hallway, proving that small moments of structured kindness carry mystic weight. Monday, between the second and third period, the hallway floods.

Metallic locker clangs.

Laughter spikes.

Headphones leak beats from three different songs at once.

Evan moves through the current, Dad’s words echoing.

“Lesson 2,” Dad said. “The perfect Hello.”

Back at the kitchen table that morning, cereal bowls pushed aside, Dad had explained:

“Practice saying the perfect ‘Hello’ to a stranger. It holds the highest virtues you can gather in that moment—comfort, enlightenment, motivation.

“Give yourself a second of peaceful awareness to sense what they need.

“Inhale prana.

“Charge it with caring, understanding, and encouragement.

“Exhale it with a smile and your word.

“No selfishness. No manipulation. No naughtiness.”

Now, in the crowded hallway, Evan spots her.

Casey.

He’s seen her in English—back row, sleeves over her hands, eyes always on her notebook.

Today, she is pinned against her locker by the tide of students.

Earbuds hang around her neck, not plugged into anything.

Her body language says: If I shrink enough, maybe I’ll vanish.

Evan slows.

He inhales.

He imagines the hallway air full of prana—small sparks hanging like dust in sunlight. He pulls them in.

He holds that breath and, in that moment, listens with his heart.

He senses:

• recent humiliation

• loneliness

• the familiar belief: I am background unless someone needs a target.

He charges the breath with what he wants her to feel instead: safety, being quietly seen, a tiny hope that maybe not everyone is awful.

Then he exhales.

“Hey,” he says gently as he reaches the edge of her locker. He lets the word ride out on the breath he has charged.

He smiles—not wide and fake, but small and real.

“Hello.”

She startles a little, then blinks.

“Hi,” she says. Her voice is thin but there.

“Rough day?” he asks.

She hesitates. He can almost see the calculation: Is this another setup?

“My lab partner ditched me,” she says at last. “I have to present alone.”

The words are steady. Her throat is not.

“That sucks,” Evan says calmly. He keeps breathing slowly, steadily.

“Want to practice on me at lunch?”

She studies his face, scouting for sarcasm.

When she finds none, something in her shoulders relaxes.

“Maybe,” she says. “I’m… Casey.”

“Evan,” he says.

The bell rings.

The hallway surges forward.

For a moment, the two of them stand in a still pocket of air.

As Evan walks to class, he feels that breath circling back into him—slightly brighter than when it left.

Hello, he thinks, it's just a small spell of kindness.

And spells can be powerful.  

Chapter 8: Evan Practices Maintaining Only Pleasant Thoughts and Feelings for a Full Day

Committing to a profound spiritual detox, Evan Practices Maintaining Only Pleasant Thoughts and Feelings for a Full Day, discovering exactly how rejecting negativity creates room for internal light. Saturday morning, Dad announces Lesson 2.5 over pancakes.

“Only nice thoughts,” he says, pouring syrup.

Evan stares. “That sounds fake,” he says. “Have you seen the internet?”

Dad chuckles.

“Commit to one day a week—say Sunday—where you practice having only pleasant thoughts, feelings, and speech,” he says.

“Pre-screen every thought and word. Reject the naughty.

“Only nice visualizations. No violent shows. No disgusting headlines.

“Prepare the night before by telling yourself you will have only pleasant dreams.”

“So… spiritual detox day,” Evan says.

“If that name works for you,” Dad answers.

That night, lying in bed, phone screen hovering over his face, Evan scrolls:

• fights

• flame wars

• doom threads

His thumb moves on autopilot.

He stops.

He remembers.

He flips the phone face down.

The screen goes dark.

The room immediately feels less crowded.

He looks into the shadows on his ceiling.

“Tomorrow,” he whispers, “I’m only having nice thoughts.

“And tonight… only pleasant dreams.”

Sleep comes slowly… but softly.

When dreams arrive, they are strange, but kind:

• trees that hum

• old friends hugging him without explanation

• a blue river of light running through the center of his chest

Sunday morning, he wakes with the aftertaste of peace on his tongue.

The attacks start almost immediately.

At breakfast, his younger cousin spills orange juice all over Evan’s homework.

A flash of anger snaps up—hot, red, ready to erupt.

Evan catches it.

He imagines the anger as a small red spark in his gut.

He breathes around it.

Wraps it in blue and violet light.

The spark shrinks. Fizzles.

“It’s okay,” he hears himself say aloud. “I can redo it.”

All day, the discipline feels like lifting weights with his mind.

Every time he wants to:

• trash a teacher in his head

• insult a politician aloud

• laugh at a cruel post

…he slams an inner pause.

Naughty out. Nice in.

By night, he is exhausted.

But it is a clean tired—like after a long run, not after doom‑scrolling.

He lies in bed and realizes something new:

The less he feeds the dark, the more room there is for light.

The shadows on his ceiling look less like monsters.

More like unpainted shapes, waiting for color.  

Chapter 9: Evan Asks Spoken Questions to the Universe Instead of Making Lazy Wishes

Sitting quietly on the back steps, Evan Asks Spoken Questions to the Universe Instead of Making Lazy Wishes, opening his mind to unexpected answers that bypass the restrictions of standard karma. Monday afternoon, Evan sits on the back steps, hoodie pulled tight against the chill.

The yard is quiet.

Somewhere, a bird argues with another bird.

Dad drops down beside him.

“Lesson 3,” he says. “Questions for the Genie.”

“Another genie?” Evan asks.

“This one isn’t in wood,” Dad says. “And it doesn’t grant wishes.”

He rests his elbows on his knees.

“Imagine an invisible Genie standing in front of you,” he says. “It will help you find answers to endless questions—as long as you don’t make wishes.

“Wishes are lazy. They skip over law and responsibility.

“Wishes say, ‘Do it for me so I’m not responsible for the consequences.’

“Wishes try to dodge karma.”

Evan snorts softly. “So no ‘I wish,’” he says.

“So ask questions instead,” Dad replies.

“Out loud.

“Let your curiosity loose.

“Ask into the great mysteries.

“Asking the same question many times moves it up the priority list.”

He pauses.

“The Genie might not answer right away,” he adds. “It might say, ‘I’ll get back to you.’

“One limitation is you.

“You have to be able to hear the answer.

“If you only allow answers that match what you already believe, you’ll miss the trucks of truth parked at your door.”

He looks at Evan.

“Imagine every answer as a delivery truck,” he says. “They line up.

“If the first truck brings an answer you pre‑decided is ‘wrong’ or ‘heresy,’ you refuse to unload it.

“The other trucks pile up behind it—honking.

“You keep asking, ‘Where are my answers?’

“They’re right there.

“You just won’t open them.”

Evan exhales.

“So… ask,” Dad says. “Then listen.”

After a while, Dad goes back inside, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Evan stares up at the slice of sky framed by branches.

He feels ridiculous and serious at the same time.

“Okay, Genie,” he says quietly. “What questions would be good for me to ask?”

Silence.

He goes on.

“What if my current beliefs are false?” he asks.

“What about my path and purpose do I misunderstand?

“Where is my mind closed?

“How do I develop my superpowers?

“What lessons am I working on right now in Soul School?”

His throat tightens as he adds:

“How do I heal the wounds of my soul? The arrows and splinters.

“Where is my discipline weak? How do I strengthen it?

“Which laws am I breaking without knowing?”

The questions float into the cool air like small invisible flares.

No thunder strikes.

No lightning spells words across the clouds.

But something inside him unclenches.

He knows now that answers might arrive as:

• random lines in a book

• a friend’s throwaway comment

• an image in a dream

• a sudden, quiet knowing

He decides to pay attention.  

Chapter 10: Evan Secretly Directs Charged Energy to Help Diesel Pass His Math Test

Acting as a silent sponsor for his friend, Evan Secretly Directs Charged Energy to Help Diesel Pass His Math Test, experiencing firsthand the quiet satisfaction of unseen service. Midweek, between dishes and bedtime, Dad introduces Lesson 4.

“Choose someone,” Dad says, “not a spouse or child, and commit to one year of helping them pass their lessons and tests.

“Don’t tell them.

“Work unseen.

“Be their secret Santa of souls.”

Evan frowns. “Like… a soul scholarship?”

“In a way,” Dad nods.

“Directly charged prana around them three times a day.

“You don’t need to see them while you do it—but it helps to know where they are.

“For many lifetimes, others have done this for you,” he adds. “Some still are.

“This is your chance to feel what it’s like to hold the balance for someone else—with no payment, no recognition.”

He smiles faintly.

“Think about sports,” he says. “A kid wants to play soccer.

“They don’t see who buys shoes, uniforms and gas.

“They don’t see the coach planning drills, the volunteers marking fields.

“They just show up and play.

“Sponsors made that possible.

“Now you get to be the sponsor.”

That night, lights off, staring at his ceiling, Evan scrolls through faces in his mind.

Casey.

Rev.

Diesel.

Teachers.

Even the vice principal, who seems morally opposed to teenagers existing.

He lands on Diesel.

Diesel laughs loud, talks big, but when he thinks no one’s looking, his eyes go flat, like someone who expects to lose by default.

“Okay,” Evan whispers. “Diesel.”

He inhales, draws in ether, and imagines it as soft light filling his lungs.

On the held breath, he focuses on Diesel—probably in his cluttered room right now, hunched over a game controller or a dismantled engine.

Evan charges the prana with courage, hope, and the feeling that Diesel’s future is not locked into failure.

He exhales.

He pictures the breath flowing out as a ring of light, traveling through the night and wrapping around Diesel like a quiet, invisible shield.

He repeats this:

• before school

• at lunch in the bathroom

• before sleep

Each time, the stream feels more tangible, as if the e‑suit inside him is learning a new pattern.

A week later, Diesel slumps into their lunch table, dropping a graded math test with a barely passing score.

“Miracle,” Diesel mutters. “I didn’t fail.”

There’s a strange note in his voice—surprise mixed with something like… possibility.

Evan grins and steals a fry.

Inside, something glows a little brighter.  

Chapter 11: Evan Uses Violet Transmuting Light to Process Guilty Memories and Forgive

Alone at his desk during a quiet Friday evening, Evan Uses Violet Transmuting Light to Process Guilty Memories and forgive, releasing the heavy emotional rocks from his past to free up his internal energy—Friday night.

The TV laughs without meaning in the other room.

Evan sits at his desk, a blank page in front of him, pen hovering.

“Lesson 5,” Dad said earlier. “Life self‑review.”

“Make a list of people you’ve harmed,” Dad had said. “Use your superpowers to make amends.

“Send prana—charged with violet transmuting forgiveness—into those memories.

“Release the energy you’ve kept locked around them.

“Forgive yourself.

“Forgive others.

“Let the freed‑up energy return to you as fuel.

“Where possible, make direct amends—unless that would injure them or someone else.”

Now, Evan writes names.

The kid he tripped in sixth grade to impress older boys.

The friend whose secret he screenshotted and shared.

His mom, who moved out last year, gets blamed in his head every time the house feels empty.

Each name feels like a knot tightening around his heart.

He breathes in.

He sees violet light rise from beneath him in his mind—like soft fire in slow motion, filling his lungs.

On the held breath, he calls up each memory, not to punish himself, but like picking sharp glass off a playground so no one else bleeds on it.

He exhales.

He sends the violet light back into each scene—a hallway, a group chat, a slammed front door.

He imagines guilt and shame dissolving, changing form, then streaming back to him as clean strength.

Some people, he knows, will get real apologies one day.

For others, like his mom, the first amends will be invisible—a softening of blame, a loosening of the story he tells himself.

By the time he puts the pen down, he is tired.

But his chest feels lighter.

For years, the past has sat on him like a backpack full of rocks.

Tonight, a few stones roll out.  

Chapter 12: Evan Acts As His Higher Self to Help a Boy Playing Soccer

Walking through the autumn park with his father, Evan Acts As His Higher Self to help a Boy Playing Soccer, feeling the solid alignment of practicing true virtue instead of merely talking about it. Saturday, leaves crunch underfoot as Evan and Dad walk through the park.

“Lesson 6,” Dad says. “Act as if.”

“Act as if what?” Evan asks.

“Act as if you are already your higher self,” Dad says. “Think, feel, and act the way your fully virtuous self would.

“To do that, you need to know what virtues are—and what their opposites look like.

“You are learning to radiate:

• truth

• courage

• compassion

“Not just talk about them.”

They pass a group of kids playing soccer.

One smaller boy gets shoved and hits the ground hard, scraping his knee.

The others laugh, embarrassed and mean.

Evan’s first instinct: keep walking. No drama.

Then he asks the silent question: What would my higher self do?

He breathes in, feels energy gather in his heart—charged with courage and kindness.

He walks over.

“Hey,” he says, kneeling by the boy. “You okay?”

The boy nods, eyes wet.

Evan looks up at the others.

“Maybe don’t tackle your own team,” he says, half‑light, half‑edge.

They roll their eyes but step back.

Evan helps the boy up.

A quiet satisfaction rises in him—warm, solid.

Not the spiky rush of anger or superiority.

Something cleaner.

He realizes acting as if isn’t pretending to be something fake.

It is trying on the version of himself he is growing into.

For a moment, he can feel it:

Energy flows from his crown down to his feet in one smooth line.

His invisible e‑suit responds as if it recognizes its user.  

Chapter 13: Evan Visualizes His Energy Suit and Loosens Emotional Knots With Light

Lying quietly in bed, Evan Visualizes His Energy Suit and Loosens Emotional Knots With Light, realizing that saving the world actually begins with mastering his own internal shadows. That night, the house goes quiet.

Rain whispers on the roof.

Evan lies on his back, staring at faint glow‑in‑the‑dark stars on his ceiling.

His mind replays everything Dad has taught him—but this time, all the pieces click into one image.

An e‑suit.

“Imagine a magic energy suit,” Dad said earlier, pacing like a storyteller. “It emits a liquid stream of pure white light that crystallizes into whatever shape you imagine.

“Different settings can change:

• texture

• color

• quality

“A final voice command—charged with feeling—brings it to life.”

In his imagination, Evan zips into such a suit.

It is invisible, but he feels it—a second skin made of tingling light.

He raises his hand.

A thin stream of pure white light pours from his palm like liquid glass.

“Suppose we ignore where the light comes from for a moment,” Dad had said. “It’s free, infinite, endless.

“All you have to do is face where you want to build and turn on the flow.

“Increase intensity, and the light comes faster, solidifying into what you picture.”

In his mind, Evan turns up the flow.

The light streams faster, spiraling into a shield.

He shifts his focus.

The shield dissolves, reforms as wings.

He shifts again.

They become a narrow bridge of light.

“Imagine lots of people have e‑suits,” Dad said. “Some get paid or forced to create for others.

“Some people skip asking what they should create and focus only on how.

“Others never master how, so their creations collapse.

“A few graduate and know both.”

Images flicker across Evan’s inner screen.

Slaves: people who only build what others demand.

Conglomerates: people whose creations are chaotic piles of half‑formed things.

Weaklings: people whose light stream is a trickle—everything they make fades fast.

The undisciplined: people whose partial forms are unbalanced and don’t work properly.

“Step one,” Dad said, “is to connect with someone who knows the e‑suit and its laws.

“Graduates know.

“But you have to ask the right questions and be willing to be taught.”

He had gone on.

“Your soul must develop permanent spirit‑fire centers and weave a soul suit to use superpowers wisely.

“It takes tremendous discipline to crystallize a nice form.

“Other rays—anger‑red, jealousy‑green, dirty‑brown, dull‑grey—are cheap. Easy to generate. But they gum up the system.

“Destruction is easy. Violence is easy. Discipline is hard.

“Invocation means appealing to something beyond this world.

“Working with used, contaminated energy always costs you.

“Using superpowers for revenge or hatred has serious long‑term consequences.

“It’s easy and feels good short‑term.

“But that’s not mastery.

“We also store reservoirs of hurt we never processed. They sit in our hearts, waiting to poison any attempt to do something new.”

Now, in the dark, Evan feels his own stored pain:

• his mom is leaving

• friends betraying

• being laughed at in front of a class

Knots in the hose of his light.

He inhales slowly.

He imagines the e‑suit lighting up—soft circles spinning along his spine, his chest, his brow.

He exhales, sending a thin stream of gentle light toward each knot.

He feels—very subtly—something start to loosen.

He understands in a flash:

Maybe saving the world doesn’t start with stopping wars.

Maybe it starts with this:

One kid in one room learning how to aim a small river of light through his own shadows.

Then through someone else’s.

He smiles into the dark.

He feels small.

But not helpless.

Somewhere between his breathing and his believing, between the questions he asks and the answers quietly lining up like trucks on a cosmic highway, his soul’s superpowers are waking up.  

Chapter Synopsis: Evan feels overwhelmed by global doom-scrolling and seeks practical spiritual empowerment from his dad to fight invisible evil. After discussing the true nature of soul superpowers and energy laws, Evan's dad teaches him the fundamentals of directing Holy Spirit fire, including the seven-step call for ray fire, fire breath, charging etheric energy, and mastering mental discipline. Over the following days, Evan practices these lessons by greeting strangers with charged prana, conducting spiritual detoxes, asking spoken questions instead of making lazy wishes, secretly sponsoring Diesel's math test, and using violet transmuting light to forgive past mistakes and step into his higher self.

Core Themes & Laws:

• Soul superpowers are real, scientific uses of cosmic laws that require pure intentions, self-controlled discipline, and virtuous willpower rather than superstition or magic wands.

• Cosmic energy is universal, but human thoughts, images, and feelings re-qualify it into positive or negative frequencies that affect our inner reservoirs.

• True mystic power is directed through focused intention, visualization, and the seven energy centers using specific breathing and spiritual authority.

• Superstitions (such as knocking on wood) displace real spirit power and weaken an individual's ability to use mystic senses.

• Helping others invisibly through charged prana (acting as a spiritual sponsor) and processing past guilt with violet transmuting light are essential practices for soul growth.

Key Entities Featured in this Document:

• Evan: A fifteen-year-old teenager who transforms his feelings of doom and helplessness into proactive spiritual training under his dad's guidance.

• Dad: Evan's father and mentor who provides the structural map for developing mystic powers, energy laws, and soul discipline.

• Rev: Evan's friend who jokes about an "energy vest" with seven portals for streaming magic light.

• Diesel: Evan's skeptical friend who relies on energy drinks, motor oil, and superstitions like knocking on wood.

• Casey: A fellow student whom Evan comforts in the hallway using charged prana.