Rise of the Supervillains

by Jaron Lee Knuth

  “Stay calm,” Hector said. “We must adapt.”

  “But we can't fight him in the air! Not with this thing.”

  Hector glanced back at the boy flying through the air, cape rippling in the wind, then back at his son.

  “You're right. We can't fight him with this. But we can with that,” Hector said as he nodded at the sword laying on the floor behind their seats.

  Hector turned off the masking technology built into his suit and looked out the window at Niko. He waved his hands in the air, trying to appear confused and worried.

  Niko flew up toward the window of the aircraft and shouted through the pane of glass, “Land! Now! Or I will tear this aircraft apart with my bare hands!”

  Hector opened his eyes wide, trying to appear as frightened as possible. “No! No! You have to help us. Something is wrong with the controls. I can't land.”

  Niko looked around at the ship like he was searching for signs of trouble.

  Hector tried to rush him. He didn't want to give the boy time to make sense of the situation.

  “Wait!” he shouted through the glass. “I'll open the cargo bay! You can see for yourself.”

  Niko nodded his head, and ducked back behind the ship.

  Hector looked to his son, who picked up the blade and presented it to his father with two outstretched hands. Hector wrapped his fingers around the handle and lifted the sword in front of him, seeing his own reflection in the metal.

  The two of them made their way to the back of the aircraft, and Hector nodded his head at Miguel. As Miguel pushed the red button on the wall, Hector placed the blade behind him, resting the tip on the floor of the cargo bay. The door lowered, letting in the rush of air, but as soon as Niko flew inside, Miguel pushed the button again and the door sealed.

  Niko landed, his armored boots clanking against the metal floor. His eyes darted between the two of them, looking them up and down as he stepped closer.

  “Why are you flying this aircraft so close to the Grand Citadel? You're not military. Who are you?”

  Hector clenched his teeth tightly as he spoke, his words coming out like an animalistic growl straight from his gut.

  “I am Hector Diaz,” he said, shifting the weight in his body. “I am your death.”

  He spun, both arms lifting the blade in a curved arc that slashed directly into Niko. The blade broke his armor in two, the golden flesh underneath splitting open, letting loose a gushing surge of blood and intestines that splattered onto the floor. The boy looked down at his own organs, his eyes growing wide with a fear he had never known before. He fell onto his armored knees with another loud clank, trying to pick up his own entrails, but letting them slip through his weakening fingers. Hector slashed once more, this time aiming for the boy's neck. Niko's head toppled from his shoulders, landing on the cargo bay floor and rolling into the corner.

  There was a moment of silence as both Miguel and Hector looked down at the Zharkov boy's corpse. Hector was trying to force his mind to accept what his eyes were seeing. No matter how confident he was in his mission, there was always a part of him that thought it might be impossible. But he couldn't deny the truth. A Zharkov laid dead at his feet.

  “You did it,” Miguel whispered, then shouted frantically, “You did it! You killed a Zharkov!”

  He jumped up and threw his hands into the air. Then he rushed over and gave the corpse a swift kick in the rib cage and spit on it.

  “Let's get back to the cockpit,” Hector said as he wiped the blade with the edge of his suit coat. “There's more Zharkovian blood to be spilled tonight... and this blade is thirsty.”

  30

  MERMAID

  The halls of Power Tower were quiet, filled only with the beeping and humming of the advanced technology interwoven into every wall. The random hero would pass by, usually one of the members who possessed a utilitarian power. Anyone with combat capabilities had been drafted by the Empire to fight on the Eastern front. It had left the American Republic woefully unguarded, but Mermaid was doing her best to coordinate the services of the non-super-powered-military, and the few heroes with utility powers she could creatively use in the field.

  Mermaid steeled herself, trying not to picture the young men and women who were laying down their lives for the Zharkovs. It didn't feel right, but she kept convincing herself otherwise. What was the other option? Freedom only led to chaos. Someone needed to be in charge, and the Zharkovs had brought peace, stability, and a sense of order to a world spinning out of control. They had made the Alliance of Heroes what they were.

  Yet when Mermaid looked in the mirror, she struggled to see the superhero she once was. It was strange to see the old woman look back at her, weary-eyed and broken down. The wrinkles compounded the bags under her eyes. She was tired, but far from giving up, and wasn't that what made her a hero? Continuing to fight. Continuing to struggle for what was right.

  But was she really doing what was right anymore? Had she fallen so deep into the murky grayness of morality that she couldn't make sense of something like war, something that used to be so plainly black and white. When King Krieg tried to march across Europe, there were no questions about who the good guys and the bad guys were. They were clearly defined. Her throbbing head longed for those days but she forced herself to be pacified with a strong dose of denial, and a few aspirin.

  She splashed water on her face and stepped back into her quarters, tightening her flowing robes around her waist and tapping her finger on the icon in the corner of the large screen on the wall.

  “Yes, Mermaid? How may I be of assistance?”

  “Just wondering what's on the docket for today?”

  “You have thirteen scheduled appointments, five mission briefings, seven damage reports, two public announcements, and forty-five waiting messages.”

  Mermaid let out a sigh, sat down on the edge of her bed and said, “Okay. Let's get started. Display my list of messages.”

  The screen flashed and a long list of subject headings scrolled downward, but at the top of the list was a single message marked red and labeled: Imperial Order.

  She rarely received these. They were only sent when the Zharkovs had deemed something in the American Republic necessary to get involved with personally. It was always unnerving, and usually involved Mermaid swallowing her pride and stepping aside, a reminder of her actual role in world affairs.

  “Display Imperial Order,” she said, grabbing her reading glasses off the night stand and leaning closer to the screen.

  The message expanded, displaying the official-sounding sentences that declared their purpose.

  “As per Imperial Law, your medical staff has informed us of the unlawful pregnancy of one of the members of the Alliance of Heroes. After close consideration of the possible power set of this child, we have decided upon immediate termination of the pregnancy. We are granting you twenty-four hours to handle this in whatever way you deem necessary.”

  The bottom of the message had the digital signature of Imperator Padamir Zharkov, which Mermaid stared at for a few moments, letting her mind catch up. She had no idea a member of the Alliance was pregnant, but when she racked her brain, trying to think about the hundreds of tiny details she was given every morning about the activities happening in Power Tower, she remembered the one mysterious medical emergency that had occurred within the last week. The one girl whose boyfriend had rushed her in with stomach pains and vomiting.

  Retina, aka Lucy Grae.

  This wasn't the first time Mermaid had been put in charge of something like this, but it also wasn't a common occurrence. Most people with powers knew the laws concerning conception, and chose the proper procedures to limit their chances of pregnancy. But mistakes happen, and when they did, the Zharkovs got to choose the fate. It was said that there was an option, if the child was deemed powerful enough, for it to be taken away and raised in the Academy of Super Powers. But this had never happened. The Zharkovs would never allow the possibility of a powerful
SPMD existing outside of their family. Option two was always the answer. Immediate termination. And Mermaid was always the one who had to deliver the news. But never before had she delivered the news to an eighteen-year-old girl who she had recruited only a few months earlier.

  Mermaid's mind, already fractured by questions of morality, threatened to break in half. She looked back up at the screen, at the signature of the Imperator, and clenched her fists. She wasn't allowed to question this order. It was her job to handle this in the best way possible. If she spoke with Retina personally, perhaps she could soften the blow. Everlast had always joked that Mermaid's role had become that of a den mother, but his mocking tone didn't make the title any less accurate.

  She rose up from her bed and said to the screen, “Push back my first appointment. I'm going to need...” She paused, trying to consider how much time something like this would take, before she relented and said, “I'll let you know when I'm available.”

  The screen chimed its acceptance of her order and she stepped out into the hall. She barely remembered the walk to the transport tubes, or entering the medical wing. Her mind was drowning in thoughts of how best to convey the news. She struggled to make sense of how to approach the situation. Should she be matter-of-fact with the girl and risk coming off as cold and detached? Or should she ease into the revelation with a soft demeanor and risk annoying the girl by dancing around the issue? She still hadn't decided when she stepped into the small room where Retina was laying in bed. The hero known as Rainfall sat next to her, both of his hands clasped around one of hers. They both perked up when she stepped inside.

  “Mermaid!” the girl said, shuffling under her blankets to sit up straight.

  “Please, don't get up on my behalf. You need your rest. I'll only take a minute of your time.”

  Rainfall and Retina exchanged nervous glances, but it was Rainfall who finally asked, “How can we help you, ma'am?”

  Mermaid smiled gently and said, “I'm afraid I'm here on official business.”

  Rainfall glanced at the floor and said, “I'm sorry that I haven't responded to the recruitment letter. I wanted to spend one last day with Lucy before I shipped out. I promise I'll-”

  Mermaid held up her hand and said, “No, no. That's not why I'm here. I'm sorry to say, this has to do with Retina.”

  Retina shared another look of nervousness with Rainfall before she asked, “Me? What about me?”

  Mermaid sat down on the bottom edge of the bed and laid her hand on Retina's leg. “It's about your diagnosis.”

  “I'm feeling a lot better. I'm kind of anxious to get out of here, actually. It's been nearly a week since they admitted me, but no one will tell me what's going on.”

  Mermaid nodded. “I'm afraid... you're pregnant, sweetie.”

  Mermaid watched the already pale girl turn even whiter. Her nervous glance became a slow turn toward Rainfall, who looked like Mermaid had ran over him with a truck. The grip he held on her hand tightened, and tears rolled down both of their faces.

  “Are... are you sure?” Rainfall mumbled.

  “We're sure,” Mermaid answered.

  The two of them fell into each other's embrace, crying and hugging like they weren't sure what emotion they were experiencing. Shock, sadness, love, happiness, fear, and hope all mixed together into a tornado of feelings. When they came up from the whimpering embrace, they looked into each other's eyes and smiled. Mermaid knew in that moment, she had to quell the growing emotion before it became too big to stop.

  “Are either of you aware of the consequences of this diagnosis?”

  Rainfall closed his eyes, feeling the stab of her words, but Retina glanced over and asked, “What do you mean? Are there complications? I feel a lot better. I must have just had some intense morning sickness... right?”

  Mermaid shook her head and said, “That's not what I mean. I'm talking about the fact that your pregnancy is illegal. You understand that, right? You've broken Imperial law.”

  Retina glanced at Rainfall, but the boy refused to open his eyes. The girl looked back at Mermaid with shocked confusion.

  “But we... I mean... this wasn't like... planned. We weren't trying to have a baby. It just...”

  “I know, dear. But that's still illegal. You should have taken the correct precautions to stop this from happening. Now we need to deal with the consequences.”

  Retina scrambled back deeper into the bed, pushing her feet against the mattress to put as much distance between herself and Mermaid as she could.

  “What are you talking about? What consequences? Are we going to jail?”

  Mermaid tried to smile and say, “No, dear. Of course not. This isn't exactly a supervillain level crime. You're part of the Alliance and our medical staff can easily take care of your needs. By tomorrow morning, this will all be behind you.”

  Retina searched Mermaid's face, trying to find the answer between her words. She looked to Rainfall, and shook his arm a few times to wake him from his desperate attempt to hide under his dreadlocks.

  “What does that mean? What's she talking about? What's going to happen to us?”

  Rainfall finally opened his eyes, but when he did, his glaring stare burned into Mermaid. There was nothing but hate radiating from him.

  “They're going to kill our child.”

  “What!?” Retina shrieked, trying to push farther away, this time throwing her arms around Rainfall, hoping he could protect her.

  “I don't think that's an appropriate description,” Mermaid said, not believing her own words. “This is a medical procedure. According to Imperial law, the pregnancy must be terminated.”

  “Imperial law?” Rainfall said, standing up from his chair defiantly. “But this isn't right. This is just some damn family making decisions about our child's life. What the hell kind of threat could it even pose? Our child will be able to see good and cause storms. So what?”

  Mermaid shook her head, hating herself for having to defend the Zharkovs. “This has nothing to do with how powerful your child will be. This law dictates every domain, every SPMD. This is how they've kept the peace throughout the years.”

  “Kept the peace?” Rainfall roared, and Mermaid could have sworn she heard the rumble of thunder in the distance. “No! This is how they've kept control. Control of the world. Control of our lives. This is how they keep their own super powers as the most threatening. This is how they keep us weak!”

  “I suggest you calm down,” Mermaid said, losing patience and the smile from her face. “Speaking like that could be considered a bigger crime than what the two of you have accomplished in your beds.”

  “There has to be another way,” Retina whimpered, tears rolling down her face at a constant pace. “There must be another option. We could raise the child in the Alliance. They could be a hero or...”

  “The Zharkovs would never allow that,” Mermaid said firmly. “This is the only option. This is the law. But I promise you it's a quick procedure. It's painless.”

  “Painless?” Rainfall looked at her like she was insane. “If you truly believe that, then you have no idea what we're feeling right now.”

  “I only meant-”

  “I know what you meant. I know what your words are trying to accomplish, and I think we've both heard just about enough of them.”

  “Please, just-”

  “No!” Rainfall screamed, and a gust of wind blew through the room, threatening to knock Mermaid right off the bed.

  “Please... just leave,” Retina said, burying her face in Rainfall's chest.

  Mermaid nodded and stood up, walking toward the door. Just as she was about to exit the room, she stopped in the doorway and turned around. She wanted to apologize. She wanted to tell them how sorry she was that this was the outcome of their choices, but she kept her words to herself. She knew there was no way to make this okay. There was no saving them. There was no way to be a hero in that moment. She couldn't stop the pain, she couldn't fly them to safety, and she
couldn't protect them from what was happening. Their fate was inevitable.

  It had always been the hardest part to explain to young superheroes. There was an acceptance of their own powerlessness that needed to happen in order to be mentally sound enough for their duties, and it was something that not everyone could accept. It was the fact that no matter how hard you tried, how little sleep you got, how fast you moved, and how devoted to your job you were... you could never save everyone. It was impossible. And this fact always manifested into more unacceptable issues. If you can't save everyone, you have to decide who to save. Is saving more lives better than saving less, or does the quality of life factor in to who you save? And if you reach some level of assurance with those questions, you will eventually be faced with the realization that in answering those questions, you are choosing who lives and who dies. You're playing god.

  But in Mermaid's old age, she had grown to accept that no matter what power she possessed, she would never be a god. She had relaxed into knowing she was doing the best she could with what she was given. She wasn't a god, she was a superhero. Yet sometimes, that didn't feel like enough.

  31

  WESLEY

  The smell of fresh baked bread led Wesley up a staircase inside the temple he had never explored before. The steps were skinny, with barely any elbow room, and twisted around a smooth stone wall. When he reached the top, the thin chamber opened into a large kitchen, with staff moving around each other in what could only be described as the most orderly chaos he had ever witnessed.

  Every single member of the kitchen staff was female, and nearly half of them were visibly pregnant. They all spun around each other, side-stepping and pivoting as if they could read each other's minds. They carried baskets of vegetables and fruits, and platters of meats in their arms, as well as balancing jugs of liquid refreshments upon their heads. There was a constant chattering between them all, in a language he didn't understand, that seemed like both angry shouts of orders and demands and muttered small talk between bored workers.