Rise of the Supervillains

by Jaron Lee Knuth

  The flurry of activity was dizzying, and as soon as Wesley took one step into the room, he collided with one of the women, knocking her and her basket of apples to the floor. He crouched down next to her, apologizing profusely as he hurried to gather the rolling fruit.

  “I'm really, really sorry,” he said to the young woman, who smiled up at him, trying to hold back her laughter. “What's so funny?”

  “It your accent,” she said in her own thick dialect. “You sound... like girl.”

  “Like a girl? I don't sound like a girl.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and said, “It good. Girl is good.”

  Wesley shook his head. “Yeah, sure they are. But I'm a man.”

  The girl stopped gathering the apples from the floor and looked him up and down. “You are old boy. No more.”

  Wesley rolled his eyes and said, “Okay, whatever. I'm sorry for running into you.”

  “You need laugh more,” the girl said, picking up her basket as she collected the last apple. “Keep you young. Look like old boy forever.”

  He glanced back around the room and asked, “What is this place?”

  “What kind of old boy never see kitchen before?”

  Wesley couldn't help but chuckle. “Yeah, I know it's a kitchen. But are all these women from the harem?”

  The girl's face looked disgusted. “That word. We no use it.”

  “What... harem?”

  Another woman that was passing by gave Wesley a dirty look when she heard him say it a second time. She clutched her pregnant belly and continued on her way.

  Wesley turned back toward the girl and said, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean any offense.”

  “This word you use. It is sex. Pleasure. Haven of mothers for neither. It for mothers. For babies. You men... you only visit. We live here.”

  Wesley nodded. “You're right. I'm sorry. I'm new to all of this.”

  The girl looked him up and down again. “You are new psionic?”

  Wesley shrugged. “Kind of.”

  “Then you should know. Pleasure forbidden for you. No body, only mind. Correct?”

  “That's what I've heard. But all of this food sure smells a lot like pleasure.”

  “No!” the girl shouted, then whispered. “Food not for you. Only mothers.”

  Yet another thing Wesley couldn't wrap his mind around. The psionics were supposed to forego the physical realm in order to strengthen their connection to the psionic realm, yet the Bautista brothers spent all their time having sex with different women. Flexing their muscles during psionic training wasn't the only connection to the physical realm they couldn't let go of.

  “What's your name?” he asked the girl, and she looked a little surprised when he asked.

  “Why?”

  Wesley was even more surprised by her reply. “What do you mean, why? I'm curious is all.”

  She looked at him skeptically. “I am Ntombi.”

  “It's nice to meet you, Ntombi. I'm Wesley.”

  “Not nice to meet you. You spill my apples.”

  “I'm sorry,” he said again, his voice breaking into begging. “Look, can I help you with something? Let me carry your apples. Where are you taking them?”

  She squinted her eyes like she was trying to see past his scam. He let out a sigh and held out his hands, waiting for her to place the basket of apples in them. She moved as if she still believed he was going to retract his offer at the last second and let them drop to the floor. When she set the basket in his hands, he hefted it under one arm and waited for her to lead the way.

  “We must bring to children,” Ntombi said as she marched away, dodging between two women carrying boiling pots of stew. “Follow me, old boy.”

  “It's Wesley!” he called out after her, but could tell she wasn't paying attention.

  By the time they crossed the kitchen and stepped into the hallway, he had narrowly missed crashing into seven different cooks. The hallway outside was much more peaceful, yet he could hear the commotion of crying babies and the playful screams of children through the walls. One young boy burst out into the hallway, nearly running straight into Wesley, but a woman's hand reached out from the doorway and snatched him by the collar. He giggled and laughed as the older woman dragged him back into a room that looked something like a classroom.

  “This Mother's Haven,” Ntombi said. “This home.”

  “You're a mother?” he asked.

  Ntombi closed her eyes and shook her head, as if she were admitting something shameful. “Not yet. I care for babies, like mother, but brothers have not put baby in me yet.”

  “Brothers?” Wesley stopped in the hall. “You mean the twins?”

  Ntombi nodded. “They try, but no baby.”

  “You let them... I mean... you want to...?”

  Ntombi looked at him with nothing but confusion. She could not decipher what he was trying to say without saying it. He scolded himself for being culturally insensitive again. This was not his world. He did not understand what world Ntombi was raised in. Who was he to walk in and start judging what she found right and wrong about motherhood? Wesley didn't know his mother. As far as he could tell, these women cared for the children in the temple very closely. Of that, he might be jealous. Wesley took a deep breath and collected himself, trying to find a more decent place to start.

  “I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by my questions. Like I said, I'm new here and just trying to figure out how everything works. The brothers are just...”

  “Just what?” a voice called out from behind him.

  He turned and saw Sergio stepping out of one of the doorways. He was sweaty, his muscles glistening in the light, his beady black eyes like two piercing dots in the shadows. He was rubbing himself down with a towel, only looking half-concerned with Wesley's conversation. Wesley looked back at Ntombi, who was staring at the floor, more docile than when it was just the two of them.

  “Sorry... Sergio, right? I was just saying, I think we got off to a bad start. I wish we had more time to get to know each other. I mean... we're family now and-”

  “You are not my family. You're little more than a guest in the House of Psi. What are you doing in the Mother's Haven?”

  Wesley was actually surprised for a moment that Sergio would use the correct term, but then he thought about the wrath of these women and how someone like Sergio most likely feared that.

  “I... I was just helping Ntombi,” he said, glancing at her for assistance, but she was still staring at the floor, offering him none. “She was delivering apples.”

  Sergio laughed, a weird snorting chuckle that made him appear inhuman. He wiped his face off with the towel and then spit on the floor.

  “Sounds about right.”

  “What does?”

  “You. Doing women's work.”

  “I was trying to be nice.”

  “Sure you weren't trying to get a sneak peek?”

  “A what?”

  “Oh, come on,” Sergio said as he approached Wesley, who instinctively went into a more defensive posture, but Sergio didn't notice as he walked right past him and straight up to Ntombi. “Ntombi is one of my favorites, isn't that right, girl?”

  She said nothing, still staring at the floor. She didn't look afraid, or repulsed by him, just silent and obedient. Wesley hated it.

  “Hey man. This is between us.”

  He wasn't sure what that meant, but it felt like the right thing to say at the moment. He felt some weird need to protect the girl, even though she was acting more than compliant. When Sergio turned to reply, he regretted his decision.

  “This is between who?”

  Wesley adjusted his glasses, but looked down at the floor, just like Ntombi. “I don't know.”

  “You don't know?”

  “Just... leave us alone, okay?”

  “No. Not okay,” Sergio said, stepping up to Wesley and poking him in the chest, his finger like an abrupt stab against his rib cage. “I'll talk to whoever I damn w
ell please. Especially in my own home. And I certainly won't take any requests from the likes of you, pebble boy.”

  Sergio laughed at the nickname he seemingly came up with on the spot, but Wesley wouldn't have put it past the thick-headed moron to have spent all last night thinking about it. When Sergio looked at Ntombi and noticed she wasn't laughing, he leaned down and spoke close to her cheek.

  “Did you know about this guy? His psionic ability? He can only manage to lift a pebble. A teeny, tiny little pebble. That's it!”

  “I'm still training!” Wesley shouted. “Kgosi is helping me and hopefully one day I'll-”

  “You'll never be like us,” Sergio said, rolling his eyes. “I didn't need training to learn how to pick up boulders. I showed up like this. The God-King's training is helping me hone my already amazing power. You seriously think with a few meditations you're going to come close to my abilities?”

  Wesley glared at the man, gritting his teeth as he said, “That's not my goal here, Sergio.”

  Sergio threw his arm around Ntombi, pulling her in close and laughing as he said, “Then you'll never get between this one's legs! She has high standards. Isn't that right, girl?”

  Wesley clenched his fists. He didn't know this girl, he didn't even really care about her, but he didn't want Sergio taking advantage of anyone. The twin was acting like a privileged brat, and Wesley could never stand people like that. For every thing Wesley had to fight to accomplish in his life, there was always someone like Sergio who just fell into it, and somehow thought he was better because of it.

  “I don't want anything to do with you, Sergio. How about I stay out of your way, and you stay out of mine.”

  “That's not going to work for me. Because guess what? When the God-King dies, guess who's up to inherit this place? Guess who's next in line for succession? That's right, pebble boy. It's me. And if you think I'm going to let a twitchy little weakling like you be a part of my family-”

  “You don't get it, Sergio. I don't want to be anything like you, and I certainly wouldn't want to be a part of your family.”

  “Is this true, Wesley?”

  The peaceful voice came from behind him, but Wesley knew it was Kgosi. He sounded hurt, as if what Wesley had said was the saddest thing in the world.

  “I told you!” Sergio said, startled and standing up straight. “He doesn't belong here, God King. He doesn't-”

  “That isn't your decision,” Kgosi said.

  “God-King,” Sergio said, “I'm not making the decision. I'm offering my advice. If he doesn't want to be a part of the family, then he doesn't belong here.”

  Kgosi turned his attention back toward Wesley and asked, “Do you believe you belong here?”

  Wesley opened his mouth to answer, but knew what he was going to say wasn't the truth. He chose to be honest instead.

  “I don't think I have anywhere else to go.”

  “See?” Sergio shouted. “He doesn't even want to be here. He's just here out of desperation. Like some kind of orphan...”

  Kgosi searched Wesley's eyes and then turned toward Sergio and said, “Aren't we all orphans? In this world, in this Empire... aren't we all homeless? Aren't we all lost?”

  “No!” Sergio was still shouting, his face turning red with frustration. “Not here. Not in this temple. In here, we are family. And I will do whatever it takes to protect my family.”

  Kgosi smiled and turned to Wesley. “What do you have to say to that, young Wesley? If you have nowhere else to go, if you are truly lost and desperate to stay in the one place you feel you belong...”

  “Let me prove myself.”

  “You've already proved yourself unworthy,” Sergio mumbled. “You offer this family nothing. You're weak. You're useless. You're worse than that. You're a threat to our family.”

  “Do you truly believe that?” Kgosi asked.

  Sergio fumbled by the sudden direct question, but he manged to say, “Of-of course, God-King. Absolutely.”

  Kgosi turned back toward Wesley, eyeing him up and down, and then bowing his head, a look of sadness on his face.

  “Then I offer you both a chance to prove yourself. I offer you both a chance to show me how much you each deserve to be here.”

  Sergio eyed him suspiciously and asked, “What are you suggesting?”

  Kgosi rose even higher from the floor, readying himself to continue floating down the hall, past the ruckus he had stumbled upon. He was content with his own wisdom, as if all had been settled and he could put it behind him.

  “We shall meet in the central chamber at sunrise. Prepare yourself for the Mind Trial.”

  Kgosi floated past Wesley, who was as stunned as he was confused.

  Sergio was smiling ear-to-ear, eyeing Wesley like he was a well-prepared steak.

  “See you in the morning, pebble boy.”

  He turned and walked away, a slight skip in his step. Ntombi stayed, her eyes showing nothing but pity for Wesley.

  Wesley searched for his voice, and when he found it, he asked, “What just happened? What's a Mind Trial?”

  Ntombi looked at the ground, like she was bashful to answer, but very quietly said, “It is fight.”

  “A fight?” Wesley asked, still trying to understand. “I have to fight him?”

  Ntombi nodded and said, “With mind.”

  Wesley's knees wobbled underneath him. He understood why Sergio looked so happy. He was about to remove Wesley from the equation, and no one would judge him for it. No one would think anything of it. He would prove Wesley didn't belong there, and the rest of the family would applaud Sergio for winning the fight.

  “I can't win a psionic fight against him. I couldn't win any kind of fight against him.”

  Ntombi looked at the floor as if she were afraid to say it, but she finally did. “I think you right, old boy.”

  32

  CARMEN

  The night air felt cool against Carmen's skin, her flesh raising as the breeze blew the hem of her dress across the balcony. She watched as a military aircraft approached the Grand Citadel, its lights twinkling against the stars. The cloud cover below prevented her from seeing the rolling hills of the Fatherlands, but she liked that. It made her feel secluded, which was something she hadn't felt in a long time.

  In the Grand Citadel, there were always eyes upon her. Servants patiently waiting for her next request, guards nervously watching her every move, making sure there was never any danger, and Magda, always judging her. She found herself missing her old life, missing the seclusion she used to hate. She had no idea how much she underappreciated those simple moments of solitude. Listening to her stereo. Reading a book. Just being alone with her thoughts. Yet when she had all of those things, all she wanted to do was escape out her window and run around being foolish with Andre and the gang. Those times felt so childish, when her biggest worry was whether she had enough cash to pay for the next round, or whether Andre was going to ask her out. She longed for the trivial, because her life had become anything but that.

  War. Inter-domain politics. Building an empire. Marriage. Children. She felt like a fraud. Only a few months earlier she was someone completely different. Carmen Zharkov. Even her name was different.

  And all because of her father, who she had never even met. All because his blood ran through her veins, granting her powers she didn't even understand. She had spent her entire life trying to pretend they didn't exist. She had never practiced using them or tested their limits. It was a random act when she did use them, usually only out of extreme necessity, like when she saved the customers of Cleo's Place after the Malignus attack. Or when Andre tricked her into using them in that stupid heist.

  That bastard. None of this would have happened if he could have just accepted who he was. If Andre would have known he was good enough, maybe she'd still be hiding out in her room. Maybe Victor would still be alive. Maybe she'd have a clue where Mickey and Wesley were. Maybe.

  She looked down at her hand, summoning the h
eat within her. Her flesh glowed a bright red, steam pouring into the cold air. She exhaled and a cloud erupted from her mouth like she had released a puff of cigar smoke. She kept raising her temperature, hotter and hotter, until her entire body was glowing red. She kept pushing, wanting to go farther than she ever had before.

  “Careful,” a voice said from above. “You don't want to burn down the Grand Citadel, do you?”

  Carmen looked up and saw Maksim floating down from the starry sky, his black cape billowing in the wind like a flag that blotted out the sky. He gently landed next to her with a slight smile on his face.

  Carmen glanced down at her hand again, the heat growing so intense it passed the bright red and turned white hot. She dropped the temperature and stepped back, seeing her own footprints melted into the gold metal.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, feeling foolish for spacing out. “I didn't mean to...”

  “It's alright,” he said. “I just didn't want you to hurt yourself.”

  She looked up at him, at the scar she had left on his face, and cringed. He showed no fear around her, even though she was the only person to ever hurt him, though he rarely ever showed fear. He always seemed so capable, so sure of himself. There was only one person who could knock him down, and that was his own mother. Yet when push came to shove, he had stood up to her. He had pushed back. He had faced his fear... and it was because of Carmen. She had brought something out in him that had never existed before.

  “How did your patrol go?”

  He looked out toward the West, toward his section of the Fatherlands, and said, “Peaceful. A few fires to extinguish. A herd of cattle got loose.” He paused, then remembered, “I saved a boy from drowning.”

  “You did?”

  He nodded with a smile.

  “I'm proud of you,” she said, touching the shoulder plate of his golden armor. “I really didn't know Guardians did stuff like that.”

  “They don't,” he said quietly.

  “But I thought...”

  “I always wanted to. It felt like it was my... duty to protect people. I am the Guardian of the West, yet all I seem to do is deter. Imperator Konstantin once told me that my only duty was to exist. He said that was what peace meant. There was no need to fight, and that should always be the goal.”