Super Powereds: Year 4

by Hayes, Drew

  “Attack? Oh no, I’m not attacking you.” Shane came to a halt in the clearing, spinning around to face the direction of the voice. Even as he did this, Ervin was not his true focus. Instead, Shane was turning the shadows of the trees into blades. Each one rose up, quiet and deadly, before making a single strike at their tree’s trunk. The sound of splintering wood and cracking branches filled the air as all around them trees began crashing down. Muffled cursing could be heard from Ervin, and Shane saw two falling trees get easily cut to pieces as they came down, soon revealing his opponent standing amidst a small sea of lumber.

  The collapsed remains of half the forest surrounded them, leaving the two students with nothing to hide behind, their gazes locked. Shane grinned, all-too-aware that he probably resembled his sister for a brief moment.

  “I told you it wasn’t an attack. I was just doing a touch of landscaping. Now I’m going to show you an attack.”

  267.

  To his credit, Ervin was quick on the uptake. The moment he saw the trees all come down, he clearly realized that guerilla tactics were no longer viable. More than that, now he knew Shane could control far more than just three shadows at a time, meaning long-range endeavors put him at a disadvantage. The leaves that came off of trees mid-fall hadn’t even reached the ground before Ervin was sprinting forward, closing the gap between him and Shane.

  “This is why people don’t like Lander, you know. We’re all playing it smart, but when you hold back that much at the start it feels as though you aren’t taking your opponents seriously.”

  Ervin came in with a thrust, which Shane nimbly avoided while whipping a pair of shadow blades toward Ervin’s legs. With a surprisingly strong leap, Ervin hopped over the attack, swinging his sword down and slicing through the shadows along the way. The guy was nimble, and clearly used to taking attacks on multiple fronts. Not to mention aggressive – he launched a fresh volley of strikes for Shane’s torso.

  “Bet you’re wishing you could use those shadows of yours to block now. That’s what makes me dangerous, you see. Supers rely so much on their powers, their defenses, that when someone comes along who can cut right through them, they have no idea how to react.”

  In principle, Ervin wasn’t entirely wrong. Power-dependence was a real issue for a lot of Supers: it was part of why neutralizers like Dean Blaine were so feared. Of course, that fact was also why Shane’s grandfather had drilled Shane and Angela on martial combat just as hard as using their abilities. Graham DeSoto was of the firm belief that a Hero should never be helpless, with or without their powers.

  Not that Shane had forgotten about his own abilities. He flung another set of blades, two on track for Ervin’s arms and two aimed at the legs. Ervin leapt back, ducking under the high attacks while cutting apart the low ones, then circling back to chop the higher shadows. Shane fired off two more while he was distracted, but Ervin sliced those too.

  “You’ve got a good ability, but it doesn’t matter against an opponent like me. I’ll cut down as many as you can throw.” Ervin pressed the attack again, forcing Shane to dodge and leap out of the way.

  For his part, Shane stayed quiet, although not because he didn’t enjoy a bit of smack talk. Shane was simply too busy concentrating to waste his words. While Ervin was cutting apart shadow after shadow, Shane was taking a measure of everything: speed, reaction time, flexibility, favored attack angle, all of it. He was not going to be a Hero who mowed through his opponents. He was a warrior of precision and exactness.

  When he went for the final blow, it would be perfectly controlled and utterly definitive.

  * * *

  “That boy might have done well in any other fight.” There was a wide berth around the speaker as Heroes and students alike gave him plenty of room. Some because he was a living legend; others, because he was the head of the DVA; and a few simply because he gave off an aura of authority that naturally made people want to steer clear of his gaze. The only figures standing next to Graham DeSoto, who had only entered the viewing room moments before Shane’s match, were Dean Blaine and Casper, the man once known as Hallow. The latter had come with Graham, cashing in some of the goodwill he’d built up for a ticket to see Intramurals.

  “He’s quite strong, with a good grasp of tactics and a powerful ability,” Dean Blaine agreed.

  “Very much so. I hope he finds a Hero to learn from who can foster those gifts,” Graham said.

  Casper was watching the screens as Ervin pressed Shane onto the defensive yet again. “Am I missing something? The sword-kid, Whetstone, seems to be holding his own pretty well, why are you both talking about this fight like it’s already over?”

  A short, raspy sigh slipped from Graham. “Because Ervin’s primary method of attack is a blade. And while Shane has ample experience fighting against all manner of different techniques and abilities, he has fought against blades more than anything else. Ervin is good, but Shane has spent his life fighting, countering, and working to overcome these sorts of tactics. His only shot at victory was those throwing daggers. From the moment the trees came down, this fight was finished.”

  * * *

  The trouble with all the techniques Ervin was using was that they took a lot of energy. Big, flashy movements and strikes coming one after another were going to wear a body down, no matter how much training it had. On the other hand, Shane was keeping his every step limited to the bare minimum, conserving his strength and relying on his shadows to attack. Using them did take a toll, and he couldn’t conjure them forever, but he was spending far less effort to maintain the stalemate than Ervin was. This was precisely why it wouldn’t be a stalemate for long.

  When Ervin went for a thrust, he overextended slightly and Shane saw the window of opportunity he’d been waiting for. A shadow blade whipped around from the side, catching Ervin just below the calf. As the other combatant grimaced in pain, Shane used the momentary distraction to strike again, this time going high and cutting deep into the shoulder of the arm holding the sword. Just as he’d hoped, Ervin’s grip faltered, the sword drooping. That was all it took.

  Before he could try to recover, Shane delivered another slice to each limb, sending Ervin tumbling backwards into the grass. A lone shadow curved around his throat as he lay on the ground, staring up at the false sky overhead.

  “Deathblow,” Shane announced.

  “Shane DeSoto of Lander has won this battle! For those keeping track, Lander is the only school to win all of their opening matches. Let’s see if they can keep that streak going through the next round! Now someone get a healer to the field; I don’t think Ervin is walking anywhere with those wounds.”

  Ervin was staring up at Shane, struggling to move his arms and legs despite the pain. “You’re pretty good with those things.”

  “I’ve had a lot of practice, especially against someone who likes swords and close-range fighting, so don’t feel too bad,” Shane told him.

  “Thanks. That makes me feel way better about losing in the first round.” Ervin managed to pull himself into a sitting position after a bit of wiggling, although it was obvious from the wincing that every movement hurt. “You’d better not be holding back some whole other aspect of your power or anything. Losing is bad enough; I’m going to be pissed if you were sandbagging the whole time.”

  “I won’t say I pulled out every trick in the book, but you made me fight seriously. Maybe once we’re both Heroes, we can have some rematches.” Shane hunkered down, lowering his voice slightly. “I’m still trying to beat that person who likes to fight with swords, and the more practice I can get, the better.”

  Ervin nodded. “I’m fine with that. Next time, I won’t go down so easy. But maybe we can also skip the part where you cut my tendons. This is… not fun.” He smiled in spite of the pain, and Shane returned the expression.

  Maybe there was more to Intramurals than just beating each other up after all.

  268.

  It was a boring job out in the middle of nowhere
, guarding some bunker from a potential but unknown threat. He didn’t know what was down there, or who might want to take it. Even when getting drunk with his fellow guards, none of them had let a single tidbit of information slip, most likely because they were just as in the dark as he was. All their processes of employment had gone through intermediaries and shell corporations; none of them even knew who they were working for. They all hoped it wasn’t anyone doing something too illegal, but the amount of money they were getting made it clear that this probably wasn’t on the up-and-up. Nobody paid this kind of salary to just protect a patch of wilderness without good reason.

  Five years the guard had been on this job. At first, he’d been unsure whether it was a good idea or not. But an old cellmate made the introductions to the hiring agent, and there weren’t a lot of jobs out there for people that were Supers and ex-cons, especially not ones that came with this kind of salary. Five years of taking his shifts, standing at his post, and scanning the surroundings with his enhanced senses. Not a spectacular power by any means, not like the soldier types who lived in a separate compound than the guards, but he had used the ability to crack a few safes. Now he only used it to look at birds while waiting for more nothing to happen. On this particular day, however, that boredom came crashing down.

  There was no sign in the sky. Not a shimmer, not a blip, not a sound. The only tip he got was from the sparrow. It was flying around its tree, probably looking for some tasty worms like usual, when it jerked, suddenly, like it was avoiding something. Any other situation, any other job, and he would have ignored it. But he’d watched these birds for years, he knew their movements, and that wasn’t natural. Even then, it might have been dismissed, but management was expressly clear on these matters: anything out of the ordinary, no matter how small, was to be reported.

  “This is the southeastern watch tower. I think I just saw something odd coming from the east. Potential invisible airborne threat.” The shoulder-mounted walkie-talkie was crackling and responsive to his touch; they put in fresh batteries every morning, just in case.

  “Acknowledged. Troops are getting the order to be readied until we can investigate. What did you see?”

  “Nothing, sir. My mistake. I thought I saw a bird dodge an invisible target, but I just caught sight of a hawk circling the sky. It must have been diving to get away.”

  What the hell? That was his voice, the words were coming out of his mouth, but he wasn’t the one speaking. His mouth was being moved for him, like a puppet, and no amount of effort seemed to retake control of his body.

  There was a brief clip of silence then the voice on the other side spoke again. “Understood. Thank you for your service.”

  Seconds later a loud, blaring alarm blasted the entire area: the signal that the base was under attack. Overhead, the roof of the building lifted off cleanly, like someone had chopped straight through it, to reveal a man in a red cloak floating in the air. It was strange, though. He didn’t have the movement of a flying Super, more like he was standing on something unseen.

  “Where did I mess up?”

  The cat was out of the bag now, and as a guard with no value this was almost certainly the end, so there didn’t seem much issue with answering. “We have code phrases to use if we’re actually calling off a report. That way, if someone threatens or controls us, they won’t know that by trying to calm things down they’re really just confirming the threat.”

  “Crafty. I should have expected as much. Well, we were never going to have much of an element of surprise in the first place.”

  Suddenly, it all clicked. The red cloak, the aura of confidence, the overwhelming power: this was Globe, the legendary villain. Holy shit. This day was going from shitty to totally fucked in the span of seconds.

  To the guard’s surprise, Globe didn’t immediately kill him. Instead, he stared down with an unexpectedly gentle expression. “For what it’s worth, we don’t care about any of you. Wait. That came out poorly… I’m out of practice at this. What I mean to say is that none of you guards are our targets. If you attack us, we will defend ourselves, but if you want to run then we won’t give chase. We’re here for some very specific things, and none of you need to be hurt for us to acquire them. Spread that around, please. Get on the radio and use whatever codes are required to let people know that. I take no pleasure in spilling needless blood.”

  That gentle expression slipped away for a moment, as Globe’s eyes hardened. “That said, we have a mission to complete, and we will see it done no matter the cost. Make sure your fellow guards know that to try and stop us is to take their lives in their hands. Try to convince them to run, if you can. I may not like spilling blood, but my hands are still filthy with the stuff.”

  And with that, Globe was gone, floating back into the sky. Strangely, the roof of the guard station lowered back down, perfectly resealing as though there had never been a separation there in the first place. The guard raced to the window, trying to track Globe, but he was nowhere to be seen, not even with enhanced senses.

  Slowly, waiting at any moment for his body to leave his control again, the guard pressed the button on his radio once more. “Sir, this is the southeastern watchtower, and the windows are freshly cleaned. I’ve made contact with the intruder and have confirmed an identity.”

  “Code phrase heard and acknowledged, what information do you have to pass along?”

  He took a deep breath, well aware that his last one should probably have come moments ago, when he was face-to-face with the enemy. The others might try to stay and fight, but this was going to be his last act as a guard. Money didn’t raise the dead, and even seeing only a fraction of Globe’s rumored power was enough to make it clear how dangerous a fight this would be.

  “It’s Globe, sir. Probably others as well – he used the phrase ‘we’ more than once. He wanted me to pass along the message that the guards are all free to run and they won’t pursue, but if we attack then they will counter, and I don’t think they’re playing by Hero rules.”

  He didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, the guard dashed down the stairs, yanked open the door to his station, and began sprinting through the woods, toward the nearest town and away from the wailing sirens.

  269.

  Chad had to miss Shane’s match, not that he was especially worried. His support of the shadow-wielder during selection hadn’t been mere friendship or bravado. Although Shane didn’t know how close it had been a few times, there were fights where he’d pushed Chad to the limit and nearly secured a victory. There was no one from the class Chad would rather have on his Intramurals team than Shane DeSoto. His victory was considered a forgone conclusion to Chad, even as he reminded himself not to allow complacency in his own fight.

  Odds were strong that this wouldn’t be a long bout. Although Chad had been getting a post-match exam when his opponent fought the first time, his enhanced hearing had allowed him to pick up some amount of discussion. From the whispers, it seemed he’d be facing off against a strongman, a male student who had shrugged off several attacks and laid his enemy out with only a few punches. It should, in theory, be a straightforward slugfest. However, Chad had also noted that none of the people from Sizemore were the ones doing the chatting. If the students from his opponent’s own school were staying quiet, it hinted that perhaps not all of the tricks had been revealed yet. That was to be expected – they were only in the second round of fights – but Chad wasn’t taking any needless chances.

  “You’ve both been through this before, so you know it’s time for introductions.”

  Victor’s voice echoed off the empty walls; Chad had drawn a boring combat cell again. Fifty feet away, Chad’s hook-nosed opponent took a step forward and spoke. “Conrad Booker. Control major. Hero name: Seismic.”

  “Chad Taylor. Close Combat major. My Hero name is Intra.”

  There was a flicker of recognition in Conrad’s eyes. He’d have been getting prepped during Chad’s first match but his team had probably
told him about the legacy name. Victor’s voice crackled once more and announced that the match had begun, which was all Chad needed to hear.

  Since he’d shown off his speed in the first fight, there was no reason not to use it now. If he held back on the things they knew he could do, it would tip his hand, showing that he had other techniques he leaned on and could pull out in a moment’s notice. Better to limit their expectations and hope to catch them by surprise. Besides, between the name and the Control major, it sounded like Conrad probably had some ranged skills to go with his ability to shrug off damage. He might even be able to attack with the very ground itself. The sooner Chad could bring the fight into close quarters, the better a chance he stood.

  He bolted forward, quickly closing the gap as Conrad stood there, staring calmly. There was something in that expression he didn’t trust, and Chad ran a touch faster, eager to get the real fight started. Even as his speed picked up, so did his awareness, every nerve tensed and ready to react at whatever Conrad unleashed. Unfortunately, while Chad was watching keenly for an attack, the possibility of a trap was much lower on his list of potential threats.

  There was no warning between steps: one foot slammed into the stone floor and shoved off with ease, the next swept down into nothingness, unable to find, of all things, the ground. A glance down showed Chad why: the floor had pulled inward, creating a rapidly expanding crater that left him nowhere to land a foot. With nothing to kick off of, Chad was simply carried forward by his momentum, momentarily helpless in midair. As he tumbled, the crater expanded, turning ten feet wide and deepening so that Chad continued to fall. By the time he finally landed, the crater was now a pit down into which Conrad stared. The moment Chad felt his body hit something, he was ready, kicking off hard to jump his way back to the surface. Bones were also growing at a rapid pace, poking through his skin so he’d be able to extend them and find footing even if the ground fell away again.