by Jeremy Flagg
“Warden,” he shouted at the top of his lungs, “I’m coming.”
* * * * *
Conthan fell from a portal in the ceiling, his elbow extended. Striking Vanessa’s collarbone drove her to one knee. With a shift of her shoulder, one massive wing knocked him toward a glass wall. The next portal opened, swallowing him.
He reemerged in front of Vanessa, momentum allowing him to drive a knee into her face. Blood splattered across the glass as her nose exploded. Conthan didn’t have time to question assaulting his friend, or even if there was a way to save her. Right now, the only thing that mattered was making a psychopath pay.
Her hand caught him by the throat. Nails dug into his skin. His legs dangled in the air as Vanessa stood, raising him up like a trophy. If he braced his feet and pushed off, she’d tear out his throat.
Alyssa appeared out of nowhere, just inside Vanessa’s reach. Ducking under her free hand, Alyssa sent three knuckles into Vanessa’s throat and followed with a snap of the leg to the knee. Conthan fell to the ground, scurrying backward as Alyssa expertly dodged the gargoyle's clumsy grappling.
Stop.
The sound of the Warden's single word rang inside his head. Conthan cradled his ears. Alyssa moved to a docile position, arms resting at her side. Conthan turned to see Skits in a similar pose. The world turned monochrome as a weight tackled him.
Gretchen was the only one of them able to avoid detection by Vanessa. It had been amusing to watch the all-hearing woman be spooked when Gretchen blinked in and out of sight back in the warehouse. They had been more than casual acquaintances. Gretchen used to force Vanessa to engage in mundane small talk, a painful conversation to overhear.
Now, she sat atop Conthan with a knee on either side of his torso, a hand on his clavicle. He looked up, pointed to her and then to the other two women. A furious shake of her head said, “No.” The ridge of his nose crinkled as he silently snarled back at her.
“Do not keep me waiting, Conthan. I would hate to see your friends meet an untimely demise, perhaps by their own hand?” Alyssa placed a hand on her chin.
Conthan reached behind his ear, only to realize the inhibitor given to him by the Prime Minister was missing. Gretchen nodded. Crawling over him, she made sure to hold onto his wrist, not letting go as they got to their feet. As she let go, color poured into his vision, making the world vibrant once more.
“Gretchen, is it?” Vanessa withdrew several steps, tucking the wings tightly behind her back. Muscles rippled along her arms. Conthan had a moment to wonder how long she and Ivan had been joined. Ivan wore the Warden and Jacob like gloves, expertly controlling both men, but he seemed to struggle with Vanessa's unique body.
“This is your first Child host?” asked Gretchen.
“She is quite exquisite, a fascinating beast.” Vanessa raised her hand in front of her face, closely inspecting the texture of her skin.
“Yeah, she’s fantastic. But you know what would be great? You getting the hell out of her body,” barked Conthan.
“I can hear your thoughts, Child. With this body, I can hear all your thoughts. Or did you think this would help?” Holding up a small device torn from behind Conthan’s ear. Conthan realized the grab for his throat had been a ruse. Vanessa pushed Alyssa out of the way like a minor inconvenience. Raised on the balls of her feet, she strode, awkwardly, still learning her body. “You have changed.”
“Says the asshole in the ‘body of the month’ club.”
“Sarcasm. The tool of a feeble mind.”
“I could cut you in half where you stand.” His power wanted to be let loose. Along with the rush of the fight, the serotonin flooding his system, it felt like at any moment he could strike the Warden dead. “Killing you will become my new favorite habit.”
I can hear every thought, Child.
Vanessa laughed. “If you kill this vessel, I’ll just have to find another. How magnificent would it be to have the ability to transport my physical self wherever my mind desired? Perhaps it’s time you join my ranks, Child.”
Conthan held firm, forcing himself to maintain eye contact. The idea of the Warden stealing his body had never crossed his mind. Dwayne had described Vanessa stealing his body months ago as being a prisoner inside his own mind, watching a movie play out without the ability to affect the outcome. Conthan shuddered at the thought.
“Not so bold?” the Warden mocked.
“You tell me.”
Since the massacre, Conthan's powers had taken on a life of their own. Like Dwayne's, they didn’t sit passively, waiting to be called, but urged him to use them. At some point, he’d have to retrace his steps and find what changed, but for now, he welcomed the flood. The light in the room shifted as his eyes glazed over until they were black mirrors. The moment the power flooded through his body, the Warden's whispers faded. Had the man accessed Vanessa’s memories, he would have recalled the trick.
“Oh, wait,” Conthan sneered, “you’re not as powerful as you thought.”
Vanessa's growl echoed off the glass. Sharpened nails on one hand flashed. The portal opened, tearing through the flesh of her forearm. It took a moment before the guttural bellowing raised in pitch enough to crack nearby glass.
“We’ve all changed.”
* * * * *
They might be vigilantes. They might have more power than any human should possess. Hell, they might be on the wrong side of the fight. But Dwayne never doubted them. He had anger, sure, even outrage from some of their decisions, but at his core, he trusted ever member of the Nighthawks. When the portal opened, he led with a blinding flash of lightning. Conthan trusted him.
The portal stole the heat from his body. Dwayne shoved his hands through the black disc. The lightning coursed along his skin, disappearing into the emptiness. Electricity poured from the palms of his hands. Dwayne followed, the lightning unrelenting as he stepped through.
The light returned as he passed through the darkness. A shriek from a woman filled the air. Lightning slammed into something, a blur of green flew backward. It took a moment before Dwayne made out Vanessa’s body sliding along the floor. The power thumping in his chest wanted unbridled release.
Dwayne stopped holding back.
Lightning crashed against the ceiling, bringing tiles down. Chains of electricity smashed through the glass on either side, striking desks and lab benches. With each step forward, his unruly abilities beat against anything they could. Dwayne didn’t try to retrain them, instead giving himself over to the euphoria of pure raw power.
Vanessa clamored to a standing position, resting on the balls of her feet, cradling a stump where a hand should reside. For a moment, he felt a twang of regret for the bloodlust directed at his former friend. He forced himself to remember it wasn’t really her. Vanessa was gone, and now a parasite wore her flesh like a second skin. The angrier he grew, the more lightning hammered every object in the room.
“Dwayne,” Vanessa called out. “It’s me. Conthan, he—”
It gathered just below his pecs, to the right of his sternum. The light forced his eyes closed. Whipping electricity to the side, a massive surge of power jumped through glass, melting it into molten puddles along the floor. Desks exploded in a shower of splinters and shredded metal.
He couldn’t kill Vanessa. Even if it meant ending the fight, he couldn't slaughter his oldest friend. No, he wouldn’t kill another teammate today. Instead he watched as cryogenic pods in one of the glass cubicles went up in flames.
Dwayne continued to decimate white tiles, electricity ricocheting off walls and bouncing along the floor.
Vanessa moved closer. Pointing his fingers at the skin walker, smaller bolts of lightning soared through the air, striking her in the shoulder. Vanessa screeched before turning and running.
“Stop her,” Skits yelled.
“No,” Conthan yelled. “Don’t kill her.”
The electricity moving through his body reminded Dwayne of a sensual touch, warm, soothing. Most o
f all, it reminded him of the sheer power at his disposal. A feeling of warmth filled his body, urging him to lose control. The idea of restraining himself was far away in the rear-view mirror. Right now, all that mattered was the sensation, the embrace of unlimited potential.
“Dwayne?”
Lightning continued to pour out of his body, melting tile where bolts punched into the floor and nearby walls. His abilities refused power down, striking anything within reach. Something had changed; the limits of his abilities seemed further away than ever before. Where the electricity had once taken its toll, threatening to burn him up from the inside, now, his cells produced power at a rate he’d never encountered before.
“It won’t stop,” he yelled over the lightning storm.
“Turn it off,” Skits yelled. “Now. Turn it off now.”
“It’s okay,” Dwayne said, though he knew the smile on his lips panicked his sister more than the fear of being consumed. “I am…endless.”
Gretchen and Alyssa blinked into existence. The worry on both of their faces reminded him he should be terrified. At this point, exhaustion fought against his powers, but lightning, a raw force of nature, would not be ignored. The euphoria of his abilities was nothing short of magnificent.
Conthan shielded his face as a bolt crashed into glass to his right. With effort, Dwayne could push the discharge behind him, emitting it from his shoulders and back of his hands. Conthan’s eyes were onyx black —like Dwayne, he had reached a point where his abilities fought for control. Dwayne wondered if something had happened between them, something to grant them more power than either should wield.
“He’s going to bring down the ceiling.” Gretchen pointed to where lightning struck against metal beams, attempting to cut through the dense material. Dwayne tried to direct the shards of brilliant white, but found he could only do so much to avoid striking his teammates.
“We’re leaving,” Conthan said.
A portal opened and he directed the lighting into the void. Dwayne had no idea where the exit might appear, but he trusted Conthan, even with his life.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
2033
Silence.
The analysts froze in place, each entering a fugue state. The absence of orders being shouted was enough for the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end. The vacant expressions on each of their faces chilled her heart, sending her mind reeling back decades. Even Jonah, one of the most powerful men in the world, remained locked in place.
“Ariel.” Azacca’s deep voice broke the silence. “What’s happening?”
Turning away from the window, she saw the black man reaching for his braces. She raised a finger to her lips, signaling the man to remain still in his chair. He followed her gaze to the elevator's double doors.
“I know you’re there,” she whispered.
The doors opened, slowly, inch by inch revealing a face she’d never seen in person. Despite the youth, the slick clothes, and the way he adjusted the cufflinks on his suit, her power recognized something about him her eyes did not. A stench rolled off the man, something detected more by her mind than her nose, of power mixed with depravity.
“Ivan,” she said.
He stepped off the elevator, throwing his arms out wide as if signaling he’d finally entered the party. It had been decades since Ariel experienced fear. Rising in the pit of her stomach was a turbulent storm, a seething whirlwind of locked-away anger. A cleansing breath fueled the fire and her scream filled the dead silence.
Windows ruptured, glass falling to the street below. Stools and makeshift tables in the skywalk slid across the floor, breaking and crumbling as they hit sturdy walls. Ariel's lungs emptied, but the scream continued, claiming every ounce of air. The room blurred for a moment as she fought to refresh the oxygen in her lungs.
“Always such a dramatic child.” Jacob’s voice. Ivan’s words. Years of surviving on the streets, scavenging for food, or defending herself against less-than-savory humans did nothing to diminish Ariel’s beauty. The very foundation of the woman she had become reverberated, threatening to crumble at the sight of her boogeyman.
The man’s very existence confirmed a belief in an anti-Christ. Ivan had sowed the seeds of death and reaped every person she’d ever loved. Mark. Elizabeth. Arturo. Penelope, innocent Penelope. For decades she'd imagined this moment, this very scene playing out.
“This fear, it’s not real,” she whispered to herself. “No, none of it is real.”
Azacca pulled a gun from a nearby human statue. Instead of pointing it at Ivan’s host, he turned toward the elevator. His finger pulled on the trigger until the clip ran empty, an unseen body screaming as it crashed to the floor. A Marine removed his pistol and shot Azacca in the arm, sending the man toppling to the ground.
Ariel watched as a black woman fell to the side of the elevator. She pressed her hand against the batches of red on her abdomen, but the blood poured freely. Toppling to the ground, the woman groaned, but the sound was cut short as if muted. Ariel recognized the sight of muscles relaxing as life was syphoned away from the body.
The anxiety about Ariel’s chest, the overabundance of emotion trying to tear its way out of her body, ceased. Her anger, her terror for the man, it washed away as Azacca took out Ivan’s cohort. Ariel found herself comfortable inside her own skin again. An empath. Ariel turned her attention to Ivan’s newest vessel.
“Not so intimidating without your pet.” Ariel’s body grew steadier with each passing moment.
“Who needs intimidating? Men who intimidate can’t execute.” Ivan pointed past her. “Look at the city. See Chicago on its knees begging for mercy.”
“I see a city resisting.”
His condescending laughter echoed in the back of her head. The pressure at the base of her skull, the impending headache, she realized the man attempted to disarm her verbally while weaseling his way into her mind. Even without his empathic mentalist, Ariel had decades of isolation spark a rage inside. The farewells, the life of loneliness, even the moments of keeping friends at bay, had created walls Ivan had no chance of penetrating.
“The only thing I find funny, Ivan, are your pathetic attempts to infiltrate my mind.” He didn’t respond. No laughter, no snide remarks—she discovered Ivan's ego was still capable of injury. “Strike a nerve?”
Ivan pressed a finger against a nearby woman, barely a graze of her skin. Convulsing, the woman fell to the ground. Ariel held her tongue, refusing to give into the madman’s provocations. He repeated the action on a lanky man, who also dropped, his body shaking.
“You believe yourself victorious? Because I can’t box away your soul and steal your body for one of my legion?”
Ariel covered her eyes with a hand, a distraction to catch a glance of Azacca attempting to move. She had no problem killing Ivan. She could spin his neck and he'd be down yet another vessel. Conthan had warned her that killing the host wouldn’t be enough. Not only a mentalist, Ivan had gained the ability to latch on to victims like a parasite. Did that mean Azacca or even herself were susceptible? Did it mean he’d be able to hop through them until he reached safety? Much as she wanted to hear the vertebrae in his neck crack, she feared he’d find a more suitable host. Jonah?
“You think I’m petty enough to count my victories in the battles yet to come? Ariel, child, you’ve spent your entire life fighting me one way or another. From the moment at the dinner table, I’ve been your every waking thought. Now”—the man paused, a smile spreading across his lips—“can’t you see? I’ve already won.”
Ivan hovered from the ground until the toes of his dress shoes were nearly a foot above the floor. He didn’t resist, his limbs going limp as Ariel allowed her abilities to canvas every inch of his body. With no more than a thought, she’d be able to crush him into a fleshy orb. Or would she pull at his skin, peeling it from the muscle, waiting for the moment he broke and screamed?
A single breath, a fleeting image touched the edges of her mind. Nea
rly forty years had passed since Ivan revealed himself to be the devil. The beast was the reason she fled with Raymond. He may have even been the man who started her on this path, the catalyst lighting a fuse. But Ivan, despite his vilest attempts, could not own the woman she had become. The thousands she had saved, the lives she’d impacted, they had been in spite of him. He wasn’t the one who created her; he had been the one who engineered her determination to venture toward the light.
“You never owned me,” she whispered.
His death wouldn’t have given her a sense of satisfaction. Only faced with the demon that haunted her nightmares did she finally feel respite. The evil standing before her lost its power. Her lips turned up as a smile found its way onto her face. Finally, peace.
“No!” Ivan yelled. The weight of the world diminished, fleeting as the shackles of Ivan’s creation fell.
“I’m free—”
The gun fired.
* * * * *
Portals scraped along the ground. Skits and Gretchen yelped while falling, Conthan not far behind. Alyssa tucked herself into a ball, preparing for an abrupt landing, always one step ahead.
Conthan’s mind raced, already searching hundreds of miles away for their missing teammate. In the middle of a vast space filled with smoke and fire, dozens of synthetics pointed heavy artillery toward a room suspended from the ceiling.
Into which they exited.
As they all fell from the ceiling into the command center. Conthan jerked his arms out wide, tearing open another portal in the floor. He repeated the trick, dropping from one portal into the next until he emerged next to the Paladins. Two of the Marines—men who had taken position on a hill, firing shots at a mech—fell with them while he tore open yet another portal beneath them.