by C. C. Ekeke
C.C. Ekeke
Age of Heroes © 2019 by C.C. Ekeke
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise, without prior permission in writing of C.C. Ekeke, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles.
C.C. Ekeke
www.ccekeke.com
Cover Art: Florent Llamas
1st Edition
ShatterHouse Press
BOOKS by C.C. EKEKE
The Pantheon Saga
Age of Heroes
Monsters Among Men
Generation Next (May 2019)
Gods of Wrath (Summer 2019)
Star Brigade Series
Resurgent
Maelstrom
Supremacy
Ascendant
Extremis (Fall 2019)
Star Brigade Short Fiction
Odysseys
Traitor
Nemesis (Fall 2019)
Forsaken
Inheritance
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Epilogue
Author Notes
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Books by C.C. Ekeke
About the Author
For David
Thanks for taking me to that first comic book shop.
Prologue
The situation was about to turn deadly. Eight hostages were being held at gunpoint in a strip mall office outside town.
Miles away in the skies, one man’s enhanced hearing spotted the crime in progress. A gun-wielding trio burst into the office and ordered the frightened occupants to their knees. An upward spray of bullets from a semi-automatic made them comply.
At the sound of weapon’s fire, the man flew faster toward the conflict.
One hostage, a tubby man, wouldn’t shut up or obey. This was his office space, he protested. This meeting wasn’t harming anybody.
Uh-Oh! The man was less than half a mile away right as one gunman lost his patience. Aiming his handgun, the criminal fired twice at the chubby hostage.
The man in the dark morning skies put on a kick of speed…
Several screams sliced through the room as shots rang out and struck true…
Two bullets bounced off his nearly invulnerable six-foot-four-inch frame after he’d exploded through the ceiling.
Two flattened slugs clanked harmlessly on the floor, never touching the intended target.
With flakes of ceiling plaster swirling around, he glanced around to confirm all eight unharmed hostages. Seven shivered together on the floor. The mouthy, tubby gentleman flinched from bullets that never struck. The unusual complexions and bizarre physiques of the hostages confirmed what these people were.
Before him stood three normal-looking bigots hell-bent on executing the eight hostages.
Thank god I was doing a morning flyby patrol. This man needed no introduction. The ceiling entrance handled that. Plus, by the three gunmen’s WTF looks, they knew him.
Silvery Caesar haircut.
Swarthy complexion.
Yellow-colored letter T stretched over the strapping torso and arms of his dark green costume.
Who didn’t recognize Titan, world-famous superhero?
He stood in his patented hands-on-hips pose. “I’ll ask once.” Titan’s iron tones dominated the room. “Drop the guns and walk away.”
Usually, that was enough to scare off non-powered crooks like these.
The three looked scared, but not scared enough to do the smart thing. Bigotry and second amendment rights made them cocky.
“You’re not the boss of us, you silver-haired freak,” the gunman on the left snarled, lanky and shaggy-haired. He seemed to be in charge. “You abominations overrun our cities. Threaten our families. And more keep appearing!”
His two companions nodded in agreement. “It’s time humans fought back.”
Titan sighed, knowing how this could end.
“By killing innocent citizens attending a peaceful meetup?” the tubby hostage asked, not helping. He stood behind Titan.
“SHADDUP!” the man on the left barked, pointing a Glock over Titan’s shoulder.
The superhero gave the pudgy gentleman a sharp look, causing him to finally hush and crouch near the other hostages.
“Dangerous freaks organizing to attack us,” said the stocky Korean gunman on the right. He hefted a modified semi-automatic rifle in both hands.
“We’re gonna die!” a young female hostage sobbed.
Titan glanced over his shoulder. “Not on my watch.” As long as the gunmen didn’t fire. Or Titan moved fast enough.
He turned to the gunmen, who decided to end negotiations. “Waste them! Titan, too!”
The trio aimed their guns at Titan and the shrieking hostages behind him with lethal intent.
Titan wasn’t in danger, thanks to his nigh-invulnerable skin. The hostages in this confined space, however...
“GET DOWN,” the superhero barked at them. Titan crossed the room so fast, the gunmen and hostages seemed frozen in place. A familiar effect when he ran at superspeed. Titan reached the middle gunman first, ramming a shoulder into his gut. He pulled his tackle just enough to not shatter every bone in the idiot’s body. He rushed right for the gunman about to squeeze the trigger of his semi-automatic. Titan batted the weapon aside with a backhand and hoisted the man off his feet by the throat. Titan chucked him like a lawn dart, ensuring the gunman wouldn’t explode against the far wall—tempting as that was.
Then came the gunman on the left, frozen in place, Glock aimed at Titan. The superhero stopped and caught the gunman’s wrist, snapping it with a gentle squeeze. The man screamed, his Glock dropping from ner
veless fingers. Two loud crashes on opposite side walls happened immediately. All in under three seconds.
A sidelong glance told Titan the other gunmen were out cold and slumped to the floor.
He focused on the lone gunman, tightening his grip. The criminal wailed, holding his crushed forearm. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” the man blubbered. Tears streamed down his face, and something else down his legs judging by the pungent smell.
Titan wrinkled his nose. “I know.” He came sailing in with a right. The unharmed gunman shrieked and recoiled. The hostages gasped.
When the gunman opened his eyes, Titan smiled, his fist an inch from the man’s jaw.
“Made you look.” He twisted his fist with a thumbs up to the man’s chin. The finger flick from someone with Titan’s strength knocked the robber head over heels—twice.
He landed face first with a grunt and didn’t move. Crisis averted.
Titan scanned the room, his inspection revealing all hostages were safe. “Everyone okay?” he asked for verification. A chorus of frightened voices confirmed. Thank God…
After asking someone to call 911, Titan bound the unconscious gunmen with an electric cord and kicked the guns far from reach. “Don’t touch those,” Titan warned. “They have their fingerprints.”
Glancing through the hole in the ceiling, the sky was a stunning dark pink, signaling dawn’s arrival.
One woman ran to Titan, bearhugging him like a life raft. “Thank you, Titan. God bless you for saving us!” She looked the most normal of the eight former hostages, save the catlike amber eyes.
Titan smiled. “My pleasure, ma’am.” After twenty-plus years and hundreds of thousands of rescues, simple gratitude still meant a lot. Most of them displayed similar appreciation, shaking hands or waving reverently.
Looking them over, Titan saw these men and women were supers like himself. Unlike him, they lacked his vast powerset or a normal human visage. Hell, one had eyes that glowed nonstop.
Like me but not like me, Titan observed blandly. Story of his life.
“My goddamn ceiling!” someone shouted. Titan turned to the tubby older gentleman, the office’s owner. Hands on his hips, the man’s green veins sticking out across his face and hands the angrier he became. He kicked at the rubble ringing the floor beneath the sizeable hole. “You ruined it!”
Titan’s smile curdled along with his mood. “My apologies. I was in a rush.” Saving your life, you ungrateful dolt. Even without criticism, the high from saving lives had grown so fleeting.
“Thanks a lot, ‘Almighty’ Titan,” a younger man spat, the tubby man’s son by his resemblance. “Expect a call from our lawyer.”
“Roger. Kevin. Don’t be assholes!” the woman with the cat-like eyes protested. “Titan saved our lives!”
“And ruined my ceiling, Ashley!” Roger griped. “You know how much my superhero disaster premium will skyrocket?”
And the eight hostages argued with Roger and Kevin over their ingratitude. The tied-up gunmen groaned but remained unconscious.
Titan stepped back and, with a familiar plastic smile, said, “Have a good rest of your day.” He rocketed upward through the ceiling hole at top speed. The ungrateful voices of the rescued soon faded as sounds of police sirens grew closer.
Minutes later, Titan soared over the heart of San Miguel—a sprawling Central Coast city located between Los Angeles and San Francisco.
The red morning sun peeked over the horizon, slowly waking San Miguel’s citizens.
Miles below, the downtown skyline was illuminating. Morning traffic congested the veins of freeways winding through the city. Many drivers, walled in their cars, either zoned out, cursed the traffic or multi-tasked. The babbling of voices swelled as the sun climbed, flooding the City of Wonder with fiery warmth and noise. Most citizens never appreciated the sunrise, numbed out by their everyday routine. Several wept in bathrooms or cars for salvation from existences that never improved. Many voices chose the familiar complacency over escape, despite the misery.
Titan heard them all. Every day. Listening was part of his routine, parsing through the clutter to locate those in true need. Or intercepting crimes in progress.
He had grown desensitized to their monotony, at times weary of it.
Today, the monotony angered Titan. But the Central Coast Saint could never express aloud how these ingrates should shut up about their crappy lives. Instead, Titan remained smiling and unwaveringly tolerant.
A crunching collision on the 227 West caught his ear. He slowed his flight, scanning and listening. Magnified vision showed traffic slowing further around a BMW rear-ended by a Prius. The accident looked minor, both cars functional enough to pull over. Both drivers appeared uninjured after exiting their cars. Titan flew onward.
During the brief calm moments, Titan enjoyed observing San Miguel from above. He and this city had grown up together. Both had faced devastating tragedies. Both had been reborn stronger than before. Both had bonded in a brave new world while blossoming into household names.
Today, the City of Wonder housed over four million citizens. It boasted a flourishing entertainment industry, a resurgent wine region, sports teams and so much more.
That didn’t cover San Miguel’s main attraction.
Homo sapien superior, aka Superhumans.
Since a mysterious Global Whiteout in the early-1970s, superpowered and magic-based individuals had appeared all over Earth. Current stats had the total worldwide count of superhumans at seven percent or roughly fifty million and counting. Since its beginnings, San Miguel attracted large numbers of supers, particularly those in spandex and tights. Titan’s powers didn’t originate from the Whiteout, making him an outlier amongst even superhumans, like the supers in that strip mall. That wouldn’t stop him from protecting his city from the superhumans who'd do harm with their gifts. And those challenging the Central Coast Saint were growing more dangerous and more numerous as time passed.
Titan hovered over Barrera-Goldman Tower, one of downtown San Miguel’s tallest buildings.
With a heavy sigh, he scanned from the western coastline to the east mountains. The Rio Luis, one positive of the disaster that had shaped San Miguel, was a long shimmery coil through the city, snaking all the way to the sea.
Titan was tired. Not physically, never physically. Mental fatigue, weighing on his chest, had been building over the last year. All over a question. Am I making a difference anymore?
No matter how many times he asked. No matter how many lives saved or criminals stopped, Titan couldn’t find an answer.
So wrapped in his thoughts he almost missed the very faint shuffle behind him, along with familiar shallow breaths. The new arrival hid between the upper power generators and vents atop the Barrera-Goldman. He could sneak up on anyone, except Titan.
The superhero smiled and floated a few feet lower. “Morning,” he greeted without turning.
“Hey.” The brusque reply came from the shadows, more grunt than greeting, reverberating at Titan. Almost like two people spoke out of sync. The vigilante called Geist remained concealed from early dawn like a nocturnal predator. “Day starting?”
“Already has,” Titan replied. “Flew across the pond last night to help the Champions with a weredragon. Then diffused an early morning hostage situation.”
“Just heard,” Geist growled. “Nice.”
Not if you were the office owner. “And your night?” Titan asked, bracing himself.
“Serial killer got out on good behavior last week.” Geist’s tone turned more Clint Eastwood-like. “Committed his second strike.” Unlike many costumed heroes, Geist possessed no powers. But for the kind of street-level criminals he faced every night, the man needed only his fists, guns and unyielding resolve.
Titan frowned, hearing another collision on the 101 South. Again, minor fender-bender. No injuries. “The young couple in Liberty Heights?” he asked.
“Correct,” Geist replied.
Titan’s breath caught i
n his throat. It always did when hearing another scumbag had reached strike two. “And?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
Silence hung between them. “Justice was served,” Geist growled, succinct and severe.
Meaning the killer’s dead. Titan was thankful to be spared the gory details. “Good.” The public considered Geist an urban legend. Some of Titan’s peers considered him a brilliant tactician. Most wrote Geist off as a homicidal psychopath. The Office of Superhuman Affairs (OSA) didn’t consider him their problem, given his lack of powers. Law enforcement labeled him a murderer, despite secretly welcoming his unwelcome aid. Such a dark, violent vision of justice opposed everything Titan stood for, hence why he publicly condemned the urban legend of Geist.
Away from prying eyes, the Central Coast Saint fully supported the Midnight Son of San Miguel. But what did that say about Titan for agreeing more and more with his closest friend’s brutal methods? That led back to the question plaguing him. “Are we making a difference anymore?”
Another lengthy silence passed before Geist answered. “Meaning?”
“Our methods differ, friend. But what have we accomplished?” The bitterness and defeat in those words surprised even Titan.
“Titan—”
“So many criminals we’ve put away keep getting out,” Titan continued, unable to stop. “Despite how many lives saved or criminals caught. No matter how fast I fly and fight, the world keeps slipping into a darker and more divided place. And we’re barely holding the line.” His fists clenched so tight his palms actually ached. Titan was startled by this explosive desire to hit something as hard as possible.
“And Lord Borealis?” Geist threw back from his hiding place. “Your archenemy for years. Worst of the worst. If it was up to me, he’d have received my brand of justice long ago.” His snarling delivery reminded Titan of the vigilante’s lingering vitriol toward Borealis. “You believed in his redemption. Vouched for him in court. Thanks to you, he’s five years reformed.”
Titan couldn’t deny that truth. His war with Borealis had spanned decades, planets and timelines, with Titan always emerging triumphant.