Rogue Superheroes

by Matt Cowper

  Nimbus! It had to be! He glanced up, and sure enough, a cloud of brown smoke hung above, twisting in a way that Blaze knew meant Nimbus was in pain.

  “Anna, what are you doing?!” he yelled. “Even in your smoke-form, you're not protected from my heat!”

  “I...know,” she replied. “But...have to stop you. If I can...choke you....”

  They'd just keep coming. Throwing themselves at him, until either he broke or they did.

  He wouldn't break. Not now. Not with this power.

  Time to end this, before the battle got out of hand and he inadvertently incinerated one of them.

  He reached down inside himself, pulling out a large reserve of the fire. He must've looked even more frightening now, because his teammates scrambled for cover, and even Nimbus floated swiftly away.

  He unleashed the fire, and for a moment he could see nothing but white light, like when he'd blasted Nightstriker out of the Smithsonian.

  When his vision cleared, the reflecting pool was nothing but vapor, the Lincoln Memorial was rubble, and the grass around the Mall was blackened – and the Elites were down.

  Slab and Metal Gal lay facedown, their forms smoking. Gillespie and Buckshot were half-naked, their skin red from Blaze's generated sunburn. Nimbus's smoke was huddled nearby, immobile; he assumed she was unconscious.

  There was only one person still standing.

  Nightstriker.

  His suit was charred, and his shoulders slumped, but still he stood.

  Blaze clenched his fists and floated towards the legendary hero. “I figured you'd be the last to fall. Let's get this over with, Nightstriker.”

  “Yes. Let's.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Nightstriker

  The pulse from Blaze had been even stronger than the one that had hit him in the Smithsonian. The Elites lay scattered around him, dispatched as easily as the Patriots. Mercifully, they were still alive; Blaze wasn't that far gone yet.

  The ICE suit was barely functioning. The HUD was gone, as was the voice of Jasper. Nightstriker kept whispering, hoping the AI would come back online.

  Nightstriker lifted up the faceplate, and hot air slapped against his already sweat-covered face. It was dangerous to expose his face like this, but without the HUD and Jasper, he was effectively blind.

  He glanced down at the suit, assessing damage. Its entire surface was charred, and some portions had slagged off completely.

  The power core, however, was still glowing a soft blue.

  Without the HUD and the assistance of Jasper, though, Nightstriker had no way of knowing the precise status of the core, nor could he perform the suit's more advanced abilities. He had to do everything manually, which gave Blaze an even greater advantage.

  Blaze had floated near him, and stared at Nightstriker like he was only a fly that somehow kept dodging the flyswatter.

  “Your suit is ruined,” Blaze said. “Why don't you throw in the towel, Nightstriker?”

  “You know I'm not one to quit,” Nightstriker replied. “And neither are you, Blaze. This giving up is not––”

  “Me? Quitting?” He shook his head. “I'm not quitting, not even close. I'm being proactive, instead of reactive. You all wanted to take down Lancaster and the Patriots the old fashioned way – which meant they'd return eventually, and cause more pain. Once I'm done, though, they'll never return – unless they can somehow reverse cremation.”

  He was talking again, after trouncing them all easily. Perhaps the act of defeating his friends had jarred something loose in his fiery mind. Perhaps he was reconsidering his actions. Or maybe that pulse had depleted his energy, and he needed a few moments to recover.

  Whatever the reason, Nightstriker had to keep him talking, before he decided to blast the ICE suit again.

  “No, you are quitting,” he said. “You were a member of the Elites, the world's premier superhero team. Not vigilante, not anti-hero. Superhero. You're no longer behaving like a superhero, Sam.”

  “You're so goddamn patronizing!” Blaze shouted, fire pouring from his mouth. “My parents were murdered! Breaker crushed their skulls! And they killed Mr. Flexible, our dog Achilles, and a kind woman named Bonnie who helped us! And who knows who else they've killed! They deserve to burn!”

  “No, they deserve justice,” Nightstriker replied. “They––”

  “Shut up! Who are you to talk about superheroes? You're the most brutal so-called superhero out there!”

  “Perhaps. But I'm not an executioner. Not anymore.”

  “No, you just torture, manipulate, lie, and throw the entire world into chaos with your anti-corruption crusade! What's the difference?!”

  “The difference is: I'm not using my abilities to burn the world to ash.”

  “Neither am I! I'm only targeting those who allowed this fascism to flourish.”

  “That's a long list of people. Where does it end, Sam? How many people will you incinerate before you're satisfied that you've made the world a better place?”

  “As many as it takes.” The words themselves were cruel, but his voice broke at the end.

  “No, I don't think so,” Nightstriker said, speaking quickly lest the moment evaporate. “That's only your grief talking. It's not you. The Sam Boyd I know is compassionate, courageous, and intelligent. The Sam Boyd I know took his position on the Elites seriously. The Sam Boyd I know realized he possessed incredible power, and that he needed to use that power responsibly.”

  Blaze didn't reply. His Fire Shield, however, did dim noticeably.

  “Let me tell you a story, Sam,” Nightstriker went on. “My story. Like everyone else, you only know the legend. Now it's time you hear the truth.”

  Blaze leaned closer, perhaps unconsciously. Nightstriker had his attention; now he dare not blunder.

  “I was not always...like this,” Nightstriker said. “When I first began my superhero career, I was much like every other spandex-clad avenger: I patrolled for a few hours each night, then returned home to my family. And it was a...a wonderful family. A loving wife, Nancy. Two kids, Aaron and Trisha.”

  Blaze remained silent, but hung on Nightstriker's ever word.

  “It was a good life,” Nightstriker continued. “My real name, as you may know, is Malcolm Lee – and I enjoyed being Malcolm Lee. He had a normal job as an engineer, and numerous hobbies. He was indistinguishable from millions of other professional men with families. Nightstriker was, to be honest, often an afterthought, and occasionally even a burden. Many times I declined to go out on patrol, and I neglected my superhero training. Why should I work so hard, when there were others out there far more capable and powerful?”

  “I've never heard...all this,” Blaze said. “Why don't you talk about it?”

  “The Nightstriker mystique is beneficial to me. It puts fear into my enemies – and even into my allies. To discuss my ultimate failure, to complain about my life, to admit I was once a run-of-the-mill superhero...it would reduce me.”

  “But...you're telling me now....”

  “Because you need to hear it. You're treading down the same path I once did – but I don't want you to arrive at the same dark destination as myself.”

  “Your family,” Blaze said, his fire now a melancholy blue. “They were killed....”

  “Yes, they were. By a terrorist group called the Nihilists. As their name suggests, they wanted to tear down society. They bombed financial centers, slaughtered CEOs, kidnapped politicians. They were much like the Giftgiver's army – though far more cruel.”

  He paused to catch his breath – and to wipe away his tears. Those tears clearly shocked Blaze more than anything he'd said.

  “I'd been battling them for weeks,” Nightstriker continued. “I thought I was making progress. But then they brought in some new muscle, ambushed me during one battle. Ripped off my mask. Took photos of my face. Tortured me for some time, then dumped me in Jameson Bay. They weren't trying to kill me, though. They'd found out who I was, and they wan
ted me alive to see what they'd do next.”

  “Then they....”

  “Yes. I staggered home to find the house torn apart, and my wife and kids butchered like cattle. The blood...I'd never seen so much blood.”

  “I'm...I'm sorry. I didn't know....”

  Nightstriker wiped away more tears. “Do you know what I did next, Sam? You can guess, can't you?”

  “You...you killed them.”

  “Yes. Every Nihilist I could find. The bloodbath lasted for days, then weeks. When the number of people I killed reached twenty-three, the Nihilists faded away. I'd already killed the true believers; the only ones left were the mentally weak young men searching for a cause. Now faced with certain death, they decided they weren't so nihilistic after all.”

  “So you destroyed the Nihilists?” Blaze asked. “What did you do next?”

  “I suffered – perhaps more than I suffered when I found the corpses of my family, if such a thing is possible. I'd achieved my vengeance, but now I had no goal, no reason for existing. I was empty. So I drank. And wept. And had fevered dreams. And did drugs. Days passed by, and they were nothing to me but words and numbers on a calendar. Twice I put a loaded gun to my head. I didn't pull the trigger, for unknown reasons.”

  Blaze reached out, perhaps planning to comfort Nightstriker, then jerked his hand back.

  “You do not want to carry a similar burden, Sam, believe me. Killing your enemies will not heal your sorrow. Perhaps in the short term you'll feel better to see these criminals and traitors burn, but there will be a reckoning.”

  “I....”

  “Sam, part of the reason I...am the way I am is because of what I suffered. I am Nightstriker now, the obsessive, relentless superhero – not Malcolm Lee. As you know, I don't even bother to conceal my face or hide my identity. Malcolm Lee is irrelevant; he has nothing more to take. His wife and children are dead, and his parents died years ago of natural causes. He is, for the most part, only a name on a birth certificate.”

  Blaze opened his mouth, but didn't speak, so Nightstriker continued.

  “I don't want you to be like me, Sam. One Nightstriker is enough for the world. I want you to stand down, to let us defeat President Lancaster in what you call the 'old-fashioned' way. I want you to patch things up with your teammates – especially with Metal Gal. I want you to seek counseling. And I want you to return as a true superhero, one whose loss drives him, but who isn't wrestling with demons.”

  “That's what you want,” Blaze murmured. “What about what I want?”

  “Do you really want to go through a similar downward spiral? Do you want the entire world to fear and hate you? Do you want to keep fighting your friends? You know we have to keep coming after you, Sam, if you continue the killing.”

  Blaze paced in front of Nightstriker, his fire shifting from blue to orange to red. He looked at each of his fallen teammates, his eyes finally settling on Metal Gal. For a long moment, he stood there, perhaps imagining better times with his significant other.

  Then the ICE suit emitted a loud beep, and Blaze whirled around.

  “Sir...I...am...can you...hear me?”

  It was Jasper, the suit's AI. He'd somehow come back online!

  “What the hell is that?” Blaze asked.

  “It's the artificial intelligence I designed for this suit,” Nightstriker replied. “Jasper, yes, I can hear you, but your words are choppy.”

  “I am...sorry. It is...difficult to...converse. Apparently...I am...corrupted. I do not know...how I was able to reboot myself. But...you must...you must....”

  “Must what, Jasper?” Nightstriker said.

  “The core...is about to erupt. You must get it away...from all the people...or destroy it...or everyone in the area...will die.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Blaze

  What had that British-accented AI said? That they were all doomed unless they got rid of the suit's core?

  “Nightstriker, what's going on?” Blaze asked. “Is that AI of yours telling the truth?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Nightstriker replied. “I knew the core was dangerous, but this suit had the greatest chance of defeating you.”

  Blaze looked away and worked his hands angrily. This was indirectly his fault: his actions had forced Nightstriker to deploy this secret weapon.

  “Well, what's the deal with this thing?” Blaze asked, still not looking Nightstriker in the eye. “Is it like Metal Gal's Zeta Core?”

  “No, it's much more powerful. It's a hybrid of inter-dimensional energy and magic, specifically ice magic. Even I don't understand it completely, thus why I hesitated to use this suit.”

  “Magic and inter-dimensional energy? You hate that stuff.”

  “Indeed, for reasons which are now all too clear.”

  “Night...striker...must hurry,” Jasper said, his voice cracking and warping. “Only have seconds left until...until...death....”

  Blaze could feel Nightstriker's eyes boring into him. Slowly, he turned back to the armor-clad hero.

  “You have a choice, Blaze,” he said. “With your speed, you can likely outrun the core's supernova. But you can't carry all of us with you, nor can you save Washington D.C. If you save yourself, thousands will die. On the other hand, you'll be able to carry out your vengeance unopposed.”

  Blaze gulped, and again tried to look away, but Nightstriker's gaze could not be broken.

  “Your other choice is to absorb the explosion, like you did when the Beacon's core failed. But you may perish, or lose your powers again. A high price, but you'll save us, and save this city.”

  Again, Jasper rasped out: “Detonation...imminent...please...do something....”

  “What will it be, Blaze?” Nightstriker asked.

  Images flashed within Blaze's mind. Blissful days spent with Metal Gal, and endless sensual nights. The laughter of his teammates. Their heroic struggles against the Giftgiver and the Patriots. Nightstriker's stern voice leading them, his agile mind constantly saving them from ruination.

  Then there were darker images. Achilles, the Boyd family's loyal husky, slamming into an unforgiving tree. Breaker telling them how he'd ripped apart Mr. Flexible. His parents' heads crushed like watermelons, their blood and brains running down their murderer's arms. President Lancaster giving cunningly eloquent speeches that tapped into society's cruelty and fear.

  But no matter which way his thoughts turned, they always led back to the man in front of him: Nightstriker. Battered and sweat-stained, with his advanced tech failing him, but still not giving up.

  Blaze sighed and stepped closer to Nightstriker. “You know there's only once choice. Give me the core.”

  Nightstriker smiled, a fatherly, relieved smile that nearly broke Sam's heart.

  “Thank you, Sam,” he said. “Jasper, eject the core.”

  “Sir...is that––”

  “Do it.”

  There was a loud click, and the core popped out of the armor's breastplate. Blaze caught it, and jacked up the heat around his hand. The core was, literally, supernaturally cold; he recalled the pain he'd felt when Nightstriker had blasted him in the head with this energy. There was also something else, some sort of tingling that seemed to affect his mind just as much as his body. It must've been the inter-dimensional energy pouring out.

  The core was no larger than a baseball, and its glow was soft, even inviting. But he'd never held such a powerful object.

  Nightstriker nodded solemnly. “Good luck.”

  Blaze nodded back. “If I don't make it, tell Metal Gal...tell her....”

  “I'll tell her.”

  With a heavy sigh, Blaze then flew into the sky and jacked up his Fire Shield. He knew he again looked like a star, but his heat still couldn't counter the core's intense coldness.

  “Well, here goes,” he muttered. “I imagine this is gonna feel like taking a polar plunge....”

  He concentrated on the tiny orb in his hand, willing its energy to flow through him.
As he suspected, his blood seemed to freeze, and his arm began shivering.

  Then the core erupted, and he was overwhelmed with an endless winter.

  Everything was white and shimmering blue, like he was caught in a snowstorm beside a glacier. His Fire Shield was instantly snuffed out, and the core's energy burst out in every direction.

  “No!” he screamed.

  His teeth chattering so hard he thought for sure they'd crack, he reignited his Fire Shield, and pulled the stray energy into him. Letting the cold hit his fire...to bring about an even temperature...an equilibrium.

  It hurt. God, it hurt. It was far more difficult than the experience with the Beacon's core. He felt certain he was getting frostbite, that his very brain was turning into a block of ice.

  But he kept absorbing the energy. Kept his fire lit. When he felt himself flagging, he screamed and reached down even further, and somehow found more endurance.

  Then the frigidity diminished slightly, and the mental tingling increased. He began to see strange sights: strange heroes, battling strange villains. Other worlds nothing like Earth. Other superhumans with fire-based powers.

  Were these other dimensions? Other superteams? Other...Blazes?

  Then every cell in his body seemed to rupture, and an agony that made his previous pain feel like a papercut ripped through him.

  His fire again went out – but so did the coldness and the strange inter-dimensional images.

  He looked around. Blue sky. The Washington monument. The ruined Smithsonian. The scorched National Mall. Buildings off in the distance. A few people far away, pointing at him.

  He'd done it. He'd absorbed the core's energy, and saved them all.

  But now he had nothing left.

  He felt the ground rushing up before darkness took him.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Blaze

  “Sam?”

  He burrowed deeper into the sheets and swatted his hand in the direction of the peace-shattering voice.

  “Sam, wake up. Please. It's Metal Gal...it's Siobhan.”

  Siobhan? His...girlfriend?