Rogue Superheroes

by Matt Cowper

  “Why are you screaming, Metal Gal?” Lancaster asked, rubbing his chin in an exaggerated manner. “Our intel said you don't feel pain in the conventional sense.”

  “Fuck...you,” Gal muttered in that strange voice.

  “Too weak to even talk properly, much less pull yourself together? Well, let's just––”

  Bullets ricocheted off Lancaster's body. A taser latched onto his suit, emitting an electrical charge that only caused the President to frown. A baton hit him in the head, but again had no effect.

  It was Buckshot, Gillespie, and Nightstriker, advancing on Lancaster and unloading everything they had. Buckshot reloaded so quickly his barrage remained continuous, and the other two were moving just as desperately.

  Slab was still trying to rise, but couldn't remain upright. Blaze too could barely stand, and the glowing tether between him and Lancaster remained unbroken. He was drawing energy from Blaze while fighting at the same time – and doing both seemed to cause him no difficulty.

  Lancaster sneered at the determined trio of Nightstriker, Gillespie, and Buckshot, then glanced down at Gal. He formed a large circle of yellow energy around his fist.

  “Are you going to let your girlfriend die, like you let your parents die, Blaze?” Lancaster mocked. “Or will you––”

  With a scream, Blaze jacked up his powers, again causing fire to pour out of his eyes and mouth. He flew towards Lancaster, a streaking comet that melted the very concrete beneath him, and crashed into the megalomaniac.

  And didn't budge him an inch. Lancaster only arched his eyebrows and stared at the young man grappling him.

  “You should've followed Nightstriker's advice,” Lancaster said. “Now I've got you – and I'm not going to let you go.”

  Implacable hands grabbed him, nearly breaking his arms. The stream of energy transferring from Blaze to Lancaster became a torrent. Blaze felt a coldness overtake him, like he'd felt when absorbing the ICE core. His fire was leaving him....

  Then he fell to the ground. The fall likely hurt him, but he was so tired that pain was no longer a concept he had a firm grasp on.

  Slab was back on his feet – and he was angry.

  Blaze had thought Metal Gal's blows were powerful. They were nothing compared to the onslaught Lancaster now suffered.

  When Slab's fists hit Lancaster, windows no longer shattered – instead, walls collapsed and pavement ruptured. Trees in a nearby park toppled. The very air vibrated.

  Lancaster hadn't budged when Blaze crashed into him. He was budging now.

  “Still...got...fight...left...you...son...of...a...bitch,” Slab roared in between his otherworldly blows.

  This time, Lancaster had no quips or threats. He backpedaled, trying to block Slab's punches – and his face became more and more bloody.

  A muscular man in black spandex crouched beside Blaze. He dimly recognized him as Nightstriker. “Blaze, I need you to leave. Gillespie will take Metal Gal. Buckshot and I will remain to assist Slab.”

  “Damn right,” Buckshot said. “I'll find a bullet that'll break through his fascist hide, mark my words!”

  He ran back into the action, pelting Lancaster with all manner of ammunition while Slab continued to hammer away.

  Blaze looked up at Nightstriker, his breath ragged. “I...can't...leave. Not until––”

  “If he gets a hold of you again, you're finished!” Gillespie said. “And then we'll be finished. Please, Sam! There's nothing dishonorable about retreating! His energy absorption ability has to have a range limit. If we separate you two, we can wear him down.”

  “I can...absorb energy too,” Blaze said. “Let me pull it out of him, like he's trying to––”

  A cool hand wrapped in his. Metal Gal – Siobhan – smiled at him. Though she was still ripped apart, still crying pink tears, she was trying to be strong for him.

  “Listen to them, Sam,” she said in her altered voice. “Don't be...reckless. You're too weak...to keep fighting.”

  That should have made up his mind – but it didn't. Siobhan's voice seemed to belong to a nagging stranger, not the love of his life.

  What was wrong with him? He couldn't be so tired that his emotions for her were completely dulled – could he?

  But then he had the inkling of an idea.

  “Nightstriker, I need you to ask Lancaster how he got his powers,” Blaze said.

  “He already told us that, Sam. Now stop––” Nightstriker began.

  “No, I need to know exactly what he was thinking about when the Giftgiver used his ability,” Blaze said. “Because I think...I think there's more to it than just energy absorption....”

  Nightstriker studied him for a moment, then rose. “Very well, Sam. Stay here.”

  He ran back into battle, tossing throwing stars at Lancaster. Like Buckshot's bullets and shells, they were puny – especially since Slab was still on a rampage.

  “Why...don't...you...fall...you...fucking...murdering...scumbag,” Slab roared.

  “I'm not...falling...because I still have...plenty of fuel left in the tank,” Lancaster replied. “Unlike you, despite your bluster.”

  A savage uppercut caused the tank-sized Slab to do several backflips, before landing head first on the street. He pushed himself up to his knees and spat out thick black blood and gray pebbles, muttering something incomprehensible.

  Before he could return to the fight, a double-axehandle blow from Lancaster connected with his head, driving it back down to the concrete. More black blood and small rocks flew.

  Slab was knocked out, his valiant effort halted by a madman who only looked marginally weakened.

  “Quite the assault, Slab,” Lancaster said. “You made me bleed. Even caused some bruising. But you're the last of the heavy hitters.” He turned to the still ineffectually attacking Nightstriker and Buckshot. “You two are pathetic – especially you, Nightstriker. I thought your preparation and tactics were unbeatable.”

  “And I thought your energy absorbing abilities were supposed to be impressive,” Nightstriker replied, throwing a bent piece of metal at Lancaster that, of course, did nothing. “Yet Metal Gal and Slab were able to hurt you, and Blaze still has plenty of power left. Are you sure the Giftgiver really gave you what you wanted?”

  “Yes, he gave me exactly what I wanted,” Lancaster replied proudly. “My powers actually go beyond mere energy absorption. I drain my target completely – I take their essence, if you will. You see the effect on Blaze – he looks listless, doesn't he?”

  Draining his essence? Like a soul? Sam didn't think he even had a soul.

  Perhaps he didn't. Perhaps Lancaster was only sapping the emotions and memories that served as proxies for the soul. The Giftgiver's powers would have given him the closest thing to what he wished.

  Regardless, Blaze now had a true plan.

  If Lancaster wanted his so-called essence, he'd get it.

  All of it.

  Nightstriker cast a sideways glance at Blaze, and Blaze gave him a small nod. He thought he saw a small smile on the legendary superhero's face, but it could've been just a grimace as Nightstriker dodged one of Lancaster's energy beams.

  Blaze gave Metal Gal a reassuring grin, then released her hand and rose. One more time, he ignited his Fire Shield, sent the fire coursing through his body, and barreled towards the superpowered President.

  In his shock, Lancaster let Blaze drive him back a few feet. But then iron-hard hands again crushed Blaze's arms, and energy flowed out of him as if from burst dam.

  “Are you insane, boy?” Lancaster asked. “Trying to attack me again, when you can barely form a single fireball?”

  “Let go of me!” Blaze shouted. He didn't want the villain to release him, not now, but he had to act the part of desperate hero.

  “I think not. Now I can finish draining you – and when you're truly depleted, I'll be able to crush your skull. Sound familiar?”

  Blaze screamed, and kicked his feet, and cursed – even spat in Lanca
ster's face. The President only laughed and continued to pull more and more power out of Blaze.

  Blaze was now so weak his eyelids felt weighted down by barbells. His skin seemed to sag on atrophied muscles, and his stomach felt shrunken, like he hadn't eaten in days.

  But he didn't succumb. He focused on the things Lancaster had taken from him: his parents, Anthony and Isabel Boyd. His beloved dog, Achilles. Bonnie, the bed-and-breakfast proprietor who'd sacrificed herself for people she barely knew. Mr. Flexible, the quirky and elastic hero who'd fought Breaker and Midnight solo, though he knew there was no hope for him.

  He then thought of the Elites. His teammates, his friends. How, in his grief, he'd fought them, hurt them.

  He thought of Nightstriker detailing his own grief, how sad the seemingly invincible hero had been as he talked of his slain family.

  Finally, he thought of Metal Gal. How she'd been ripped apart just now, how she'd perhaps suffered major damage to her data bank, her version of the human mind.

  Some of the thoughts appeared distant, effects of Lancaster's constant draining, while others were perfectly clear.

  So clear, in fact, that Thomas Lancaster was now crying.

  “What is...what is this?” he murmured. “I feel...sorrow?”

  “That's right,” Blaze said. “You wanted me, Lancaster? You got me – all of me.”

  “I don't understand. This shouldn't be...no! I see what you're doing, Blaze. It won't work!”

  “Why not? This is how your powers work, isn't it? You absorb everything. You couldn't just stop at absorbing someone's power. You had to take them as well! You were too greedy, Lancaster!”

  “No! Stop it!” Lancaster shrieked.

  Now he was the one struggling to free himself, to flee from Blaze. But Blaze held on, and rather than resist the tether connecting them, focused on maintaining it.

  He could feel Lancaster attempting to sever their connection, but Lancaster was still a neophyte superhuman, while Blaze had gone through a lifetime of changes in the few weeks since he'd joined the Elites.

  “You're not going anywhere, Lancaster,” Blaze growled.

  “Those...those...no...their heads crushed...those poor people!”

  “Yes. Those were my parents.”

  “That dog...so loyal...that stretching superhero....”

  “All heroes.”

  “Damn you...stop this...I don't want to feel....”

  “You will.”

  “No...no...no....”

  “Yes.”

  “I can't...nooooooooooooo!”

  His scream mimicked the scream Blaze had let out when his parents were murdered, and his face wrenched into a mask of despair.

  Then their energy blinked out, their connection severed, and they both fell to the ground. Their fall seemed to happen in slow motion. Blaze saw Lancaster's tears trailing through the air, saw his hand reach out, like he was grasping at ghosts.

  Again, Blaze was aware that the fall probably hurt him, but pain remained an abstract concept. He propped himself up and looked over at Lancaster, trying to make sure the man was finally defeated.

  “I'm sorry,” Lancaster whispered. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

  “Now you know how it felt,” Blaze replied. “Now you know...what you've done to me.”

  But Thomas Lancaster was beyond normal conversation. All he could do was blubber, “I'm sorry” over and over, and grasp at whatever beings or images danced in front of him.

  Sam Boyd smiled. It was over. With a deep sigh, he closed his eyes.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Nightstriker

  The young superhero's eyes fluttered open, and Nightstriker frowned.

  “You've been asleep for far too long, Blaze,” he said. “We were getting worried.”

  Metal Gal jumped up from the floor, where she'd been doing complicated – and impossible, for a normal human – yoga poses. Being ripped apart and having her data bank damaged had taken its toll; meditation and relaxation were essential to her recovery.

  Or so Nightstriker had insisted. But seeing her ecstatic reaction to Blaze's awakening rendered Nightstriker's advice useless; she'd needed her soul mate back, not to perform deep mental exercises.

  Grinning, her eyes flashing pink, she punched Nightstriker playfully on the arm. “He's been awake two seconds and you're admonishing him?”

  Nightstriker grinned back. “Sam knows I'm only joking – or my unique version of joking.”

  Blaze, however, was not quite ready to join in on the fun. “Where...what happened?”

  “You beat Thomas Lancaster,” Gal replied. “You saved us all – again. How many times is that? Don't you think he deserves a truckload of medals, Nightstriker?”

  Frowning, Nightstriker ignored her question. “Sam, how do you feel? Can you remember anything? Take your time. You're in a safe place.”

  Blaze sat up and looked around blearily. His confusion seemed to abate, however, once he realized where he was: they were back at the “vacation home” they'd recuperated in after the battle on the National Mall. Blaze was lying in the very same bed as before. The weather and sounds were even similar: a few puffy clouds, the constant chatter of the squirrels.

  “Yeah, I remember,” Blaze said. “I remember...Lancaster sobbing. Saying he was sorry, over and over.”

  “That's all he's still saying,” Metal Gal said. “Once you exposed him to the full weight of what he'd done – once he'd felt it – his mind fractured.”

  “Your plan was exceptional, Sam,” Nightstriker said, “as was its execution. I – we – are all proud of you.”

  Blaze beamed up at him, and a flicker of flame appeared around his forehead. “Thanks, Nightstriker. So where is Lancaster now?”

  “Locked up in the basement,” Nightstriker replied. “I have several containment units down there – not that they're really needed. As we've discussed, Lancaster is no longer a threat.”

  “So we've won?” Sam asked.

  Metal Gal leaned over and gave her lover a tight hug. “Yes, Sam. We did it.”

  Smiling, Nightstriker slipped out of the room. He'd seen Blaze awaken, seen he'd be alright. They could all catch up later. Right now, he knew the young man wanted to be alone with his significant other.

  And there were other people to look in on. Namely, Slab.

  Nightstriker trudged downstairs to the living room. It was, in fact, a living room in name only: all the furniture had been removed to make space for the enormous pile of gray rock lying in the center.

  Slab's deformed, injured body was still, save for a slight rising of his chest as he breathed.

  Around Slab the other Elites held vigil. His hat in his hands, Buckshot was uncharacteristically somber. Nimbus floated nearby, also silent; though her form had recovered from Lancaster's blast, she was still shaken.

  Gillespie administered to Slab's many wounds, not that her actions had much effect; though Nightstriker had plenty of supplies, both medical and technological, here on the property, Slab was still unique, even by superhuman standards. There was only so much they could do to his rocks without more advanced equipment.

  “Any change?” Nightstriker asked.

  Gillespie shook her head. “He's still breathing, of course, but unfortunately Slab doesn't have a healing factor. His rocky exterior will heal eventually, but....”

  “Slab needs tens of thousands of calories per day to remain healthy,” Nightstriker said. “We'd need a trailer full of IVs just to keep him from fading away. That's not a tenable position. We need to contact superhumans with healing abilities, get Slab back on his feet as soon as possible.”

  “But will these healers come?” Gillespie asked.

  “They'll come,” Nightstriker said.

  Buckshot grunted. “Mighty wishful thinking, boss man. We're still persona non grata.”

  “No, we are––”

  “Excuse me,” someone said. “But maybe I can help?”

  They all turned, and there
was Blaze, staggering into the room supported by a clearly vexed Metal Gal.

  “Sam!” Nimbus shouted, drifting towards them.

  “You should be resting, Sam,” Nightstriker said. “After what you went through with––”

  “Siobhan said the same thing,” Blaze said. “But I can't just sit there while Slab suffers. I mean, with my powers, I can do something, can't I?”

  “Your powers likely aren't back to normal,” Nightstriker said. “Don't worry, Sam, we won't let Slab––”

  Blaze formed a fireball in his right hand – a green and orange flame that remained still, as if it were solid. A blast of heat raced across the room, and Nightstriker caught Metal Gal jerking away reflexively.

  “My powers are working well enough,” Blaze said. “Tell me how I can help. I mean, his rocks look...well, bad. Cracked and fused together, like...like igneous rock, or something. Maybe I can melt them back to their normal form.”

  Nightstriker walked over and put his hand on the hero's shoulder. “All right. If you want to help, we can find some use for you.”

  “Awesome!” he said, pumping a fist. This action, though, caused him to close his eyes and clutch his head.

  “Sam––” Metal Gal began.

  “It's just that headache,” he replied. “Plus I'm tired and sore – but that's par for the course these days. I'll be alright. Just tell me what to do.”

  Nightstriker knelt beside Slab and pointed towards his some fused-together rocks on the superhuman's chest. “We believe this section is pressing against his heart and lungs. If you can generate a torch strong enough to cut through Slab's rocks, yet precise enough not to do any more damage, we can relieve some that tension.”

  “Got it,” Blaze replied. He stared at his hand, and after a moment the fireball turned into a narrow white-blue torch, like he was holding a welding kit.

  He knelt beside Nightstriker, but then frowned. Nightstriker noticed a slight tremor in his hand.

  “Man, up close like this...” Blaze said. “He's really messed up. And his muscles...if that's what they're called...are gigantic....”

  “Steady yourself, Sam,” Nightstriker said. “This task requires precision.”