by Charlie Wood
“This is for protection, Tobin. That’s all. I’m protecting myself and billions of others from a species that can’t even live with each other without killing the very planet they live on. Orion and all the others would do the same, if they could see things the way that I see them. Because, Orion and I, we really aren’t that different, when it all comes down to it.”
Vincent watched Strike. The boy didn’t move.
“Did Orion tell you what I used to be before I became one of the leaders of Capricious? I was thinking about that recently, and I realized he probably didn’t. He has a way of retelling history, you know—of leaving out the parts that he doesn’t like. Especially…he especially does this when he talks about that old superhero team of his, the Guardians. From everything that I’ve read, and from what people tell me, he always says that there were three members of that team. But, if he was telling the truth, Tobin, he would admit that there were four heroes involved in all those adventures all those years ago: there was Titan, there was your dad, there was Orion…and there was me.”
Strike stepped back. Vincent smiled.
“Huh. He didn’t tell you. Well, that’s okay. You know, I bet he went through that whole thing: ‘I knew your father so well, he was my best friend, I only want you to do what he would have wanted.’ Well, guess what, Tobin: I knew your father pretty well, too. He was one of my best friends, too. And this is not what he would have wanted. He was much more interested in chasing girls and cracking terrible jokes than he ever was in ‘saving the world.’ So if you’re doing this because it’s what your dad would have wanted, you can stop right now.
“Your dad wasn’t some big, great, grand superhero, Tobin. To tell you the truth, he was kind of a scumbag.”
Strike looked at his surroundings: hundreds of Gores and Eradicators were gathered around them, watching the confrontation. A few remaining humans had even come out of their hiding places to inspect the two strange, costumed people.
“You know we even had a truck?” Vincent laughed. “It’s true: four super-powered, color-coded teenagers, driving around in a truck and fighting crime—making sure people were safe. So, you see, Tobin, Orion might tell you that I’ve changed, but that simply isn’t true. I’m still protecting people—I’m just doing it on a scale so immense that Orion and the others can’t comprehend it. And it’s what I’m doing right now.”
Vincent stepped forward, only a few feet away from Strike. The boy tried to hide his nerves, but, without realizing it, backed away.
“I know why you’re doing this,” Vincent said. “I can see Orion has gotten to you, and that you can’t see the world as it is. So, okay.”
The grey-haired man tossed his axe to the ground and extended his hands, palms in the air.
“C’mon, Tobin. Take your best shot. A freebie.”
Strike thought it over—was this a trick? Even if it was, it was too much of an opportunity to pass up. He was being underestimated, and he needed to take advantage of it.
Strike ran at Vincent, lighting up his bo-staff. But, instead of swinging at him, he leapt, flipped, and landed on the ground behind him. When his boots hit the street, he slashed his staff down Vincent’s spine.
“Argh,” Vincent grunted. He stumbled and reached back, rubbing the ripped fabric of his uniform. Thunder rumbled in the sky. “Not bad, kid. But did you really think, for even a second, that one week of superhero kindergarten was going to be enough?”
Vincent looked up, and his eyes suddenly flashed with black fire. His body began to grow, stretching out from a little over six feet tall to nearly eight feet tall. Muscles ripped through his uniform, and his face and arms sprouted green fur. His hands morphed into clawed paws, while his mouth and nose swelled into a broad, protruding jaw. Finally, as he stared at Strike, his hair grew long and black.
“I wanted you to hurt me,” Vincent said. His voice was low, grumbling—inhuman. “I wanted to feel the power of the Guardians, to make sure that what flowed through Matt and Orion and Scott and I, now flows through you. I needed to know, without a doubt, that you are one of us.”
Vincent’s transformation was complete: he was now the Rantamede, an eight-foot-tall, green-and-black monster, with the face and fangs of a tiger and the body of a mythological beast.
“It feels good,” he said with a smile.
Leaning down, the monster let out a mighty ROAR! Stunned by the sound, Strike stepped back. He braced himself as Vincent ran at him, but the monster quickly swung his giant fist and sent the hero flying with a brutal punch. Strike crashed against a building and slid down it, falling to the street with the wind knocked out of him.
Stomping across the pavement, Vincent marched toward Strike. When he opened his clawed paw, a ball of black fire formed in the middle of it. “You came here to play the superhero going up against the bad guy, Tobin. But it’s not like that. It never is.”
Vincent hurled the fire at Strike, and it exploded against the boy and strangled him, running over his body. Strike screamed, trying to free himself from the black flames.
“You’re too young, kid,” Vincent said, watching the boy struggle. “You need more time.”
Turning to the crowd around Middle Street, Vincent held out his arms and addressed them.
“People of this world! We can work together to bring this place the peace that it deserves! You have been wronged by the people that say they lead you—they have been lying to you, telling you the universe works in ways that it does not! My people and I can show you the true way to live, and we can—”
Vincent stopped. An Eradicator was looking behind him, staring over his shoulder.
“What is it, what’re you looking at?”
Vincent turned around. Strike was standing there, holding his bo-staff.
“Hmm,” Vincent said. “Maybe you’re not as out of your league as I—”
Strike pointed his bo-staff at Vincent and fired a lightning bolt from only a few yards away. The monster was sent flying backward by the explosive blue blast, crashing into a pickup truck and causing it to burst into flames. As Vincent struggled to claw his way out, he roared among the wreckage.
Holding his electrified bo-staff at his side, Strike ran at Vincent, charging up a lightning bolt and keeping his eyes pinned on his target. The hero knew this was his only shot.
But then…Strike was lifted into the air. Looking up, he saw the person holding him.
It was Rigel; the red-skinned giant had grabbed Strike by his cape. As the giant held the boy higher, he moved his hand to Strike’s neck and squeezed. The boy clawed at Rigel’s fingers, but the red giant only closed his hand tighter, staring into the boy’s eyes.
Vincent finally crawled out of the mangled truck and walked to Rigel. He looked at Strike.
“Break him,” he said simply.
Rigel punched Strike in the stomach. Once, twice, three times. Then, after lifting him higher, he slammed him down, whipping his body against the pavement like a wet towel against a linoleum floor. Finally, not out of mercy but out of boredom, the red giant tossed the boy away and the boy skittered across the street.
Laying on the ground near a burning building, Strike pulled himself up, taking hold of a lamppost, but Rigel walked over and kicked him back down. The boy tried to rise again, but Rigel simply knocked him over with his foot. This time, Strike rolled over and looked up.
Rigel was looming over him. As the red giant gripped a massive wooden club with both hands and raised it over his head, he readied it for one, final smash.
But then, he stopped. His yellow eyes went wide. He let go of the club and it dropped behind him. Strike rolled out of the way.
Like a rotted, dead tree, Rigel fell forward, his face smashing against the pavement. As he lay there, unmoving, his arms were at his sides.
Strike sat up a
nd looked to Rigel’s back; there was a glowing red arrow sticking out of his spine.
Vincent saw the arrow, too. With a surprised grunt, he looked up, in the direction of the shooter.
A man was standing on the rooftop of a nearby building, dressed in red and holding a bow and arrow. His long coat was billowing in the wind.
Vincent’s lips rose into a snarl. “You.”
Suddenly, another red arrow zipped down from the building, hitting Vincent in his chest and exploding with a BOOM! It knocked the monster back, and he stumbled to the ground.
Strike looked to the man on the rooftop; he suddenly shot another arrow downward, and this one had a rope attached to it that stuck into a tree. The man then slid down the rope like a zip-line, and when his boots came to a stop, he walked to Strike and knelt down.
“Are you all right?” Orion asked.
“Hmm,” Tobin said painfully. “No. No, I don’t think so.”
“All right. Stay there.”
Picking up Tobin’s bo-staff, Orion walked to Vincent. The bo-staff burst with red flames.
“You,” Orion said. “Me. Now.”
Vincent laughed, ripping the arrow from his chest and shaking his head.
“Don’t make me do this, Orion,” he said, picking up his axe from the ground. The axe’s blade was illuminated with black fire. “Don’t make me do this again.”
With their boots pounding the smoking pavement of Middle Street, Orion and Vincent ran at each other. When they clashed, Vincent let our a furious ROAR!, and they each used their weapons to deflect the other’s blows. They had known each other for years—as both teammates and enemies—and now neither one of them could gain an upper hand.
From the street only a few dozen feet away, Tobin watched the fight through half-closed eyes, barely conscious. Pressing his hands to the ground, he tried to stand, but was overcome with exhaustion and collapsed back down again. As he looked up, the world was zooming in-and-out of focus, as if he was trying to wake from a dream. Rolling over, he looked back to the battle.
Vincent found an opening, landing a blow with his axe. Orion rushed to get back to his feet, but then a group of Gores jumped onto him and pinned him to the ground. As he struggled to get free, they clawed at him, tearing at his clothes and skin.
Vincent walked to the old man, ready to finally end the fight. He smiled, holding his axe in front of himself and illuminating it with raging, black fire.
But then Vincent stopped. He raised an ear. Tobin could hear it, too—a high-pitch whistling, rising in intensity. Like a teakettle. A very large teakettle.
BA-BOOM! With a crack of thunder and a flash of silver light, the Sky-Blade suddenly zoomed in from a portal and appeared in the sky above the planet Earth! Hurtling toward the ground, it violently crashed into Middle Street, where it ripped up the dirt and cement and stones as it tore a large gouge through the town.
When the ship finally came to a stop, its side door quickly slid open. Tobin could see somebody in the doorway, sitting on a motorcycle. The person’s eyes and face were hidden behind a helmet, but his blue-furred paws were sticking out from his jacket, revving the handlebars.
With a roar of the bike’s engine, Keplar shot out of the ship, careening through the street and firing his plasma cannon. The green blasts from his gun exploded against Vincent and the monster fell back, staggered. Keplar drove toward him, growling and baring his teeth.
When he neared Vincent, the dog leapt off of his motorcycle and tumbled along the pavement. Jumping up, he took off his helmet, whipped it away, and charged, firing his plasma cannon and laughing wildly.
“Here we go, Vince! Let’s do this, bro! I’ve been waiting for this for years! Let’s go! Let’s do this!”
Vincent shook off the plasma blasts and laughed, stomping toward the husky.
“Amateur hour, Keplar. Amateur hour.”
Rearing back, Keplar cocked his fist and nailed the monster across the chin with a right hook, but Vincent countered it with a punch of his own, sending Keplar stumbling. The husky recovered, lunging at Vincent, and they locked arms. In the center of Middle Street, they growled and slashed and clawed at each other—it was horrific, merciless, and primal. Animal vs. animal.
Tobin suddenly heard another zoom! of an engine, and spun toward the Sky-Blade—this time it was Scatterbolt, who was speeding out of the ship in an egg-shaped, red-striped, gleaming white vehicle with words along its side: ROBO-POD. As he steered the vehicle wildly toward Orion, the robot pushed a button on its dashboard, causing two front-mounted blasters to appear in the place of its headlights. When Scatterbolt pulled a pair of triggers, the blasters launched globs of black oil, which flew across the town and splattered against the Gores surrounding Orion.
The attacking Gores were bowled over, knocking into one another, and eventually they stuck to the ground, ensnared in the sticky, tarry gunk from Scatterbolt’s Robo-Pod. Finally free from the demons, Orion was able to get to his feet and rejoin the fight against Vincent.
A safe distance away from the battle, and with his eyelids fluttering, Tobin rolled over onto his back. Staring at the sky and breathing in a painful wheeze, he realized he could no longer focus on any one spot; the Dark Nebula’s purple, domed ceiling was coming and going, and as the boy listened to the sounds of the battle, they soon faded away, and then he could hear nothing.
Tobin brought his shaking hand to his pocket. He felt something there—his dad’s pocket watch. He brought the blue, translucent watch to his face and opened it. The gears inside were moving, and its rods were spinning and its levers were rising up and down. The outside of the watch began to glow bright blue.
Tobin closed his eyes. The blue light from the watch enveloped his body.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tobin was lying in a bed. He was feverish and weak, and because the room was so dark, he could only make out a few shapes: a door, a dresser, a window on the wall. He wasn’t sure how long he had been there, but it felt like a long time.
Rolling over to his right, Tobin realized someone was sitting next to him. It was a young woman, about thirty years old, with blonde hair and pale skin, but that was all he could see in the dark. The boy listened as she hummed a song and the pattering rain fell against the window.
Soon, the woman reached over and placed a cool, wet cloth on Tobin’s forehead. He tried to ask her a question, but all that came from him was a pained groan.
“Shh,” the woman said. “It’s all right. You’re okay now. Shh.”
Tobin pushed the covers off of him, but the woman held her hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him back down.
“It’s okay, honey, lay down. You’re gonna be okay. Lay down, honey, lay down.”
Tobin looked up. He could see that the woman was smiling.
“Are you feeling better?” she asked.
“Hrm,” he said. It was hard for him to talk. “Where am…?”
She rubbed her thumb along his cheek. “It’s okay.”
The woman removed the cloth from Tobin’s forehead. When she wrung it into a bowl, the water that came from it was red with blood. Reaching for a new cloth, she dipped it into a fresh bowl, then placed it on Tobin’s forehead.
“I’ll take care of you,” she said.
After a few seconds of silence, the door at the front of the room suddenly opened. Light seeped in, and Tobin looked up. A silhouette of a man was now standing in the doorway, and a TV was on in the next room. It was playing an old cartoon.
Soon, the man closed the door, and the room went dark again. As the man walked toward him and stood at the end of the bed, Tobin could see that he had dark hair and a five o’clock shadow, but that was all. The man watched Tobin with his hands on his hips.
“He’s awake?” the man asked.
“Yes,” the w
oman said.
“How is he?”
“He’s all right. Getting better.”
“Has he been talking?”
“A little. He’s still half-asleep, and he has a fever. He doesn’t know where he is.”
“Good.”
Turning around, the man stepped back into the hallway, then returned carrying a heavy footlocker. The woman watched as he began unlocking its many locks.
“Is it time already?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
The woman took Tobin’s hand and brought it to her face. He could feel her tears running down his fingers.
Unlocking the last lock, the man opened the locker and took a blue duffle bag from it. Bringing the bag to the bed, he sat down next to Tobin. The woman moved to the other end of the room. Tobin didn’t know why she was crying.
“Hey, Tobin,” the man said. “Can you hear me? How’re you feeling?”
Tobin let out a quick grunt. He felt like he was falling back asleep.
“I’m gonna help you, Tobin,” the man said. “But I need you to just stay awake for a little while longer. Can you do that for me, buddy?”
Tobin mumbled. He was having a hard time keeping his thoughts from slipping away.
“Only a couple more seconds, okay, buddy?” the man said. “Then you’re gonna go back and help Orion. You told me Orion needs your help. Remember?”
Tobin thought back to his friends on Middle Street. “I have to…I have to…” He looked up at the man. “Where am I?”
The man shook his head. “I can’t tell you that. But I can give you something to take back with you. It’s very important. Take this with you, and don’t forget about it. Okay?”
The man placed the duffle bag on Tobin’s chest. The boy tried to get a good look at the room, and the two people in it.
