“Two-hundred!” he yelled out, throwing his last punch with as much force as he could muster.
His knees wobbled and he collapsed onto the floor. He tried to pull the wrappings from his knuckles, but the blood was making it difficult, forming an adhesive bond between the cloth and his bone. Hector bent down next to him and grabbed his wrists.
“Let me do it, son.”
Miguel hesitated, reluctant to appear weak in front of his father, or anyone for that matter, but he relented and held out his hands. With a surgeon's precision, Hector peeled the cloth from Miguel's skin, exposing bone and cartilage where there was once flesh.
“This is good,” Hector said. “Soon you won't feel the pain. Trust me. The calcium deposits that will form in your knuckles will provide you with a barrier, like wearing armored gloves.”
He turned his hand over and pointed at his own knuckles. They were gnarled masses of flesh with bulbous clumps of bone underneath.
“But you must let this heal,” he added. “Too much and you won't be able to make a fist.”
He led Miguel out of the training room and down the hall to the medical center. Inside the sterile room, Miguel lifted himself onto the examination table, and Hector retrieved the disinfectant from the cupboard. He dabbed it on the wounds, watching as Miguel refused to flinch at the pain. Then he grabbed a roll of clean gauze and wrapped it around the boy's hands.
“You'll need to focus on your lower body training until this heals. And don't try to grip a weapon. We can stick to evidence retrieval techniques tomorrow and-”
“How did tonight go?” Miguel blurted out, uninterested in his father's syllabus. “Did you find him? Did you kill him?”
Hector paused, contemplating about how much to share. He knew Esmeralda wasn't ecstatic that their son was showing more interest in Hector's way of fighting instead of hers, but they were fighting the same war. Esmeralda chose to use her mind from atop her tower, while Hector chose to use his fists on the ground. Their son was only thirteen, but he was beyond his years, both physically and mentally. He knew Miguel was eager to join their crusade. Miguel was a true believer. Hector didn't know why Esmeralda was so hesitant to allow their son to go out hunting with him. It was inevitable. Hector thought Esmeralda might be allowing her emotions to get in the way. Esmeralda needed to be more logical, to see their son for what he was: A useful tool in their war against the disease. Hector was getting old. He was slowing down. They would need Miguel sooner rather than later.
“Yes, son. I succeeded in my goal.”
“You killed the one with two heads and four arms?”
“Yes,” Hector said, trying to show his humility in the situation.
Miguel watched his father wrap his other hand, applying just the right amount of pressure to help stop the blood without cutting off his circulation. “Will you tell me how you did it?”
Hector grunted. “With bullets.”
Miguel looked up at the scar tissue that covered his father's bare torso. Bullet holes, stab wounds, claw marks, fire burns, acid burns, frostbite. Someone or something had applied every diseased element to his skin at one time or another. Yet after all that, he appeared stronger. Hector called it the “forge effect.” You must temper steel for the blade to strengthen.
“You make it sound easy.”
“Humility isn't my strong suit.” Hector paused, seeing an opportunity for a teachable moment. “What have I told you about the diseased?”
Miguel thought for a moment before reciting his father's words. “They aren't human. But they are mortal.”
“That's right. Most of these diseases, no matter how fantastical, are simple. One-sided. Not everyone is a Zharkov. Most of the time, a bullet does the trick. There's no need to be fancy.”
Miguel took in a gasp of air and blurted out, “But what about the rock woman you killed? Bullets didn't kill her.”
Hector nodded, finding himself drifting back to the day he fought her. He remembered how wonderful it felt to see the arrogance in her eyes turn to fear.
“That's right. Her rock skin was bullet proof. Knives wouldn't work. I thought that perhaps a big enough explosion would do the trick. But that just made her angry.”
“You ran away!” Miguel said with excitement, knowing the story by heart.
“Now, now,” Esmeralda said from the doorway, smiling at the two of them. “Your father did not run away. He weighed his options and found retreat to be the best decision. It provided him with the time to regroup and attack the situation from a different angle.”
She looked at her now sullen son. The boy sat at attention, trying not to reveal how badly he wanted to tell the rest of the story.
“Go ahead, Miguel. What did he do next?”
“He turned a different disease against her!”
“Such a smart boy you are. You are indeed correct. Your father found someone with an earthquake disease. Small, not enough to gain the attention of the Alliance of Heroes, but strong enough for his needs. So he planted evidence at her house, linking her husband's death to the woman with rock skin, and sat back and watched as one disease took care of another.”
Hector grunted his approval at Esmeralda's version of the story and said, “When it was all over, I shot the girl with the earthquake disease from a few blocks away using the Barret M82. It was a clean kill.”
“That's so cool!”
Esmeralda shook her head. “I wouldn't be so callous as to deem it cool. But it was the right thing to do. They both posed a considerable threat to the hard working people of this city and your father eliminated that threat.”
Miguel nodded, contemplating the whole story. “The only thing I don't understand is how you knew the earthquake girl's husband died?”
“Because I was the one who killed him,” Hector said with a chuckle.
Esmeralda cleared her throat and said, “Now then, how about we get something to eat? I am famished.”
Miguel shrugged his shoulders and said, “I should have some protein after my work out.”
“Perfect. I'll have the chef grill us up some lean chicken breasts. Perhaps some asparagus as well.”
Esmeralda enjoyed a glass of chardonnay with dinner, while Hector and Miguel each gulped down three glasses of unpasteurized milk and devoured their meal, barely speaking between bites. As their plates cleared, Hector could tell Miguel wanted to say something to him, but was struggling to find the words. He kept opening his mouth to speak, but then sucking the words back in at the last second.
“I can hear you thinking from across the table. If you have something to say, say it.”
The comment startled Miguel for a moment, but he knew better than to make his father ask twice.
“I'd like to go hunting with you tomorrow night.”
Hector glanced across the table at Esmeralda. Esmeralda paused for only a second before stabbing another piece of chicken with her fork.
“I don't think that's a good idea.”
“But I believe I'm ready for this, mother. I have done everything you two have asked of me. I've read all your books and practiced with all of father's weapons and-”
Hector shook his head as he chewed on a piece of chicken, talking with his mouthful. “If your mother doesn't think it's a good idea, then it isn't a good idea.”
“You've done well, son, but it's not a good time. Your hands need a chance to heal and-”
“But I will only be there to watch, to study father. I need to witness how he works so that I understand what it is that I'm training for, just as I've watched you all these years. I've learned from one master, now it's time I learn from the other.”
Hector smiled. Their son was trying to manipulate Esmeralda, to play to her ego and her love of logic at the same time to get her to agree. The kid was good.
Esmeralda slid the tips of her fork into the last piece of chicken, and gently placed it in her mouth.
“I won't be the bad guy here.”
Hector shrugged. “I c
ould use a second pair of eyes. Someone to watch my back during the reconnaissance.”
Esmeralda took a long pause, but Hector knew when she saw the excitement bursting out of their son's eyes, she would relent.
She let out a heavy sigh. “I suppose, if you promise to be absolutely silent and remember all your stealth training-”
“I will! I will! I promise!” Miguel was practically bouncing right out of his seat.
“Alright. Alright. Settle down. If your father prepares your equipment for you, and you promise me that you'll take on a double work load-”
“Yes, mother. Anything.”
Esmeralda wiped her mouth with her cloth napkin and folded it on top of her plate. She looked into Hector's eyes and the two of them let the moment linger.
“You were always the cool one weren't you? Dangerous and mysterious in that black costume of yours. Knight Wolf. What a name. I suppose I should have known he'd choose to take after you.” Esmeralda sighed with acceptance. “Very well. You have my blessing.”
“Oh thank you, mother!” Miguel squealed, rushing around the table and throwing his arms around Esmeralda.
Hector set down his knife and fork, leaned back in his chair and said, “Then tomorrow night, we hunt.”
5
AZAKOR
The gray clouds blurred as he thrust both fists out in front of him, pushing himself harder as he tried to reach the Grand Citadel as fast as he could. Every second that ticked away was another moment that he was leaving his mother alone to pick up the pieces of the empire. He pictured the throne sitting empty, and the crown with no head to bear it. The image sickened him.
He had no love for his grandfather, but he could still respect what the man had accomplished. It was Konstantin who had united the last heroes and villains with truly powerful SPMDs to rule over the world, all under his leadership. He had kept that precariously balanced peace for decades.
Niko raced behind his father, trying his best to keep up, but the young man wasn't as adept in the sky. He was a good boy, the spitting image of Azakor. Niko had wanted to be a Guardian since the day he was born, and Azakor had made sure to raise him as such, sometimes ignoring his other two children in the process. Now that Niko was Guardian of the North, he was finally finding his place in life, and Azakor couldn't be more proud.
If only the other members of his family were so simple to understand.
He gazed down at the farm fields passing underneath him and the work camps that tended to them, he saw what his father had died for. Order. Civility. Security. The empire turned its gears like a clock, always running on time. There was no more chaos, no more unexpected wars and crimes. It functioned like a machine, everyone in their place, fulfilling their destinies and reaping what they sowed. Putting someone incompetent on the throne would threaten all of that. It would upset everything their family had fought for and struggled to maintain. He would not allow that to happen.
When the Grand Citadel appeared in the clouds, floating high above the empire, with its golden spires gleaming in the sunshine, Azakor's heart skipped a beat. He wasn't sure if it was the excitement of seeing his family and his home again, or the fear of what he was about to face.
He landed in the courtyard and was immediately flanked by servant girls wearing their nearly transparent silk robes. They all knelt on one knee and bowed their heads to his arrival.
“Where is my mother?” he asked, stepping past them as they rose and followed behind him.
“Lady Magda is in the throne room, my liege.”
Niko landed next to him, a bit out of breath from trying to catch up to his father. They all entered the Grand Citadel's main doors and walked through the opulent hallways. Azakor and Niko's armored boots clanked against the white marble floors, echoing through the large chambers as they approached the throne room. Two large, golden doors emblazoned with a Z across the center, opened as they neared them, presenting the giant hall that held the imperator's throne.
Azakor turned to Niko and placed his hand on his chest plate. “Stay here, my son. I must speak with your grandmother in private.”
“But father-”
“Listen to my words. Follow them.”
Niko nodded to his father and Azakor turned into the throne room, the doors closing behind him.
Massive columns lined the golden carpet that led toward a small set of stairs. At the top of the stairs was the throne itself, carved from a single chunk of black meteor. Resting on the seat of the throne was the imperator's crown, tall and shimmering with a single gem in the center.
Next to the throne, floating straight and rigid a few inches off the ground, was Azakor's mother. She was past her prime, but her face wore the wrinkles of age with dignity. Her fiery red hair was bound tightly behind her head, everything perfectly in place.
When she turned toward the opening doors, her cold strength broke for a moment as she gasped, “Azakor!”
He lifted off the ground and flew across the room, throwing his arms around her. He meant to give her strength, to support her, but her body remained rigid, unwilling to show weakness. He stepped back when she did not return his hug, and he bowed his head.
“I'm sorry, mother. Our family and the empire have suffered a great loss.”
“Yes,” she said with a hiss. “Tragic.”
Azakor glanced over at the crown. “The imperator was supposed to be invincible. This doesn't bode well for us. The people will see our fallibility. They will see weakness in the empire.”
His mother waved her hand in the air. “Bah. Invincibility was a word created for the propaganda. Your father was supposed to be invincible too. But Plasmax proved him wrong, didn't he?”
Azakor hated hearing that name. Plasmax. If only they had known more about him. If only the registration of powers had been in place back then, they might have known he was walking around with the power of a star inside his body. Perhaps then his father would have known that splitting him open would shatter the world.
“We will survive this death just as we did before, by uniting the seven domains under our banner. But we must act fast. Dominus Takahiro and the Oshiro dynasty from Neo-Nippon are already on their way here, and I have sent out messengers to the other domini. They will attend Konstantin's funeral and the coronation of your uncle. After that, we will move on and forget this mess as quickly as possible.”
Azakor's fists clenched by his sides. “And so you mean to place the crown on Padamir's head? You're going to place the fate of our empire in the hands of a moronic, spoiled brat.”
“Watch your tongue, boy. Padamir is my husband, and he will be your imperator.”
Azakor shook his head, as if he could cast away his thoughts, his confusion, as easily as a dog casts off water from its back. “But you hate your husband. You hate what they made you do. Why would you lift him up now? Why would you take his side when the imperator can no longer force you to... to...”
Magda shut her eyes tight as if she were trying to push away memories. Memories of the marriage they forced upon her after Azakor's father died. Memories of the wedding night. Memories of the day her only daughter was born from that unholy union.
“You know, your naiveté when it comes to marriage is quite spellbinding sometimes. You love your wife, truly love her. I know that. Your children know that. Your grandfather even knew that. He may have disagreed with your choice, but who could blame him. Golden skin isn't much of a super power to add to our lineage, after all. But he still saw the love you had for her. What you fail to realize is how rare true love is.”
She gazed up at the stained glass dome that covered the entire throne room. “You're right. I don't love Padamir. But I didn't love your father either. Konstantin forced me to marry your father when he saw me flying, looking for my parents after the bombs fell on our village. He forced me to marry him just as he would with Padamir all those years later. And for the same reason. To give him offspring with an SPMD he considered useful to the bloodline.”
Her smile disappeared. “And when, years later, Padamir was born and your grandfather forced me to marry him to create more offspring, did I hate them for making me marry a child? Did I flash contemptuous looks at them over the dinner table every night? Have I looked at your uncle with disdain every day of his miserable life?”
Magda relaxed her shoulders and lifted her chin into a more regal position. “It does not matter. It does not matter whether I held hate or contempt or disdain in my heart. I did what was necessary. Just as you will.”
“I'm stronger than him,” Azakor said, feeling his father's rage building inside of him. “I could take that crown from him if I wanted.”
Magda slapped her hand across his face. “You will do no such thing. Your uncle is next in line. This is the way of things. You will let him wear that crown. You will let him sit in that throne. You will bow down before him and follow his orders without question.”
Azakor felt pain. Not from the slap his mother delivered. His invulnerable cheek didn't feel her hand. It was the pain of trying to imagine bending a knee to his uncle.
“I cannot follow the orders of an imbecile.”
“You won't be,” Magda said, touching Azakor's chin to lift his gaze to her knowing smile. “You'll be following my orders.”
Azakor stared back at her, his eyes lost between her confusing words.
“Padamir is moronic. He is a spoiled brat. You aren't wrong about any of that. But those qualities are the exact same reasons that make him so easy for me to control.”
Those words finally sounded like his mother. She wasn't planning on handing Padamir anything. She was going to manipulate him, pull the strings from above like the puppet master she always aimed to be.
The Super Power Saga (Book 1): Super Powers of Mass Destruction Page 5
