The Super Power Saga (Book 1): Super Powers of Mass Destruction

by Jaron Lee Knuth

  “There was a time I thought that costume would inspire people. I thought all the costumes, all the flashy names and righteous poses after you defeated your enemy, I thought people would see that and want to fight with us. They'd stand up and bring truth and justice back into the world. But it had the exact opposite effect. People grew comfortable. They grew complacent. They sat on their butts and let the diseased people do all the work for them. It didn't take long for the world to let the diseased people start telling them what to do.”

  “But if you saw it coming, why didn't you fight? There's no record of Knight Wolf fighting in the Super Power War.”

  “Just because no one saw me, doesn't mean I wasn't there.”

  Miguel's head tilted with intrigue.

  “I used to kick in doors,” Hector explained. “I used to start every battle with shock and awe. That's what I designed that costume for. But when the public turned on me, when the heroes disowned me, when the police started hunting me, when the Zharkovs declared my actions illegal, I found a different way. A better way. I found a way to continue my war from the shadows. It was your mother that set me straight. She showed me that my mask was as much of an identity as the face no one knew. Knight Wolf was never heard from again. No more names, no more costumes, no more identity. Just an invisible, silent killer. A shadow that would save the world.”

  He knelt down on one knee so that he was looking his son in the eyes. “It doesn't matter what they call you. Hero or villain. It matters what's in here.” He tapped Miguel on the chest, right where his heart beat. “Do you know that what we're doing is right?”

  Miguel nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Then you're not a villain. You're not a hero. You're something better.”

  Miguel nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “So can we start our training now?”

  Miguel giggled. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  “Don't be sorry. You can ask me anything, as long as you listen to the answer.”

  They made their way to the training room and Miguel stopped at the boxing bag. He looked surprised when Hector kept walking.

  “We're not starting with our usual warm-up?”

  Hector opened the door to the pool and said, “No time. We need to move quickly on the next target.”

  Miguel followed into the dark room, the lights underneath the water shimmering across his face. “Who is our next target?”

  Hector opened the locker next to the pool and pulled off his shirt. “Her name is Beth Sinclair.”

  “And her disease?”

  “Her body can completely transform into a super potent, noxious gas.”

  Miguel followed his father's motions and changed into his swimming trunks. “Her whole body? That's amazing. But how are we going to kill something like that?”

  Hector smiled down at his son. “We're not.”

  “We're not going to kill her?”

  Hector walked over to the edge of the pool, dove into the water, and when he resurfaced he called out, “Not yet, anyway. First we're going to capture her.”

  Miguel dove into the pool. “And where are we capturing her?”

  Hector wiped the water from his eyes. “She's currently being held in an Alliance research facility, off the West Coast. But the information your mother hacked from their system tells me that because of the Malignus attack, they're going to move the target to a more secure location in a few days, in which case I could lose track of her.”

  “How are we going to capture something that can take the form of a vapor?”

  “Right now, they're storing her in a containment unit. That will make it easy to transport her.”

  “So what are we training for in a pool of water? If we're capturing her-”

  “No matter our endgame, we need to plan for the worst case scenario. She may be in a containment unit now, but if things were to go wrong and she were to escape, we'd need to confront a noxious gas.”

  “The filter mother built into our suits should-”

  “Should isn't a plan. If our plan is based on should, then we still need contingency plans. Right?”

  Miguel nodded his head. “Yes, sir. So, what is our first contingency plan?”

  Hector smiled. “Hold our breath.”

  His hand grabbed the top of Miguel's head and shoved him under the water. He held him under the surface, looking up at the clock and counting the seconds. Miguel struggled, but his teenage muscles could do nothing against Hector's strength. When Hector felt the boy's arms move slower and the resistance began to give up, he let go. Miguel's head erupted from the surface, spitting, coughing, and gagging on water.

  “Calm down,” Hector said. “Breathe.”

  Miguel took in a few regulated gasps and opened his eyes.

  “That was pitiful,” Hector said. “You should be able to hold your breath for over a minute by now. Have you not been meditating?”

  “I wasn't ready.”

  “Of course you weren't. And if the worst case scenario is a sudden breach of her containment, you won't be ready for that either.”

  “No, sir.”

  “So tell me: What did you do wrong?”

  Miguel searched for the answer, his eyes darting around like he was going to find it there in the water.

  “You didn't remain calm. You panicked. You need to be able to hold your breath as easily as you take a breath. It should be second nature. And the only way to do that, the only way to always have the upper hand, is to remain calm. Whether you're suffocating, burning, getting beaten, or being shot at, you always remain calm. Your enemy will be enraged, or scared, or desperate, or any number of emotions that will cause them to act without thinking. But you will remain devoid of emotion. You will be cold and calculating and you will be victorious. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hector slapped his hand onto Miguel's head and shoved him under the water again. Miguel floated under the surface without movement. Calm.

  Then Hector felt a foot crush his testicles. He lurched backward and his hand slipped off the top of Miguel's head. As Hector tried to calm his stomach from vomiting, he watched Miguel slowly rise out of the water. He wasn't gasping for air. Instead, he looked at peace.

  “I was cold. I was calculating. I was victorious.”

  Hector smiled.

  21

  MAGDA

  “I would like to let everyone know that thanks to Maksim the Warhammer, Guardian of the West, the attack in Patriot City is over. He has killed Malignus.”

  Padamir raised his goblet into the air, wine splashing over the sides. The crowd around him either didn't notice how drunk he was, or didn't care. They raised their glasses with him and continued to celebrate. Magda twirled her finger in the air and the band started playing music again. The conversation started back up as if nothing had happened.

  Magda laid her fingers across Padamir's shoulder and leaned in to whisper, “While it's impressive how much you've managed to swallow, the fact that you are inebriated despite your invulnerability tells me that perhaps you should slow down on the wine, my love. ”

  Padamir waved her away. “But I'm the impera-tor-or,” he stumbled, questioning if he pronounced the word correctly. “I should be celebrating. Why aren't you celebrating? Someone! Anyone! Get my wife a drink. Right now.”

  A servant rushed to Magda's side and handed her a glass of wine. Magda smiled at the servant and accepted the drink, trying not to cause a scene.

  “Perhaps you would remember this celebration better if you set your goblet down for a bit.”

  “I wanna talk to the sand lady,” Padamir said as his eyes scanned across the crowd of domini.

  “Her name is Domina Sandstorm and I suggest you call her that if you don't wish to upset her. She was one of the most feared supervillains in all the world. The only reason my husb-” Magda caught herself, pursing her lips. “The only reason Vigo allowed her to keep her domain was because he knew the death toll wouldn't be worth whatever lan
d was left after she created her desert climate.”

  “He was scared of her?” Padamir asked as he inspected the lithe, yet shapely form of sand swirling around the dance floor.

  “Vigo the Paramount feared nothing. He respected her. He respected her power. Her entire domain is her body. She is connected to every wall, every road, every grain of sand. She sees and hears and feels everything. The people that live within her borders are obedient and faithful. They are as connected to her as she is to them.” Magda swirled her cup, watching the wine spin like a vortex. “I might think it was beautiful if it wasn't so disturbing.”

  Padamir shook his head. “I'm not surprised her people are starving. That's what they get for allowing a woman to rule their domain.”

  Magda clenched her goblet tighter. “Yes. Who could imagine such a thing?”

  “Where's that other one?”

  “I'm sorry, dear, you'll have to be more specific. What other one?”

  “The other woman we allow to rule.”

  Magda hesitated, but felt no need to hide the insult, instead finding a bit of personal pleasure in telling her husband, “Domina Winter did not attend.”

  Padamir turned in his chair, confused by the answer. “What do you mean?”

  “There's only one meaning to my words. Domina Winter did not attend.”

  “Can she do that?”

  “Apparently.”

  Padamir turned back around in his chair and sipped his wine. “That makes me mad.”

  “You have that right.”

  He spun back toward Magda. “Should I send someone? Someone to tell her that I'm mad? Someone to tell her that she needs to make this up to me?”

  “I don't believe that would do you any good. Domina Winter can be unresponsive.”

  Padamir settled back into his chair and let out a tiny giggle. “Perhaps I should send the Guardian of the North up there with a few thousand troops and see how she responds to that.”

  Magda's eyes darted around to anyone within ear shot to see if they heard the imperator's words before leaning down next to him. “I would advise the imperator not to go throwing around the idea of war when surrounded by so many allies.”

  “You don't need to coddle me, woman.” Padamir turned toward her, the glare in his eyes barely registering through the drunken haze. “I'm the imperator of the world. I think I'm capable of properly hosting a party.”

  Magda clenched her fists and breathed through her nose. She didn't think the arrogance of the crown would infect her husband, but he was already acting like a different person. His inattentive, dazed demeanor had changed into a naive curiosity. His soft words became sharp criticism. His carelessness became pride. It worried her. If he stopped listening to her and started making his own decisions, her plans would fall apart right along with the empire.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” Magda said as she stepped away from his chair at the head of the master table.

  She made her way over to Azakor and his son Niko, who both looked like excited children, flinging their hands around as they talked. Azakor was describing a battle to Niko, acting out every punch of the struggle. As Magda approached, she ducked under the swing of Azakor's fist.

  “Oh!” Azakor said as he calmed down, suddenly aware of his over-excitement. “Sorry, mother. I didn't see you there.”

  “Yes, well, perhaps you could keep your fists to yourself while our guests are here. We wouldn't want to start an incident.”

  Azakor folded his hands in front of him and nodded. Magda winked at Niko and the young man giggled.

  “Father was telling me about the time he fought Kraxen the Eradicator.”

  “Ah, yes,” Magda said, remembering the incident well. “Your father tried to show that man mercy. He tried to capture him peacefully, hoping he would surrender to the empire. If you can imagine that.”

  Azakor took a deep breath, trying to ignore her verbal jabs. “I was trying to inspire the people, mother.”

  “Half of Astana fell that day.”

  “Perhaps I was being naive, but-”

  “Perhaps?” Magda tried to contain herself and remain stoic. “If our enemies think they can get away with murdering cities of our people, how will we inspire the people? They must fear us, first and foremost.”

  “I thought that people should love us as much as they fear us. That is our empire's motto, is it not?”

  “Timete et amate imperium,” Magda said, reciting the words on the Zharkovian Empire's banner.

  “Fear and love the empire,” Niko said with a prideful smile.

  “Exactly. Fear comes first for a reason, boys. Your father understood that.” Magda glanced over at Azakor's wife, who stood among the domini with her useless, golden skin. “It was you that always insisted on putting love first.”

  Azakor put his hand around Niko's armored shoulder, pulling him in close. “Because it can produce beautiful things, mother.”

  Magda forced a smile toward them both, but before she could respond, Sasha stepped up next to her.

  “Another lovely family meeting without me?” she said with a drunk chuckle in her throat.

  “Sasha,” Magda said through tight lips. “It's nice to see you, dear.”

  “Been here the whole time, mother. In fact, I was sitting right over there. You could have come talk to me at any point.”

  “Yes, well, you're here now.”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

  “Father?” Niko said, glancing around the room at the other members of the family. “Now that Padamir is the imperator, does that make Aunt Sasha the heir to the throne? She is his only offspring.”

  Azakor flashed a look at Magda, but she was giving Niko a warm, grandmotherly smile.

  “That's not how the line of succession works, young man.” She straightened her robes and cleared her throat. “Your great-grandfather made it clear in our laws that it will always be the oldest son who will sit upon the throne.”

  “Yup,” Sasha said, “so even if my mother and father had another son, which, I mean, gross, right? But still, Azakor is the first-born son.”

  Magda glared at her daughter, but Sasha didn't even look in her direction.

  Niko beamed up at his father. “So, someday I'll be the imperator and not Zana, even though she's older.”

  Azakor patted him on the shoulder and said, “Let's deal with one imperator at a time.”

  Magda took a sip of her wine and shed off all the unpleasantness. She reached out and placed her hand on Sasha's belly, wrapping her fingers around the bulge. Sasha flinched, ready to recoil, but she froze.

  “Sasha will be continuing a legacy of her own soon. Isn't that right, dear? Her offspring may not be ruling the empire, but they will be ruling one of the most powerful domains.”

  Sasha rolled her eyes. “Don't worry, Mother. There aren't any Oshiros within ear shot. You don't need to suck up to them.”

  “Nonsense.” Magda waved her goblet in the air with a flourish. “I mean every word of it. The Oshiros have given to the empire some of our greatest gifts. We owe them much for their assistance in the wars, as well as their continued support in this transitional era.”

  Sasha pinched the bridge of her nose. “You never turn off, do you? I swear, you could ask for a glass of milk and you'd sound as if you were giving a speech to the empire.”

  Magda touched her chest as if the insult struck her. “I beg your pardon? Forgive me if I prefer a bit of etiquette in my life. Perhaps you could use more education in the proper way of things.”

  Sasha scowled at Magda. “The proper way of things? You must be joking.”

  “Young lady, I would never joke about a subject so dear to my heart. There just so happens to be a way things are done, and I respect that. It keeps things in order. Everyone knows when to show up. Everyone knows where to stand. Everyone knows who to talk to and how. These are the gears of the machine.”

  “And if it means marr
ying off your teenage daughter so she can pop out a super-powered deterrent in this arms race the empire has spun into? Well that's just the proper gift for an old friend, I suppose. Just another way to bring the domains closer.”

  Azakor and Niko exchanged glances, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation was taking, but Magda did not back down. She leaned in close and tapped her finger against Sasha's chest.

  “Do not talk to me about sacrifice. You have no idea what I've done to keep this family together, to keep this empire in control.”

  “Oh! What could you possibly be talking about, mother? Do you mean when you married your husband's younger brother? Or do you mean when you let that same little boy impregnate you? Or do you mean when you gave birth to me? Forgive me if I don't find the sympathy for you that you're demanding. I'll just return to the disfigured husband you forced upon me.”

  Sasha spoke as if she were unaware of how loud her voice had become, allowing it to grow into a shout over the course of her diatribe. The music was still playing, the band knowing better than to quit without Magda's approval, but the surrounding crowd became silent, watching the confrontation out of the corners of their eyes. There were uncomfortable murmurs and whispers, the kind of social gossip that Magda despised.

  Magda laughed, trying to play it all off as some kind of joke, but she was bumped aside by the large apparatus that carried Dominus Takahiro. Sasha looked up at the mechanical monstrosity with fear, and bowed her head in respect.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Dominus Takahiro's voice box squealed and buzzed. “You invite my family to this event only to sling heretical insults at my son? At our lineage? At our dynasty?”

  Magda straightened her robe and with a smile she spoke to the crowd gathered around as much as she spoke to the giant life support system. “Dominus Takahiro, I believe this varietal of wine may have been stronger than my daughter was expecting. These words come from a drunken cloud, not from her heart. Some water and a bit of a nap is all she needs to-”