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

by Jaron Lee Knuth

  Maksim tugged on the bus, tearing it from the side of the building. The people inside let tiny shrieks escape their lips as the bus moved, but they sucked in their breath as he lowered them toward the street. When the tires of the bus touched the pavement, rescue workers pried open the doors and helped the survivors out, wrapping blankets around their shoulders and offering them bottled water. Many of them glanced up toward Maksim, who flew above them, surveying the situation. There was no celebration of his heroism. Just bowed heads in honor. He knew they loved him, but they also feared him. As it was supposed to be.

  Days had passed since the Malignus attack, and he had been awake the whole time, offering his support wherever he could. His invulnerability allowed him to stay awake for days, but he was growing weary. His thoughts were slowing down. His muscles were beginning to ache. It was not a pleasant feeling, but neither was seeing the devastation the citizens of Patriot City were dealing with.

  He lifted higher into the air and spun in a circle, looking out over the city's skyline. Some fires still smoldered, but the threat of them spreading was contained. There were still thousands missing, most likely dead, though there was sure to be anecdotal stories of men and women managing to survive under the rubble for days. All Maksim could do was offer his assistance where it was needed. One-by-one, he would save lives and rebuild structures, until the city was whole again. Perhaps his family disagreed, but this was his role as a Guardian. The American Republic was an ally to the empire, and he would treat them as such.

  When he heard a crash, he turned his attention to the Triangle District. At first, he didn't see anything, wondering if the sound was another failed attempt at saving a building, but then he saw the head of the superhero known as Behemoth rise above the skyline. He was growing in size, but stumbling backward. He let out a scream that stretched across the city as he toppled into a building.

  Maksim dove toward the district, rocketing through the air with as much effort as he could muster. When he reached the city block where Behemoth was trying to climb to his feet, he saw a tiny man ripping into a wound on Behemoth's side. His hands were digging into the gaping hole that was left from the Malignus fight, tearing at the fleshy tissue underneath. The size of Behemoth caused his blood to flow from him like a fire hydrant, and the red mucus covered the man.

  “You killed my friend!” he yelled.

  Maksim swooped down, and with a single slap, he tossed the man two blocks down the street. The man slammed into the pavement and rolled another block before he came to a stop.

  Maksim floated toward Behemoth's face and said, “Do you require assistance?”

  Behemoth lifted himself to a sitting position and applied pressure to his own wound. “Mermaid tried to tell me that I wasn't ready for field operations.” He groaned in pain and added, “Guess she was right.”

  Maksim looked down the street and saw the man still laying there, not moving. He wasn't sure how to reply to the man in the purple costume. He never spoke with the Alliance, or really anyone for that matter. He preferred the unmistakable solidity of actions to the often misinterpreted fluidity of words. All he could muster was to repeat himself.

  “Do you require assistance?”

  Behemoth shrunk down to a normal size as he stood up. “It's just a few super-powered crooks. Tried to break into a MajesTech building. The Alliance arrived on the scene before they stole anything. Turned into a bit of a brawl, but we're just trying to tie up the loose ends.”

  Maksim nodded, unsure of what to do next. He placed his fists on his hips and scanned the area. “Are all the criminals accounted for?”

  “One got away,” Replica said as she jogged up next to Behemoth. “Some guy with super speed. Stiletto took out the driver of the vehicle.”

  “Took out? You mean-”

  “Yup.”

  “Oh geez,” Behemoth said. “Is that why this guy is so angry?”

  “I guess. Then she ran back to the scene of the crime to the clear the area. Heard an explosion come from that direction. I doubt she's leaving any survivors there either.”

  Behemoth shook his head. “She's out of control.”

  Replica smirked at Behemoth. “Yeah, but letting the military bag up the bodies sure is easier than having to haul supervillains to the Pit.”

  Behemoth shook his head, trying not to laugh. “That's so wrong. You shouldn't say things like that out loud.”

  Replica plopped down on the curb and dropped her head into her hands. “Screw it. I've had a long night.”

  Maksim watched the playful banter with a mix of confusion and interest. The two of them treated their responsibilities as minor annoyances, as if they were overworked office laborers instead of superheroes. There was no pride in their voices, no honor in their actions. He wondered if their cultures could be so different.

  “We still need to check on that woman.”

  “What woman?” Maksim asked, hoping for a way out of the awkwardness.

  “There was a woman in the back of their truck. She was knocked unconscious in the crash. We're not sure if she was a hostage or part of the group, but-”

  “I will check on her,” he said as he flew down the street, toward the crashed delivery truck.

  He landed in the snow next to the body, and knelt down, rolling her over onto her back. When he brushed the hair from her face, it took him a few moments, but he soon recognized her as the young woman he had saved during the Malignus attack. He checked for a pulse, which he felt pumping under her skin, so he helped her sit upright.

  “Hello?” he said. “Ma'am? Can you hear me?”

  Her eyes fluttered a bit, then lazily opened. “Who? Where? What's going on?”

  “You've been in an accident,” he said. “But you're okay. Do you remember-”

  “Andre!” she said, as if her mind finally caught up to the present. “Mickey! Vic! Where are my friends?”

  Her head was whipping back and forth, searching her surroundings, and when she didn't find what she was looking for, she struggled to stand up.

  Maksim held onto her to keep her in place. “Please remain calm. You may have a concussion or-”

  “I need to find my friends,” she said, trying to tear her arms away from his grip.

  “Were your friends the ones in the truck with you?”

  “Let go of me!”

  She looked at him, as if it were the first time she noticed someone was talking to her. Her eyes rolled across his gold armor, whisking across the black cape that lay in the snow, then circling back to his eyes behind the square helm on his head.

  “You're Warhammer. You're the Guardian of the West. What are you... why are you...?”

  “I'm here to help.”

  “No,” she said, trying to back away. “We didn't do anything. We just-”

  “It's okay, ma'am. I'm sure everything is-”

  “Where are my friends?” she screamed.

  He let her go, recognizing the anger and frustration, but unsure of how to calm her down.

  “Where's Andre?”

  Maksim glanced down the street at the man he had knocked away from Behemoth, wondering if that was who she was so concerned about. She followed his gaze, and took off running toward the man laying in the street, covered in Behemoth's blood. Maksim lifted off the ground and hovered behind her. She rushed to the man's side and placed her ear to his chest, listening for a heartbeat.

  “I restrained myself,” Maksim assured her. “He should have survived.”

  Her head whipped around and she glared into him. “You did this to him?”

  Maksim pointed toward the other end of the street. “He was attacking a member of the Alliance of Powers. I needed him to stop.”

  The man started to wake up, and Maksim set himself on the ground. The woman held up her hand to stop him from approaching.

  “Stay back! You don't need to hurt him anymore.”

  “I need to take him into custody.”

  “No,” the man mumbled, rub
bing the back of his head. “This was my only chance.”

  “Andre, it's okay,” the woman said, rubbing the side of his face. “It's okay.”

  He shook his head. “I failed, Carmen. I failed everyone. I failed you.”

  She sniffled as tears ran down her cheeks.

  “Victor,” the man mumbled the name. “They killed Victor. It's all my fault, Carmen.”

  The look on the young woman's face was like every ounce of blood drained from her body. A sense of shock appeared before the tears poured from her eyes.

  “Victor is dead?” the young woman asked, sounding like a child that needed her mother's reassurance that there weren't monsters under her bed.

  “I'm sorry,” Maksim said, stepping toward her to console her.

  The man stepped in front of him, “No! Don't you touch her!”

  He slammed his hands into Maksim's chest plate, and Maksim was surprised when he was knocked back a half step. When the man moved to shove him again, Maksim grabbed his wrists and squeezed. The man fell to his knees in pain.

  “I must ask you to refrain from striking me.”

  The man screamed out as Maksim felt his bones splinter under his grip. He let off the pressure, but it was too late.

  Maksim barely noticed the woman's fist begin to glow before she screamed, “Let go of him!” and slammed that fist into Maksim's face.

  There was an explosion of energy. He could hear the roar of flames, but all he saw was white light. Air whistled in his ears before he felt his head slam into something. And there was a sensation on his cheek that he found unfamiliar.

  Pain.

  When the light dwindled and his vision refocused, he found himself crumpled against a wall. His helm laid in a trail of shattered pieces, leading from him to where the woman stood a few feet away. Her hands were glowing red. The man laid on the ground next to her, staring up in awe.

  Maksim stood up, throwing his cape out to the sides as he did. Before the woman could finish a blink of her eyes, Maksim flew across the street and tapped a finger against her head. She fell unconscious into his arms and the glow of her hands dissipated.

  The man laying in pain on the street kept staring at Maksim as military vehicles arrived on the scene. The soldiers looked at him strangely as they took both the man and woman into custody. There was a silent shock that hung over everyone that Maksim didn't quite understand until he passed in front of a store window. There he saw what they all were staring at, yet too afraid to point out. He leaned in closer to his reflection, patting the tips of his fingers against the melted flesh of his cheek. The round scar of a fist disfigured the entire left side of his face.

  38

  LUCY

  When she heard the buzzer on the door of her personal quarters, she wiped the tears from her eyes, lowered the volume on the TV, and said, “Open.”

  The door slid to the side to reveal Connor standing in the hallway. He wasn't wearing his costume, just some plain gray workout clothes with a towel slung over his shoulder.

  He leaned in and said, “Hey, Lucy. I was going to hit the gym and was wondering if you...” His sentence trailed off as he noticed the red swelling around her eyes and he immediately moved to her side, throwing his arm around her and asking, “What's wrong?”

  She sniffled and pointed at the TV screen. He looked up and saw the breaking news she had been watching. The fight between Alliance members and her old neighborhood friends. He watched for a few moments, trying to make sense of why the story would bother her so much. All he saw were nameless criminals.

  “I knew them. They were friends. Kind of.”

  A picture popped up on the screen of Victor Valentine and the word DECEASED plastered above it.

  “Oh Lucy. I'm so sorry.”

  She wiped her eyes again. “They were always getting into trouble. I knew they were doing things that weren't exactly legal, but I never thought... And Victor...”

  She broke down as the thought of his death rolled over her again. It was too much, the finality of it all. She would never see him or Andre, ever again. Even though Andre was still alive. There would be no communication with the outside world, nor any chance of parole. Being locked away in the Pit was as bad as death. Maybe worse.

  Connor hugged her closer. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say.”

  “You don't need to say anything.”

  “No, it's-” he slammed his fist down on the mattress of her bed. “It's like I've grown accustomed to this. It feels like I see this happen on a weekly basis and I-” He stopped himself and cleared his throat. “Sorry. Here you are, dealing with the death of your friend and I'm trying to make it about me.”

  “No, it's alright.” She took a deep breath through her nose, hoping the air would hold some kind of magical strength that could get her through this. “Victor was... look, he was a jerk and he was selfish, but he didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve-” She felt the emotions come rolling in again, but she shoved them away, standing up from the edge of her bed and pacing around the room.

  “Nobody deserves that,” Connor said, wringing his hands together. “But it keeps happening. Too many of these so-called heroes are just executioners, killing criminals because it's easier than subduing them. I get that they're scared, but-”

  “Scared? I've never seen Stiletto scared. And Replica? Behemoth? What do they have to be scared of?”

  “Well, I mean, it's different out there, in the field. You never know what you're going to face. Anything is possible now days. Anyone can do anything. And it's especially bad when you run into someone and the Alliance doesn't have a file on them. How are you supposed to know who has death-vision or who can turn into Malignus and destroy a city?”

  Lucy stopped pacing and turned to face Connor, glaring down at him. “Are you actually defending them?Are you defending whichever one of them killed Victor? He could see three seconds into the future. That's it. I don't see what kind of threat he posed.”

  “I'm not defending them, Lucy. But I've been out there. I've been out in the field. You need to-”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Are you saying I don't know what it's like to be a superhero? Are you saying that once I'm out there, I'm going to change so much that I start killing people left and right?”

  Connor stood up and stepped toward her. He reached out for her, but she stepped away, still disgusted with his words.

  “I'm not explaining myself right. I'm certainly not defending anyone who murders someone else. I'm saying that this place, these people, they're going to try to change you. They're going to put you in dangerous situations and they're going to tell you that murdering people with SPMDs is the safe thing to do. They're going to say things like 'the greater good,' and 'the ends justify the means,' but I still hold out hope that you can stand up to that. I still believe you're strong enough to to stay true to yourself, despite what you see.” He stopped and his gaze fell to the floor. “Even if I wasn't.”

  Her anger drifted away when she saw his pain. She reached out and pulled him in with both her hands, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tight.

  “Stop,” he mumbled into her shoulder. “I should be hugging you.”

  “Let's just hug each other. Okay?”

  His arms reached up and embraced her. They swayed back and forth, like a silent dance, before she pulled away and looked into his eyes. There were so many times that looking into someone's eyes made her uncomfortable. She would laugh and look away, but at that moment, she found herself lost in his gaze. The crystal blue was translucent, like she could see into him. He made her feel safe.

  “You've done nothing wrong,” she said.

  “You don't know that.”

  “Yeah, I do. And you know why? Because you're not a bad person. Whatever choices you made, whatever decisions you think were mistakes, I know that you made those decisions based on what you thought was best. You weren't trying to hurt anyone. You weren't making the easy choice. You were trying to do good.
You were trying to be a superhero.”

  He laughed. “I don't know anyone else that still holds that term in such high regard. Superhero. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were obsessed.”

  “I'm not obsessed. I just believe that it still means something. I believe that ideals are important.”

  “Even if they're unachievable?”

  Lucy shrugged. “Maybe they aren't supposed to be achievable. Maybe they're supposed to be so high that no one can reach them. But that doesn't mean you stop trying.”

  Connor didn't reply at first, he just stood there, smiling at her with a goofy grin.

  “I'm glad you came here,” Connor said with a bashful look uncommon for him. “I'm glad you joined the Alliance. I am. But I feel bad about enjoying my time with you so much.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because it's selfish. If I wasn't thinking about myself, if I wasn't thinking only about what I wanted, I would want you to have a normal life. I would want you to be able to use your power to help people and never worry about getting involved in anything like,” he motioned toward the TV, “like that.”

  “I'm a big girl,” Lucy said. “I can make my own decisions. And I chose to join the Alliance. I know you think there are better ways of doing it, but I'm still going to help people and I'm still going to save lives.”

  Connor nodded his head. “I hope you're right. I want that to be true. Because I want you to be happy. And I want you to be here. With me.”

  “You do?” she asked, feeling a flutter in her stomach. “I mean, I want that too.”

  “It doesn't feel so hopeless when you're around. You actually make me believe things aren't as bad as they seem. And maybe they're going to get better.” He shook his head and chuckled. “I can't believe I just said that.”

  “Aw, don't worry,” she said, sticking out her bottom lip. “You can still sulk in the corner when I'm not around.”

  He smirked. “And you can sing songs about unicorns and rainbows when I'm not around.”