Black Power- The Superhero Anthology

by Balogun Ojetade

  “Son of ah…” The distant sound of shattering glass forced him to turn his attention above.

  A ball of fire rocketed straight at him. Detonation bounded to his left, narrowly avoiding the projectile. The road quaked with a deafening explosion. His power shielded him from hurtling shards of molten asphalt and concrete, igniting everything that touched him into harmless sparks.

  Once the ground quieted and the smoke thinned, he got to his feet and dusted himself off. The pulverized spot he’d been standing at had become a smoldering crater. He approached the pit, staring inside. A woman’s charred body lay broken and twisted in its center.

  “Dragon’s Breath,” he growled.

  In his peripheral, the crowd surged out of the glowing building, rushing in every direction, yet managing to stay clear of him.

  The Night Siege isn’t as cowardly as I thought, he considered. How the hell did he get past my crew?

  Shouts erupted behind him. Glancing over at the news crews and officers stationed behind the cordoned off area, they cheered. All their heads were raised toward the sky. Detonation followed their gazes.

  A lone figure leapt out of the glassless window Dragon’s Breath had been cast from. The figure soared through the air like some graceful and noble bird. His arms were outstretched. Wing-like apparel was fastened between both his wrists and his rib cage, allowing him to pull off the aerial stunt.

  Night Siege released his wings and dropped from three stories above ground. He landed, rolled and then quickly pushed himself up right in front of Detonation. He held two pistols high, tilted his chin up and said, “‘Sup.”

  Grinning, Detonation replied, “Now that’s how you make a grand entrance.”

  ***

  The liberated group ran frantically out of the office building toward the police barricades as if shelter could be found there. As long as the structure remained under Detonation’s power, there was be no safe place to go. If the building exploded, he, and he alone, would be the only one left standing.

  “The Panagis. Release it now,” I demanded.

  “Hell nah, you broke the deal, hero. I said no one was to help the people inside.”

  “No, you told the police they weren’t allowed to help. You never said anything about me.”

  Detonation considered that for a moment. Cocking an eyebrow, he put on a half-grin. “Damned if you ain’t right.”

  “You wanted me. I’m here,” I said. “Free the building like you’ve promised.”

  “For a brotha ‘bout to die, you kinda bossy.” He glanced at the Panagis. “Nah, I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to kill you and still blow up the building.”

  “Why?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Because I can. You shou—,”

  I opened up with both barrels. With my enhanced speed, it seemed as if the pistols fired on full auto. He hadn’t so much as twitched as bullets burst harmlessly into dust against his skin. I kept firing anyway until the guns emptied.

  “Bruh, you cut me off.” Detonation frowned. “Guess we’re done with our back and forth banter, then?” He stuck a hand into his pants pocket and retrieved a handful of coins. Shifting through the change with a finger, he picked out one, a quarter. The coined glowed red.

  “Oh crap,” I muttered under my breath as he casually tossed it in my direction.

  It landed with an unimpressive ping as it hit the ground at my feet. The explosion it produced was a different matter entirely. The concussive blast blew me off my feet. The pistols went in two different directions. I landed with a hard thud in the hole next to Dragon’s Breath’s charred remains.

  Before I could collect my thoughts, three glowing pennies came soaring over the edge of the hole. I somersaulted up and out of the crater with a spin and landed on my feet before the coins touched the ground. The explosive discharge was larger than the first. Flames shot straight up into the air, akin to a volcanic eruption. Again, I was blown aside by the blast. My back slammed hard against a Mountaineer, crushing its side door and shattering all the glass in the windows.

  The driver’s side mirror snapped off its perch and clocked me on top of my skull. “Ouch,” I cried.

  Things weren’t going well. Detonation had the advantage because I couldn’t touch him directly. His cells absorbed light waves like a plant, transforming the light into a form of chemical energy that could be released through his glands. Whenever he touched an object, his secretions attached themselves to the material and it too absorbed light. But without a mechanism to negate the absorption, like he could do with his body, the items would go ballistic.

  Detonation circled around behind a parked car, touched it with his bare hand and then placed his foot on its rear bumper. He gave the vehicle a good shove. It rolled toward me with alarming speed. I’d read, but didn’t believe that another of his abilities was to fluctuate his energy from hot to cold. By decreasing the temperature of an object, he could theoretically decrease the object’s mass. I wouldn’t have believed it if not for the glowing red Gremlin careering at me.

  Getting to my feet, I ripped the damaged car door off the SUV I had slammed into. I spun around, hefting the Mountaineer’s door up one-handed, and flung it, like a Frisbee, at the rushing vehicle. The car door made a whooshing sound as it cut through the air. The Gremlin vomited glass from it’s front and rear as the projectile plowed through it.

  When the glowing Gremlin was almost on top of me, I planted my feet on the Mountaineer and then thrust myself upward and forward with all I had. Arms stretched ahead of me, I rocketed toward the car, passed-through the glassless front window and then out the rear.

  Detonation was distracted by the Mountaineer’s car door coming straight at him. I don’t care how powerful one thinks he is – if a large, fast-moving projectile rushes toward you, instincts automatically kick in. He jumped to the pavement like he came off a swimming pool diving board, landing hard on his stomach. The wind rushed from his gaping mouth. His coins went scattering in all directions.

  The Gremlin collided with the Mountaineer. Both vehicles exploded. The burning husk of the smaller car overtook me and flew inches above, and past, me, landing where its journey had begun, in its original parking space, except that it was without wheels and upside down.

  I hit the ground rolling, came to a stop on one knee, and secured two capsules about the size of a pack of gum from a compartment on my utility belt. Holding one in each hand, I waited for my enemy to catch his breath.

  “Sorry about messing up that nice outfit of yours, Detonation,” I said, trying to get him nice and upset.

  He spat dirt out of his mouth. “You think you can make me look like a punk? I’m done playing with you.” He spread his fingers apart and slapped both palms on the pavement. A wave of crimson energy swelled beneath him, expanding out. The air rippled around him. Even the molecules in the air surrounding him hissed.

  Squandering his powers, for one final blast. His total concentration had been on killing me. He forgot about the Panagis. The energy that cloaked the building dissipated quickly. The asphalt beneath his palms superheated and liquefied. The crimson surged toward me faster.

  Now or never, I thought.

  Heaving the first capsule at him, it hit his wall of heated air. The reaction was immediate as the casing burst, releasing a dark syrupy gas. The chemical spread quickly across his energy wave.

  “What the fu—,” Detonation shouted. “Wh-what is happening?” He being the source of the power, the gas was drawn to him.

  “The gas is something I cooked up a while ago, before I retired, specifically for you,” I explained. “Your ability is to manipulate light into something combustible. My chemical absorbs the visible light passing through the atmosphere. That’s why things are getting dark around you.”

  He forced out more of his power, trying to fight the gas off. Big mistake. The kinetic theory of matter states that molecules are perpetually in motion. These particles move faster when their temperature goes up, giving th
e gas more to consume. The more he fought the faster it worked.

  The darkness drew closer to Detonation. He was submerged in the gas. It entered every orifice in his body.

  I tossed the capsule containing the second compound. The vapor rapidly turned into a gelatinous crust. Smoke rose from the shapeless form. Detonation tried desperately to breathe and to free himself. He looked like a man immersed in steaming tar trying to free himself. Finally, his struggling stopped, and he slumped to the ground, no longer moving.

  I regretted what I had done. It was a horrible way to go. But it was either his life or the life of the city. I didn’t think I cared about people who lived here anymore. It took the ghost of my son to remind me of that.

  Cheering burst out all around me. In seconds. I was surrounded, being thanked, congratulated, kissed, hugged, and asked out on dates. How I went from hermit to hero boggles my mind to this day.

  Epilogue

  Black Licorice

  After escaping the crowd, I walked through my neighborhood, intending to go home. I was tired out by all the fighting, and conflicted by how I felt about putting on the uniform again. I wanted to hate the people of this city for letting my family die. Yet, I couldn’t help seeing the fear in the eyes of all those trapped in the office building. They were helpless. Superiors, even the lesser ones, couldn’t be stopped by normal people.

  My thoughts were interrupted when I noticed the delivery truck at the party store. I was surprised the driver would still be running his route with the recent threat to the destruction of the city. I crossed the street, heading for the store. The truck pulled away.

  The driver rolled his window down, and gave me a thumbs up. “You rock, dude,” he shouted.

  For a second, I wondered how he recognized me until I realized I still wore my suit. Shaking my head, I went inside the store, after returning the driver’s thumbs up.

  Ilyas was behind the counter. He grinned when he saw me. Then he ducked out of sight and came back up with something in his hand. “Guess what, Mr. Calderon, the black licorice has arrived.”

  His smile was infectious. I grinned too. “That’s great news.” I instinctively reached for my wallet, forgetting again what I was wearing.

  “No biggie,” Ilyas said.

  He tossed the entire container of candy toward me. I caught it one-handed.

  “It’s on the house. It’s the least I can do for the man who saved the city. But what is the deal with it being black? Why is it always black?” he asked.

  I stared down at the licorice feeling some kind of emotion and then back up at him. “It was my son’s favorite,” I explained. “One day a week, after I fought some criminal, I would stop and pick the candy up. I would wake him in the middle of the night without his mother knowing. We’d sit on his bed. I’d tell him about my fight and we’d eat the black licorice together.”

  Ilyas went slack jaw. “My bad. I had no idea the candy had anything to do with your… I feel horrible about making you tell me that.”

  Placing a hand on his shoulder, I said, “Don’t worry about it. It felt good finally telling someone.” I popped the lid off the container and pulled out two strands of licorice. “Would you like one?”

  His infectious grin returned. “I would. Thanks.”

  “Would you like to hear about how I defeated Detonation today?”

  “Really?” He nodded. “That would be great, Mr. Calderon?”

  “I’m in uniform,” I said, “Call me, Night Siege.”

  IN NEED OF A FRIEND

  Derrick Ferguson

  “You couldn’t hope for better merchandise than this anywhere. You’re getting the best of this deal and you know it.” Louis Culkin’s grin was at once engaging and repulsive. It was the grin of a man who had long ago placed his morals and virtues in a box, padlocked the box shut and sunk that box into the deep black recesses of what had once been his soul.

  He pushed the shivering, dark blonde girl toward the idling full-sized van. The girl wasn’t shivering so much out of fear as out of indignation at being manhandled by these street thugs who looked to her to have the IQ of doorknobs.

  The empty lot was only one of many located in The Barrens. Located along the banks of the Hopkins River were numerous industrial parks that had once been the throbbing, vital industrial hub of Denbrook. Now, the factories and warehouses were abandoned or burned out. At night, these old industrial sites turned into another world all together, the scene of nocturnal trades in drugs, forbidden computer programs, exotic weapons and human flesh.

  Nineteen girls filled the van, ranging in age from twelve to nineteen. The driver and his two helpers had administered injections of a mild sedative to keep the girls quiet and compliant. In addition, all were handcuffed securely to thick iron bars welded to the inside sides of the van. They slumped on the cold metal floor, barely aware of what was going on.

  “Make sure you get this one out of town as soon as you can,” Louis Culkin said, pointing to the girl he had shoved. The two assistants quickly and expertly injected her, despite her struggles.

  The straw boss eyed the girl warily. “Why? What’s her deal?”

  “You don’t want her on your hands any longer than you haveta,” Culkin said. “There’s a guy lookin’ to get her back. Guy name of Regency.”

  The straw boss snorted. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him. Got a lotta you mutts runnin’ scared, way I hear tell. Thought you Denbrook boys were supposed to be tough.”

  Culkin seemed put out by his associate’s lack of respect. “Scared don’t enter into it. Let’s just say he’s established himself as a major player in this town and I’d just as soon not give him an easy target, okay? The girl was supposed to be sent overseas, but with Regency lookin’ for her…well, I just want her gone.”

  The two helpers finished their work and took the opportunity to catch a quick smoke. A tall, dark figure slipped from his hiding place under the van and, despite their being gravel underneath his booted feet, moved with the silence of a shadow on a mirror. With quick, blinding movements, his gloved hands gripped the heads of the two men and brought them crashing together. The impact knocked them out instantly and their attacker caught one of the cigarettes in midair. He flipped it into his own mouth and walked forward to confront Culkin and his associate.

  Culkin was the first to notice the new arrival and his hand dived to his waistband for the Glock he had there. The stranger’s gloved hand flicked out and Culkin cursed in pain and surprise as a metal spike some four inches long pierced his hand. The Glock thumped to the ground. Culkin eyed it longingly, contemplating making a grab for it with his good hand.

  “Best leave it there, Lou. If I have to spike your other hand, you’re going to have one uncomfortable time going to the men’s room.” The stranger’s voice was a hearty, rasping growl full of menacing good humor. He stood six feet in height and his midnight black duster flapped around his ankles. Save for the blood-red, double-breasted vest that looked to be held shut by thick plastic latches every other article of clothing he wore was as black as midnight at the bottom of a mine shaft.

  The straw boss sized up the stranger, taking note of the elaborate, intricate tribal tattoos around his eyes. “Lemme guess…Regency, right? The guy who thinks he’s some hotshot vigilante out to clean up the streets, right?”

  Regency relit the cigarette and inhaled the menthol smoke deeply before answering. “And you would be Kenny French. You’ve got quite the rep as a flesh peddler, Kenny. You’ve have been snatching girls from New Orleans, San Antonio, Lumberton and now here, in Denbrook. What do you do with the girls, Kenny? Where do you send them?”

  “You don’t want to cut yourself into this, man. You’re mixin’ in the bidness of people a whole lot higher up the food chain than you can ever hope to imagine.”

  Regency opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by a pair of high intensity halogen floodlights filling the yard with harsh white light. “THIS IS THE POLICE! EVERYBODY JUST STAY WHERE YOU
ARE AND PLACE YOUR HANDS ON TOP OF YOUR HEADS!”

  French took his chances with the 9mm Beretta he whipped out from his shoulder holster and fired first at Regency, then at the floodlight. Regency spat out the cigarette even as he dived out of the line of fire. He wore enough body armor to protect his torso and a body stocking of interwoven micromesh metal fibers and Kevlar IV but his head was unprotected. Blast and damnation! What in the hell were those cops doing here? Regency’s police contact had assured that there would be no interference from the police in this matter unless Regency specifically asked for their help.

  Culkin regained his weapon and awkwardly tried to fire it at the police, who in turn were firing back most enthusiastically. Regency leaped, grabbed Culkin around the waist and they both rolled out of the floodlight while bullets spanged and hummed around them. Culkin cried out in pain as the two men tumbled over broken bottles, wood scraps and other large pieces of garbage and debris. Culkin’s noises ended as Regency’s gloved fist cracked against his jaw.

  The van revved up. Kenny French and the driver were inside the cab and they were making a break for it. French got hold of another handgun from the van’s glove compartment and using the both of them with great accuracy, shot out the floodlights, restoring the darkness to the street. The van lurched forward, picking up speed as it surged right at the police car.

  Regency leaped onto the running board of the van’s cab as it rumbled past him and seized the driver by the throat. “Kill the engine!” he ordered. Kenny French shoved one of his guns in Regency’s face and pulled the trigger.

  Regency let go the driver and ducked just in time to keep his face from being shot off. The van hit the police car with enough force to throw the vehicle out of the way, the windows exploding as if a bomb had went off inside. Regency hit the street, bounced and rolled some six or seven feet before finally coming to a stop.