Generation Next: A Superhero Adventure (The Pantheon Saga Book 3)

by C. C. Ekeke

  “You know what you did, Jordana.”

  Jodie stopped smiling. “What's the reason?”

  McKenna frowned, stepping between them. “Let’s toss the coin—”

  Jodie yanked her aside, getting in Brie’s face. “What. Is. The. Reason?” she demanded loud enough to catch without superhearing, drawing interest from players on both sides of the field. “Or should I say it?”

  “One word and I’ll kick your ass!” Brie exploded, pointing at Jordana.

  Hugo guffawed, drawing looks from Brent and Raphael. Jordana and Chandra laughed raucously. Even McKenna giggled. Despite the six-inch height advantage, no one saw Brie beating Jodie in a fight.

  “Keep talking, bitch!” Jordana made a ‘yap yap’ hand gesture as Chandra pulled her back. “You’ll get more than another soda bath!” Brie and Jordana started snarling obscenities at each other, until McKenna and Chandra finally ordered them back to their sides.

  The crowds buzzed at such open animus. Hugo guiltily dialed his hearing down to normal.

  Brent was cringing. “Wow! They really hate each other.”

  “Let them fight! Let them fight!” Simon cried, starting a small chant in their section. Hugo wanted to throttle him.

  Once the game began, Hugo soon got swept up in the competitive event, cheering for Jodie, superhero woes temporarily forgotten. Moments where he got to be a normal teen were welcome.

  By the second half, Hugo noticed Brie's team targeting Jordana with intentional tripping or shoves from behind. If Jodie was blocking some opponents, they’d claim that she’d shoved them to get her fouled. During a timeout, Brie’s lackey Kendall ran across the field to the Songs’ team during a timeout and poured ice water down Jordana’s back.

  Jordana’s team angrily protested to the referees, who kept missing these underhanded tactics.

  Hugo sat there seething while Brie gloated and high-fived her teammates. Of course, she was behind this. And Hugo couldn’t protect Jordana.

  Even Brent, Brie's friend, looked disgusted as she paraded before the bleachers, hands raised in victory. She faced the raucous crowd with an exaggerated bow—exactly like Hugo after his Fall Fling dancing. Brie straightened up, tossing her auburn mane back with a military salute. This drew massive cheers. Briseis scanned the crowd, locking eyes with Hugo. She winked and smirked, then turned away dismissively.

  Hugo felt like ice-cold water had been poured down his back. She’s mocking me by hurting Jodie.

  Simon, Raphael, Brent, and some others turned toward him. If only he had the power to teleport.

  “That chick’s one kettle away from full bunny boiler,” Simon commented.

  Raphael leaned close. “They’re fighting over you?”

  Hugo nodded without meeting his stare, too angry to speak.

  Raphael snorted. “So much for hos over bros.”

  As for the game, Jordana’s team was up by two touchdowns. The Cheers team had the ball, Brie as quarterback scanning for open receivers. Meanwhile, Jordana zigzagged around the offensive line before bursting into a sprint.

  She ducked low and spear-tackled Brie, folding her in half.

  “LORD!” Hugo yelped, hearing the air driven from Brie’s lungs. Both girls landed in a tangled heap.

  The stadium erupted. Miguel and Brent howled, clutching each other. Hugo joyfully high-fived Simon. All gameplay stopped as both teams ran to their respective teammates.

  Jordana wasn’t done, mounting Brie with one knee on her ex-BFF’s stomach. “Your cyberbullying and hazing stops.” Hugo heard Jodie say as she dug her knee deeper. “Or I’ll snap your bony ass in half.”

  “Fine, I’ll stop!” Brie squealed.

  Teachers stepped in and ejected Jordana for tackling in flag football. That earned massive boos. Jodie looked unbothered, strutting off the field like a boss.

  “Bullshit,” Simon bellowed through cupped hands.

  Hugo watched Brie curled up on the turf clutching her stomach in anguish. Teammates gathered around to help her up. And Hugo’s glee drowned under an ocean of guilt.

  “Gotta go,” he told his friends, exiting without further explanation. He had to fix this somehow.

  Hugo found Jordana in the boy’s football locker room pacing like a caged lion. Jen Thomas sat on a bench speaking quietly. Hugo stiffened in alarm, since the ginger-haired girl was still tight with Briseis.

  Jodie’s eyes bulged. J-Tom popped to her feet in den mother mode.

  “J-Tom.” Jordana motioned her friend to leave. “I got this.” Jen leveled a hostile glare when departing.

  Hugo ignored her, focused on Jodie. “You okay?” he asked once they were alone, hands in pockets.

  Jodie stopped and gave him a surly look, which was quite intimidating with her all sweaty and wearing cornrows. “Peachy.”

  “Listen—” both stated simultaneously. Hugo chuckled.

  Amusement cracked Jordana’s dour mask. “You first,” she said with a sweeping gesture.

  “Sorry I ruined your friendship.” Hugo didn’t care if she accepted his apology or wanted him back. As long as he expressed his truth. “I don’t regret getting to know you.”

  “Bogota…” The anger left Jodie's face, revealing a vast fatigue. Hugo knew the feeling. “My friendship with Briseis was on life support. I was over managing her Mommy issues…reassuring her that she wasn’t fat…and how nasty she’d become. Especially when her and Spencer hung out.” Jodie stared at the floor. “Brie found out you were tutoring me and went psycho over my so-called disloyalty. When she tried ordering who I can’t be friends with.” She looked up at Hugo again, eyes watery. “I pulled the plug.”

  That left a bitter taste in Hugo’s mouth. “So, I was just revenge?”

  “No…freedom.” Jordana’s sad little smile gutted Hugo. “Sorry I freaked out over Abby. And…” She shuffled forward nervously. “And how I acted before you saved me.”

  Hugo flinched from her. From before his powers. “Don’t,” he snapped, harsher than planned. Hugo held no nostalgia for that time. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not.” Jordana shook her head, cornrows swinging side to side. Her voice grew thick. “I’ve criticized how Brie treated you...and I was even worse. You deserve better than us.”

  Hugo swayed a bit, the frank apology unmooring him body and soul. Jodie searched his face, pressing a hand on his chest. “I hope we can be friends.”

  Hugo’s heart swelled. “We already are.” He drew Jodie into his arms despite her sweatiness. In fact, the perspiration amplified her fragrance.

  Under different circumstances, Jordana was girlfriend material. But what remained of Hugo’s heart had to stay walled off. For my own good. They embraced a long while, until Hugo heard the game ending.

  “Bye.” He kissed Jodie’s forehead, sending shivers through her. Hugo walked out of the locker room without looking back.

  When he returned home later, Mom was upstairs napping while Sione paced around the garage on his cell. By his tone, the discussion seemed positive.

  Despite himself, Hugo dialed up his hearing to listen.

  “…don’t worry about my share, brutha,” Sione reassured whoever he addressed. “Lina’s giving me fifteen grand.”

  “It’s pricier buying our way in,” the person he spoke to cautioned with a Bay-area Samoan accent. “Let's call the Hayward crew—”

  “Not yet, Afa,” Sione dismissed. “And money isn’t an issue with Lina wrapped around my finger.”

  Hugo dialed back his hearing, shocked and angry. His first instinct said to go ragdoll Sione around, and warn him off making Mom his personal ATM.

  But Hugo realized that might not solve things. Tossing his backpack into the common room, he raced upstairs. “Mom!” Hugo roused his mother. “Are you loaning Uncle Sione $15,000?”

  Mom stared back with puffy eyes. “Yes, for his new business. You shouldn’t eavesdrop!”

  Hugo couldn’t believe his ears. “After he ripped you off last time you loa
ned him money!”

  “Bogota!” Mom sat up, pushing hair from her face. “This is different. He showed me the business plan. A surf shop with sports drinks and vitamins. It looks quite profitable.”

  Hugo had no faith in any business Sione ran. “You’re sinking money into another black hole.”

  Mom placed a hand on his forearm, motioning for him to relax. “A lawyer is drawing up the loan contract. I'm being careful.” She offered a wide smile. “Let me be the parent.”

  Hugo disliked this but felt better knowing Mom wasn’t being naive. “Okay.” He turned to leave.

  “Wait.” Mom caught his hand. “Feels like ages since we actually talked.” She patted her bed. “Sit.”

  Hugo ground his teeth but sat on the comfy bed.

  He’d given vague updates about his fledging career. Despite typical motherly concerns, she’d been lenient. But if Hugo revealed his recent failed mission, or the sidekick dilemma, she’d freak. “Things are good with the superheroing. There’s still a lot to learn.”

  “Take as long as possible,” Mom remarked dryly. “But I want to discuss something else.”

  By her nauseated expression, Hugo knew her target. “I so wanted to avoid this conversation.” Both of them awkwardly laughed.

  “Were you safe?” Mom blurted out. “With Jordana, Presley, and—”

  “I used protection, Mom!” Hugo snapped, his cheeks burning. “I’m not dumb.”

  “Good…but not that kind of safe,” Mom sounded queasy. “With your abilities, are you being safe with how you—please get there first.”

  “OH!” Hugo’s stomach lurched up into his throat. “That’s…not a problem. Lady Liberty trained me to handle mind over matter when controlling my superstrength,” he explained. “I have full control over…everything.” Just thinking about sex in Mom’s presence made his skin crawl.

  “Thank the Lord,” she exhaled in palpable relief.

  “Let’s never discuss that again?” Hugo pleaded.

  “Gladly,” Mom exclaimed. “I’m not done.”

  Hugo rolled his eyes indignantly but stayed seated.

  “Are you and Jordana dating?”

  “We weren’t serious.” The sharp pang in his chest made breathing hard for Hugo. “But it’s over. Probably for the best.”

  Mom frowned hearing this. “Why would you think that?”

  “Brie turns out to be a manipulative bitch.” Hugo listed off on his fingers, ignoring Mom’s grimace. “Presley ended up being an accomplice to murder.” He couldn’t continue. The list of romantic failures pressed on his chest with oppressive and excruciating weight. “My heart gets stomped every time I put myself out there.”

  Mom gripped Hugo’s shoulders and held his gaze. “There will be more loves and heartbreaks in your life. But you keep going until you find who you were meant to love. Like your dad and I.” Mom’s voice caught on that last part.

  Hugo fought to swallow his roiling emotions. “What if I never do?” he lamented. “When I become a superhero, I’d have to lie and be away a lot.” Hugo’s vision started to blur as he considered the lonely road ahead. “What if I never find someone who accepts the real me?”

  Her smile was so positive, Hugo almost broke. “You will.” She cupped his face. “And she'll be so lucky.” Mom pulled him into a firm hug. And with cheeks tear-stained, Hugo gladly sank into her arms.

  Chapter 19

  Connie is dead.

  The reality was an overcast sky refusing to clear. Greyson had failed Connie. All his choices, losing Lauren, killing Dad and Hurricane, had been for nothing.

  Numbness became a welcome friend. Better than swimming in constant pain.

  From then on, Greyson was mute and obedient, going through the motions of existence. His senses seemed filtered through sepia, voices or orders coming through a tunnel.

  He vaguely recalled him and the other slaves arriving at Dourado via convoy. The Golden City lived up to its name, a sprawling work of art between jagged goldenrod mountains and crimson shorelines. Spiraling palaces jutted in the skies, sparkling in daylight. Sunbridge, House Carneiro's palatial home, was a jagged and impenetrable fusion of metal and mountain stone.

  During the ride, Rodrigo described more Amaranthine history. Greyson retained little, his brain useless.

  Once in Dourado, days bled together in their new gilded cage below Sunbridge. At dawn, new slaves ran three miles to get in shape for the gladiator pits. Food had lost most of its flavor to Greyson. Someone kept shaving his scalp, but Greyson was too submerged in self-loathing to care. Sleep was a welcome escape, dreamless and fathomless.

  The day of Dourado's Opening Gladiator Fights was the day Greyson finally surfaced from his fog. He found himself in some stuffy underground dressing room. Too many people clustered here, guards and one other prisoner, alarming Greyson even more. The thunderous boom of people above, no doubt eager for indiscriminate slaughter.

  Some tiny and wizened Amaranthine woman was kneeling before Greyson, slathering glowing paint onto his face and chest.

  He recoiled. “What the—?” Greyson then noted golden-armored guards nearby lift their sizzling pikes in anticipation.

  “Easy, Greyson! She’s getting us ready for our fight.” Rodrigo stood in the corner. A glowing neon purple paint dot was on his forehead and some glowing Y-shaped pattern covered his chest with another dot near his throat. The young swarthy Amaranthine had gained more muscle and hadn’t lost his enthusiasm. “Madna’s preparing us for the pit fights.”

  Greyson looked down, seeing the same half-finished painting on his chest. The pattern looked strange paired with their collars. “What are these symbols?”

  “Warrior marks from Amarantha’s natives,” Rodrigo explained. “Before the Europeans wiped them out. We’re going out dressed as natives to play cannon fodder to House Carneiro’s champions.” That clearly miffed Rodrigo. “Can you believe it? We’re a tune-up fight to the real gladiators.”

  So that’s how I die. Greyson watched the shriveled lady work on the gleaming symbols.

  Madna made a handwashing motion and croaked out something in Amaranthine. Rodrigo smiled fondly. “She’s done.”

  Greyson stood up. Then the guards in gilded armor ushered them into a long and narrow corridor. The booming crowds grew louder as they neared a spotlight in the corridor center. Greyson frowned, seeing only Rodrigo and their retinue of guards. This group seemed sparse.

  “Where are the other slaves?”

  “Already at the pit elevator.” Rodrigo pointed ahead. “I told them you be sick and I be watching you.”

  Warmth seared Greyson's blackened soul. Rodrigo had a good heart. Totally wasted on Greyson.

  “I’m not dying easily.” Rodrigo gestured. “We need to survive the Carneiro champions and impress the Dourado elite. Maybe we get chosen for the national games!”

  Greyson’s forced smile had no joy. This kid still had no clue how the world crushed such hope. But faced with Rodrigo’s oozing enthusiasm, he didn’t have the heart to be honest. “Do what you have to,” he replied, his voice hoarse.

  Rodrigo beamed, not grasping Greyson’s point. “I will.” He slapped him on the shoulder. “We make waves, yea?”

  They reached the spotlight bathing a square platform wide enough for several people. Six other slaves stood with the same glowing warrior marks as Greyson and Rodrigo. Two were young women, two more athletic-looking men. The last two were barely teenagers. Greyson swallowed hard. What crime could they have committed to end up here? They stared back with varying degrees of terror.

  Greyson blinked momentarily. Then he combed through hazy memories, recalling the Dourado guards buying more slaves in Côte Royale after Briggs got himself killed.

  Greyson and Rodrigo were prodded onto the square-shaped platform. Then the guards withdrew into the shadows. Now, Greyson felt the platform rise. The ceiling slid away, revealing blinding sunlight and thunderous boos.

  In seconds, Greyson was bathed
in warm sunlight from the roofless stadium, dusty earth spread in every direction. Thousands upon thousands of spectators ringed the arena in stadium seats, all as large as ants. Every one of them heaped deafening, hostile boos on the slaves.

  “What did we do to them?” A lissom woman with short blonde hair asked, visibly overwhelmed.

  “We’re unknown, yea.” Rodrigo actually waved at the booming hatred. “We aren’t their champions yet.”

  Greyson gaped at him. Had Rodrigo waited for this opportunity his whole life? Or maybe the youth knew this was his escape from the oppression of supers?

  The platform stopped, blending with the hard soil reaching all corners of the arena. The slaves stood awkwardly as the boos soared. “What now?” Greyson asked.

  Rodrigo clapped him on the back, lighthearted still. “We wait…for the champions.”

  Greyson exchanged confused looks with the other slaves, all Americans. Facing this hostile crowd, he got flashes of his therapy group. The memories were a bittersweet rush, until he recalled the terrible ending. Greyson focused on his reality…and the end.

  There was a loud rumbling, like an elephant roaring its displeasure.

  The crowd hushed in collective anticipation. The seven slaves all turned attention to the north side of the arena and the entry sliding open on the barrier. Greyson only saw pitch-black nothingness inside.

  Rodrigo leaned close. “Here the champions come!” He had the gall to smile.

  Before Greyson could slap the shit out of him, the audience erupted into cheers. Greyson turned back to see a hulking man bounding out on all fours, moving like a cheetah and covered in sable fur. He slid to a halt, rearing back on his hind legs with a leonine growl that chilled Greyson to the bone. He was a feline-based super. A loud speaker blared out some introduction in Amaranthine. Greyson understood none except for the final word. “RAVAGER!”

  The crowd went berserk, standing and cheering.

  Another being emerged from the darkness, this time walking. Short and rangy, his whole body glowed volcanic yellow. Definitely an energy discharger.

  The speaker announced his arrival in Amaranthine, ending with, “Scorcher!” The masses bellowed louder approval than for Ravager. The bestial competitor visibly bristled at this.