by C. C. Ekeke
Ghost-Lauren straddled him, smirking smugly. She wasn’t real, yet shame burned down Greyson’s parched throat at her seeing him like this. “Go away…” he groaned, turning his head.
Lauren leaned closer. “I will once you do.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Which will be soon.”
The panther-like brawler approached leisurely, boasting about which organs he’d carve out. His sharp claws gleamed under the sunlight.
Ghost-Lauren’s face sobered. “Is this how you want to die?” She sounded like the real Lauren.
Greyson fixated on the blue sky. “I don’t care anymore…” He just couldn’t see past the grief.
Saddened, Ghost-Lauren rose. “Then you’ll die in a place where no one knows you.” She vanished.
Ravager was almost on him, yellowing teeth bared. “I’ll start with the balls. If you have any.” His horrid barking laugh blended with the ghastly noises of war and cheering.
Greyson looked skyward, waiting for the end.
Yet as death neared, Greyson only saw regrets and disappointments before getting butchered for a crowd’s amusement. Away from friends, family, and everything he knew.
And I’m allowing it? Tears spilled down his cheeks in rivers, followed by shuddering sobs. “The pathetic end to a pathetic life, in some fighting pit in a third-world country.” Saying those words drove the point through his chest like a stake.
“Yeah…you’re gonna die, frail.” Ravager growled nearby, clearly offended by Greyson’s lamenting. “In front of these ‘third-world’ people.”
Ignoring the brute, Greyson rolled onto hands and knees. His own weakness disgusted him. And this willingness to surrender without a fight. “No…no…” Each “no” was punctuated by Greyson pounding his fists on the ground. “Nonono…NO!” He pounded harder, beating the weakness out of himself, tasting the power within reawaken. He kept slamming the ground, energy coursing through his veins, washing away the pain.
Now the crowd noticed, a murmur building at this.
Ravager, no longer cocky, backed away in caution from the glow spilling over him. It took Greyson a moment to realize he was the one glowing.
He pushed up to his knees, screaming at the heavens. The release felt amazing, discharging an invisible gravity shockwave from his body.
Ravager went sailing backward, as did anyone in his path.
Greyson was floating off the ground, hands spread to welcome any attackers. After two months of rejecting his own powers, he felt nourished and refreshed.
Rodrigo, fighting Scorcher, gaped. The crowds oohed at this twist.
Skylord, ripping another slave in two, tossed aside the separate parts and grimaced at Greyson.
“Want me dead?” Greyson roared. “Be my guest.”
Ravager sneered. “Gladly.” He launched himself at his prey.
Greyson focused on the champion’s gravity field—negating it.
A weightless Ravager rocketed up shrieking the whole way. Greyson watched him shrink into the heavens. Only for the heavens to brighten with green electricity, filled with Ravager’s death cries.
Greyson frowned. A forcefield covers the dome. Made sense, or else Skylord and other flyers would've bolted. With a thought, he restored Ravager’s normal gravity.
The champion plummeted in a smoking heap.
Skylord hurtled forward to intercept.
“Nope!” Greyson increased Scorcher’s gravity by twenty, changing his attraction from earth to Skylord.
Skylord might’ve caught Ravager…until Scorcher’s flailing body cannonballed into the Titan rip-off with savage impact.
Both fell to earth, landing hard.
Ravager actually bounced, a sack of charred flesh and broken bones. The crowd hushed. One of their invincible champions was dead. They didn’t know how to handle it.
Greyson floated down, smiling for some baffling reason. He felt that same frenzied disconnect after killing Dad. Greyson embraced it. If death was his fate today, he would die fighting. A glance revealed only Rodrigo and that blonde woman left. Every other slave was dead.
Scorcher remained down. Skylord boiled up to his feet. He’d clearly forgotten how pain felt. Yelling something in Amaranthine, he charged wrathfully.
The crowd, a smear of roiling ants in the stadium, boomed their approval.
Greyson’s confidence faltered. He could fly away, but Skylord could just fly after him. And Greyson had no defense against getting punched by a superstrong super…unless. An idea bubbled up then. Greyson had never tried this, but anything was better than nothing.
Skylord reached Greyson in seconds, hauled his fist back, and swung. The blow struck Greyson’s face, knocking him several feet back. After his skull stopped ringing, he lay there taking assessment. Besides a smarting jaw, increasing his own gravity field absorbed most of Skylord’s punch.
Greyson stood back up to see an astonished Skylord. “What else ya got?”
“A lot more,” Skylord replied in accented English. He charged at Greyson and swung.
Greyson ducked, pooling gravitational force into both fists until they were at least forty times heavier than normal.
A punch to Skylord’s stomach struck something solid that wasn’t flesh or bone. A forcefield? Whatever the case, the Amaranthine doubled over. Greyson elbowed Skylord’s face, standing him straight up. A left jab to the throat had Skylord gagging.
Greyson sailed in with an uppercut, knocking Skylord head over heels onto his back.
A booming “OOOOOOHH!” rippled across the stadium.
Skylord struggled to sit up, cross-eyed and confused. After years of victories, this twit probably believed he couldn’t lose. And now, some average-looking Statesider had come out of nowhere to fuck up his whole life.
“Tell me, Skylord,” he snarled, mounting the bastard. “Who’s weak now?” Greyson drilled him in the face again and again. Repeated rights and lefts weighted by fifty times Earth’s gravity. A wonderful release of bottled-up hatred. Each blow stung Greyson’s knuckles.
But by the bloody mess Skylord’s face was becoming, Greyson’s barrage hurt him more.
The entire crowd hollered with each punch, cheering the savagery gracing their eyes.
Already turning on their heroes… Greyson mused, fists rising and falling. Skylord twitched beneath him, unable to fight back.
Grinning, Greyson drew back a blood-soaked fist, increasing the gravity again to deliver the death blow.
A ping caught Greyson’s ear, his collar reactivating. What followed was blinding pain. Greyson stiffened and tumbled off Skylord with a choked grunt.
This is how I die… That was his last coherent thought before the pain went from excruciating to ticklish. The howl from his lips didn’t sound like a scream or a sob.
Greyson heard himself laughing, loud and crazed.
Spine-scalding agony turned everything red. Then black.
Chapter 21
On speed runs around San Miguel, Hugo enjoyed watching the daybreak from atop Bishop Peak. Giant pines jutted up around him. Golden sunlight spilled through the bushy leaves, burning away the fog blanketing the forest floor. At this early hour, a chorus of animal life waking up filled his ears. A perfect symphony to start the day.
Today, Hugo stood in an unfamiliar forest wearing a crimson Paso High hoodie and baggy jeans, waiting for the only other visitors this high up.
Employing his heightened senses, superspeed, and a few controlled leaps, Hugo had tracked them here easily. He grinned proudly. Two galloping horses approached several yards away, accompanied by a mother and daughter’s excited shouts as they raced along a trail. Guilt poked Hugo for interrupting what must be family time, but his problem had to be discussed in person.
He waited until the horses finally burst into the clearing.
Ms. Ortiz, surprised and a tad irked, reared her black stallion up a few feet away as her longish hair whipped about. Zelda slowed less dramatically on a skittish mare. She looked as miffed as her mo
ther.
Hugo raised his hands in peace. “Sorry to intrude—”
“Yet you are,” Zelda reprimanded.
Ms. Ortiz's warning look cooled her daughter's anger. “Sorry,” Zelda apologized. Her horse pawed nervously at the leaf-covered ground. “Mom’s busy. Spending time together isn’t easy.”
Hugo understood. His mother worked long hospital hours to provide for him and AJ. Hopefully, she knew how much her sacrifices meant.
Ms. Ortiz dismounted her horse. “Give us a moment, Z.”
Hugo waved off the mandate. “That's okay. I won’t take long.” That won a surprised smile from Zelda. She guided her horse closer.
He shored up his resolve under his mentor’s penetrating stare. “I want to be a hero,” Hugo blurted out. The thrill of admitting that made him so giddy. “But I don’t want to be Kid Liberty. Or anyone’s sidekick. It just doesn’t feel like me.”
His declaration received silence, made eerier by the hush filling the forest clearing.
Zelda’s eyes widened as if saying, Oh no, you DIDN’T.
Ms. Ortiz’s blank mask revealed nothing. “Okay…” she said slowly.
Hugo remained controlled on the surface but internally cringed seeing that frosty reaction. Might as well continue. “I want to keep learning from you,” he assured. “While starting small and out of the spotlight.” Hugo had given this extensive thought. “Helping people, stopping baddies.” Hugo then waited.
“I’m done talking, by the way,” Hugo added after several seconds of awkward silence.
“I see.” Ms. Ortiz nodded and, shockingly, smiled. “I sensed you weren’t into the Kid Liberty alias.”
Hugo let out a sigh, having expected a harsher reply. “I’ll probably need a new suit. With my input, please.”
Ms. Ortiz sized him up. “Swing by the shop after school.” As she hopped back on her horse and turned around, Hugo could’ve sworn her eyes twinkled with pride.
Zelda lingered, grinning mischievously. “Mom owes me fifty bucks,” she whispered. “I knew you hated being a sidekick.”
“I heard that,” Ms. Ortiz called over her shoulder.
Hugo’s guffaw startled Zelda’s mare and the surrounding wildlife. He covered his mouth.
Zelda cringed and wheeled her mare around to follow Ms. Ortiz.
Got my wish, Hugo realized, suddenly terrified. Now I have to deliver.
Later, after changing into boardshorts and a v-tee, Hugo told Simon when they walked to school.
“YES!” His BFF leaped in the air, fist raised like an anime character.
“She was super cool about it.” Hugo smiled, eyeing the sidewalks self-consciously. But Simon’s happiness on his behalf was pleasing enough. “After school, I’m giving her notes on my new uniform.
“I’m adding my thoughts too,” Simon said. Hugo wouldn’t have it any other way. “We can’t have another Kid Liberty fiasco.”
Hugo nodded eagerly, adjusting his backpack.
“Onto ‘me’ news,” Simon declared as they neared Paso Robles High. The sidewalks were filling with fellow students. When they reached a stoplight, Simon pulled the headphones around his neck and placed them over Hugo’s ears. “Listen.”
He pressed play on a phone app and Hugo got serenaded by groovy instrumentals and rap lyrics regaling the superheroes’ golden age. He immediately recognized the rapper. While the production value wasn’t professional, Hugo appreciated the nuances in the song. Soon he found himself nodding his head. “That’s you rapping?”
Simon beamed. “I rap in Korean too.”
“Wow,” Hugo marveled, returning the headphones. “Thought I’d have to fake-like this!” The pair walked forward at the greenlight.
“Got a rap name?”
“Han Kong or Hanzilla.” Simon scowled at Hugo’s teasing laugh. “It’s a work in progress. Like yours.”
Hugo grimaced. “Touché. Make sure the nicknames aren’t cooler than the rap name, like Jay Z.”
Simon scoffed. “Jay Z’s got like two nicknames. Hova and Hov.”
His naiveté stunned Hugo. “Oh, sweet summer child,” he chided. “Hov. Young Hov. Young Hova. Hovito, Jigga, Jiggaman, Jay, Jazzy, Iceberg Slim, S-Dot. And the Hova-centric ones are from J-Hova.”
“J-Hova?” Simon furrowed his brow. “Kinda sacrilegious, no?”
Hugo shrugged. “Jay Z called himself the god of rap. By the way…” He glanced around, then leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ve picked my codename.”
“Really?” Simon braked so abruptly, several freshmen girls almost plowed into him from behind. He ignored their infuriated swearwords as they weaved around him. “What is it?”
“Once the suit’s ready.” Hugo winked. He and Simon continued bantering as Paso High’s brick buildings loomed, the sun continuing its morning climb.
When Hugo and Simon entered, all arriving students were greeted with an announcement on the speaker system. “Freshmen and sophomores. Report to the auditorium.”
Hugo exchanged a concerned glance with Simon and followed the throngs of classmen.
Taylor von Stratton fell in step with them, irked. She looked cute when irked. “What’s this about?”
Hugo shrugged. “No clue.” Once in the auditorium, he grasped that this was serious.
Principal Walker stood onstage flanked by two stone-faced policemen. A few other teachers sat onstage nearby wearing solemn expressions. Mr. Beachum, lean and wiry, leveled a withering glare on Hugo. The assistant basketball coach still remained suspicious since Fall Fling.
Hugo looked away and quickened his stride toward some empty seats.
Once the students were seated, Principal Walker got to the point. “Kevin Coleman, McKenna Phillips, Kerry Winston, and Carlo Berroya are all missing.”
Shock flooded the auditorium. Hugo swallowed hard. Simon was baffled. On his other side, Taylor gripped Hugo's arm fearfully. A wave of guilt washed over Hugo. He’d planned to search for Kevin until his identity crisis had happened. Now more kids were missing.
“Do not panic. We’re working with the authorities to find your classmates,” Principal Walker spoke over the roil of emotion. Despite his stoic veneer, the principal was understandably tired. “We called this assembly to address the situation directly. Pair with at least one student whenever you go to and from campus. Especially at night.”
“I’ll pair with my Songs girls,” Taylor replied as Hugo turned to ask. She kissed his cheek, then his lips. “Don’t worry.”
Walker concluded his speech. “Please report anything suspicious to me or your teachers. Any questions, I’m always available.” A smile lit up his weathered features. “Because I’m your princi-PAL.”
Hugo rolled his eyes. Audible groans filled the auditorium.
Mrs. DeWitt, sitting onstage, facepalmed. “Good God!” she groused under her breath.
The principal was amused by his own wit. “You can return to class.”
“You know what’s not being said?” Simon muttered as they left the auditorium. “Another bombing.”
Hugo whipped his head around at him. “What?”
“Some San Miguel High freshman.” Simon somberly adjusted the headphones around his neck. They crossed the quad to their respective first periods. “Walked into a Cambria winery this morning. Ka-BOOM.” He spread both hands out for emphasis. “Killed nine employees.”
“Three bombings in three weeks,” Hugo surmised, which unsettled him more. “These have to be connected to the kidnappings. Whoever's behind this must be escalating.”
Simon rubbed his hands together. “We should too.”
“No doubt,” Hugo agreed, starting with this case. “I’ll search for the missing kids during lunch—” He paused. Familiar footsteps approached him and Simon. Wale and Grace flanked by Brent, Raphael, the Stanleys, JT, and Groban.
“Everyone’s pairing up,” Wale declared without preamble. “Let’s choose now.”
Hugo scanned his friends, quickly devising pairings.
“Alright,” he interrupted, to Wale’s annoyance. “JT and Groban. You’re with the twins.” Hugo looked to Simon. “Go with Wale. Raph, you got G-Mama. Brent…” He waved the lanky blond over. “Pair with Jodie. Don’t take no for an answer.”
Brent was thrilled. “On it!” He practically skipped away.
“What about you?” Grace asked as Hugo turned to leave for French class.
He cringed. They noticed. “What about me?”
“Uh-uh.” Raphael grabbed his shoulder. Hugo allowed himself to be dragged back. Otherwise, he’d have dragged Raphael along like a blanket.
Wale folded his arms angrily. “Pair with someone.” The rest of the group, except Simon, agreed. Between meeting with Ms. Ortiz after school and searching for the missing students, Hugo couldn't afford a tagalong. “I’ll go straight home and won’t leave until the morning.” A lie, but a necessary one.
The others didn’t buy this, growing angry. “You have to pair up, Bogie,” Grace decided.
The dogpile struck a nerve. “Or what?” Hugo snapped. “You’ll unanimously make me?”
Grace flinched. The others gaped. The Stanleys gasped. “That’s not fair,” Grace retorted.
Hugo opened his mouth to really piss everyone off. Then he could search unhindered. Until Simon caught his eye. “Play along,” his friend mouthed.
Hugo sighed, realizing how suspicious this appeared. “Raph. Pair with Simon and Wale. I’m with Grace. Text me after your last class.”
“Bogie—” Wale began.
“Thank you.” Hugo abruptly departed.
The day slogged by, the missing students and the Cambria bombing dominating school gossip. After school, Hugo sat in the passenger seat as Grace drove him home. Neither spoke the whole car ride. Hugo avoided the tension by mulling over where to start searching. He didn’t know Kerry or Carlo. Hugo knew McKenna Phillips by reputation. Junior class president, Cheers team co-captain, Lionel Wagner’s girlfriend, one of the prettiest and most popular girls in Paso High. Hugo decided to start with Kevin, who was an acquaintance. The car slowing drew Hugo back to the present.
Grace parked outside his house. “We’re here.” She clutched the wheel, glaring ahead.
