Dark Skies

I was born with my powers. Apparently, I accidentally crushed the nurse’s finger in my hand. She screamed and let go of me, where I remained suspended in the air, giggling as I drifting across the operating room.

I didn’t learn to walk normally. It didn’t make sense, as I could literally fly at birth. In fact, my parents had to convince me to learn so as not to spook vistors. Luckily, both of them were resilient in their own right. My father carried out Hero work under his alias of Big Ben, which suited him well. By far and away the strongest Alpha of the time, it was said he could shatter cities with mere punches. My mother, on the other hand, was Sky Streak. The quickest, most agile and capable flier on the planet gifted me her skills.

What I didn’t realize was that gifts came with a cost.

They died when I was seven. Sacrificing themselves for the greater good, they said.

Doing what had to be done, they said.

A Rogue named Rift had been tearing a warpath through coastline banks, using his ability to pull apart reality to teleport wherever he deemed fit. They fought. He comprehensively lost. But he also tried to escape at the last second. The fatal damage to his body and mind fractured his powers, opening a singularity. It would’ve swallowed Oregon had my father not literally held it together with his bare hands, then been flown to space by my mother. The weight of the task exhausted them both, leaving them to suffocate as the black hole puttered out.

As I child, I struggled to come to terms with their death. My strength and flight forced them to keep my at home, lest I injure someone. They were all I knew. I was taken in by the next in line at the time, Patriot. Another powerful Alpha and good leader. He taught me many important, fundamental lessons, but I never quite got a handle on my anger.

And no one was ever strong enough to challenge me. Which also meant every lesson was taught in blood.

I learned at nine to always be over the skyscrapers when breaking the sound barrier. One of them had been collapsing, and I’d meant to generate sufficient force to knock everything out of the sky. Instead, I almost killed three hundred people.

At eleven, I learned never to punch at full power, especially when near civilians. By then, I’d gained a sufficient handle on my skills to attend school with other children, though only a few times a week. The Rogue punched through the window, caught me in a tackle and took me through four different classrooms before I’d wedged enough leverage to disengage him. To my credit, I’d been crafty enough to angle my throw directly to a window, where no one was hurt and he crashed into a tree. The shock of being counterattacked stunned him, but not nearly as much as the other students in the class. Several must’ve been Alpha fanatics, as seeing me hovering over their whiteboard, clothes torn, eyes glowing as I glared the criminal down sent them into rambunctious cheer.

Spurred by the adulation of my peers, I raced outside, lined myself up and swung. I wanted a knockout right there and then to really sell the image. Instead, the Rogue, whom I would later learn was codenamed Kill Canon, imploded. My fist went completely through his chest, out the back, through the trunk, which blew the fifty-foot tree to splinters, then into a bench beneath it. The shockwave took out most of the school’s west wing. Four died immediately, and two more would later go on to die in the ensuing collapses.

Collateral damage by this point was commonplace in battles. Combined with my young age and the nature of the ambush, I suffered no legal retribution. Mentally, though, I was destroyed. For months, the only faces I could see in my sleep were the ones blown to paste after I struck the Rogue.

I formally began lessons at twelve. Combat, flight, tracking, interrogation, and different theoretical studies necessary to earn my Hero license. By fourteen, I gained a probationary degree and started carrying out brief patrols with Patriot.

The next catastrophe that took place was against Blowback, a villain capable of igniting his cells and creating explosions, though without damaging himself. A coalition between Rogues caught Patriot off guard, forcing me to step in and fight alone. It wasn’t even hard. None were over Knight or Bishop, and myself, already a Queen-Class by that point, had no trouble knocking them around.

Then Bishop tried catching me with an exploding punch that I decided to fully tank. I figured nothing could be more demoralizing to someone than seeing your primary strategy be completely overridden. The explosion barely affected me, though my armour was cooked. The underground supports, on the other hand, crumbled. I had no choice but to ignore Blowback and allow him to escape to stop the people from dying. A hundred and twelve I saved that day, all by the skin of my teeth.

And now, the exact same thing was happening to my son.

Jason Nova sighed, catching himself and turning to face the filthy, terrified boy as he reached out to pull him from the crater.

“All this to say, Matthius, that you need to calm down. It’s okay. I understand. You’re scared. Panicked. But you have to breathe. He’s dead. We beat the Rogue. But you’re going to hurt people if you continue. Okay son?”

Seven-year-old Matthius Nova, partially on fire and covered in soot shook with fear. “She almost killed me, Dad. She almost killed. I had to–”

“And you did, baby,” said Elise, walking over. While she wasn’t naturally as tough as her husband, her energy-based power gave her a far higher natural tolerance. She calmly patted away the flames like they weren’t even there. “You did, and we’re so proud of you. So proud. Daddy is going to go find Crackle and take care of her now, okay?”

Matthius nodded, wiping his nose. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry. Really. I’m didn’t–”

“Matt,” said another small boy. Even for an eleven-year-old, he showed maturity beyond his years. Bernard scrabbled into the crater, ignored the rings of fire still burning around them and crouched to look at his brother. “Why are you crying? You just beat a Queen!”

Matthius hesitated. “Not really. I just lasered her until she–”

“No, your brother is right,” smiled Elise. “You won.”

“Guess what that means?” Bernard grinned.

Matthius frowned. “What?”

“Ice cream movie night. Duh.”

“Really?” Matthius exclaimed, spinning to face his father. The light still glowing in his eyes faded as excitement took over. “Can we?”

Jsaon glanced down at Bernard, then his wife, who shrugged nonchalantly, then back at Matthius. “Fine by me. But only two bowls. I can’t take much more sugar after today.”

“Yes!” Matthius shrieked, floating off the ground and seizing Bernard in a hug.

“Easy!” chided Jason, getting between them before Matthius crushed his sibling. “Remember, Bernard can’t take full force.”

“Oh, right.” Matthius scuttled back. “Sorry.”

Bernard’s only sign of discomfort was a twitch in his eye. “What? That just means you’re getting stronger!” He looked around. “But this place kinda sucks. Can we go home now?”

Elise didn’t skip a beat, scooping Matthius into her arms. “I’ll get him cleaned up, then meet you two at home. Sound good?”

“Sure,” replied Jason, watching Elise effortlessly leap from the thirty-foot crater.

His superhearing picked up a cough-like sound from Bernard’s throat. Glancing down, he realized he was almost in tears.

“I’m never going to get powers, am I?” he sniffled, hugging his chest.

Jason scowled, then forced the frustration to leave his face. “You could always Ignite, Bernard.”

Bernard wiped his eyes and nose, and just like that, he was back to normal. “Right. Okay. Can we go home?”

Jason nodded and scooped him into his arm, then climbed into the sky. Bernard’s arms, wrapped around his neck for stability as they cruised over Arizona.

He noticed none of it, of course. His mind was on Bernard’s tone as he spoke. His son didn’t believe he’d Ignite.

And much to Jason’s frustration, neither did he.