Generation Next: A Superhero Adventure (The Pantheon Saga Book 3) Page 16

  One champion left. The crowd chanted his name, the groundswell growing louder and louder.

  A sharp whoosh sounded, and the audiences exploded louder than for Ravager and Scorcher combined. The ungodly response shook the entire arena to its foundations.

  A man soared out of the dark entrance, bronzed and muscled like a Renaissance sculpture. He was Amaranthine perfection, making Greyson painfully aware of his own skinny physique. The flying man halted to hover above Ravager and Scorcher, wearing only a golden, Roman Empire feathered-skirt.

  Greyson covered his ears from unrelenting crowd din. The other slaves also protected their ears with pained expressions. Only Rodrigo appeared at home amid this chaos.

  The announcer could barely be heard over the audience when shouting the name of their beloved champion, “SKYLORD!" Skylord took in the spectators and smiled. Then his dark eyes settled on the slaves at the arena center.

  Greyson gulped and stepped back. At a glance he sensed shades of Titan in this super. He carried himself like a god among men, oozing with unyielding power. Despite Greyson’s desire to perish, something in him flinched away from this trio.

  “Skylord, Ravager, and Scorcher?” he shouted over the crowd. Under less fatal circumstances, Greyson would have laughed at the awful name. He looked to Rodrigo. “What now?”

  “We’re supposed to be a tune-up. Easy kills,” Rodrigo explained eagerly. “Right before they face the champions of other Amarantha cities. They be champions three years.” He was gushing. “We don’t make it easy. Survive and fight back, we join them in the national tournament!”

  Greyson shook his head at this crazy kid. Even if he wanted to fight back, Greyson saw no way they could fight this trio without powers.

  “How?” the blonde woman in their group asked. “Our powers are inhibited—” She swayed and staggered sideways, eyes going glassy. The same happened to Rodrigo and the other slaves.

  Greyson’s world swam. He sank to a knee. “What just happened?” His words came out slurred. The dizziness quickly passed. He stood back up.

  Rodrigo shook his fluffy-haired head. “The gamemasters deactivated our collars!”

  “FIGHT!” the announcer boomed over the stadium speakers.

  Skylord hurtled forward like a missile. Ravager loped after him with a predatory charge roar. Scorch came running, fists churning with white-hot flame.

  The crowd roared with such bloodthirsty approval, Greyson couldn’t hear himself think.

  Five slaves fled in different directions, which was smart. But to where? The entryway the champions had emerged from slid shut.

  A shimmering field slid over Rodrigo. “Now we show them.” He bounced like a basketball to meet the champions.

  Greyson stood stock-still, frozen between flight or waiting for death.

  Then Rodrigo rebounded off the earth, colliding into Skylord. The resulting shockwave flung both supers backward, jarring Greyson’s bones.

  Scorcher dashed forward, raising an arm and issuing forth a brilliant yellow energy beam.

  The blast punched through a fleeing slave’s back, one of the adolescents, much to the crowd’s delight. The teen slave lay still with lifeless eyes, a smoking hole in her back.

  In that moment, instinct overrode death wish.

  Greyson ran.

  Chapter 20

  Greyson’s mind was a mess, legs pumping as fast as possible, heart thundering against the glowing tattoo on his chest.

  Farther left, Ravager pounced on an older and strapping slave whose name Greyson hadn’t bothered learning.

  Ravager sliced him to bloody ribbons with those claws. His death screams soared even over the thunderous crowd. Greyson tore his gaze away and kept running. Screams and jeers from every direction buffeted his ears.

  Then Rodrigo’s limp body dropped in his zigzagging path, not ten feet away. The crowd cheered.

  Greyson stopped, fearing the worst.

  But Rodrigo still lived. His chest rose and fell, face bloodied. The Amaranthine’s eyes found Greyson. “Do whatever it is you do,” he gasped, slowly sitting up. “Stay alive!”

  No way would Greyson use his powers for these jackals’ amusement. Rodrigo’s plan to become a champion had been flawed from the beginning.

  “Goddammit!” Against his better judgement, Greyson moved toward this foolish boy. Someone had to save Rodrigo from himself.

  Until a hurricane swooped down from the sky, slapping Greyson across the face.

  The glancing blow almost decapitated Greyson. Pain crackled down his spine so ferociously he briefly blacked out. The next he knew, Greyson lay facedown on dust-caked earth.

  “Ohhhh!” he moaned, shocked that his stinging jaw remained attached. Greyson spit out a bloody tooth and looked up as Skylord flew away to attack two more slaves at the other end of the arena.

  Despite the aches, Greyson pushed up to all fours. To get knocked down again? Lying down and waiting for death would have been easier. But something in him refused to stay down.

  Greyson finally managed to stand…

  …until five blades shredded his flesh from behind. Greyson shrieked, agony searing his shoulders. He fell, rolling around to escape the pain.

  Ravager approached, his claws dripping with Greyson’s blood. The furry super grinned savagely. “Nowhere to run away, frail.” His voice was abrupt and guttural as he licked his fingers.

  Instinct told Greyson to crawl. But he fought that instinct, lying still while Ravager advanced. Sounds of death and battle crashed around him. Greyson finally saw the end he’d craved.

  Ravager stalked forward, shoulders hunched with coiled power. “I’m taking my time with you. Flay that smooth skin off. Then I’ll wear your lungs as a trophy.”

  Greyson sagged on the ground and closed his eyes. This is gonna hurt. At least it will be over.

  “Awkward,” someone purred.

  Greyson opened his eyes and flinched.

  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, backe
d 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. Beside 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 grew so excruciating it started to tickle. 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 mother.

  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 yo
u 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. And 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. Hugo 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.”