I don’t know what’s going on.

  My danger sense is screaming. Rowan is unresponsive, and clearly terrified. This man knows her; he probably wants to hurt her. He’s already hurting passersby. I need to do something. I need to stop him.

  So I punch him.

  Releasing Rowan’s hand, I cross the distance between us in two strides and swing straight at his chin. He’s strong, clearly, so I put a good amount of force behind it. Enough to knock out most SAUs easily. I’m not playing around at all.

  My fist impacts him with a meaty whacking sound. I see several people around us flinch just at the noise. It’s a good blow, probably harsh enough to crack concrete. Against this man, however, it seems woefully insufficient. The blow that could silence most SAUs merely pushes his head a little to the side. His eyes glint with eerie light, and the air around him seems to waver like a mirage, and suddenly he’s turning his chin into my fist and somehow managing to push it away.

  “Nice try,” he says, “but-”

  I punch him again.

  The sound this time is like a shot from a cannon. Several bystanders in the vicinity scream, despite most of them already having moved away for safety. I’m not sure I’ve ever punched so hard, since most of my training has been lacking in the sparring department and I have to be careful not to kill my opponents when I’m fighting villains. It’s hard to judge without a frame of reference, but I probably could’ve put a dent in half an inch of steel or a quarter inch of low-quality synth metal. I also could’ve burst a normal person’s skull.

  His head snaps back this time, but the motion barely carries into his shoulders. He doesn’t even fall, and once again he looks at me with glinting eyes and pushes back.

  I try to slam my shin into his crotch.

  Finally, he bothers to block, but it’s a small victory to even push him this far, as he easily catches my leg and stops the kick cold, grabbing me with his cold hands tightly enough to sting.

  Then he smiles, and Superhuman screams a warning once more.

  “My turn.”

  I rip free of his grip but his fist is already aiming for my skull. The blow takes my forearm instead, as I’m just fast enough to block, but I’m completely unprepared for the force of it. My arm hits my head instead of his fist, but enough of the shock travels through to make my head ring. My body tilts to forty-five degrees, threatening to fall.

  Then his other fist hits me.

  I black out. It’s brief, but enough that I open my eyes to find myself flat on the pavement, blood leaking from my throbbing mouth. A conspicuous trail of red topped with a single white dot leads out onto the street. My ears ring, my entire body aches but especially my head, and my whole world spins.

  Someone screams, but it sounds faint to my ears.

  A large, calloused hand picks me up by the collar, which some dim part of me both praises and curses for being so durable. I’m lifted up with terrifying ease to look into the eyes of the man, who only seems to smile as I register him. He starts saying something, but my ears ring too much to make it out well.

  I hear a different voice shouting. Maybe Rowan? She sounds scared, but angry. I’m released as a glowing red and pink blur carves apart my vision, making the man release me. I try to stand as I land but my legs are jelly. Luckily, I fall into a softer grip. It’s Rowan, and she holds me in her arms, low to the floor. Her eyes are wide and fearful. She seems to be saying something to me.

  She says it once, twice, and then…

  “Charlie!” she cries just as I gasp, taking in an entire lungful of air all at once. My head stops spinning, and my ears still ring but less now. I continue to gasp for breath, and my head throbs, but now it feels warm, and a little sticky. I raise a hand to the side of my head. It comes back red.

  “Charlie!” Rowan sobs.

  Then I’m dropped again, as Rowan is picked up like a petulant child and, kicking and screaming, is thrown through the window of the nearest building with a crash. I look at the man with rage burning in my eyes and stand, wobbly but strong.

  “Wait, you’re alive?” he laughs, “Wow! I thought you died. You’re tougher than you look. And are you healing? Already? What’s your ability, to give strength, danger sense, and regeneration? Or did you just train adaptability? Either way, it’s impressive!”

  “You. Hurt. My. Friend.” I growl.

  He smiles. “Yes. Are you going to do something about that?”

  I look into his eyes, and my mind fills with rage.

  Superhuman roars in my head with the fury of a wild beast, and I feel my entire body flood with strength surpassing even what I had before. Every limit my body had snaps, and with the fiercest war cry I can muster I throw myself at him, pushing off of the concrete with enough force to crack it and throwing my elbow into his gut. He doubles over with a surge of breath as I knock the wind from his lungs, and while it’s not the bone-crunching attack I’d hoped it would be, for the briefest of moments, I almost find myself feeling hope.

  Then he backhands me, and all that hope, along with every thought in my head, is knocked straight out of me. I blink open my eyes again, having blacked out for the second time, and find myself embedded in what used to be a grey car. The whole thing is crumpled inward, and as I pull myself from the wreckage, I realize to my growing horror that it was also likely driving, as it has also impacted another, parked on the side of the road.

  I look away before I see the blood.

  “That poor man,” the man says, strolling leisurely across the road towards me, “You do make a great projectile though. You must be a hero, is that right? I’ve heard so much about the heroes of this country, and you certainly don’t disappoint. What’s your name?”

  I can tell I’m bleeding, or maybe just covered in blood. My body feels cool, and strangely light. Not painful, though. Whether adrenaline or my ability, something pushes the pain away. I feel steadier than I should. Stronger. I feel rage.

  “Frontrunner,” I say, raising my fists and squaring up, “I…am the hero Frontrunner. And I do not know who you are, but I know this: you are a villain…no, a damned. And by my country’s laws, I shall see you brought to justice for what you’ve done.”

  “I believe your country calls me Energizer,” the man says, “But you may call me Drake. Drake Lee. or, if you prefer, the strongest man alive.” Power infuses his voice at those words, and as the pressure falls upon me, I almost believe it. But I have gotten stronger, and I have proven I can hurt him. No matter how strong he is, I can still win. Evil will not ever win against me, I refuse to allow it, especially not here or now.

  “Go fuck yourself,” I spit.

  His eyes widen ever so slightly, just as my fist impacts his face.

  Or it should’ve, as the moment I get a hair’s breadth away from him he seems to move at truly impossible speeds, ducking away even faster than my fist can move to reach him. I follow up, but the same thing happens again. Blow after blow I send his way, but every time he seems to move faster than my eyes can track. I let out a guttural scream of frustration.

  Then he slaps me, and the earth goes sideways.

  I barely manage not to trip over my own legs as I right myself and leap back into the fight. I change the distance, faking a punch, then going in for a kick. I catch him, but the blow is weak. He counters with a blow fast enough to cut open my cheek as I barely move fast enough to make it only graze me.

  I try an elbow; he kicks me in the stomach. I rip out a street sign and slam it into him; he blocks it almost contemptuously, the metal bending around his skin. With a guttural cry I leap into the air, push off a streetlight, and aim a falling drop kick at him, but even then he dodges aside, leaving me to follow through into the asphalt of the road hard enough to make a crater.

  From the cover of the dust, I tackle low, executing a perfect double leg takedown, but he somehow pushes off of me with his feet, sending him flying from my grip and into the air. I’m thrown back several feet, while he performs a midair backflip, landing harmlessly back on his feet.

  “Stay away from her!” A voice cries.

  Then he disappears in a plume of smoke and fire.

  I’m stunned, but a second later I see the explanation: Rowan emerges from the smoke, glowing brightly with a whirlwind of colorful flame. Her dress is torn and singed all over, and she seems to have bled profusely from several wounds, though I doubt she wouldn’t have at least taken the time to cauterize the worst of it with her ability. Her face mirrors the inside of my mind, a contorted mix of rage and fear. I suspect I must look similar.

  An explosion of force surges out from the smoke, blasting the area with high-velocity winds and instantly dispelling the smoke, displaying the man who calls himself Drake. He’s unharmed, though most of his leather jacket—and the shirt beneath—seems to have been burned away, leaving him effectively shirtless. Underneath, he’s as fit as a bodybuilder, with thick arms and chiseled abs that are pretty much all for show. My wiry frame is proof enough that a SAUs build is a poor indicator of their strength, making his appearance for aesthetic and aesthetic alone.

  I find it almost revolting, considering the circumstances.

  “Teaming up on me, are we?” he says gleefully, “Good. I was starting to become bored.”

  “Charlie,” Rowan says, ignoring him, “Our priority should be to run. We can’t beat him. Our best chance is to escape, and find someone who can.”

  “You run,” I reply, “I’ll keep him here.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “Charlie!” Rowan hisses, “You can’t!”

  “I refuse to let him roam this city freely,” I tell her, “He won’t hurt anyone else.”

  Rowan’s eyes widen, but I ignore her. I charge Drake once more, aiming a punch which he dodges nimbly. I follow up with an elbow which he catches, stopping cold.

  “That’s the second time you’ve infused your ability into your voice,” he says, grinning wildly, “The first time could’ve been a fluke, but not twice. Do you know how difficult that trick is to master? For most people, anyway. Seems it came easy to the both of us.”

  “Shut up!” I cry, trying to pull my arm back from his grip. When that fails, I ram my knee into his gut, finally allowing me to push free. Some instinct tells me to duck away to the side, and a beat later Rowan charges him, her entire body burning like a dying star. He takes it head on, despite heat enough to carve a path of molten asphalt on the road. He’s pushed back several feet, but stops the charge, even as the air around him grows hot enough that I back away.

  Then he grabs Rowan by the shoulders, picks her up, and tosses her into a parked green minivan. The entire thing crumples inward before exploding as its gas tank ignites from Rowan’s flame. With a harsh cry, I push past the heat remaining from Rowan’s attack and follow up with a flurry of punches, a few of which manage to land, but are too fast to do more than push him back.

  As the remnant heat starts to redden and blister my skin, I back off, giving him a moment of respite which he takes as an invitation to step calmly out of the very same heat field I retreated from. His shirt has entirely burned away, and so have his shoes, but luckily it seems his jeans are made of sterner than usual fabric. He smiles blithely as I glare daggers at him, searching for an opening.

  I hear Rowan tear herself out of the wreckage of the minivan with a cry of pain. Sparing a quick glance, I find to my horror that she has a shard of car in her upper left arm, which she tears out ruthlessly before placing her hand on the wound to cauterize it with another shout of pain.

  I turn back, and instantly realize my mistake. The next thing I recall, I open my eyes once more to find I have impacted a building with enough force to tear a good chunk out of the brick. The world is strangely bright and flickering to my eyes, and it takes a second to realize that everything is on fire.

  ‘Everything’ might be a stretch, but not by much. Huge swathes of the street are molten and even glowing red, while the concrete of the sidewalks and buildings seems to have hit its flash point and is burning in several places. The air is heated like an oven, and a few cars seem to have burst into flames. Rowan is the obvious cause, as she is locked in furious combat with the man, exchanging blows rapidly but seemingly coming out for the worse.

  I peel myself from the ruined brick, taking a moment to remember how to stand, then rush back into the fight. With a cry, I charge in and tackle the man around the waist, giving Rowan enough time to land a solid hit on his jaw with her flaming fist. He stumbles back, but callously pulls me off of him and throws me into Rowan, sending us both to the floor hard.

  The very air seems to burn my skin even through adaptability and adrenaline protecting me, but it’s far worse when touching Rowan. We quickly scramble apart even as my skin blisters and peels, but neither of us hesitates to charge back in. I dimly register the sound of approaching sirens as the two of us assault Drake with a flurry of blows, all of which he casually blocks or dodges.

  I try for another tackle as Rowan leaps into the air, hoping to get the drop on him again, but this time he’s ready, and he simply leaps back far enough to put himself out of our range. I falter, but Rowan can’t stop, and as she lands hard, she loses her balance for a moment. In that brief window, the man steps in and kicks her in her gut, throwing her back out of the fight. I back away from him slowly, afraid, even for all my bluster, of taking him on alone.

  Then he freezes, and a beam of condensed energy strikes him in the forehead.

  His head snaps back, sizzling from the impact, but I can see his muscles straining against his inability to move. I hear the blunt sound of galloping hooves and turn around to see a trio of heroes, coming to my rescue. A man in whirling robes mimes grabbing something tightly with both hands, appearing to strain against an invisible force. A woman in a flowing scarf breaks off from the group, a bolt of energy appearing in her hands as she mimes drawing a bow. The third and final hero is one I recognize: the knight from the Exhibition, charging in on a galloping phantom horse, clad in synth metal plate and brandishing a long, glowing lance.

  Not one of them is strong enough.

  “Wait!” I holler, trying desperately to warn them.

  “Never fear, fair lady!” the knight cries, “I, Ser Superbus, shall relieve you of your duties and vanquish this dastardly foe!”

  I’m too slow to react. Carried by his phantom horse, the brave but unlucky knight charges right at the most dangerous opponent I’ve ever faced.

  In the next moment, he breaks free.

  With a wild burst of energy, he rips free of whatever was binding him, throwing out waves of force which cause the phantom horse to stop in its tracks, hooves churning at the air. I hear a scream of agony behind me, and the painfully familiar sound of bones cracking. The knight barely manages to get his horse under control, but he’s far too slow.

  Drake grabs him by his leg, and slams him into the road. I hear metal crunch and see more blood than anyone can afford to lose spray out in all directions, as armor that should be able to take anti-SAU bullets flattens like it’s nothing but tissue paper. The horse vanishes with a horrifying sound of pain, its summoner killed instantly.

  A trio of energy bolts smack into the man, sizzling on impact, but he shrugs them off. In the next beat, he charges, the terrified energy archer unable to move out of the way in time as he runs not past, but through the helpless woman. She’s thrown against the concrete edifice of a ruined shop hard enough that she stops being a person, or really intact at all. Blood sprays in all directions, but mostly over the man, who stands there breathing heavily as the last of it, thrown into the sky, falls around him like rain.

  I’m already moving. The last of the heroes, the man in robes, is the only survivor, but barely. Whatever he was doing to keep Drake contained, he clearly paid the price. His hands are mangled beyond belief as he sits there on his knees, staring wide-eyed and pale at his fallen comrades. I move to stand beside the hero, between him and the man, then spare a glance to where Rowan is, as she pulls herself slowly out of a wrecked building.

  With a soft touch, I lift the hero to his feet.

  “Go,” I whisper to him, “Run. He’s out of your league. He’s out of mine too, but I can at least hold him off. Find someone stronger, a city champion at least. Maybe two. We’ll need them to beat him.”

  I hear the hero take a few soft, yet forceful breaths. He takes a step back, then turns, then stops. I feel his gaze on the back of my head.

  “…I will…” he says in gasping spurts, “Don’t…die.”

  I nod grimly, but I cannot turn my attention away now. Already, Drake, covered in blood, turns to us. His stare feels like it carries as much pressure as his power. It takes all my willpower not to fall to my knees.

  I hear the hero take a few short steps, then more rapid ones, as he runs into the night. I try not to envy or blame him, but in my weakness I fail. With a slothfulness born far more out of exhaustion than care, I shift back into a fighting stance. Rowan finally manages to pry herself from the now-half-melted building she was thrown into. We both look into the eyes of the man, and, under all that blood, he smiles in return.

  “So willful,” he praises, “And so powerful. I’ll admit, young hero, I’m even starting to feel like it would be a shame to kill you.”

  “Then don’t,” I spit, “Leave and never come back.”

  He chuckles, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But I have a different offer:” He spreads his arms, with a look like an evangelist calling to their flock, “become my wife.”

  My face morphs into a look of sheer, utter disbelief.

  “Oh, I should clarify, I don’t mean my only wife,” he continues, “I have a few already, including Luo Wen. I understand some women don’t like that, but it’s non-negotiable.”

  “I’m not your wife,” Rowan hisses.

  He chuckles, “Agree to disagree, darling. I don’t recall agreeing to a divorce, at least.” He faces me, “Well? I can promise you’d fit right in. I just love strong, willful women. It’s so much more fun to break you if you aren’t cowering in fear from the start, you know? The other option for you is death, so, you know, I’d advise you to take it.”

  Surrounded by the wreckage of a city block, and illuminated by dozens of sputtering flames, I take a moment to think about what he just said.

  Only a moment, though.

  “I remember a time when I professed that I’d do anything to take down an evil of your magnitude, even if it meant going along with what they wanted so I could bide time to build my strength," I say with hushed breath.

  “Charlie, no,” Rowan pleads forcefully. Drake smiles even wider.

  “-but,” I continue, “That assumes I’m not in a position to beat that evil, here and now. You haven’t managed to kill me yet, and now backup is on the way—real backup. City champions, reapers, Jonathan. I’d thank you for the offer, but that’d be a lie, and I relish nothing more than the thought of ending your evil here and now.”

  His smile turns into a frown, “That’s a shame, truly.”

  I open my mouth to reply.

  Then he’s right in front of me.

  His hand reaches for me; the world goes still. I see, out of the corner of my eye, Rowan turning to us. She is too slow. I am too slow. He is too fast.

  The air fills with unimaginable force, as his hand grasps my shoulder.

  His eyes glow. I feel a shudder radiate through my body outward from his touch. I grow warm; my body feels like it’s expanding, pushing against my skin.

  Everything hurts.

  I told you I would give you a gift, young one.

  Then the Power inside of me stops.

  And I ram my fist into the damned’s gut.

  Time slips back into motion as for the first time today, I feel the familiar sensation of bones crumpling under my touch. Drake doesn’t just double over, he bends, the punch carrying more weight than I have ever been able to muster before. He releases me, and in the same instant, I feel my own injury. My hand, wrist, and forearm explode with pain, and I look down in horror at the mangled mess that’s become of them.

  I bite my lip to keep myself from screaming, and begin to taste the iron flavor of blood. Cradling my arm, I take a few steps back, unsure of what to do.

  I don’t have to think, however, as a moment later I’m effortlessly scooped up by Rowan, who doesn’t hesitate to take off sprinting.

  “I don’t know what that was,” she says, “but is there any chance you can do it again?”

  I hesitate. In the moment, I felt so…strange…I can’t explain it. Maybe I could? But then my arm throbs once more, and…

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. Rowan frowns.

  “Fuck,” she says, eloquently summing up our situation, “then I guess we have to hope he stays down long enough for us to get away.”

  Already, we’ve left the small confines of our little battlefield, Rowan racing down the street at speeds rivaling most cars, though not mine. I almost ask her to put me down so I can run too, but held like this, my adrenaline is already fading, and the aching pain of my entire body convinces me otherwise.

  To my relief, the immediate area already seems to have been evacuated. That is, until we come upon an obvious police barrier, which Rowan jumps easily. Upon spotting the gathering crowd of spectators beyond, I almost want to admonish them for their near-suicidal behavior, or at least warn them to run. I find I don’t have the breath though, and causing a panic would almost certainly be worse any-

  The world roars with fury, and every one of them is caught in the storm.

  It’s miraculous how Rowan manages not only to keep ahold of me, but also keep us both from being swept away. The bystanders aren’t so lucky. Of the hundred or so, nearly all are thrown aside or knocked down, the police barrier crumpling under the force. I look around wildly, searching for the source of the attack, until I realize it isn’t one.

  He’s standing there, leaning to take pressure off his side, but standing. He was not there a moment before. That pressure…it was him moving.

  He turns to us.

  “I don’t know what you did, girl,” he seethes, “but I’m done playing around.”

  He clenches the fingers of his left hand, and the air seems to bend to his will. First, it starts to waver, the same mirage-like effect I saw earlier. Then it seems to flow inward, centering on his palm, and condense. Then it starts to glow. It doesn’t take a genius to know he’s readying an attack, one unlike anything he’s used so far.

  It wasn’t arrogance, when he said he could kill me.

  Rowan drops me, carefully, on the street, and rises. Her gaze is steely, somehow unafraid for the first time since she spotted him. I try to rise as well, but barely make it to my knees. All energy drains from me, my shoulders sagging, my eyes dropping from his. The fear chills me, but I close my eyes and take a breath. I resolve to not be afraid.

  Superhuman gives one last warning. I ignore it.

  The Power comes towards us…

  …and flows around us with a resounding clang.

  I open my eyes, and see only gold. I feel only old wounds, and hear only a faintly receding roar, and the sound of Rowan and I’s heavy breaths. The gold recedes, and reveals a city devastated. Buildings are no more, corpses and blood are all around, and smoke and dust rises from every corner.

  But not here. Somehow, here we are safe.

  Three heads look up, as an angel descends from the sky.

  promise.