Caped (Book 1): The Burdens of Fate (21 page)

The burning man stops burning, except for a
mask of flames covering his face. He turns towards the building and shoots
forth a wide stream of bright orange fire into the building. It floods in like
water, an enormous flame thrower pouring all its rage into the helpless
building. He rises into the air on small smokeless jets of fire erupting
beneath his feet, gathering himself for one final attack. The interior of the
building had already begun collapsing, and its outer frame, already engulfed in
a tumultuous storm of fire, and with an increasing amount spilling out from any
area of structural weakness, was slowly failing not to do the same.

His attack shot forth, a swirling mass of
bright orange flames that, at the last possible moment, impacted a sturdy
telekinetic barrier.

The burning man shouts out a warning to unseen
accomplices before charging directly at Michael.

Over the radio, Thomas stresses the importance
of knocking them unconscious so they can be brought in for questioning. A tertiary
goal at best.

Michael focuses a bubble of telekinetic energy
around him and pressures him towards the ground, hounding him to reveal his
motives.

Roaring, "Liberation!" he ignites in
a fierce storm of flames, which quickly engulf the bubble until it's nothing
more than an unstable ball of fire, undulating more and more under the
increasing pressure until it eventually pops in a violent, thunderous
explosion. Glass shatters and concrete cracks for blocks, and before the
shockwave had even cleared the area, a stream of fire had already sent Michael
hurdling into the foundation of the collapsing building. The ailing structure
finally gives and a pile of flames and concrete collapses on top of him.

The burning man rises higher into the air,
positioning himself directly above what remains of the building. Fire crawls
over his face and around his head, from the tip of his fingers and up his arms,
engulfing him fully. Stretching one arm forward, he calls upon a frightening
power reserved for God himself.

Barely distinguishable as fire, a red hot beam
shoots down as
quick
as lighting, carving a burning
hole into the cities core.

Michael bolts up in what seemed the exact
moment of contact. It struck with an unrelenting carnage; no explosion, no
smoke, just the sound of air igniting and a burning red hole a quarter of a
mile deep sitting in the ground. Michael put a safe distance between him and
his fiery challenger, who immediately launched a volley of thin bright red
beams, which Michael easily evades, and a final thick one which he effortlessly
blocks.

A stare down follows, only to be interrupted by
loud deafening baritone pang that promptly drains all noise from the area.
Prisca had arrived, perched atop the Sears
Tower.

"You
pathetic
examples of intelligent
life!" she roars, speaking in loud clear voice that cuts through the
silence and manages to remains crisp at every distance. "You disgust us
all... Listen well, for I am the sound of justice."

Such a cheesy line, but the awkward look on the
burning man's face quickly turns to agony, screaming out in pain as a sharp
high pitched tone strikes his ears. He immediately loses his focus, the blazing
jets of fire at his feet sputtering to a halt before finally failing all
together. He fires erratically in every direction in a vain attempt to distract
her.

She continues to focus on him until a stream of
energy from a second unseen attacker fires up into the sky, streaking across
her periphery and continuing on without even the slightest acknowledgement of the
building beneath her. But gravity takes notice and immediately acts upon the
ailing structure, with Prisca firmly gripping onto the edge in hopes she
wouldn't have to use the ability she's most afraid of. Sound floods back into
area bringing with it the cacophony of glass and steel grinding against each
other, sweeping to prominence in a striking crescendo.

Michael darts after her only to be interrupted
by the burning man firing another more violent volley of flames from beneath.

The rushing wind blowing through her hair, and
the panicked arteries of the terrified masses rushing through the city streets
ready to welcome her. Help was not coming, no other option remained. She shut
her eyes with as much force as a balled fist while belting a guttural scream
evident of someone becoming terrifyingly aware of their mortality; with great
hesitation she let go and finally let gravity bow to her superiority, if only
for long enough to clear the impact zone and land on solid ground.

A cloud of smoke blew through the area,
panicked cries and screams of terror echoing from every direction.

Michael and the burning man continue their
violent dance in the sky, soon darting off high above the great lake in the
direction from which five F-18 Raptors come screaming, taking pea shots at them
as they pass. Three break off and attempt to pursue, the other two continue
towards the city and the streams of energy trailing into the air.

On the ground Prisca cautiously moves between
the building and the flood of frantic people, breathing heavily while trying to
remain focused on the situation; desperately trying to locate the threat, her
hands shaking and cold sweats trickling down the side of her face. She brushes
settled dirt from her brow and pushes a loose strand of hair from her in front
of her face.

A blast of energy streaks just in front of her
and she quickly drops to the ground to avoid it, followed by a quick lateral
hover on her back until safely behind a building. The blast chases after her,
carving a trail of upturned rubble through the streets, onto the sidewalk, and
up through the side of the building.

She rises into the air for safety, but not too
high; barely above head-height, creating fake sounds of gunfire that echo down
the city streets, seemingly impacting the variety of surfaces littered about. A
few more blasts of energy trailed down the avenue in an attempt to locate the
source and were quickly followed by actual gun fire from the jets above. One
well placed shot from the hidden assailant and the jet
comes
tumbling out of the sky. The pilot ejects but is picked off a moment later by
another blast of energy, left to fall to his death. The jet, now just a ball of
fire and twisted metal, comes careening towards the city floor, violently
ricocheting off the buildings and flipping through the crowded street. The
stranger runs cautiously into a side street to evade the ensuing carnage.

Prisca spots him and quickly unleashes an
earsplitting sonic wave, dropping him immediately to the ground. He rolls about
in pain, firing aimlessly in her direction, viciously shaking off his body's
attempt to lose consciousness. He aims for her in blind hope, wreaking absolute
havoc in his best effort to dispose of her.

She quickly drops her hands, takes an almost instantaneous
deep breath and screams out a pressure wave just in time to stop the stream of
energy just inches before her face. This creates visible vibrational waves and
torrential winds that rip through the surrounding area. She successfully stops
the stream of energy in its tracks but now it forms an unsteadily growing mass
of undulating energy; one wildly violent force raging against another.

Thomas watched with an almost inhuman level of
focus, and explained to Alvin
that this was mostly likely part of a trap specifically for him. A logical
conclusion; if any plan were to succeed they need him out of the equation.

I looked to Alvin in desperation, I'd run out of options.
Prisca's life alone, or possibly both? In the end it wasn't my decision to make
and I couldn't offer him the reassurance he wanted. I gave him a final warning:
If he went, don't stay in the city, and don't stop moving.

Michael and the burning man had managed to
fight their way up into the stratosphere where it's cold as hell and barely any
air to breathe. Sounds of thunder trickling down as the burning man shot fire
hot enough to ignite what little air surrounds them, and yet both Michael and
the burning man are too slow, or not strong enough, to make a damaging blow to
the other.

Thomas speaks to him through the earpiece,
telling Michael that Alvin's
getting involved and to lose altitude so he can capture the burning man.

And then Alvin
was gone, a half second later so was Prisca and her unknown attacker. The
bubble of energy had no pressure holding it together and popped in a deafening
shriek. A violent flood of power that poured through and around the buildings,
and even up into the sky, consuming any object not strong enough to resist it.
Only the skeletal structure of buildings remained, crippled and struggling to
remain upright.

Michael took to an immediate dive, with the
burning man following closely behind. Dropping like a stone through the carnage
and both coming to an abrupt stop about fifty yards apart from each other in the
midst of the broken streets.

Prisca was safe, moved a mile outside the city
on the sidewalk of some suburban neighbor, just outside a crowd of people
staring off towards the city in frightened awe. She collapsed back against a
light post, exhausted and tired.

"Great job, Prisca!" roars Alvin. "That was
fuckin' beautiful! You're alright, right?" he asked, with Prisca
responding with a faint smile and a breathy, "Yeah."

Thomas chimes in over the radio that Michael's
just touched down, there's a brief moment where Alvin
and Prisca's eyes lock before Alvin
vanishes.

The fire goes out around the burning man, and
for a brief second a teleported appears to whisk him away. In their spot
appears a man, just over six feet tall, and covered head-to-toe in a skin-tight
cream colored sprinter’s uniform, with black racing stripes down the right
side. His uniform is already spotted with blood, from what, I don't know. He's
armed with throwing stars, knives strapped to his legs, and a katana on his
back.

"You're only in the way of progress,"
he grins.

"They sure have a thing for theatrics,
don't they?" says Alvin, who abruptly appears next to Michael.

Alvin
urges Michael to leave as quickly as possible,
but he doesn't. The runner moves into a fighting stance. Alvin does the same, again, voicing louder
and more adamantly that Michael needs to leave.

"You can't help here," states Alvin.

Michael gives a grunt of dissatisfaction,
slowly coming to the same conclusion. "Be careful," Michael says,
before tearing off into the sky.

"So, I'm told you're fast," remarks
the well armed stranger with a thick, cocky, Russian accent. "Prove
it."

Alvin
Turner
-

Yesterday was a lot of things, boring, then
entertaining, confusing, scary, and finally, just plain fucking awesome. I'm a
hero, officially. To hell with what the news has to say and to hell with the
damage estimates, give me my goddamn medal.

First, I'd be lying if I said the hairs on the
back of my neck weren't standing up straight. I was terrified and twitchy.
Before me stood a man ready and willing to take my life, and as far as I knew,
he could do it. That'll give anyone a tight sphincter.

I knew I couldn't be the only runner out there,
but I was sure starting to wonder. I've never seen anyone else move so fast
and, I must say, we look amazing.

I grit my teeth and clenched my fist, playing
through a variety of first attacks. I decided on a slow but foolhardy charge;
couldn't show my hand on the first move, too risky, and if anyone was going to
die it wasn't going to be me.

Mach two: Shattered in two steps. Mach four:
Shattered in ten feet. Mach eight: In fifteen feet. Mach sixteen: Shattered.
Thirty-two? Shattered.

The air split to let me pass, and before he could
even react I'd closed the distance between us. With my arms stretched toward
and hatred in my heart I reached forth to tackle him, my hands ready to
strangle the life from his eyes, only to come up empty. He was intangible and,
luckily, I'd expected it. I didn't falter, not one step. I kept running and he
gave chase.

Over railings, through walls, on water, all
with complete disregard for the laws of physics. There must be video of this,
somehow, in that next level high tech suit. It was the ultimate parkour chase
scene, on steroids.

The speed at which he closed the distance
between us let me know he was holding back, but he didn't attack. He pulled in
front and I gave chase. But was he toying with me or just as nervous?

Next thing I knew we were zigzagging through
the North Pole, moving up and around icebergs and large broken shelves of ice
adrift in the arctic sea.

Hyper-sonic speeds so fast it almost barely
even makes sense to give them numbers anymore. Down through the Russian tundra,
past a pack of wolves feeding on some indistinguishable carcass.
Through the thick northern forest, darting between, over and under,
their thick trunks.
Twenty miles per second. Down through a snowy city, Moscow perhaps. And then
a road, more trees, mountains. Northern Europe, Norway to be exact. Ninety miles
per second. Germany, France, Spain. Two hundred miles per
second. Then down into Northern Africa.