Paragon

The news has been reporting on attacks and strange sightings all day. It is afternoon by the time the city calms down and the last of the marionettes are rounded up and dispatched by Lady Lightspeed. For the first time in decades, the news shows Supers in a positive light; as people who came to help and protect the defenseless when a horde of genetically altered abominations started to ransack the city. Phalanx shows his face on camera for the first time since cameras were invented, though he is clearly not very happy about it. He holds his helmet under his arm as reporters ask him and several other present Supers about the events that unfolded.

“What about the involvement of the Winter Wraith?” A blonde, female reporter asks and then shoves a red microphone into Phalanx’s face, a gesture he clearly does not approve of.

“The Wraith is the Super who orchestrated the defense of your city. Not only did he dismantle Draco Industries’ illegal operations single handedly, but it was his plan and his efforts that led to the death of Vladimir Dracovic.”

“Phalanx, some are saying you had no right to kill the CEO of Draco Industries; that it’s not your right to play executioner, care to comment?” A brown-haired male asks.

“Vladimir Dracovic has spent the past forty years working towards worming his way into our society. He bribed officials and telepathically tortured politicians and anyone else who didn’t follow him. He felt himself a god to be worshipped; I do not regret the outcome of the battle.”

“Phalanx!” Another reporter shouts and thrusts a microphone into his face. Phalanx rolls his eyes irritably. “What about the collateral damage suffered at the hands of the Supers who fought today? Some say you should be held accountable for damages.” Now Phalanx shows a tiny spark of anger in his eyes, but his face is calm and loose.

“Perhaps the next time creatures and megalomaniacs crawl out of the woodworks to kill you while you sleep in your bed we’ll just sit back and do nothing. After all, we wouldn’t want to damage anything in an attempt to save your life.” Phalanx smiles and then floats up off the ground. In the blink of an eye he is gone, leaving dozens of hungry reporters yearning for more.

A shrill scream echoes against the concrete ground and glass near the scrawny young man. Bryan Watson’s eyes pop open. His body shoots up and he groans with sore, achy pain. His hand moves to his stomach where he remembers there being a large hole from his previous bout. He feels smooth skin and muscle, not even a scar.

We can heal? He thinks.

We can, apparently, heal. The Scarab says in his mind. The two smile at one another inside their collective mind.

We don’t have to fight for control anymore, do we? Bryan asks as he pulls himself to his feet.

No, I think not. For once the Scarab seems pleasant, peaceable. Bryan no longer feels as if he is constantly keeping the beast at bay until it is needed. He feels comfortable. They feel happy.

It’s been three weeks since the incident and the New Year came in with a bang. Zeke sits in his old apartment staring at the bed where he once laid his head. He’s barely slept these past few weeks. He can almost see Kira still lying there, beckoning him to come to bed and hold her while she falls asleep. He almost feels her warm embrace against his cold skin; the only time he’s ever felt warm was by her side. He can almost smell hickory.

Zeke shakes his head and grabs the bag full of his clothes and his cloak. He wears jeans, his combat boots and a dark grey v-neck t-shirt that Kira had bought for him on his birthday. It was her favorite shirt on him.

“I am a Wraith, now.” He says and turns back, looking at the bed once more. “But I will always love you,” he says and pictures her smiling back at him and saying the words once more. He leaves the apartment the same way he always has; through the window. Only now he is able to fly around in broad daylight. Very shortly after all the evidence of Vladimir Dracovic’s workings had come out the government repealed the Exodus Act and the Bill that required Supers to wear GPS tracker chips. It turns out those were both heavily funded and promoted by Draco Industries and, once this was made aware, were immediately taken down with an official apology to the Super community.

Zeke flies out in broad daylight and soars out towards Phalanx’s safe-house and command center. He’s decided to use it as his own base of operations since Phalanx left town, claiming he was going to take a much needed vacation. Zeke wasn’t sure if he believes the old Paragon or not. Regardless, he now has a home and a place where he can look out over his city and help protect it from any more Vladimirs or Dragons. He has been spending a lot of time looking for Jon, his old and best friend who disappeared the day of the final battle with Vladimir. He wonders where his friend is; it doesn’t surprise him that the ex-black ops soldier dropped off the grid, but still he worries.

He looks up, sorting through the various documents, when the every screen above him turns black. He blinks several times in confusion.

“Great, I’ve been here two hours and I already broke it…” He says and then a woman appears on the screens; she is beautiful, she is aged.

“Hello, Ezekiel,” the woman says with a smile.

“…Mother?”

Far outside the city limits a man walks through a forest, hugging himself. He hasn’t shaved in weeks and he closely grips a small satchel to his chest. He whispers violently to himself.

Your friend will fall; you must save him, Jon! The voice whispers in his ears.

“Fuck off, you,” Jon barks back and stumbles further into the cold, snowy woods.

Come to me, Jon. Aren’t you tired of fighting? Aren’t you tired of never being strong enough? Jon aches all over. His head hurts, his stomach grumbles with hunger and his eyes are strained and bloodshot. He is tired of fighting. He is tired of people dying because he isn’t able to save them. He doesn’t want his friend to die.

“Maybe… just a quick look…” Jon whispers and unfolds the satchel. He draws out of it the lifeless mask that calls to him so fervently. The longer he looks at it the more he wants to wear it.

Become my champion, Jon. Be my shark in the waters, my blood in the river. Be the tempest that cleanses the world of all foul things.

“That doesn’t sound so bad…” Jon whispers out loud, but inside his head he screams “no.”

Put it down! Walk away, damnit! Don’t put the damned thing on! But his own voice is drowned out by a chorus of voices all begging him for help.

His hands hold the mask. Slowly he draws it towards his face. The mask touches his skin and he feels it tighten around his face. Jon looks around through the eyeholes, and all he sees is fire.

The voice in his head begins to laugh as the world around him burns.