Supernova, page 31
Her words faded away, settling with the smoke and dust.
Winston had slumped forward, barely supported by Nova’s arm and the ice that kept his chest from collapsing on itself.
He was already dead.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
NOVA STUMBLED TO her feet, feeling like her insides had been raked out with a fork. She spun in a dazed circle, expecting another attack on her life to come at any second, from any direction. She saw no sign of Leroy or Thunderbird. She saw Honey in the stands, having barged in when the fighting ensued, the cloud of wasps and hornets surrounding her so dense that her body resembled a living hive. She caught sight of Phobia at the same moment that his body transformed into a writhing pit of venomous snakes that darted at a group of Renegades, driving them apart. The prisoners, having been freed of their shackles, had joined the fight. She saw allies and enemies, doing their best to survive. Doing their best to maim and kill.
She saw a lot of blood. A lot of terror. A lot of fallen bodies.
Pulse running hot, she looked up, blinking dust from her eyes.
Ace.
If she could just get to Ace, she could put a stop to this.
She reached for the strap of the backpack and froze.
It was gone.
She reeled around, searching, frantic. There. Not far from Genissa Clark’s unconscious body. She raced toward it, then dropped, skidding through the dirt as her hand grasped the handles.
She immediately knew that something was wrong.
“No. No, no, no!”
The zipper was partially undone, and though she already knew the truth, her hands worked on autopilot, yanking it down the rest of the way.
Revealing an empty receptacle inside.
Nova threw the bag to the ground and searched out Ace, hoping that maybe he’d used whatever power he had left to call the helmet to himself. But no—when she spotted her uncle, he was half collapsed over the edge of the platform, his breaths coming in ragged gulps of air. The helmet was nowhere in sight. A thousand possibilities flashed through her mind, each more terrible than the last, as she desperately scanned the arena. She wanted to believe that maybe it had fallen out during the fight, maybe it had rolled beneath a chair or gotten buried in the mud or—
“Looking for this?”
Her head jerked up.
Magpie was standing in the front row of the stands, holding Ace Anarchy’s helmet.
“You really should keep a closer eye on your things.”
Growling, Nova ran for her, already calculating the best way to scale the short wall up to the audience seats. Magpie didn’t wait for her to catch up. She bolted up the steps, taking them two at a time.
She had a head start, but Nova was faster. She had just hurtled herself over the railing when Magpie reached the top of the first level. Instead of running to the exit, though, Magpie sprinted down a row of seats, yelling, “Catch!”
Nova’s heart galloped, as she imagined Magpie giving the helmet to Captain Chromium or the Dread Warden or even Adrian or—or—
Magpie threw it as hard as she could. Nova’s gaze traced its arc over the bleachers, one hand gripping the rail she’d just vaulted over, her mouth dry.
A pair of hands clumsily caught the helmet.
Nova blinked, dismayed. She stumbled. Callum?
He appeared equally bewildered, almost frightened, as he looked from Magpie to Nova. He was practically alone in the stands, most of the Renegades having made their way to the field to join the fight. He surveyed the helmet that was suddenly in his possession, not with a hungry greed, like some might have. Not with revulsion for its history, either.
He just looked like Callum. Awestruck and giddy.
“What are you waiting for?” Magpie screeched at him. “Put it on!”
Pressing her lips, Nova started moving down the nearest row of seats. Callum was an easy enough target. She just had to get close enough to put him to sleep. Wouldn’t be the first time.
Callum lifted the helmet and dropped it on top of his head.
It made him look like a kid playing dress-up.
Snarling, Nova catapulted into the next row. Callum was not a formidable opponent. She would get the helmet and she would complete her mission.
But she hadn’t gone a dozen steps when she was struck by a thought so staggering, so brilliant, that it made her stumble over her own feet. Her knee smacked the hard plastic arm of one of the seats, but she barely felt the stitch of pain, because …
She was still alive.
She laughed, a little startled by the realization. How many attempts on her life had been made in just the past fifteen minutes? And yet, she had survived them all. She was still standing, still breathing, and …
What was more, she wasn’t the only one.
Frozen in place, Nova peered out across the arena floor and felt as though she was seeing it clearly for the first time. Yes, there had been death. Not only Winston—Winston, who sacrificed himself for me—but others, too, heroes and villains alike. There was havoc. There was ruin.
But amid all that, there was still hope. Hope that things could change. Hope that this wasn’t the end.
Nova’s lungs squeezed. She had been a recipient of Callum’s wonder-inducing superpower enough times to know that what she was feeling was a byproduct of his ability. But she also knew her thoughts were the truth or, at the least, what she believed to be true.
There was still hope that things could be different. That things could be better.
She was not the only one who had been frozen under the weight of this realization. All around her, people were exchanging speechless looks. There was a clarity in their expressions, born out of the stillness of the moment.
Despite all odds, she still had this one precious life. She still had a chance to do things differently. Which meant they all could do things differently. They could choose a different future, a different fate. Together, they could end this senseless destruction. They could choose to rebuild, to create, rather than tear down and destroy. Isn’t that what Callum had been trying to tell her all along?
She realized that Callum was watching her from behind the face of Ace’s helmet, and she knew, beyond a doubt, that he recognized her. He saw her. He knew her.
And still, somehow, he did not look at her like she was the enemy. What would have seemed impossible moments before now seemed not only possible, but inevitable.
Life was full of second chances.
* * *
Not two minutes ago, Adrian had woken up, flat on his back in the Sentinel’s armor, feeling like he’d been struck by lightning, then run over by a truck. He didn’t know what Nightmare had shot at him, but he hoped he never came in contact with one again. In the first few moments after opening his eyes, he’d been confused, hurt, and somewhat shocked that he hadn’t been trampled where he lay. The arena was a disaster. The fight showed no sign of letting up, not until one side was completely demolished.
He staggered to his feet, hoping that the tingling vibrations in his limbs would fade with movement, and started scanning for signs of Nightmare. All his old fury returned, and he swore that this was the last time she would defeat him in a one-on-one fight.
Many times, he had sworn to himself that he would find Nightmare and he would destroy her.
This time, he meant it.
Or, he had.
In the two minutes since then, the battle had fallen into an unexpected cease-fire. Adrian looked around, awestruck not by the mayhem, but by the mere fact that everyone here was willing to fight with such conviction for their own cause. How could they all feel so compelled to risk everything for what they believed? He saw his dads amid the chaos—Simon helping Zodiac to safety; it seemed she might have a broken leg—while Hugh was uncharacteristically still, beaming up at the stands with actual tears in his bright blue eyes.
Adrian was overjoyed to see them both. Knowing that the loss was devastating, but also knowing that it could have been worse.
He saw a group of men and women wearing the Cragmoor prisoner’s uniform and recalled Nova’s plea to give them a chance for rehabilitation. He thought of his mother, who had died defending the people of the city she loved. He thought of his dads, who had worked tirelessly these past years to rebuild their fallen society.
Was it possible that the lines that had divided them for so long could be approached with a bit more understanding, blurred with a bit more empathy, even erased altogether with just a bit more compromise?
He was so startled by the thought that he actually started to laugh. He kept searching the crowd, wanting to find his friends and ask them if they, too, felt that they’d been going about things all wrong, all this time.
He didn’t see Oscar, Ruby, or Danna in the confusion—but his attention did fall on Nightmare.
She was in the stands, gripping the back of one of the seats, scanning the arena with apparent awe. Until her gaze latched on to him.
Logically, he knew it could have all been in his own head. His practical thoughts fought to stay in control, reminding him that there was no real way for him to know what Nightmare was thinking. But, somehow, he felt like there was an understanding that passed between them in that moment.
I have fought to protect the people I care about. I have fought to defend my beliefs.
I see now that you have, too.
Are we really so different?
Nothing had changed.
And yet, everything had changed. Two minutes ago, he would have killed her. But in the light of this wonderful clarity, nothing but a truce would suffice.
Nothing but a chance for peace, for compassion, for—
A shadowy form gathered at the edge of his vision. Adrian cocked his head, feeling the disturbance in this stunning new reality like a knife slashing through tissue paper.
Phobia appeared in the stands, standing behind a boy who was, inexplicably, wearing Ace Anarchy’s helmet. The boy didn’t seem to notice Phobia towering over him.
It was as though it were happening in slow motion. One moment, Adrian’s thoughts were full of wonder and possibilities and truth. Of second chances and hope.
The next—they were nothing but horror.
“No!”
His scream made Nightmare shift to see what had caught his attention.
Phobia swung his scythe. The blade punctured the boy’s abdomen, slicing from his navel to his breastbone.
The world stilled. The air left Adrian’s lungs and refused to return.
He heard a scream, and thought it might have been Nightmare.
As the boy collapsed, Phobia withdrew the blade, sending blood splattering across the stands.
He took hold of the helmet with one skeletal hand and lifted it off the boy’s head.
Callum Treadwell. Wonder.
“One cannot be awed who has no soul,” Phobia said, and it seemed almost as though there were humor in his brittle voice. “Just as one cannot be brave who has no fear.”
Adrian blinked. He was still in shock at the senselessness of it. Dazed not only by the sight of Callum’s lifeless body slumped over a seat, but by the jumble of worldviews crashing through his thoughts.
Heroes and villains. Friends and foes. And those words … that phrase …
One cannot be brave …
A sour taste filled Adrian’s mouth. He gaped at Phobia and felt the injustice of Callum’s death surge through him as the words that had haunted him for nearly his whole life burrowed into his skull.
Phobia.
It was Phobia.
And now, standing over Callum’s body, Phobia held Ace Anarchy’s helmet. He lifted his voice so all would hear him, even as the spell of wonder evaporated from their minds.
“You have all fought bravely,” he said. “And now … it is time for you to know fear.”
Then he was a phantom, an inky, transient monster soaring like a bird of prey over their heads, his cloak like darkness. He dropped into the center of the arena, making no noise as he stepped across the platform and lifted the helmet overhead.
The helmet left his grip, hovering in the air for a moment, before settling onto Ace Anarchy’s shoulders.
Ace Anarchy lifted his head.
The shackles on his wrists sprang loudly apart and fell to the dirt.
“Master of Anarchy,” Phobia rasped. “Rise again, and let us watch them fall.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
THE MOMENT THAT Ace Anarchy was in possession of his helmet, everything changed. He did not stand so much as float upward, his spine straightening and his hands flexing, as if he were regaining feeling in his extremities.
The arena began to tremble. Wood splintered and metal groaned. Seats were yanked up from where they had been bolted in the stands and sent soaring toward the Renegades who still had enough strength to fight, pinning many of them in place. The steel trusses that held the light fixtures were torn from their structures, dropping onto Ace’s enemies, curling around them into makeshift cages.
Adrian felt like he was watching the scene unfold from somewhere outside of himself. None of it felt real—not the armor heavy on his skin, not the blood dripping down the bleachers, not Ace Anarchy suddenly, impossibly, returned to power.
Sensing that they would soon lose this fight if they didn’t stop him, the remaining Renegades shifted their attention to Ace. It might have left them open to attacks from the Anarchists and Cragmoor prisoners, except they, too, seemed dazed by the quick turn of events. How swiftly their worldviews had been altered and tested in the space of only a few minutes.
First, Callum Treadwell, and now this.
On the field, Blacklight threw a blinding strobe into Ace Anarchy’s face. The villain instinctively ducked his head, putting the briefest pause on his assault on the arena.
It was enough time for the Captain to hurl his chromium pike. The weapon speared through the air, glinting in the spotlights still aimed at the stage.
Ace flew upward. The pike missed him by mere inches. He snarled at the Captain, and then with a wicked grin and a flick of his wrist, he lifted the chains that had held the Cragmoor prisoners off the ground and sent them flying at Blacklight.
One chain wrapped around Blacklight’s torso, locking his arms at his sides. Another chain swept around his head, gagging his mouth.
“No!” Adrian screamed, his voice mingling with a hundred others.
But it was not enough.
Ace flicked his fingers.
The chains yanked in opposite directions, snapping Blacklight’s neck.
Cold sweat dripped down the back of Adrian’s neck as the arena filled with screams. He heard his dad yelling—Evander!
Fury roared inside Adrian. He called the laser diode up on the forearm of his suit. Every part of him that had been filled with wonder when Callum had taken over the helmet was now filled with rage. White sparks flashed in his vision as his gauntlet began to glow.
He was not the only one spurred on by Blacklight’s murder. On the field, Tsunami released a guttural scream and sent a tidal wave crashing toward the villain, but Ace merely flicked his wrist and the entire platform on which he’d been shackled flipped onto its side, creating a barrier between him and the water. The wave broke and crashed away from him, flooding half of the arena. Ace’s fingers twitched, tossing the platform at Tsunami. She cried out and raised her arms to defend herself as the makeshift stage crashed on top of her, burying her beneath its weight.
In that moment, Ace roared with pain, one arm jerking back, but striking only air.
Adrian held his fist toward the villain, but hesitated. Ace spun, allowing Adrian to see a knife buried to the hilt in his back, near his left kidney. Adrian had not seen anyone throw it, which meant … the Dread Warden had just stabbed him.
Adrian gulped. He was so far away. An attempt to hit Ace would put his invisible dad at risk.
He didn’t have time to make the decision. From the stands on the opposite side of the field, Queen Bee screeched at the sight of the blood soaking into Ace Anarchy’s prison uniform. She threw her arms forward, and every wasp flew in Ace’s direction, searching for the invisible assailant. They found him easily, the black cloud of their thick, buzzing bodies forming the silhouette of the Dread Warden. Adrian heard his cry of pain. Simon flickered in and out of view a couple of times, before becoming fully visible as he collapsed to his knees, curled into a ball in an attempt to defend himself from the painful venom of the insects’ stings.
Adrian adjusted his aim and fired.
The concussion beam struck Queen Bee in the chest, probably the best shot he’d ever had from such a distance. She fell backward, landing awkwardly across a row of plastic chairs.
The swarm shifted away from the Dread Warden, flying back to protect their fallen queen.
But Ace was waiting. The knife had pulled itself from his back and as soon as the distance between him and the Dread Warden was clear, he sent the weapon straight for his enemy’s throat.
Another flutter of motion replaced the swarm of bees—golden butterflies, converging in front of the Dread Warden. Danna blocked the knife with her forearm, knocking it from the air.
“Nice try,” she hissed.
Ace cocked his head. “I remember you. Last we saw each other, I believe I had you trapped in a pillowcase.”
Whatever counterattacks either of them were planning were interrupted by a new volley of attacks aimed at Ace, drawing his attention away from Danna and the Dread Warden. No one dared attack him with more weapons, seeing how easily he deflected them and turned them on their own, and so he was pummeled instead by sandstorms, streams of acid rain, even deafening sound waves. Ace blocked what onslaught he could, using everything at his disposal to put a series of barriers around himself—chairs, doors, the podium, cinder blocks torn out of the walls, sheets of metal dragged down from the ceiling. Adrian himself sent a series of fireballs and concussion beams into the melee, but none of them made it through Ace’s defenses.
