Page 1 of Villainous Rise

CHAPTER 1

ANNIE

My knuckles whitened as I gripped the railing of the observation deck with what I’d call “excessive enthusiasm” if I were writing a performance review for myself. Below, junior Supers clashed in the Crucible’s arena. The air smelled of scorched concrete and copper as a shockwave rattled the reinforced glass of the observation deck, vibrating right into my teeth. It was supposed to be an impressive display of potential. It just looked like a slaughter waiting to happen.

The shadows in the corners of the arena seemed to stretch, reaching for me. The metallic tang of adrenaline coated my tongue as an electric panic buzzed through my system. My pulse hammered in my ears, drowning out the cheers from the other observers as my brain helpfully replayed the greatest hits from “Annie’s Trauma Collection: The Dread Edition.”

I forced myself to just breathe. This wasn’t the same day. Different supers. Different scenario. Same place where I almost died, but hey, the bloodstains had been power-washed away, so that was a plus.

“You’re doing fine, kid,” Havoc said, his voice low enough that only I could hear.

I forced my fingers to unclench. “I know. I’m good.” Havoc gave me a look that said he didn’t buy my lie for a second, but he knew better than to push. Instead, he turned his attention back to the melee with a frown.

A flash of dark blue energy erupted from a young League member’s hands, sending two Heroes flying backward. The sudden burst of power made my vision tunnel momentarily, the edges darkening as I tried to control my breathing. It wasn’t Dread. Just a kid with energy powers. Not him.

Today was what Alliance and League officials called Ascension Day but everyone else just referred to it as Adoption Day. The Crucible’s observation deck was crowded with veteran Supers, all of them hungry to find the next protégé to mold in their image. But the press of bodies around me sent prickles of awareness across my skin so that each unexpected movement in my peripheral vision made my shoulders tense.

A crash drew my attention as concrete cracked beneath a hulking man who’d transformed his skin to stone. The sound reverberated through the floor, traveling up through my feet and settling in my chest. For a split second, I wasn’t watching a training exercise, I was back there, with Dread’s fingers digging into my arm, his voice a soft poison in my ear.

I blinked hard, the fluorescent lights suddenly too bright, too harsh. The air conditioning raised goosebumps along my arms despite the sweat beading at my hairline.

“You don’t have to be here,” Havoc said, his eyes still tracking the fight. “I understand, Annie.”

“I’m your Senior Keeper. It’s my job to be here.” I straightened my jacket with hands that only trembled slightly, practically steady by my new standards. “Besides, running from memories doesn’t make them disappear. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Below us, the stone-skinned Super brought both fists down, splitting the arena floor. The crack echoed through the space, and I flinched before I could stop myself. One hour down, two to go. I thought of all the paperwork I would make for myself if I bailed early because nothing cures trauma like bureaucratic consequences. I could handle this.

I had to.

The afternoon wore on as I scribbled notes in my tablet, organizing the candidates. Years as Havoc’s Keeper had honed this skill to second nature, which, thank god for muscle memory, since my actual conscious brain was still partly occupied with not freaking out every time someone used powers that even vaguely resembled Dread’s. No one would ever guess I was one loud noise away from diving under the observation deck screaming.

“William Evans,” I murmured, watching as the Super known as Helios demonstrated his solar manipulation. The light was blinding, carrying a heat that made the air shimmer and warp. He could incinerate the flesh off a man’s bones with a thought. “Excellent control, conscientious about collateral damage.”

Havoc nodded, his expression giving nothing away to the other observers, but I caught the subtle tell in his posture, a slight forward lean that betrayed his interest.

On the opposite side of the arena, Andrew James, known as Valor, executed a brutal aerial maneuver. His golden aura flared as he drove his opponent into the dirt with bone-jarring force. The crowd gasped, intoxicated by the display.

“Showboating,” I noted. “But effective.”

“Sometimes showboating serves a purpose,” Havoc said. “Fear and awe are tools like any other.”

Havoc watched Valor a bit longer. “He has definite potential,” he muttered to himself.

As the demonstration continued, Havoc’s eyes kept returning to Helios and Valor. I recognized the look, I’d seen it before when he was planning long-term strategy. Havoc was sixty years old, and while Trueborn Supers aged differently, even they couldn’t lead forever.

“You’re seriously considering one of them, aren’t you?” I asked during a lull in the action.

“It’s been a long time since I took on a protégé. I suppose just because none of the others have done as well as I would have liked, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t give anyone else a chance.”

“Valor’s hungry for it,” I observed. “Helios seems less ambitious.”

“I’d like to say sometimes the ones who don’t seek power are the ones who should hold it, but that’s always sounded a bit like bullshit to me,” Havoc said, watching as Helios helped an opponent to their feet after downing them.

“I don’t really think someone who has as much power as you do should be commenting on who should hold power,” I said, poking him in the ribs with my stylus.

Havoc ignored me but I caught his smile.

The final clash of powers sent a shockwave through the arena as the group match reached its conclusion. A buzzer sounded and the junior Supers began to disperse, some celebrating small victories, others nursing wounded pride along with their injuries.