Superheroes

Ray spread his hands out and felt the way the elementary particles played between the gaps in space. The air itself was full of them, thick as water. He could swim in them. He could lose himself in them, between them, looking deeper and deeper until each tiny piece grew as large as the world. Each one was a world, its own little sphere teeming with life and energy. Each one was its own solar system, and beyond them lay only empty space where nothing existed until the path and orbit of the next particle. Boundless energy within each, and who could say whether that energy in turn begot life? Worlds within worlds. 

 

One of the tiny complete worlds hovered between his hands, each one made up of millions of elementary particles themselves. He crooked his hands. Energy flowed through his veins, lighting up his bones. Magic. What couldn't it do? Different for every mage, but for him...

The world between his hands shrunk, grew, then burst. Raw energy erupted out, spread, traveled through the void and touched the other worlds. The empty shell of the erupted elementary particle lingered behind until even that dissipated. It was such a tiny thing, to destroy one particle and release all the energy within. He couldn't even feel it against his bare hands. But for that one action there was one less world and that much more chaos, however briefly, and entropy continued its inevitable march.

“Training, Deathray?” He opened his eyes. Panopticon stood before him, hands folded behind his back, posture rigid and correct. The team leader's uniform was perfect and pressed, so smooth and unblemished that it could have been made out of porcelain instead of reinforced fabrics. Even his cape looked unwrinkled and well-behaved. The uniform's brass buttons and black boots had been polished to a mirror sheen. Panopticon's hair was grey now, cropped close to the shape of his skull; a military cut to go along with his demeanor, neither of which had faded after over twenty years of service with the Mighty Men. Ray suppressed a shiver, as he always did when confronted with his boss's eyes. They were blue, but so pale that they were almost colorless, the pupils odd-looking. Ray had never looked long enough to place what made them so strange, but to his best guess Panopticon's pupils were too small and more silver than black. “Your control is admirable.”

“Ray,” he reminded his boss. He'd always been Ray or Raymond, but he'd been saddled with the moniker 'Deathray' since the Civil War. That had been almost ten years ago, and the name had stuck. There was no point in refuting the name now, but he did it anyway. It reminded him of what he'd been used for. “Training,” he agreed. In truth he'd just been trying to pass the time. He'd been able to manipulate individual particles for years now.

“Good on you. Training means dedication, and that's the hallmark of a hero.” Panopticon clapped Ray on the shoulder, the sides of his mouth pulling out into what passed for a smile on him. “Come on. Team meeting.”

“What's going on?”

“You'll find out.”

Ray stood and followed the team leader. Panopticon was several inches taller than Ray and longer in the leg, and Ray had to nearly jog to keep pace. They walked through the halls of the First Fortress, past tall windows offering a sweeping view of Central City. Wide roads and suspended railroad lines zigzagged at random patterns through the city around buildings of varying sizes and ages. You could always tell the older ones; they were made of brick and stone and never rose more than a few stories, while the newer buildings and expansions were spindly towering glass-and-metal constructs. Most of the buildings near the First Fortress were the brick kind, as the borough of Yorktown was one of the oldest in the capitol. Eames Hall, where the king of old Harrington had ruled still stood in splendor, though it had served as the governor's mansion since Harrington had become one of the nineteen provinces in the First Union. The First Fortress, once the tallest and best-defended building in Central City and all of Harrington, was now dwarfed by skyscrapers. The old fortress was still impressive. At least Ray thought so. Few other places in the First Union had seen so much combat, bloodshed and history. Or magic. Mages had manned the fortress since the founding of Harrington centuries ago. This was the place for any discerning and promising mage to go, should they be lucky enough to be selected for a prestigious position amongst the world's greatest heroes.

“It's not anything serious, is it?” Ray asked as they mounted the spiral stairs in the Mage's Tower.

“You'll find out when the rest of the team does,” Panopticon said. His voice remained level, gravelly, but Ray knew when not to continue pressing his leader. When the old mage shoved open the door to the observatory on the top floor of the tower the rest of the team had already gathered around the circular central table. Sunlight streamed in through the windows that made up most of the circular walls, offering a sweeping view of Yorktown. The floor was inlaid with an ancient map of the kingdom of Harrington, old roadways and renamed cities defined in tarnished silver and pearl inlay on dark wood, while the ceiling displayed a constellation map, white on deep blue. The room was, simply, beautiful, but Ray had always felt that an all-glass room on top of a tall tower made for an obvious target in battle. Trying to hide his labored breaths, Ray slipped into his seat next to Grace Harding. Panopticon swept across the room and took his seat at the round table. He laced his hands together and looked around at the rest of the Mighty Men. “Gentlemen. Ladies.”

“What's the problem?” Grace asked. She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. Ray had always admired Grace, even before he'd been admitted into the Mighty Men at the tender age of fifteen. She was tall, even compared to most men, with impressive shoulders and long, black hair that tumbled halfway down her back. Her face was beautiful, if hard and strong, though her grey eyes were cold.

“Is it bad?” Vectoress asked.

“Mordania,” the Living Battery opined.

“The vampires!” Steamroller roared.

Panopticon held his silence until his team had quieted down, and then he spoke. “It is Mordania,” he said, “but they're getting bolder.”

“They've already snatched up half of the islands in the Sea of Snow, again,” the Living Battery said. “And they're slaughtering elves now.” Grace shifted in her seat, her expression darkening as she muttered something that sounded like Savages. “What else can they do?”

“Their ambitions grow,” said Panopticon. “Word is that Emperor Varaz is gathering an army of mages. And he means to create them.”

Steamroller was the first one to voice his opinion on the matter. “Impossible!” he declared.

Panopticon glared at Steamroller. “Are you willing to take that risk? Are you willing to let Mordania trample over the free world with an army of mages constructed to meet their every need?”

“Let them try,” Grace said.

“We have the deathray,” the Living Battery reminded them. “Mordania's not going to try anything stupid. No one will.” He glanced towards Ray and nodded, almost in recognition of his contribution to the peace enforcing superweapon.

“Is it wrong for them to experiment?” Changeling asked. It was the first time he'd spoken during the meeting. He sat hunched over his folded hands, looking small and almost meek, moreso compared to the rigid form of Panopticon and Steamroller's hulking body that barely seemed to contain his own massive energy and excitement. Ray didn't understand why someone who could take on the form of almost anyone or anything would chose to look as unassuming as Changeling did. Ray had always assumed that Changeling stayed in his normal form all the time, perhaps for simplicity's sake. “Let them do what they want with mages. As long as they don't threaten the safety of others-”

“You think they're just trying to create mages for the sake of scientific advancement?” Panopticon asked. “What else can they do with them but incite war? This is a violation of magic and, inevitably, international law.”

“I don't think we have the right to-”

“Why don't we? It is in our best interest to stop them.”

“Only if Mordania is a threat.”

Panopticon slapped a palm onto the polished tabletop. The sound rang through the circular room, sharp as a gunshot, and all arguments and oppositions ended. “I'm in no state to hear arguments, Changeling. I'm keeping my eye-” Panopticon tapped a finger to his temple, near his left eye “-on Mordania. Varaz has nothing but lofty ambitions for what's left of the damn Empire, and I don't like this. If we need to take action, we will, and soon. I'm going to speak to the general and the president and see if we can't raise the alert level on Mordania. Until then, orders stand: country-wide problems are top priority, and we watch for any trouble in the south. And, unofficially, we ensure that Mordania doesn't expand too close to First Union territory or other free nations.”

“What about the elven forests?” Vectoress asked.

“Not our concern,” Panopticon said. “We don't treat with the elves. Let Mordania do what they want with them.”

The Living Battery snorted. Of all the Mighty Men, he was the only one that didn't conform to the pale-skinned look of a Union native. He'd been born in Inoor and had their typical dark, angular look. “If the elves could be subdued, they would have been by now.”

Panopticon waved his hand. “Dismissed. I'm going to keep a lookout on Mordania. I'll let you know if anything comes up.” So the old mage pushed his chair back, stood, and walked over to a window. He clasped his hands behind his back and became silent and unmoving. That was that.

“Just another excuse to crack some skulls,” Steamroller said, pounding one fist into an open palm. He grinned. “I got no problem with that.”

Grace braced her hand on the back of her chair and turned to Steamroller. A long lock of hair fell from her shoulder and dangled lazily beside her face in a way that made Ray want to reach out and touch her hair. He wanted to feel the play of elementary particles between his fingers, feel her energy mingle with his. It was a stupid impulse. Grace was his teammate, and if he ever acted on those impulses she'd make sure he remembered his transgression. He'd seen her tear people in half and he didn't want to be on the wrong end of her rage. “Anything to be violent, huh?”

He winked. “Then you must be excited too.”

She turned and left with an exasperated sound. The Living Battery and Steamroller left behind her, conversing amongst themselves. Ray could still hear Steamroller's laughs echoing up the spiral stairs even after the two mages were out of sight. As he stood, Vectoress went over to Panopticon and said something to him. The team leader only held up a hand to silence her before pacing over to another window. “Just ask him later,” Ray said to her. “It can wait, I'm sure.” Panopticon nodded his head once, terse and blunt. Interrupting him during his observation sessions was always a bad idea, Ray had learned. “Let's join the rest of the team. I think Grace might want a training session.”

“If this is all true, we'll need it.” Vectoress and Ray left the observatory. Panopticon remained behind, still as stone and just as silent. Vectoress was similar in age to Ray, though almost certainly older. She'd been on the Mighty Men longer, but going by looks Ray would have put her age at twenty-five. Her short, wavy hair and lively step made her seem younger.

“I think she just needs something to vent on.”

Vectoress laughed. “Let her and Steamroller duke it out.”

“That wouldn't be fair to Steamy.”

“He'd have a chance.”

“Barely.”

The end of the spiral stairs left Ray feeling slightly dizzy as they left the Mage's Tower. “Guess we have to wait now,” he said. “Unless Panopticon sees something else we can take care of.”

For the rest of the day news flowed in to the First Fortress, most of it concerning minor local crimes dealt with by the police and law-enforcing mages. The only information resembling anything exciting was a report of a vigilante street mage being investigated by the police. It wasn't until evening when Ray's shift had ended that Panopticon came out of the observatory and spoke to the team again. “The artificial mages are going to have to wait. Two things: Mordania's making moves to the south, and Lord Malice has re-emerged.”

“The third Lord Malice?” Grace asked. Bruises covered her arms from the hour-long training session which had devolved into a one-on-one brawl with Steamroller. “He's just a boy.”

“He is. It's Mordania that concerns me, though.” Panopticon glared at all the mages in turn. “Unless I'm mistaken, they're making tracks for Xima.”