The guilt would always crush down on his heart. Piper would always lurk at the back of his mind, singing and laughing while soaked in blood. He’d never stop thinking of Cal and Don and wondering if he could have done something more to help them. He didn’t know if there were any other reaper children out there, infiltrating his life or that of his friends, waiting for the opportune time to strike. He wouldn’t ever stop looking for them either. Still, he couldn’t wallow in despair and let all the tragedy he’d endured break him. Then the reapers and all those like them would have won and Nightshadow couldn’t allow that. He’d endure, as he always had.
On the helicopter with Danny, he watched the countryside roll past, dipped in moonlight and blurred black by the night. He quietly smiled, finding himself able to actually appreciate all that scenic beauty.
“
Would you mind taking the late night patrol when we get back to the city?” he asked Danny.
“
Sure,” Danny replied and chuckled. “You got another case, don’t you? You damn workaholic, you!”
“
Actually,” Nightshadow said, “I promised Liandra we could get a late dinner. She’s bringing along this two thousand-year-old bottle of wine she says the actual Merlin gave her. I thought I’d have a sip.”
***
When Hyperman awoke, he found himself dressed in a strange, form-fitting black outfit. Its coarse, rubbery texture looked and felt alien. He’d seen people wearing variations of the same thing on Prism. He stiffly ached. His skin had become ashy-dark and scarred. Flexible space-metal casts covered his arms, legs, and ribs, keeping the broken bones in place. They and his multitude of bruises still made him wince every time he moved.
Yet, that wasn’t even the worst part. Apparently, his hyper-powers had deserted him. He couldn’t see or hear anything beyond his cramped, closet-sized little cell of hardened silver light. His sense of smell was barely even existent. He couldn’t pick up any magnetic fields or energy waves. He couldn’t even sense an aura. He tried thrashing against his cell’s walls, but only banged himself up doing so. Worse, he actually tired himself out! Feeling utterly defeated, he’d hunched down into a corner and wept.
Silver Seraphs came and went. Whenever they visited, they expanded the cell to the size of a small building and entered via a gaping door that peered out into the whirling black space beyond. Hyperman longed to leap out toward those beautiful, burning stars, but the door always sealed up before he had a chance to try. He hated this damn regular human speed! However, it was what he was cursed with for the moment.
He ate whatever soupy, dull-tasting alien food the Seraphs brought him and let them poke and prod at him. Of course, he refused to answer any of their questions about his hyper-powers and what his plans for the Earth had been. He scoffed at them when they asked about Don or Lindsey (as if she were any of their business). When they tried intimidating him with their burning swords and spiked wings, he laughed.
He’d faced down the darkest threats in the universe. What could they do to him? Stare at him? Shout? Torture wouldn’t even be that big a deal, though the Seraphs never resorted to that. It hardly mattered anyway. He had lost his powers, and there was nothing worse they could threaten him with.
Besides, he wanted to frustrate them. They were still using the power he’d given them! His power! And they were using it to imprison and disrespect him like he was a common space criminal! The indignity of it all ate at him. Still, he simply needed to bide his time. His hyper-powers would return eventually. No matter what the circumstances, they always had before.
In fact, he could almost feel his powers returning ever so slowly now. There was an electric tingle in his bones. A sliver of a spark flared in his heart and behind his eyes. He even heard the hum of his mothership when he slept, letting him know he wasn’t alone and that the whole universe would soon be made right.
He’d see to it.
Dedication
For all those who believed in me
Acknowledgements
For anyone interested, the first draft of this novel took me about ten and a half months to complete, and I finished it sometime in early 2013. I actually had another novel,
Magnificent Things
,
published in the interim (which I originally began writing immediately after
The Invincibles
’s first draft)
.
Unlike a lot of the other long-term writing projects I’ve taken on,
The Invincibles
actually started as a short story that I just kept expanding and tinkering with.
This book would not exist if not for Zharmae (and FW Fife) publishing it, Keri Phillips spending long hours editing it. I also need to thank my parents for all the obvious things (such as giving me life); my friends for their support; and Marvel Comics, DC Comics, Image Comics, and all the other graphic novels, fantasy, and science fiction I’ve read over the years that apparently didn’t rot my mind away. Finally, I need to thank Batman, whom I know actually exists somewhere out there.
About the Author
Michael McNichols lives in Chicago, IL, and has read both graphic and prose novels all his life. He has a MFA in Creative Writing from Columbia College, Chicago, has published numerous short stories in a variety of genres, and published his first novel,
Magnificent Things
, last year. In his free time, he practices martial arts, sarcasm, standing on his head to get his way, and wonders just how he ends up taking a trip to Idaho every year.
Credits
This book is a work of art produced by The Zharmae Publishing Press.
James Crewe|
Editor-in-Chief
Keri Phillips |
Editor
Fiona Jayde |
Artist
Star Foos |
Designer
Benjamin Grundy |
Typesetter
Rachel Garcia |
Reader
Sarah Landauer |
Copy Editor
Ally Boice |
Proofreader
Andrew Call |
Reviewer
Edward Mack |
Coordinating Producer
Erin Sinclair |
Managing Editor
Travis Robert Grundy |
Publisher
March 2016 |
The Zharmae Publishing Press