When Grandmaster awoke the next morning, it was near dawn, later than when she had woken up in outer space, where she would tell the time from the rotations of planets and stars. Her bedroom was lit with a pinkish-gold tinge, and her red and green comforters were tangled at the foot of her bed.

  She remembered the Black Hole Prison and the Fire Source, and it made her nauseous. She instead tried to think of the soft hush of falling snow, the snap of twigs underneath her feet as she surrounded herself with nature in the forest outside of the Academy. But her thoughts kept returning to the Fire Source.

  She needed to check on its whereabouts. The Fire Source was one of the most dangerous sources in the universe. Fire had destroyed a sun and killed four billion people before it was apprehended and sealed away in that prison. She hadn’t wanted to let him go, but it was either that or let another star system–let innocent people–suffer. But she was the Aetherstorm of the Cosmos. She had to correct this before the Fire Source committed another terrible, terrible crime.

  Grandmaster glanced around the room and thought of Shadowstalker, his face lighting up as he cried, You’re back! In that moment, she almost felt like herself–her full self, not this sliver of a being she was, living under a false name. Maggie was a taunt, an insult, an abomination. Some days she couldn’t even remember her birth name. But until she could deserve it, she would have to be Maggie.

  She stood and stretched. She hadn’t wanted to leave this place, this enormous mansion which was the first place she had truly felt safe. She hadn’t wanted to leave Arkady either, but at the same time, she thought it would help. Like an addict getting away from the source of the addiction. Instead, all it did was create a hollowness in her chest, a strange ache that stretched and tugged at her ribs every time she had thought of him.

  Maggie had tried. She really did. She had tried to stop feeling this way, because there was no way Arkady would ever feel the same way back. But she did, and it was the best and worst thing in the world. She loved everything about him, but how could he ever love her back, when she was blown apart to bits on the inside? When everyone she had ever loved ended up dead?

  Enough. There was no point in thinking such things, she told herself. In the dark was where secrets and shadows lived, and that was where this had to survive. Maggie had managed this for years. She could manage it a little longer.

  Taking a deep breath, she went out into the hallway, floating down the staircase into the kitchen. The moment her feet hit the floor, her consciousness snapped and she could see the city–not the city of Rochester, but New York City. Her birthplace. The place where she had almost lived her entire life.

  She fought the urge to scream and flee back to bed as the scene unfolded before her in a stream of red light: the beginnings of dawn were tipping the sky into a purple tinged with pink. The lights of the island of Manhattan were close as her mind flew over it, getting closer and closer, away from Brooklyn. Steadier than torches, burning lights like captured stars glowed–blue and white, purple and green. Another light burned high in the sky as she gazed upon the city she loved and loathed so much: a vibrant yellow torch held aloft by the Statue of Liberty, her stern face framed by a crown like a sunburst, her gown hanging in weathered folds of green copper. Behind her were the lights of the vast Brooklyn Bridge.

  The world outside her mind had melted to cobalt, smoother than stones in a river. One thing about the Emergence of deviants fifty years ago was that climate change was clearing up–for the first time in half a century, the winters in New York City were actually cold, so the winter had deadened everything: frozen cobblestone pavements, bustling streets with people holding mugs of hot tea and cups of coffee, bare trees like strokes of brown against a blank white canvas.

  “Maggie?” a voice said behind her.

  Grandmaster turned to look at Shadowstalker as he walked behind her. In his eyes, for a moment, she looked dazzled, as though staring into the sun. Then she smiled and a wave of relief coursed through him. It was Maggie’s familiar smile, the smile that lit up her entire face like the break of dawn.

  “You woke up early,” he said, walking toward her and starting the espresso machine up.

  “I actually woke up a lot earlier in space,” Maggie said, going to the cabinets to rummage for a box of tea. She filled a pot with water and turned the stove on. Her voice sounded ordinary, but she still looked different to Shadowstalker, strangely different: the shape of her face, the fullness of her breasts and the slope of her shoulders under her T-shirt. He was temporarily caught off-guard, so he didn’t hear what she said next.

  He started, shaking out of his daze. “Sorry, what?” he asked, and just about cursed himself for sounding like an idiot.

  But Grandmaster laughed. “I said, it’s earlier for you too. What are you doing up?”

  “Oh. I suppose I just…I just wanted to see you. It feels like it’s been so long, Maggie.” He didn’t tell her about the pain he felt in his chest, the physical ache of missing her, like a butterfly flapping its wings rapidly under his heart every time he thought of her. He reached out and took her hand. It was smaller than his and covered with calluses and blisters. Her fingers brushed his, and it was as familiar to him as a map of his studio. “I could also tell…I could also tell there was something bothering you,” he said. “What is it?”

  Maggie glanced down at their entwined fingers. She was still, but he could see her heart beating at the base of her throat, hard. It must have been the mention of what was disturbing her.

  “I messed up,” she said in a rough whisper and drew her hand back. She didn’t yank it out of his grip or anything like that, just drew it back as she turned to the stove. A completely natural movement that nonetheless left him feeling awkward. “I messed up so bad. Do you know about the Black Hole Prison near the Quittan Way? It’s home to some of the most dangerous people in the galaxy. And the black hole near the Quittans’ planets and the prison it’s centered around was destabilizing, and I managed to stabilize the black hole, but the most dangerous prisoner there–the Fire Source–escaped. It’s off in the universe somewhere, and I don’t know where it is, and I don’t even know what it’s going to do next.”

  “The Fire Source…” Arkady repeated. “Isn’t that the dark god who once managed to destroy a star system?”

  Grandmaster looked down miserably. “Yes. And it escaped. If more people die because of it–because of a choice I made–because I thought with my heart instead of my head–when I could have used another fragment of my power to go after them, instead of concentrating my entire essence on the black hole, then–”

  “How many people live in the Quittan Way?” Shadowstalker asked.

  Maggie started. “I–what?”

  “How many people live in the Quittan Way?” he repeated.

  “About–about four billion on three planets.”

  Arkady resisted the urge to crush Grandmaster into another tight embrace. How could she be so smart and so oblivious at the same time?

  “Grandmaster,” he said so fiercely that she flinched. “How do you not see that you did the right thing? It wasn’t a choice at all. You saved billions of people. I would have done the same thing–so would have all the other Legionnaires. Because that is the job, remember? To save as many people as we can every day. And you did that.”

  Grandmaster paused as she thought about this for a moment, then she visibly relaxed; the tension slipped from her shoulders and her taut muscles unclenched. “Thank you, Arkady,” she said, exhaling a long sigh, and leaned into his shoulder for a moment. “I guess I just needed someone to talk some sense into me. I will find the Fire Source another way. Thank you.”

  “Are you–are–are you going to leave again?” he said, and he hadn’t meant the words to come out as a rasp.

  Maggie’s face softened at his tone of anguish and took her hands in his. Neither of them pulled away this time. “Arkady.” He had to fight against the shudder that tingled down his spine when he heard his name in her mouth. “It wasn’t going to be forever, you know? But after facing down the Black Knight and his Titans, with my power enhancements and all…becoming the Aetherstorm…there was so much I needed to figure out. I didn’t want to leave, but I had to. But I am back now, and I’m not leaving again. I promise.” She gave him another radiant smile. “You’re going to be stuck with me for a long, long time.”

  Shadowstalker smiled back. “I am glad for that,” he whispered.

  The two were silent as they stared at each other, and Arkady wondered if Maggie’s heart was beating as fast as his. Maggie took a step forward, opened her mouth to stay something, but then she reared back as a tidal wave of psychic energy crashed into her. She staggered backwards under the force of it. Shadowstalker reached out to steady her.

  Reality itself flowed in patterns of ta’lien and flashed in ambient patterns before her eyes as psychic alarm bells rang loudly in her mind.

  “It’s the Lightbringers,” she said, “they’re causing trouble in New York City.”

  “How did you–” Arkady caught himself when Grandmaster gave him a knowing look. “Right. A psychic warning system. Pretty cool, honestly.”

  Grandmaster circled her arms in a dancer’s motion, and her pajama bottoms and T-shirt top were replaced by her Star Legion uniform: a red bodysuit with a turquoise emblem between her breasts, a yellow bomber jacket and cape with orange dots. Her thigh-high boots were turquoise heels, and her gloves were black. He also noticed on the side of her sleeves, she had a phoenix dragon insignia on it.

  Arkady shook his head fondly at her. “You’re always ready, aren’t you?” he said, smiling at her.

  Grandmaster grinned back. “Always.”

  …

  New York City was considered by many to be the “greatest city in the world,” and this massive, shining creature that was formed of winding streets and tall skyscrapers was alive. It rose up and clawed at the clouds with steel fingers, a jagged mountain range that should have run ten thousand miles but instead had been condensed into a single narrow space of human-made structures of glass and steel, folded onto itself in hard angles and bright reflective planes like some grand crystalline formation.

  Even in what should have been the still-sleeping hours of morning, this city was moving. Neon lights blinked in different colors–red and blue, green and yellow–like watching stars, powered by electricity and nuclear radiation. People of all ages were on foot, hurrying through the cold of winter. Woman in elegant blouses and blazers and men with suits and coats hurried to work while college students and high schools clutched steaming paper cups of hot coffee or tea in their lands, furled newspapers and books tucked beneath their arms, cell phones in pockets, listening to the latest hits from headphones or earbuds.

  In the heart of the wide side of Manhattan, in what was once one of the roughest slum neighborhoods in the entire city, some of the bravest New York City had to offer were battling a three-alarm blaze and the deviant group known as the Lightbringers.

  The blazing Blackstar was spreading fast. Trails of fire exploded up into the air and attached themselves to the air currents, climbing through it and igniting fire that fell like rain. It dripped like a leak of water onto the foundation of the apartment building, clinging to heated metal of the fire escapes and smoldering wood and plaster of the walls, spreading from one floor to another like an uncontrolled flood. Flames licked and climbed their way up all the way to the top floor, glowing bright in red and gold and white. Black smoke billowed out of the building and into the air, obscuring the early morning sky.

  “We have to move! Get the retardant and the hoses!” one firefighter yelled. “This blaze is out of control!”

  One of the residents had just enough of himself left as he crawled through the wreckage to look at him. To see the tears sliding down the firefighter’s ash-covered face from the smoke and to feel his own sliding hot against his skin.

  Just before his burns flared with pain and the world went white, he mumbled a prayer to himself. And then he heard a sound that he had never heard in his life. It was almost like lightning, and it sounded like–

  THWASH!

  The explosion meant only one thing…the Star Legion was here.

  The Lightbringers and the firefighters turned to face the group of colorfully-dressed men and women in front of the fire the humans started and the Lightbringers used to take advantage of the chaos. Nine in all, they composed the membership of Earth’s greatest superhero deviant team: Tempest–a beautiful woman (twenty-five years old) from the Lost Continent of Theandra, with flowing black hair, a sharp contrast to the white leather bodysuit she wore, with a billowing satin cape attached to her slender shoulders and wrists; Shadowstalker–with his ghost-white skin (twenty-three years old), a muscular frame and black bodysuit with a black fur aviator’s jacket over it; Riven–a strong, powerful heroine (twenty-two years old) clad in green and yellow, with every inch of her flesh covered and a white streak through her auburn hair; Gauntlet–resplendent in his red battlesuit with blue pants (twenty-four years old) and a long silver trench coat over it; Cryo–(nineteen years old) whose body was composed of a spiky ice form; Astra–clad in red with a blue cloak and a gold insignia of wings on her chest (twenty-five years old), a circlet nestled in her golden hair; Phantasma–the youngest member at fifteen years old, with a mask covering her mouth and golden-and-blue uniform with a star on her chest; Sparks (twenty-five years old) wrapped in red with a mask covering his lower face and an exploding star over his heart. Standing at the front of their group was their current field leader, a woman unafraid to put her life at risk in order to attain her ultimate goal of creating a world in which all men and women could live together and be at peace, Grandmaster vowed to protect all and both humans and deviants.

  “You’ve just made a grave mistake, Star Legion.” A tall, slender woman radiating a queenly grace stared down at the Legionnaires. She had long, washed-out blonde hair that reached down her hips and pale milky skin. Her words were intent on total control. Her words were her power, and her words could be just as powerful as a knife or a gun. “Lighbringers, destroy them!” she commanded.

  At Everlast’s command, the Lightbringers rushed forward to stop the Star Legion. Tempest leaped forward and shouted, her reaction immediate and instinctive. She used her powers of weather control and generation to create strong gusts of wind that whipped around the Star Legion, howling with the power of a hurricane and lifting them up into the air.

  “Well, we got their attention,” Cryo remarked. “Now what do we do?”

  “Let’s put out one fire at a time,” Grandmaster said, taking charge. “Cryo, Tempest–extinguish the flames on that building. Put it on ice. Are both of you with me?”

  Tempest nodded and Cryo said, “Can and will do.”

  His body gleamed in dazzling shades of white and silver in the light of the musty winter sun gleaming down from the roiling gray clouds of dawn. He raised his hands and ice shot out from his fingertips so he could create a track of ice to slide down on. He glided over to Park Avenue on the ice to confront the fire. Moisture from the air became solid as they froze, gleaming for a brief moment before they gathered and crystallized to become solid ice. Constructs of this cold erupted out of Cryo in a steady stream as he aimed them at the flames to stop them from spreading. At the same time, blankets of pure white snow drifted down from the storm clouds above him generated by Tempest, sizzling as they made contact with the flames and melted into them, smothering their source of oxygen and cutting down the intensity of the heat.

  Tempest rose into the air, using winds to propel herself, and twisted around. A powerful gale of the north shot around her as she extended her arms.

  “With me comes the fury of nature herself!” she proclaimed as a battle cry. Clouds swollen with water and sparking with white-hot bolts of electricity cracked open at her command, opening up into a storm that belonged to her and the rains poured down on the fire. Cryo and Tempest, both elementalists of the Star Legion, used their powers in conjunction to quickly extinguish the raging blaze.

  “Knocked down the fire,” Cryo reported as he zoomed around. “Now let’s knock these guys down on their asses.”

  Tempest tipped her head at him in agreement, then pivoted around to look at the man who was perpetuating the fire. The deviant terrorist called Burn glared at the two Legionnaires. He wore a bright yellow-and-orange uniform that did not complement his blond hair–it clashed horribly with it, in fact, and did not match the jewelry that swathed him like blankets on a newborn. He flicked open a cigarette lighter and bolts of flame danced on his palm.

  A wall of flame blazed to life in front of the two Legionnaires, rippling and dancing with intense heat and golden flames. Cryo summoned daggers of ice, blasts of cold winter air, tornadoes of snow, knives of hair, snowballs of solid ice, and whatever else he could think of and hurled it at the Lightbringer, but Burn melted right through it. He poured some disinfectant on his hands and flicked the lighter again, expanding the small spark into a sheath of flame, his whole body flickering red with tongues of flame.

  Anger replaced the panic that burned in Cryo when he saw Burn turn and hurl a fireball at an empty car, causing it to explode. Civilians screamed and ran, trying to get clear of the danger.

  “You animal!” he shouted at the firestarter, a column of ice forming beneath his feet so he could rise into the air. “There were innocent people there! Families! Children! And you nearly killed them! And for what? A good time? Some cash? What the hell is wrong with you?!”

  “None of the humans are innocent!” Burn shrieked. “None of them! They’re planning to kill us all, and you know it! The only way to survive is to show them our dominance! That’s what none of you Legionnaires understand. We do what it takes to survive, not to be good!

  “I didn’t start this fire! I have to steal just to survive! Do you know why? Because my parents threw me out on the streets when they learned I was a deviant! I was an outcast my whole life, and I’m an outcast now! That will never change!”

  Cryo shook his head and snuffed out the flames in the car. “I can’t let you hurt these people,” he said, resolution in his voice. Tempest shot through the air beside him, fury and sympathy warring on her face. She generated more storm clouds and water cascaded down into her arms, and she unleashed a river upon Burn.

  The Lightbringer staggered back, coughing as water trickled into his mouth and extinguished his cloak of fire, drenching him from head to foot, while Cryo created more ice and buried him in a tight, forceful cube of his element.

  Burn tried to start his fires again with the lighter. Small sparks turned into a flame and a beast rose up, tearing into the air currents and melting the ice. Burn stood, but Cryo clenched his fist and surrounded him with another layer of impossible cold. He created a miniature snowstorm that swirled around him with another layer of ice and twisted the fires into nothingness. Tempest swept through the air, soaking him more water. A bolt of iridescent lightning flickered on her fingertip and lanced forward, electrocuting Burn. He cried out as Tempest disrupted his central nervous system. He tried again, glowing bright in the colors of orange and red, but together, Tempest and Cryo circled him, putting out his fires. Cryo froze the lighter in a solid block of ice, cutting off access to his deviation.

  Burn howled in outrage. “Legionnaires! This ordeal isn’t over yet! We’ll kill you all!”

  On the opposite side of Park Avenue, a stream of bright flames–glittering like jewels, somehow different from Burn’s–separated the Star Legion for a moment, followed by a bitter scream of pain. Grandmaster faded back into sight, iridescent flames of white and blue dancing on her arms and constructs formed of ta’lien flickering on her arms. With one hand, she controlled water, and with another hand, created more flames, and they hissed and spat. When the two elements came into contact with each other, they flash-boiled into thick clouds of steam, shrouding the Legionnaires in a ghostly white mist. It swirled and spun, enveloping both deviant groups into a white word where those who held the torch cast the darkest shadows.

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  “Be ready!” Grandmaster shouted. She stretched out a hand, but the deviant with the alias of Adamant charged out of the steam in a roar of flesh and steel. He hit Phantasma around the middle, knocking her to the ground, but she didn’t stay down long enough for Adamant to stab her with his knives. The blades dug into the spot where she had been as she went intangible. Seconds later, Gauntlet leapt forward, pressing his hands against Adamant’s steel armor. The metal melted beneath his touch, drawing a scream from the berserker. Phantasma could only run as Gauntlet tried to cook a man in his own armor.

  “I don’ want t’ do dis, Adamant,” Gauntlet said through the screams of pain. Every knife, every shard and scrap of metal that Adamant raised to stab Gauntlet melted away from the intense heat. “I don’ want dis. And neit’er do you.”

  Four gleaming blades cut through the steam, barely flashing blurs. Too fast for Gauntlet to catch and melt in midair. They hit Gauntlet’s back instead, piercing his armor before he ripped them out and melted them in his hands. The knives were too small to cut deeply, but they weakened him still. Adamant took his chance and flung Gauntlet off his back, and in the span of a breath, his knives melded together into a single monstrous sword. He slashed, meaning to slice Gauntlet, but the Cajun deviant dodged in time, earning a scratch on the belly instead.

  Phantasma appeared from the stream, her own twin blades swirling around in a glinting display. Adamant dipped low and dodged the blades, but Phantasma parried and began to duel him, hitting a rhythm that allowed her to fight him off. They exchanged thrusts and parries as Gauntlet threw blasts of golden-red energy at Adamant to knock the metal manipulator off course. Adamant’s weapon shifted constantly, from a sword to a razor-thin metal whip to an ax, but a jagged star of energy bit into his skin from Gauntlet, making him stumble back and howl in pain.

  Phantasma sheathed one sword and sank into the ground, disappearing for only the briefest moment, before she phased back up behind Adamant and went through him. He stiffened, sparks dancing on his metal armor as Phantasma intentionally used her power to disrupt his body’s homeostasis. He collapsed. Gauntlet stood over him, bruised and battered, but his arms continued to rage with bright golden-red energy and Adamant cowered at his feet, his hands raised in defeat.

  When a massive chunk of concrete sailed out of the steam, heading directly for Riven, she barely had time to dodge. It shattered against the pavement where she had stood just moments before, before she took to the skies with her powers of flight. Before she even had time to form a thought, another came hunting after her, howling through the air. Then another. And then another.

  The sky was raining concrete down on her from Roughhouse. She found her rhythm like Gauntlet and Phantasma, soaring through the air like a peregrine falcon, diving like an eagle, until something–or someone–stopped her short.

  A presence. An invisible presence.

  Wraith’s grip closed around her throat, choking her. She could hear the Lightbringer breathing heavily in her ear, even though she couldn’t see her. “Traitor,” she growled, tightening her hand. “You picked the wrong side, Riven.”

  Riven’s arm swung out, digging an elbow into what she thought were her ribs, but Wraith held firm.

  “There shouldn’t be any sides, sugah,” Riven wheezed. Through the haze, she could see Roughhouse prowling, his eyes locked onto her. He would tear her apart. “We’re all deviants.”

  “You made this into a war. Not us,” Wraith hissed.

  “No, you golovorez!” a voice shouted. Shadowstalker materialized out of the darkness cast by the shadows of Manhattan’s buildings, his dark eyes becoming pupiless slits. He created a ball of shadows, of dark energy, between his hands and threw it at the massive juggernaut. Roughhouse had to jump back, stumbling on his massive feet, buying Riven a few more seconds. Gasping and choking for breath, she dug her nails back again, reaching for a head that she could not see. She felt for her face, and with a gasping scream, dug in and punched her. Wraith roared and let go of Riven. She fell to her knees, flickered back into being, and clutched her nose, blood pouring from her nostrils.

  “Ah know the humans hate us deviants,” Riven said. “But yer way? Kill ‘em? That ain’t me.”

  “It could be,” Burn said breathlessly, flashing her a grin that made her sick to her stomach. He reached out for her and she recoiled. “Remember all the fun times we used to have together when you were a part of the Lightbringers, Riv?”

  “The Star Legion is using you,” Wraith said, breathing heavily. She pinched her nose and tilted her head forward as she struggled to her feet. “Divinity loves you like a daughter.” She held out her hands and started to fade into invisibility again, but Riven could see the streaks of blood on her face.

  “Ah’ll take the love–” Riven lashed out in a whirlwind of limbs, one of her long legs hitting Wraith in the stomach, causing her to fly back and crash into the hood of an old Chervolet. Another kick, and Wraith was thrown backwards in front of a window of a storefront. “When it ain’t full a’more mischief than a fox in a henhouse.”

  “You’re mine!” a voice screamed, and Grandmaster turned to see Everlast haunting over her, like a phantom in the mist. “Mine!”

  Grandmaster ran toward Everlast and collided into her. They fell together, Grandmaster’s face scraping along Everlast’s armor. The wound stung and bled, dripping crimson before healing over instantaneously. She could see the cell phones recording the fight in her peripheral vision, broadcasting the image of her and the Star Legion throughout the world. She still hadn’t decided if that was a good thing or not.

  Everlast and her grappled in the streets and Everlast shrieked, a high, piercing noise that cut through the wind. She panted hard, her eyelids fluttering open and closed, lips parted slightly, and as Everlast used her powers on Grandmaster, her stomach hollowed itself out in a pit of emotion. Even in the midst of battle, she couldn’t help but notice that Everlast was gorgeous.

  As a child, she used to watch old reruns of The Love Boat and other old shows with her mother, and she was always fascinated by the episodes where the guest star was a celebrity, stiff with age and hairspray and girdled by the hauteur that came from knowing you were an immortal star of the stage and screen and the fact of knowing the other people around you were mere mortals. Everlast was clearly a star who had condescended it to slum with lesser beings.

  “Sparks, now!” Grandmaster shouted.

  A beam of rainbow-streaked light swirled from her fingers and Sparks jumped in front of Maggie, and tore off his outer sweater. The psionic energy from the gaping hole in his chest collided with the light and the two forces exploded. Grandmaster’s vision was filled with gold as waves of bright light whipped out in every direction, spinning and spinning and spinning until it burst with a blinding flash.

  More crackles and flashes followed. When the air finally calmed, a deep glow radiated from Grandmaster, expanding to fill the street. But Everlast had somehow managed to slip away, flinging herself about, her running frantic and without thought. She clawed her way past the Legionnaires to the corner of Park Avenue, but red flames erupted out of the pavement. Everlast desperately turned to the other side, but a wall of flame came to live too, her escape blocked. She started to scream, and the endless power in Grandmaster bunched and quivered, eager to scream back. Some part of her wanted to unleash it all, to let everything boil and burn.

  But do not be like that. Do not be like them, she told herself, pushing her anger to merge with her quiet places. Her eyes narrowed as her thoughts twisted and then stilled, ready to spring forth with new life. With her core strong and her focus certain, she was able to think clearly. There had to be a new level of clarity, a single focus. She had to keep going. Move forward. Stop the Lightbringers. Because even though they were right at the injustice that deviants faced, they were wrong. These humans were innocent, not a part of their war.

  Grandmaster faced Everlast and took a step forward. She was aware of Everlast using her deviation, speaking to her as she moved, the words rising in pitch. She swore and spat vengeance and ordered Grandmaster to stop and obey. But Grandmaster could not listen–that, or she chose not to obey. Now she had Everlast backed into a wall, this field leader of the Lightbringers close enough to touch.

  Her power crested into a phoenix dragon again, the elemental force of the universe. The ground shifted under her feet and cracked into fissures. The cosmic superstrings of reality hummed as she plucked them and materialized when she commanded it, pouring out of her, shooting ta’lien and heat. They weaved around Grandmaster, passed through her fingers, arched over her and toward Everlast. Everlast’s mouth moved and she swatted at them as though bees, but they whipped and bound her.

  Everlast screamed so loudly that Maggie winced and covered her ears. Clumsily, Everlast lunged for Grandmaster in a quick movement, but she dodged easily and swiftly kicked the back of her knees. Grandmaster flipped her over and pressed her gauntleted wrist on the back of a bawling Everlast’s neck, and she crumpled to the ground, her chest caved and shoulders narrowed.

  On the other side of the street, Astra’s feet pounded on the concrete as she circled Roughhouse, her sly smile daring him to attack her. He roared after her, but Astra was faster, and though Roughhouse was a monster of muscle, he tripped over his own feet trying to chase her. Instead, he ripped jagged pipes from the fissured ground, hurling them at her like spears, but they were easy for Astra to use her telekinesis to stop them in midair and hurl them back at him. He bellowed in frustration.

  I am a Legionnaire and to you I am nothing, but I can still make you fall, she thought.

  The sound of rushing water brought Grandmaster back. She turned and parted the street, clearing Park Avenue. Smoke and fire exploded from her, beating back the Lightbringers. Right after, water trailed in a swirling cloak and the flames receded. Steam screamed from the clash of water and fire. Grandmaster stood back with the other members of the Star Legion, half-shrouded by darkness cast by Shadowstalker. Thunder and lightning sparked and shocked everything she could control as it spat from her body. The Lightbringers screamed aloud, Everlast above them all.

  “Astra. Finish it,” Grandmaster commanded. The telepath nodded and flared bright with a silver light like a full moon as she connected herself to the Astral Plane, the realm of the mind, and touched the minds of the Lightbringers. She revealed their greatest truths to them.

  Your heart is flipped inside out, showing your true self to the world, both monstrous and beautiful. It is all that lies between this life and the next, Astra said, her speech flowing in both words and images. Keep trying to find a way to become what you would like to be and what you could be when everyone you love and care about is around you–even among strangers. You are aching with a yearning to know more, to be more. And no one is next to you to help you, comfort no, and there is no comprehension that you reached your point in fate when you must prove to yourself that you can act on your own.

  The Lightbringers stilled; some of them even had tears in their eyes.

  Grandmaster and the other Legionnaires approached the Lightbringers, who had now gathered behind Everlast, who struggled against her bindings, cursing.

  “Stand down?” Grandmaster asked her.

  “For now,” Everlast spat. Grandmaster scoffed slightly at that, then flicked her wrist. The threads made of the energy of creation dissipated in a flash of white light and Everlast rose to her feet.

  “Still working for pennies and dimes under Divinity’s thumb?” Cryo shoved a shivering Burn forward to the Lightbringers. “Hope you’ll be able to move fast, fire boy.”

  “What were you after, Everlast?” Tempest asked.

  “West Manhattan has records of a new deviant I’ve been tracking. Just doing your job, Star Legion,” Everlast said. “You claim to care about vulnerable deviants, but in reality, you just leave them to die.”

  She is lying, Sparks said, speaking mentally, for when his powers of biokinetic flame manifested, it incinerated a hole in his face, and he could now only speak via telepathy. Burn spilled his guts. They were paid a huge amount of money to draw us into battle.

  Astra pressed her index fingers to her temples and closed her eyes. She glowed with a silver aura as she read Everlast’s mind.

  “Get out of my head, witch,” Everlast growled.

  After another second, Astra opened her eyes and nodded, corroborating with Sparks. “To provoke an attack and test a response.”

  Grandmaster’s hands had been replaced by dragon-like talons, and she tapped them softly together in thought. “Yes. And I would bet that this–” she indicated the masses of humans filming them with their cell phones and cameras “–was exactly what you wanted for your punter. You won’t be able to save face, but it doesn’t matter. Won’t change the outcome.” Her next words were bitter. “While you got your sum of a hundred thousand dollars, you put all of deviantdom in danger. Was it worth it?”

  “Who paid them?” Phantasma asked.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Roughhouse growled. Sirens began to wail, and he turned to his teammates. “Let’s skid before the cops get here.”

  He bounded away and the rest of the Lightbringers followed, but Everlast lingered behind for a moment. “You showed off your skills, masterworks all,” she sneered. “Played right into our hands. Client got exactly what they paid for. You think you can defeat us so easily? We pulled our punches. Your own arrogance did the rest. Watch your backs, Star Legion.”

  Grandmaster breathed out a sigh of pure exhaustion as Everlast fled, something heavy lingering within her. She closed her eyes for a moment.

  In the stars, it was so much easier to imagine the world as she once knew it, when things were so much simpler. To remember a second how it felt when she looked up at the bright blue sky. When she walked down a familiar street. When she dreamed of a future that was fast approaching. And then when she looked up at the sky and thought I will make it so.

  All she wanted to do was hold onto those memories in her mind, the ones that made her feel safe, the ones that made her feel at home when there was nowhere else to turn to. Because those memories were all that remained of the world that she once knew in her innocence.

  It was strange to think how much had changed in a few short years. That all the comforts of home were now confined to dreams. Who could have expected how quickly the world would descend into this kind of horror? Who else but deviants?

  Grandmaster!! A psychic cry bore into her mind, causing her to stagger back.

  “Ah know that look, Mags,” Riven said. “That the Teach callin’ with one a’his creepy psionic rings?”

  “Yes, Riven,” Grandmaster replied in a rasp, rubbing her temples.

  Your anonymous call to vacate the building was wise, the Teacher said, but it did require my telepathic nudge to herd the residents to safety. Watch that. I won’t always be here.

  Understood, Teacher, Grandmaster responded robotically, tiredly. In her absence, she was relying on them to do one simple thing: make this work. As much as she hated it, there was only one place to start.

  She had known Will Morgrant for a long time. She was happy and loved in a place where she was needed, and he dragged her out to help save his project. He came and he told her that her life of caring for people was a lie. Because she wasn’t a god.

  He accused her of hubris. Him. He accused her of hubris. The man who was planning to build paradise on Earth accused her of hubris. And once more, she was pulled away from a place where she was needed…and meant to rescue his plans.

  I am assessing Everlast’s claims now. Excellent leadership, Grandmaster. A wise matchup of power levels and flawless execution as all the players hit their marks, and the queen toppled. Please proceed with your battle postmortem. The connection was severed.

  “Arrogant prick,” Grandmaster muttered. She looked at all her friends, their shoulders hunched, as though waiting for her to critique them. The Grandmaster felt another flare of anger at the Teacher. Why would he do that? Why would he ask her to do that?

  “Okay, first off, let me make something clear,” Grandmaster said, “I may be the leader, but that does not mean I’m in charge, necessarily. I may be the chair, but we are an assemblage of equals. Not a strike team with a combat leader. I’m not going to criticize everyone for doing the job.”

  “What about the dream?” Phantasma whispered, her eyes wide.

  “I still believe in it,” Grandmaster replied quietly. “But the Teacher left us Beneath the Mountain. He cut a deal behind our back, and for weeks, we suffered under his brother’s humiliation and anger. I never wanted that kind of power. Never wanted that kind of…greatness he spoke about. What he showed me back then, it was beautiful. It was safe. Accepting. And he was different. But in the end, it was just bad. And I still believe he can be better, that the man I saw is inside him there somewhere, but I can’t just see him anymore. I love the Teacher, I do, and I accept him as a member of the team…but perhaps that is not what we need anymore.”

  “Maggie…” Shadowstalker began.

  “I don’t want the world to be safe just for deviants, Shadowstalker. I want it to be safe for everyone,” she continued. “And I don’t want to be great or powerful or a god. I just want to do good.”

  Do good by others when no one else would. Do good because there were enough bad things in the world. It was that simple. Sure, there was no black and white–Grandmaster herself was a deeper shade of gray than most people she knew. But in the end, it all came down to this–protecting lives instead of taking them.

  “Protecting lives instead of taking them,” Grandmaster said aloud. “In instances such as this one, when we might be tempted to do horrible things with our power in the name of self-defense.”

  The Legionnaires had swung around, and saw that a large crowd of humans had gathered in front of the formerly burning building and the Star Legion could scent their assiduity and fervor toward them. Several of them were armed with guns and knives, and a few even had torches! Grandmaster almost laughed aloud, thinking of the scene from that Frankenstein movie with the terrified villagers.

  But what she hadn’t expected was the terror that was building up within her and almost exploded out.

  Not now! she begged her mind, but a fragment of memory struck Grandmaster with the power of a supernova out of the blackouts in her mind.

  The hot flames and acrid smoke shot into the sky, burning everything. She crawled out of the burning building so similar to this one with tears of pain and grief in her eyes. The mob of humans that dragged her away, ignoring her pleas, and their sinister laughs as they attacked her broken body. The scream that snapped from her throat as she utterly destroyed them all.

  Grandmaster knew this might happen, but she hadn’t anticipated the terror.

  Her fingers became numb and the sounds of the world faded away as the humans watched her every movement, thinking she meant to attack them. All the blood that had drained away from her hands and feet and face came rushing into her pounding chest. She was going to throw up.

  Her body trembled and her heart thundered, the palpitations growing louder and louder with each passing second. She remembered the crowds Beneath the Mountain. When Blackstar would tell her to dance, and once she was done retching, told her to begin dancing again. When he pressed his mouth to hers and pushed his tongue into her mouth just to make a spectacle. How she killed him, but he somehow managed to survive. The world tipped sideways and her throat closed off, cutting off all air when she just needed to breathe.

  The real reason she left the Star Legion. Because she was so broken after what happened Beneath the Mountain, she wasn’t sure she could ever piece herself back together.

  She felt a strong hand rest upon her shoulder and there was a clear image of him, both in her mind’s eye and beneath her: tall, slender Shadowstalker, with his midnight-black curls and dark blue eyes. His dark lashes and pale skin, the way he always stared at her like she was the center of his world, his confident handling over his powers and his more confident handlings of paints and brushes.

  Shadowstalker, who always understood exactly how she was feeling. Whenever she had been sent into a tailspin of grief and rage, whenever her emotions were so volatile, Arkady would listen intently, like he always did. Then one time afterwards, he posed a few questions, then asked, Are you sure it’s not post-traumatic stress disorder?

  The misery from the pit of her stomach had clawed up to her chest with those words. It was pure agonizing pain, searing into her bone marrow and rushing through her veins. She was broken, and the brokenness didn’t want to kill her. It wanted to make her stay broken.

  She remembered what Phantasma had said about what Shadowstalker was to her, that there was an expression for it in her native Chinese, the red thread of fate, that two people were destined to find each other and in some way, impact each other's lives. It was also zhi yin, “the one who understands your music.”

  Grandmaster could hardly play a note on any instrument, but Shadowstalker and her were bound together. He always understood her music, even the music of isolation.

  “It’s okay," Shadowstalker murmured, his voice thick with a Russian accent. "They will not be able to hurt you. They cannot hurt you.”

  “Devil freaks!” one man screamed.

  The crowd gasped with horror and astonishment and drew more tightly together, an unconscious defense mechanism. They screamed out insults and taunts at the Legionnaires:

  “Your kind did this!”

  “You’re nothing but monsters!”

  “We gotta take ‘em all down!” “This is your fault, freaks! It’s all your fault!”

  “They’re planning to kill us all! We have to strike first!”

  “You’re horrible! All of you, horrible!”

  Okay, Star Legion, we overstayed our welcome, Sparks transmitted dryly. Time to go. Grandmaster?

  Grandmaster moved forward and addressed the crowd, her voice clear and calm despite the fear coursing in her lifeblood. “Remember, humans. We’re just like you. Some of us do monstrous things….and others clean up the mess. Just like you. And it was our hands that caught you when you fell today.”

  The mob screamed with fear and desperation, gathered close, and surged toward the Star Legion before Grandmaster raised her arms, trembling with the power of all realities. Her deviation crested into her dragon, and she teleported the Star Legion away in a brilliant flash of multicolored light.