"Teleportation."
"Really? That's it? Scribe was hyping your Gift up to be something crazy…" Jesse was unimpressed.
Amelia must've withheld information from him as the description of my power was on file from when I was processed in Nevada.
A siren started to blare and flashing red filled our room. Amelia spoke over the intercom.
"Class four Omen. Located in section bravo. Al, your team's going, head to the Undercroft to get ready."
Jesse turned to me, "Alright lets go Nathan. Follow me."
"What? I'm in your team? I haven't even trained yet and I don't even use my gift." Jesse tossed me a dark blue jumpsuit.
"You did train… with me, earlier today. Also a class four Omen is not even bad, probably some kid who's having a temper tantrum. Put that on and let's go."
The older an Omen was the more powerful they most likely were due to power usage and time off the edge. The more powerful they were, the lower the class number. Class one being the highest. A device issued to local police and Venator squads called a Reader can determine the class of an Omen or a Gift, however venator squads rank their individuals by class, not the powers themselves.
We rode the elevator down to the Undercroft, a giant garage full of lockers and trucks with sirens. Jesse ran to his locker.
"Your locker nineteen B, next to me since we're roommates and since I'm your team leader. Should be some stun gloves and limiter injectors in your locker. Other issued gear if you need it but we don't have a lot of time."
I had never really been scared of a fight, but whenever I was slightly nervous I would sweat like no other, which I was right now. I opened the locker and threw on the belt of limiters and gloves. The large black gloves had shock pads at the finger tips and knuckles used to stun and knockout Omens for an opportunity to limit them. I had seen them at the Alota base with the members of Crow there, they were standard issue for Venator. I still had no idea how to activate them though. While putting on the gloves I realised just how big my jumpsuit was, it sagged on me like an oversized blanket. I unzipped the top and tied off the sleeves around my waste and tucked them in, using the utility belt to tighten everything down.
"Nathan! Let's go dude, waiting on you!"
I turned to see Jesse hanging out the back of one of the trucks and I ran to hop in, closing my locker as I left. In the back of the truck were also two other individuals, who must be the rest of Jesse's team.
"Hey, if it isn't the new guy!" he paused to burp "My name's Lance, callsign Cleric. You're Nathan right?"
"Yep…"
His breath reeked of beer and hotdogs. The middle-aged man who I was speaking with looked like a beach bum and had dirty-blonde hair down to his scruffy chin. He was wearing aviators, in the back of a covered vehicle, and had a large mace like weapon, more accurately a large steel ball on a two foot handle, leaning against his right shoulder. I wonder why they called him Cleric, must have something to do with his Gift and not his actual personality.
A small girl with jet black pigtails was sitting next to him, staring at me with cold dead eyes. The truck took off, leaving the Undercroft.
"What's your name?" I asked the girl.
Lance looked at me, "That's Veronica, she doesn't talk."
"What's her call sign?" I asked.
"Zilla." Lance said laughing.
"Nathan, pay attention." Jesse grabbed my shoulder then held up his right hand.
"To use your stun gloves you'll press and hold the button on the side of your index fingers for your knuckles and double tap the button and open your hand to activate the fingers."
He pulled out the limiter injector.
"Dont worry I know how those work." I told him.
Every Gift user should anyway, unless they were knocked unconscious before they were limited.
Jesse gave a quick, silent nod before reaching under his seat. His fingers found the familiar grip of a Wraithshot, and with practiced efficiency, he began loading shells from a belt slung across his waist. I couldn't help but notice the rest of his gear—another belt was strapped across his chest, packed with throwing daggers, while more sheathed blades hung from his shoulders and ankles like trophies. His setup was a far cry from Lance's minimalist approach: the guy only had a fanny pack slung loosely around his waist and a flask tucked in his breast pocket.
The truck's oppressive heat did little to ease my nerves. Sweat clung to my skin, making it feel like I was drowning in my own anxiety. I shifted uneasily, my eyes flicking back to Jesse, who was now carefully loading the shotgun.
"Can you speed up bullets or shotgun pellets too?" I asked, voice tight with curiosity.
Jesse didn't look up as he continued with his task, but his lips curled into a half-smile. "No. They move too fast for me to freeze in midair. But these…" He tapped the side of the round against the shotgun. "These are less-lethal, low-velocity beanbag rounds. I can freeze them and make 'em somewhat lethal with my Gift. Only problem is, the range on these suckers is garbage."
With a final, sharp click, he loaded the last round, slid the pump action forward, and locked the chamber into place. The sound was as satisfying as a promise kept.
Cleric, who had been quietly sipping from his flask the whole time, finally looked up from his drink. His eyes were steady, but there was something in the set of his jaw that hinted at subtle daydreaming under the surface.
"What are your and Veronica's Gifts?" I asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from the mounting sense of anxiousness in my gut.
Cleric's expression softened just a little. "I can produce a variety of physical buffs... and healing," he said, his voice calm, almost serene, laid back.
I blinked. "Oh, so it was you who healed me after my fight with Jesse in the training room?"
He shook his head, his lips curling into a slight smirk. "Nope. That was someone from Eagle. I can only use my Gift on myself."
I was about to ask about Veronica when the world exploded around us.
A massive blast rocked the truck, flipping it end over end. In a split second, the air was filled with the screech of metal and the sounds of the engine hum tearing apart. I didn't even have time to move as the force of the impact sent me flying. The truck's bed was a blur of chaos. My body was tossed like a ragdoll, every bone in my body screaming in protest as I was thrown back against the sides of the truck.
Then… nothing.
When I came to, I was sprawled on the ground, blinking in confusion. The world around me was on fire. The city block we'd been passing through was now a warzone—torn apart, scorched earth and twisted metal everywhere. I could make out the shapes of lifeless bodies sprawled on the ground—officers, some in uniform, some not—lying in pools of their own blood. A police blockade, completely obliterated.
But somehow, I wasn't disturbed by the sight. Not yet. My gaze shifted to the rest of the team. Jesse and I had a few bumps and bruises, but nothing serious. Lance and Veronica, though—untouched. Not a scratch.
"Boss, look," Lance said, his voice cutting through the haze. He was pointing down the street, towards a dilapidated city block, wrecked vehicles strewn across the road.
I squinted, following his gaze. And then I saw it.
"What the shit?" Jesse's voice was strained, as if he couldn't believe his eyes.
A small boy, no older than twelve, sat in the middle of the street. His hospital gown fluttered in the wind, and he was staring blankly ahead, unmoving.
Jesse's hand shot to his earpiece as he casually tossed a knife towards the kid, freezing it in front of him. "Scribe, what do we got? What's with this kid?"
Amelia's voice crackled over the comms. "Just reported… This is William Hargrove from Bayview Orphanage. That's strange, though. It says he was dropped off when he was one year old."
I furrowed my brow. "Why would that be weird? Lots of kids get sent to special orphanages due to their parents having Omens."
"Because," Amelia sounded puzzled, "it says they received him August 15th... 2164."
The words hit me like a slap. That was two days ago. And the kid sitting in the middle of the street looked to be about the same age as Zilla, how could that be a baby?
Lance was the first to react. "His Omen?" He didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he started toward the kid. "Hey, bud, what's going on? Stay right there, I'm just gonna give you a little shot, and you'll feel a lot better."
The child remained still, his eyes blank. But then, from his small hand, something rolled out onto the street with a soft clink.
"A pair of dice?" Lance muttered under his breath, clearly thrown off.
The dice bounced once, twice—then settled on a six and a one. And that's when the kid's eyes started to glow.
A soft, orange light flickered from within him, then flared up into something more intense, something otherworldly. His body twisted unnaturally, as though his bones were being reshaped, his age rapidly increasing.
Jesse froze, his eyes locked on the scene as he checked the Reader. "Class Three?" he whispered, his voice incredulous. "How is that possible?"
The ground beneath us seemed to tremble, and the air grew heavy. "Cleric, move back!" Jesse barked. "Zilla—"
But the warning came too late.
The kid's body contorted, and from his chest, a ball of plasma began to form—glowing bright orange, growing larger by the second. I didn't need to wait for Jesse's signal to know what was about to happen.
Then it erupted.
The explosion sent a wave of heat crashing into us. Veronica reacted in an instant, stepping in front of Lance to shield him as Jesse and I dove for cover behind the wreckage of the truck. The world around us became a blur of flames, smoke, and debris.
As the smoke began to clear, I peeked over the truck's broken frame. Lance stood, somehow untouched, his posture stiff and unwavering. Veronica was slightly disheveled, her face drawn but still standing.
The kid—no, the teenager now—was rolling the dice again. Jesse opened fire, less-lethal rounds flying from his Wraithshot, but they bounced off an invisible barrier surrounding the teen.
"Shit," Jesse cursed under his breath, his voice low with frustration. He turned to Lance. "Cleric, try to bust through that shield while Zilla recharges! I'll distract this guy!"
"A wizard shooting spells, huh? The holy Cleric will bring you down," Lance muttered, his voice cold and unwavering. He stood stoically, adjusting his aviators with a swift flick of his hand before running his fingers through his hair, his gaze fixed on the enemy.
Jesse snapped, his frustration boiling over. "Stop fuckin' around and get this dude's attention!"
Veronica didn't move. She stayed rooted to the spot, her feet almost seeming to sink into the street itself. I glanced at her, and for a brief moment, I wondered what was going through her mind.
Lance didn't hesitate. With a sudden burst of movement, he spun his mace in his hand and darted toward the wizard's right side. As he ran, his fingers quickly tapped the button on his gloves twice, activating the electrical charge. The power coursed up the shaft of his weapon, crackling and sparking off the ground beneath him.
Jesse released his knife that hovered by his side, flying toward the wizard's shimmering shield. The blade bounced harmlessly off the barrier, but it didn't slow Lance down. He closed the gap, his body now faintly glowing with a soft, white radiance.
"Holy…" Lance's voice was a low growl as he leapt into the air, holding the electrified mace high above his head. "SMITE!"
The air seemed to crackle as the weapon came down, shattering the shield into a million brilliant fragments. Lance smirked, but the triumph was short-lived. The wizard, seated lazily on the ground, fixed his gaze on him. The man's eyes were empty, lifeless.
And then, in a split second, a small orb of violet plasma shot from the wizard's hand, streaking through the air like a bullet. It struck Lance square in the chest, sending him flying backward into the crumbling façade of a nearby convenience store.
"Lance!" Jesse shouted, his voice edged with panic.
From behind the vehicle, Jesse fired off another round, but it was futile. The shield was back up, crackling with renewed energy. The wizard sat motionless, swaying as if caught in a trance. Was he drooling? I could barely tell. His dice rolled again—two sixes.
I shot a glance at Jesse. "Al! I think this guy is still a baby."
"What do you mean?" Jesse mag-slung his gun, taking cover behind the nearest wreckage.
"His Omen is aging his body and making him stronger, but his mind is like a newborn's. Look at him—he can't even walk. Check the reader."
Jesse flicked the reader on his wrist, scanning the data with rapid precision. "Class two," he muttered, a grim edge in his voice.
Before any of us could react, a flash of orange light exploded in the air. Another fireball. We turned just in time to see Veronica rising from her spot, her face hardened with determination. She slid into position, her body locked in place, her feet digging into the asphalt. She braced herself, arms raised, and took the blast head-on. The fireball crashed into her, but instead of being incinerated, she absorbed it, the plasma dispersing harmlessly around her.
When the dust cleared, Veronica remained standing, but she was immobile once again. The girl was indestructible.
"Nathan!" Jesse barked, his voice full of urgency. "Can you teleport into that shield and stick this man-baby?"
"I can't!" I shouted back, the words coming out in a rush.
"This is no time to be a pussy!" Jesse snapped, his voice rising. "We gotta stop this guy before he goes Class One!"
"No, I literally can't!" I replied, my mind racing. "His shield won't let me in! I tried when he was about to blast Lance and Veronica earlier. I couldn't get through!"
Earlier in the fight my body had a mind of it's own, it tried to move without authority. Almost like the second time I used the power.
"Alright, alright…" Jesse's tone shifted, quickly thinking through a plan. "Listen up, team. We've got to hit that shield hard enough to drop it. Then, new guy, you warp in and limit the wizard. Cleric, heal up and let us know when the final strike is coming in—if he goes Class One, that shield's going to be too strong for a Holy Smite."
Lance groaned over comms. "Roger that…"
Jesse took a deep breath. "Zilla, get your recharge quick. It's time for the cannon. I'll get his attention."
With that, Jesse darted out from behind cover, his movements swift and calculated. He pulled several knives from his belt, pressing the button on his stun gloves before tossing them one by one into the air. Some of them froze mid-flight, crackling with electrical energy. He moved left, agile and precise, dodging violet light blasts from the wizard.
I dove behind a nearby vehicle, heart pounding, as another fireball spiraled toward us.
Veronica didn't flinch.
She pulled something from her belt—a small, nondescript piece of metal I'd assumed was part of a broken sidearm. With her stun glove, she sent a surge of electricity from her into it. Instantly, the object responded, unfolding, reshaping, expanding. Piece by piece, it transformed into something much larger: a high-powered cylindrical weapon.
Recognition hit me.
I'd seen that weapon before—mounted on military transports, in grainy online footage from wartime broadcasts. A beam cannon. But this one wasn't vehicle-mounted. It was hers.
As it clicked into place, she lifted and dropped it, and barely shouldered the massive weapon. Her muscles tensed, and her stance locked. The earth beneath her feet cracked and groaned as she sank deeper, grounding herself. The incoming plasma ball screamed through the air—and met its end.
A brilliant beam burst from the cannon, vaporizing the fireball mid-flight. Light exploded in every direction, and I winced, shielding my eyes. When my vision cleared, the wizard's shield flickered.
Comms crackled.
"Hey… wizard…" Lance's voice cut through, rough and broken, but full of heat. He emerged from the wreckage of the convenience store, shirt torn. His jumpsuit had been shredded, exposing a chiseled torso that glowed faintly with divine energy. "Didn't anyone tell you? Mage builds are for the weak."
"Nathan, get ready!" Jesse's voice was tight in my ear, his breath coming hard between words.
Lance charged, gathering speed, lightning dancing across his mace. The head of the weapon pulsed with energy, light and power building until it hurt to look at it.
"Holy—" Lance's shout rang out just as the wizard lazily rolled his dice again.
I could barely breathe. I had to use this power to save lives, I won't make the same mistakes. My skin felt slick with sweat. The limiter burned cold in my hand. I just had to get in—one step next to him, one jab. That's all it would take. One moment.
"SMITE!" Lance roared.
His mace came crashing down. The shield shattered, blown apart in a burst of radiant shards.
I moved.
In a blink, I was behind the wizard.
The limiter pierced his skin. Then I was gone, flickering back behind the car.
Silence.
Something was wrong.
I looked down. My hand—wet. Blood.
I stood, heart racing, and turned. The street was still. Everyone stood frozen, staring.
The limiter lay on the pavement, no longer in my grip. It sat in a small pool of blood, slick and dark. Beside it, the wizard's lifeless body lay twisted, broken.
The fight was over.
Jesse turned to face me slowly, his voice low and disbelieving.
"What just happened?"