Ascendants

Raiden Alaric

As I ran, toward what, I had no clue, I heard the yell behind me. "Hey! Get back here!"

My heart thundered in my ears. Every breath scraped raw. The strap of my bag smacked against my chest with each step, begging me to keep moving. My sneakers hit the walkway, then the front lawn, then the gate. Ahead, parents in minivans and SUVs stared like I'd just robbed the cafeteria.

Just a few more feet. If I could make it past the gate, maybe I'd have a shot.

I slipped through, veered around a parked sedan, and hit the sidewalk on Sycamore. Suburbs sprawled in every direction. I risked a glance back.

Bad call.

They were closing in. Maybe fifty yards. One guy in front, red-faced, pissed, shoving kids aside like bowling pins.

Don't panic. Keep going.

I cut across a cluttered yard, vaulted over a curb etched with a family name I didn't have time to read, and sprinted behind a ranch house.

Still no help. Just me, boxed in by fences and swing sets. Every breath burned, each step heavier than the last.

I spotted the sidewalk again and took the turn sharp, too sharp. Slid, caught myself, kept running. Hazel Lane now. The pounding footsteps behind me didn't let up. Bare trees and powerlines blurred past. The only thing that mattered was the stretch of concrete ahead.

No clue where I was anymore. Just more blocks, more driveways. Still they followed, driving me deeper into this maze of homes and HOA signs. My lungs were shot. Legs too. The air felt thick and useless.

I blew past a plastic tricycle and a yard full of rainbow playsets. Almost there.

Pioneer Park rose ahead, barely visible over the rooftops. I aimed for it.

Up the hill, slippery, slick from last night's rain. My shoes skidded on damp leaves as I pushed toward the top, the slope suddenly steeper than I remembered.

My chest felt like it was about to split.

Still, I climbed.

Keep moving. Just a little more.

Reaching the top, I pushed onto the running path circling the park, past oaks and maples stretching out tired, bare branches. A flock of pigeons exploded out from a picnic shelter as I blew past, wings flapping like they were just as desperate to escape.

I glanced back. They were still climbing the hill, faces red, eyes locked on me.

I cut past the monkey bars where a few kids hung mid-swing, mothers snatching up toddlers at the edge of the trail. Silence. Figures. No one ever wants to get involved when it's not their kid getting chased.

The path sloped downhill toward the basketball courts. For a split second, I caught the sounds of normal life, laughter, shouting, the heavy clang of a chain net swallowing a shot. I wanted to be there. Just one of them. Not the kid running for his life.

But wishing didn't change anything.

I passed a clogged water fountain and kept going. The trail bent again, pulling me into the trees. Through the branches, I spotted it, my shot. A narrow alley behind a row of homes.

With what little I had left, I broke free from the trees and hit pavement again, suburbia's neat little sprawl of sidewalks, lawns, and garden gnomes. Just a few more steps and—

Raindrops. Of course. At least it's not heavy, just a nice little mist that sneaks in.

Whether I lost them or not, I couldn't tell. But I'd bought some distance, at least. My lungs were wrecked. My legs barely responding. And my backpack felt like it had been filled with bricks.

Then I saw movement. One of them came from the right, just outside arm's reach.

How?

I had distance. They weren't supposed to catch up, let alone flank me.

Before I could shift, he grabbed my pack. He yanked the strap and nearly tore my shoulder out of its socket. My feet left the ground, and I got thrown into a side alley, one I hadn't even seen.

My shoulder hit the damp pavement. Pain flared, but I scrambled up and pressed myself against the wall, chest heaving. The alley was narrow, boxed in by buildings that sucked the light right out of the sky. Every shadow looked like it was watching.

This was it.

Cornered.

Damn it…

I took stock of my options.

Brick walls. Trash bins. Puddles forming at my feet. Fantastic. Total alleycore aesthetic. Breathing hard, barely standing, I looked up, and there he was. Blood trailing down the side of his head, rage in his eyes. Yep. That tracks.

Of course it was the guy I hit. He looked like a Nathan. "You, sir, are now Nathan," I muttered. "Because I still don't know your name and I need something to call you."

I turned and found a lovely brick wall behind me.

Cornered.

I twisted back around and gave my potential villain origin story a chance to breathe. "Hey there. You wouldn't happen to have dragged me in here to talk about my car's extended warranty, would you?"

What am I doing.

He did not like that.

The other two had just arrived, and Nathan, no, wait. He opened his mouth.

"You threw two rocks at my head," he growled, thick New Jersey accent in full swing. "You think I'm here for a fucking car?"

Never mind. You're not Nathan.

"You're Tony now," I said, nodding. "Definitely a Tony."

Before I could get another word in, the one on his left cut in, "You trying to make this shit worse for yourself?"

Southern drawl.

Okay. You're Bill.

I raised both hands. "Look, I don't have anything for you to play monkey-in-the-middle with. Or a tree for you to—"

"Put your bind back on," the third one said, cutting me off. Same Jersey accent as Tony, unfortunately. "If the A.A. catches you without it, you'll be in re-education faster than you can blink. That's if they let you off."

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Way to ruin the accent trifecta. You're Mateo now.

Wait, he has a bind?

Tony reached into his pocket and pulled it out. The cuff looked standard: etched metal band, aptum crystal at the center. The gem caught a flicker of light as he slipped it onto his wrist. It adjusted instantly, etched lines shifting, metal shrinking to fit him like a glove. The crystal glowed faintly. Tony flicked his wrist a few times, clearly irritated by the sudden feedback.

That's when I finally got a good look at the three of them.

Mateo stood to Tony's right, eyes sharp under his hood. Slender build. No real muscle. Looked like he spent more time in books than in gyms. Brown fitted pants, clean white shirt, leather boots, all pristine. A badge from the Ascendants Association stitched onto his chest, because of course he had one.

Tony, front and center, wore a grin that didn't match his face. Not being petty, he genuinely looked like a back-alley NPC with a side quest involving duct tape and a stolen scooter. Slim like Mateo, but with colder eyes and a predatory vibe. His vest bore a family sect emblem I didn't recognize. That alone was enough to scream don't mess with me, but I had a feeling the ego was doing most of the screaming anyway.

Then there was Bill.

Golden braids. Proud posture. Face like he'd just smelt something awful, and decided it was me. His features were weirdly delicate, like you'd see on a painting. Then he spoke, and it was pure southern farm boy, deep and slow. The contrast nearly made me laugh. He couldn't have been more than fourteen, but he looked ready to kick my teeth in. Green pants tucked into tall boots, blue vest stamped with the crest of the Fair Visages. I actually knew that one.

Honestly? Put him in a maid outfit and record people's reactions when he opens his mouth. You'd go viral instantly. The trap potential alone was insane. So many possibilities.

Anyway, focus.

I was still cornered.

"Relax, my dad has connections," Tony said, wincing as he adjusted the bind. "I don't have to worry about having it off for too long. Still feels like it's draining me though."

Bill nodded. "We all have to wear them until we get proper aura training, either at an academy or certified through the A.A. They explained this during orientation."

"True, but at least I can take mine off," Tony replied. "Can't use it to hurt this asshole anyway. Any aura residue on his injuries is a one-way ticket to the Sentinels."

"Fuck, you're right," Bill muttered.

Tony turned to me. "You must be having the time of your life, huh?"

I blinked. Somehow during their conversation, I'd taken off my pack and sat on it, chin resting in my hand like I was waiting for them to finish.

"You're both getting off topic," Mateo said, glaring. "And this clown is making us look like fools, sitting there like we're wasting his time."

Time's up.

I knew this was it. I'd have to endure whatever came next and figure out excuses for my parents later. If I showed up bloodied and bruised, Mom would bring down the fury of the heavens, hunt these guys down and force their families to apologize. Under normal circumstances, I'd be okay with that. But these guys clearly had backing. My parents would only find themselves in more trouble.

All three locked onto me, malice clear in their gaze. My heart pounded as they approached, removing anything they didn't want blood on.

Thump-thump, thump-thump.

Fear? Anticipation? Both flooded my system with adrenaline.

Everything slowed as Tony's fist cut through the air toward my cheek. His form was textbook, shoulder turned, left arm coiled, right foot planted for maximum torque. I could see every muscle fiber in his shoulder and bicep as his arm sprang forward like a viper.

His fist landed with a meaty smack. Pain exploded through my jaw, rattling my skull. I tumbled back, tripping over my backpack. One hit and I was already on the ground, head spinning.

But I got back up.

Mateo's wild haymaker came next, aimed at my midsection. His form was garbage, overextended shoulder, no guard, feet fumbling for balance. Still, when it connected, it knocked the air out of me.

Then Bill's turn. His kick was perfect, hip torque, knee drive, ankle locked. Eight pounds of boot leather slammed into my ribs with an audible crack. Fire lanced up my side.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Hit after hit. I instinctively covered myself, but Bill grabbed my collar and threw me against the brick wall. His follow-up kick to my broken ribs whited out my vision. Blood trickled into one eye.

Tony grabbed my hair, lifting my head to meet his eyes. A smirk spread across his lips as he cocked his fist.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

This feeling, being outmatched, outnumbered 3-to-1, no advantage. Yet something surged through me. Even as pain warned me I was beaten, electric euphoria surged through me. My heart thundered with... exhilaration?

Every detail from every move they'd hit me with played in my head over and over until—

I see.

The edges of my lips formed a grin. I made eye contact with Tony, my vision hazy. He froze, form wavering.

"He's smiling?" Mateo said.

Tony threw the punch. Time went still. Everything from the beatdown flashed through my memory, their forms, reach, technique, timing, the strength behind every hit. It was all locked in.

His punch approached my chin. My body moved. I leaned left, pushing my body with it, just enough for his fist to graze my cheek and collide with the brick wall behind me.

Tony backed up, holding his hand. I chuckled, then broke into maniacal laughter.

"I think we hit him too hard in the head," Bill said, approaching cautiously.

Left roundhouse.

My grin widened as I squatted down, watching his boot fly over my head. I heard it scrape against the brick. His eyes widened. The missed kick left him vulnerable.

I launched from my squat, shoulder-tackling him in the side. He grunted as he hit the ground, rolling to where the others stood.

All three looked at me as I laughed, face turned to the sky, feeling cool rain on my bruised skin.

"I see! I see now!" I looked back at them. "I can see everything!"

My mind played out every scenario, telling me what to do for whoever moved first. But no one moved. They shifted uncomfortably.

Come on, don't back down now.

I raised my hands in irritation. "What's going on, guys? Things are barely getting interesting. Where's the arrogance? The passion?" I pointed at Tony. "Tony, what happened? Punching this poor brick wall was pretty embarrassing." I stroked the wall gently. "He was on your side more than mine."

Tony leaned toward Bill. "Do we know him?"

"No, never met him before. Why?"

"How did he know my name was Tony?"

My eyes lit up. "AH HA! I knew you were a Tony!" I pumped my fist. "Bill, I'm telling you, I'm good at this."

Bill looked surprised. "H-how did you—"

"Mateo, see? I've got a gift."

"Um, my name is Cody," Mateo said.

I fell to my knees in despair. "No... Why would you do this to me, Mateo?"

"It's Cody—"

"Shut it! I've had enough disappointment for one day!" I slammed my fist to the ground. "YOU HAVE NO FINESSE, YOU DAMN SIMPLETON!"

Mateo stared in disbelief. "W-why does this hurt my feelings?"

"Use this to reflect on your actions. Be. Better."

I could see a tear in his eye. Tony shook his head and smacked Mateo's shoulder. "The fuck are you doing? He's just one guy. Why are we hesitating?"

My smile returned. "Yes, now you've got it."

Mateo wiped his eyes and glared. All three readied themselves again. My heart pounded.

Mateo stepped forward, reeling back for a punch. A minor improvement, but he wasn't close enough. I leaned back slightly. His punch stopped short.

I sighed in disappointment. "You see?" I grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward me. "No..." I lifted my leg and tripped him as he moved past. "...finesse." He landed face-first into the wall.

Bill moved in next, getting into a proper stance. I closed the distance as time slowed, analyzing his movements. The same hip torque, the same positioning I'd memorized.

I've seen this before.

I stopped just outside his range. His boot missed my shirt. He tried a spinning back kick. I twisted aside. An axe kick. I stepped away, his heel slamming into the pavement.

Tony joined in with a left straight. I leaned back. Two jabs, both missed by inches. A body uppercut, surprising, since I thought he'd broken his hand.

I continued avoiding everything as Mateo rejoined the fight, nose bleeding. But I wasn't just avoiding, I was learning. Consuming every movement.

They began breathing heavier. Tony nodded to Mateo, signaling him to circle around. Bill caught on and did the same.

I took a deep breath.

After analyzing every attack, my heart hammered with each repeated motion. Their forms had slowed into snapshots for me to study.

You know what? That doesn't sound like a bad idea.