1: Beginnings

Fear. It claims us all. This raw and primal emotion cripples even the strongest of men, bringing them to their knees. But, I believe the concept is funny. Not because I am some sadistic asshole but because it is so trivial. Fear is just an emotion elicited from things that may or may not happen. Such is the nature of humans that we worry, fret about things we cannot control or, to put it more appropriately, cannot predict. That is fear—the dark bogeyman of the night, taunting us that something might happen: your dad might die, you might fall off that bridge, those snakes might kill you, your mother-in-law might not like you; it is all speculation until it happens. Then when it does happen, where is your fear? Do you still feel it? No. Instead, you feel sadness, remorse, regret; those are the emotions you have to contend with after your worst fears have come to pass. Fear is harmless…or so I thought.

My name is Willard O Nobell. Who am I? Well, I just told you. There’s nothing much to me other than my stunning good looks and charming personality. Besides those things, I am a writer who feels that it has been far too long to let the stories I have uncovered go untold. Until a few years ago, I had an average job writing fluff pieces for a local newspaper—in other words, putting the University of Delaware education to work—interviewing cat ladies and listening to old men tell me why face cream causes cancer. Yep, I was living the dream. Then, I got a package filled with books and newspapers, containing so much information about the heroes who lived way before my time. It told me about the past I never knew, what these heroes went through and who they were. It astounded me so much so that I realized it was my duty to make sure their stories are told. So, after making my mom’s head explode by telling her I quit my job, I began writing about these heroes, and this is what you are reading now: My attempt to tell the stories I believe need to be told. It is going to be awhile and I am going to have to take a lot of breaks but I feel the world is a lesser place if it does not know the stories of these deeply profound heroes. You might be thinking right now that I sound like a fan-boy, or wondering what makes me good enough to tell a perfect recount of these events. Firstly, there’s nothing wrong with being a fan-boy; it actually makes me the perfect person to write this story. And secondly, every novel I have written in this series and any associated series, I have done it with due diligence, even going as far as meeting the heroes and other important people of the story to obtain their firsthand hand account about the stories I write. Trust me, you won’t believe what I went through to get the information; I didn’t merely rely on a box of newspaper articles and history books that arrived at my door mysteriously to write this story. Rest assured, you are in good hands. But enough about that, I have a tendency to ramble on, but rather than waste precious pages telling you all about why I’m such a good writer, we’d rather just get to the story. But before that, I think there is something you should know.

            In the year 1999, a 3-year-long war began between angels and demons that changed our world forever. In the aftermath of the war, around 4% of the world’s entire population turned into a subspecies of humanity, later known as cursed humans. These ‘cursed humans’ developed powers, mutations, or both, which were linked directly to their fears. When they first emerged, scientists studied them and found that their mutations and powers stemmed from an oversaturation of hellfire in their blood. Hellfire is the life energy of all demons, the crux of Satan’s (yes that Satan) power, and the essence of all chaos. Therefore, when it was revealed that cursed humans derived their mutation and powers from hellfire, the vast populace made a clear association between demons and cursed humans. As a result, cursed humans were widely seen as monsters by humans, starting a civil war between the two species, which spanned across the world. However, the war waged the hardest in America. Now, if this is your first time hearing about this, please note that you are not alone. Many people who read this will most likely be unaware of this war or cursed humans in general. That is because in our modern society, roughly fifty years past the time this story takes place, they don‘t exist…well, at least not officially. Owing to the actions of these heroes I have chosen to tell you about, America underwent a serious change, one that somewhat erased the horrific taint of bigotry that once plagued it. Not to say anyone knows about the war in our time, but people don’t talk about it enough. Personally, when I first started studying this aspect of our past, I realized how ridiculous it was to keep this part of history so secret, for America covered up much of it just to save face. Then, the more I read, the more I realized the reason they covered it up. It was to move over the past this dark time because some crazy shit went down back then and if stuff like this was repeatedly referenced until my time, I don’t think America, or any country for that matter, would progress. But, I digress, as America’s path forward from a supernatural tragedy is not the purpose of this story…well, not primarily. Instead, this story follows an African American young man, Malcom “MJ” Godfrey, Jr. Barely three-years-old at the start of the war; he was unaware how much the world was changing. However, when he did understand, he rose to the circumstances that radically changed his world and life, using it to embolden his resolve and become the hero he never thought he could be. But, like all great heroes, MJ has an origin story, which starts before the very tragedy that changed his life.

To truly understand his story, you must first understand MJ’s past. The best way to explain this is through an incident that occurred in 2006, when MJ was ten, an incident that happened all too much in MJ’s life. While being raised in Lower North Philadelphia, MJ wasn’t like other boys his age. He was the only son of two people who played a role in their community that many people did not like. Being an African American myself, I was always taught about the battle of the races and the divide between people because of the color of their skin. Yet, because I never saw it, because it never happened to me, I never understood it fully. And it’s safe to say, I still don’t. Regardless of my ignorance on the topic, I don’t  need to fully understand the dynamics of black oppression and racial segregation to see how ridiculous it is that it took the creation of a supernatural race to unify people of all races. People always said during MJ’s time that racial bigotry was dead but racial tension was still there. In fact, organizations like Black Lives Matter also existed and were vastly popular in his time, so it was hard to believe that racism was dead even then despite many people claiming it was. Even I, a denizen from a future far beyond MJ’s time, have heard of Black Lives Matter. Although today, it is more or less a symbol of how hard black people fought to gain equality and defense in case we regress back to the old days; the fact that the movement is still alive says a lot. But the obvious point still remains: The level of racial equality in America at that time would have never happened if all races didn’t have a new species to hate—cursed humans. Cursed humans were treated no better than African Americans were during the years of segregation or black oppression by all races. Initially, cursed humans were allowed to live freely but law after law was passed to oppress them, and brutal punishment was meted out to those who dared to use their powers or failed to control them. Cops turned a blind eye when the cursed human species was avidly attacked by people who used brutality, fear, and subterfuge to harass and sometimes kill them. The only true freedom cursed humans had been America’s fear of them; the world governments and law enforcement were too petrified to incite another war and never officially began to pursue cursed humans. Therefore, this species was left unchecked, opening the door for some of them to become criminals once they learned how to control their powers. They were fully aware that neither the government nor law enforcement would look too deeply into cases involving their kind out of fear. Naturally, this would have resulted into an anarchical society ruled by cursed humans. But two things prevented this from happening. One, majority of cursed humans were not criminals, rather scared people far too busy to be involved in criminal activities as they spent most of their waking moments trying to control their abilities to lead normal lives. Most cursed humans didn’t see their powers as a gift but as curses—hence the name—and using these powers only made them feel connected to the demon that had given them the powers—Satan himself. Second, civilians began delivering their own form of justice to cursed humans, innocent or otherwise, scaring the species as a whole because, despite their powers, they were still human and most of them didn’t know how to effectively control their powers to fight back. So you saw a lot more of cursed-human-abuse by civilians than unchecked crimes by these cursed humans; nevertheless, both were prevalent.

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While humanity had their champions—civilian vigilantes willing to do what they must to rid their cities or communities of these monsters—cursed humans had no hero. So MJ’s parents tried to be those heroes. MJ’s father, Malcom Godfrey Sr., was a well-respected alderman, and MJ’s mother, Yvette Godfrey, was the head preacher of her own church, North Philadelphia First Baptist. Together they founded the Godfrey Foundation which pooled all their collective resources to help cursed humans in their community in North Philadelphia. The Godfrey Foundation did everything from establishing civic centers to act as shelters for cursed humans running away from abusive human families or hiring lawyers to defend cursed humans who did not receive fair cases because of their inhuman abilities. While a noble cause, it earned them the ire of many in their city; a lot of people did not like the fact that the couple were trying to help a race of humans that had spawned from demonic forces, but the Godfreys cared little about others opinion of them, especially considering how much their work helped their community and how well many in the community were responding. Some people in North Philadelphia regarded the couple as celebrities because of their foundation. However, even in this community that benefited so greatly from their work, they had their fair share of critics, which unfortunately included their son.

“Boy, hold still!” scolded Yvette.

It was a Tuesday night in the March of 2006 when MJ, only 10-years-old then, had come home with cuts and bruises all over his body. After school, some boys had met MJ in the parking lot to kick his ass because his parents wouldn’t shut up about cursed humans. Yeah, I know what you are thinking: Kids are cruel. They held down his best friend, Barry Hussain, while they beat the shit out of him. Barry helped MJ home where his mother tended to his wounds while Barry watched.

“Does it hurt badly?” Barry asked MJ, as he stood at the bathroom door watching MJ’s mother dab the sore on MJ’s head with rubbing alcohol.

MJ wished he was closer to Barry so he could hit him on his head for asking such a stupid question. But he couldn’t, so he resorted to just yelling at him.

“Yes, stupid! Why do you think my mom is putting alcohol on it?” 

“Unsuccessfully though, because you won’t stop moving”, MJ’s mother scolded him. “Now cut the crap.”

Yvette dabbed a little more rubbing alcohol before sealing the last wound with a Band-Aid.

“There,” she said, standing with her hands on her hips and scrutinizing her son.

MJ jumped off the toilet seat.

“How long am I going to have to wear this?” he asked his mother. “I look stupid.”

Yvette chuckled.

“You look like you got hurt, which you did,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, but it is only because I got angry cause the boys kept saying bad stuff about you” MJ replied, pouting. “I told him mom, I said ‘if you are not trying to square up, you best not talk about my momma’.”

Yvette smiled and bent down to her son’s height.

“Yeah, and what did they say?” she asked.

“They was like, ‘yo, man, your mom’s a b-word.’ And then I was like, ‘say it again, and I and Barry will jump you right now, son!’ ”

“And did you?”

Although he was initially excited to narrate the story, at this question from his mother, he remained quiet for some time.

“He took out a rubber spider, I thought it was real,” MJ answered finally, looking down at his feet. “He threw it on me and I freaked out,” he said, feeling slightly ashamed.

Yvette smiled and turned to Barry. “Hey, baby, could you give me a second with MJ?”

Barry nodded and walked off. Yvette sat on the toilet seat and tapped her lap, gesturing MJ to come and sit on it. MJ climbed onto his mother’s lap and looked into her eyes. MJ didn’t think he look a lot like his mother at that age. She was African American too, but had lighter skin than MJ and dark-brown hair stylized with caramel highlights. But there was one thing for sure; she had eyes that MJ could always see himself in. Not literally see himself, but they gave him an assurance that everything he felt, she could see. It is hard to explain, trust me. I asked MJ to explain this several times, but he only said it as looking into someone’s eyes and knowing they could understand you so deep, it was like looking at yourself.

“MJ, I need you to stop getting into these fights. You are no fighter, baby,” Yvette told him.

MJ sighed and sucked his teeth in annoyance.

“I know, but, Mom, they keep picking on me because of what you and dad do. They don’t like cursed humans and neither do I, can’t you just quit?”

Yvette chuckled at her son’s innocence.

“Remember that bible quote I always tell you to keep in mind?”

“Not this again,” MJ groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Answer the question, Malcom,” she said a little sternly.

MJ knew his mom wasn’t playing because she was using his first name, as she often did when she wasn’t in the mood for games. Being the son of a preacher, Malcom could not lightly brush off when his mom was making a point supported by the Bible.

“Yes,” he responded, but that didn’t appease Yvette.

“Say it,” she ordered.

“But, Mom…” MJ protested.

Yvette scowled at him.

“Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him,” he recited, acquiescing to his mother’s wishes.

She smiled gleefully.

“I told you that because the Godfrey family doesn’t quit. God has charged me and your father with a duty to our community,” she explained.

“But what about your duty to me?”

He looked away from his mother. His mother grabbed his face and turned it to hers, locking into his eyes with her own.

“The most important duty God has given me was being your mother. Don’t ever forget that. But there are other people who need me like you do.” 

MJ sighed. Yvette began stroking his hair gently to console him. 

“I know it is going to be tough, but you need to be strong, for me and your father alright?” she said.

 MJ wasn’t buying it. At this point, it had been 2 years he was being bullied because of what his parents did for the cursed humans; and he was sick of it. He felt like he was suffering just because a couple of demonic humans needed protection. He hated it and his mom’s promise that she will always be there for him didn’t make him feel better. He leaped off her lap.

“I just wish it wasn’t so hard to be your son,” he said before leaping off her lap; exiting the bathroom.