By the time I had gotten myself up, Beatrice was already a couple of metres ahead of me.

I took a few deep breaths, trying to keep myself from having an asthma attack. All I had to do was grab her other arm, and then I was going to be fine. Whatever training exercise this was would soon be over.

And so it was, but not in the way I thought.

A tingling, warm sensation spread throughout my back in what felt like an eternity but would probably be just a second. Fire swallowed my whole until it was all I could see and then…

Then I was in a dark room, my hands covered in large metal cylinders. They were glued to the arms of my chair. It was relatively comfortable, and I struggled against it. Every movement made my body go on fire. Not literally, thankfully.

It was a dark, small room, and I was all alone in it. Who knew what had happened between that battle and now. Deep breaths. I couldn’t mess with my hands when they were in these bonds, and it just made me more anxious.

More and more I felt my breaths become shallower and shallower. I felt a sense of desperation and fear I didn’t know I could feel. I wouldn’t see my friends again. I would never talk to Iraklis again, and I didn’t even remember what the last thing we said to each other was.

But there was something else here too. I felt it, creeping around my head and body, like a cripping, moving mass-of-of something I couldn’t even describe. I cringed as I felt it settle in my chest, expanding through my lungs and chest.

I tried to keep it in, to shoulder through it, but I couldn’t. I let myself scream and scream until I was out of breath and then I started screaming again. This time not out of pain and fear, but because I wanted someone to come. I wanted to know what was going on. I didn’t do it entirely on purpose to be honest.

As time went on, it felt like I had less and less control over my body.

“I know you’ve hidden yourselves in a deep, dark, corner,” I said eventually, even though I didn’t want to. It felt like someone else was in control while I was being dragged away into complete darkness.

As soon as I-was it even really me?-spoke, smoke came out of the floor below. A part of it rose as a table, and a chair soon came behind it. The wall opposite to me opened up too, and a large man, dressed in a white suit with a blue jacket and tie, came in.

He had black hair and eyes, and he adjusted his glasses as he sat down. His expression was clearly trying to be neutral, but it looked like he was angry enough to smash me through the room.

“Jacob Macquoid, I presume?” he said, leaning into the table. Yeah, he was definitely mad. “Or would you prefer Moros?”

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“Of course,” I-or I guess Jacob–said. “And I assume Charles sent you. Paragon is out. Only I can stop him. Moros versus Paragon. I can smell it–taste it even. Let me at him. Let me murder a god.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” said the man. “You’ll do no such thing. I’m working on building a brand new future for heroes. And I see that in you.”

I smiled involuntarily. Every move I made, every word I said, it felt like it was sending me deeper and deeper inside the pit. But was it really a pit? It was more like a complete lack of anything, like I–like Alexander Adamos–would completely disappear.

“I’m no hero,” I heard whoever had taken me over say. “You have no idea what I am.”

And then, he, the man, smiled.

“I meant Alexander,” he said lightly. “Conquering you–defeating the literal monster inside– and through that regaining everything he lost, is the first step.” I laughed at that. A quiet, but also deafening laugh full of malice I hadn’t heard come from myself before.

“Get off your high, Adamos is nothing. Literally.”

With that, the man got up. “Let’s see then. Use your strength Alexander–this is your fight. And everyone believes you can win. See deep within yourself, the truth that has been buried deep. You swore you wouldn’t give up. Don’t forget that. Be a hero.”

Be a hero. I reached out, with every part of my mind, until I was in control again. But then I lost it. And gained it again.

We continued like this until, for what–for some reason–felt like the hundredth time, darkness filled my vision.

And then I found myself in a field of flowers every colour imaginable, with a tall, dark skinned man with long hair and beard, standing opposite to me.

“Jacob Macquoid,” I said, the name falling from my lips almost on instinct.

He smiled, although it was barely visible through his beard.

“One of Charles’ many backups,” he said, gesturing around the whole space. “Apparently, I was supposed to drag you in here during the fifth of December.” He clenched his hands, and I noticed that we were wearing the same white lined gloves. “Well, Alexander Adamos, are you ready to die?”

Now it was my turn to clench my hands.

I felt a wave of memories flow through me.

Meeting Jensen.

Fighting and making up with Iraklis.

A hundred hours of painful, almost unbearable training.

Fighting two powerful villains.

Finding out I got into Atlantis.

Making new friends and enemies.

Memories with Ivan, Ahmed, and so many others that I’d completely forgotten.

And a mission, a determination I hadn’t felt in a long time, in order to stop all of them.

And through most of it all, her. Birgit Stine Paulsen.

“A year ago, I probably wouldn’t have fought,” I said as fiercely as I could. “I would have called myself a monster and a burden. Hell, I’d probably have done the same thing last week. But seeing it all like this, I just-I just can’t. I’ve promised it to too many people, and backtracked too many times.”

“What are you-”

“I won’t stop. I will be a hero. And I will stop you. So bring your worst.”