Kabash couldn't fly. He tumbled in mid-air, buffeted by the wind.

I fired a second shell at him, and his legs rocketed toward the ground. His body followed the next instant, pulled downward by an invisible force. The shell zipped past his head. Without stumbling, he broke into a run, straight for me.

Damn him and his tricks.

I ripped two shells free from my bandolier and launched them into the air. Kabash read my intention and exploded upward, caving the ground beneath him. He darted between the missiles and extended his foot.

I aimed at the spot he’d land, but Kabash was smarter. He repeated his maneuver, kicking into the air again. The rods retracted, bringing him down safely ahead of my shots.

The distance had been reduced by over fifty percent.

Shit.

I should have anticipated this. The guy who could extend and retract iron rods could also extend and pull himself to the tips of those rods. He could play this however he wanted. In contrast, I was rooted to a spot.

I switched tactics, opting for a retreat.

Kabash laughed, racing after me. “That’s the spirit!”

A spray of gravel left my palm, riddling the air with bullets. He vaulted over them, predicting my intent. I loosed a few more shots over my shoulder, then dove for the ground. Gravel peppered the air.

Kabash reached for a tree. His real hand manifested at the end of the rod, and he snapped in that direction. The next second, he moved within the treetops. Snap. Snap. Snap.

“Oh, come on,” I groaned. “You're out of bounds now.”

He closed in the gap in that manner, circling the perimeter of the arena. We’d started near both ends of the field, leaving me no place to run. Not that I wanted to. Gravel flew from my palms, as many as I could fire per minute.

And then, Kabash was there.

He surged out of cover, tackling me to the ground. A kick sent my plastic shell flying. Another caved in my gut. I raked my fingers across his throat, but he caught them and slammed me into the dirt. My arms pressed against my scapula, so tight I lost my breath.

“I win,” Kabash said, huffing the words.

He did. He deserved it. I couldn’t even bring myself to complain.

Kabash released my arms and crumpled to the ground. The breaths left him in great bellows.

“A-are you alright?” I asked, heaving. “I didn't hit you, did I?”

“Thigh.” He coughed. “Just a graze.”

A jagged cut scoured his left thigh.

“You should get that looked at,” I said.

“You were holding back.”

“Only with the stones. You would have won either way.”

We took a minute to catch our breaths. The sun bore down on our faces.

“What did you learn?” Kabash asked, rising to a sitting position.

“Huh?”

“What did you learn from our short spar?” he repeated.

“That if my opponent is a flyer, I am probably fucked.”

“I’m not a flyer.”

I wheezed. “You get my meaning. How do you do that anyway? Your joints should have shattered from all that jarring.”

“I have springs in my bones.”

“Haha . . . Wait. You're not kidding.”

“I am.” He flexed his arms. “I have pneumatic joints and a reinforced musculoskeletal system. They’re part of the package. It still hurts when I hit a surface, but no. I won't be breaking things anytime soon.”

Ah. His performance on the bench press had always struck me as more than a little inhuman.

The dust settled around us. A flock of birds swerved across the sky.

“Thanks,” I mumbled. “I needed that.” I was still frustrated about the situation in Sagidi, but the anchor of fumes had receded. Breathing came easier as a result.

“Well, thank me after we resume your training,” Kabash said. “You'd be a better fighter if you were more effective in close quarters. But I also see the importance of improving your control. I'll secure permission for you to train here more often.” He stumbled to his feet.

“What assignment were you on anyway?”

“Classified.”

“Aww, come on. Give me something. We had to fight a crazy Emergent in your absence. Seeing you at work now makes me think you might have made some difference.”

Kabash beamed at the praise. Easy to please, wasn’t he? Then he glanced at the bandage on his arm and shook his head.

“There are Supers out there way worse than No Light, kid,” he said. “Pray you never meet them.” He offered his hand. “Come on, let's return to the base.”

The journey back proceeded in comfort with the monsoon blowing in our faces. The woodsy fragrance reminded me of days spent playing in mom’s hometown back in the South-East, and of a teary-eyed Nenye, who waited for me beneath the branches of ube trees, too tall for her to climb.

“About those Supers,” I said, shaking the memory away. “The ones worse than No Light?”

“Yeah?” Kabash replied. “What about them?”

“Well, what should I watch out for? How do I engage them in a situation where retreat is impossible?”

“You don't.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. I am young and inexperienced. But I feel a little coddled. If we can't make decisions ourselves, we should at least get as much combat prep as needed.”

“What are you saying?”

“Ugh.” I scratched my head. Presenting arguments had never been my forte. “Take today, for example. Our no-holds-barred spar taught me way more about powered fights than a month’s worth of kata and classes. Shouldn't we be doing similar drills to prepare us for the range of powers we could face? Maybe add in some knife fighting and MMA?”

Kabash kicked a piece of gravel. “You are still minors.” He stopped me before I could interrupt. “Yes, I know you are adults by superhuman regulations, but there's a reason for the six-month training period. We build your muscles, hone your abilities. Most importantly, we prepare you for the psychological aspects of the job. When you are ready, we switch to the ins and outs of lethal fighting.”

“The Villains aren't going to display good sportsmanship and wait for us to complete our training. Surely, learning something more dangerous than ‘strengthen your core!’ and ‘use proper form!’ is bound to help.”

“You won't learn anything if you don't achieve proper form.”

“I can't achieve that if I don't learn anything.”

Kabash chuckled. “Cheeky. But it won’t work on me. Pro-now was serious about this. No lethal training till you’ve all proven ready.”

“What about some serious tips then? You don't need to teach me the best ways to kill deadly Villains. Telling me what to expect should suffice.”

“All that is planned for a future lesson.”

I sat on the ground. Okay, I was acting a little childish, but he’d forced my hand. “Some tips won't hurt now.”

Kabash chortled. “You can't be serious.”

“I am.”

He stopped laughing. “Oh, jeez, you are. This is so unlike you.” After a beat, he joined me on the ground. “I won't teach you how to cause debilitating injuries. Until you prove—”

“—that I am responsible enough to know when to use them,” I finished.

“Stop that,” he said. “I will give you this tip though. When fighting Supers with high mobility, you’d want to wait for them to wear out. Either that or you disturb the terrain. It conserves your energy. Reduces the risk of friendly fire.”

“In essence, get my timing right.”

“And clear your head.” He pointed at his body. “Superpowered fights can either be drawn out or end in the blink of an eye. The latter is more likely. So, while timing is important, you also want to hit first and hit hard. The quicker you take a Super out of commission, the better your chances that you don’t get blindsided by an ability you didn’t foresee.”

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“So, I run up to them and sock them in the solar plexus?” I asked, resting my palms on the dirt.

Kabash snorted. “What? No. That’s way too difficult to pull off. If you aren't decking someone in the jaw and shaking their brain, forget about easy KOs. The organs in the belly are packed pretty tight, and the ribs can take more punishment than we think.” He paused, lost in thought. “There is merit to attacking the face though. Wounds to the head and face bleed the most. Way out of proportion to the injury. It just might be enough to blind your opponent or send them into panic or flight. If you are on the ropes and can only get the one good shot in, then it has to be the collar bone. Break that and you've all but won, assuming your opponent lives through it.” He blinked and buried his face in his palms. “I shouldn't have told you that.”

I grinned. “Do these tactics apply to all Supers?”

Despite his misgivings a second ago, Kabash couldn’t resist an opportunity to teach. “Oh, no. You need to match and adjust according to their classification. How much do you know of the new classes?”

“Some. Catherine promised to get us the handbook.”

“Ah. A definite must-read.” His eyes darted to the ground. “Don’t panic, but we are currently sitting near a line of fire ants.”

I leaped to my feet.

Kabash followed a second later, laughing.

The time read some minutes past three, and it didn't look to rain, despite the wind. Kabash led the way, and I hounded him, intent on milking his good mood.

“So . . . about the classes of Supers?” I ventured.

“Hmm. Ms. Catherine will teach those in depth.”

“A short summary would suffice.”

“I suppose.” He stopped to study a tree bark. “The major thing to note is that the Alliance aren't the first to attempt a classification, but they are arguably the most successful. Their handbook categorizes all possible powers out there into rational classes. Ten in all.”

“And these classes use chess terminologies.”

“Yep,” Kabash said. “On one hand, you have the conventional classes. The Rooks. The Kings. The Queens. The Knights, Pawns and Bishops. They are conventional because they are well documented. Then there’s the unconventional lot: Players, Arbiters, and, Chessboards.”

“That's nine.”

“Eh?” He counted on his fingers. “I forgot the En-passants.”

I scrunched my brows. “Catherine said that Knights have space-time manipulating abilities. What about the others?”

Kabash slipped a penknife out of a pouch on his hip. He shaved a small piece of bark off the tree. “Well, Kings and Queens are all about control. Kings manipulate or recreate inanimate material, including natural phenomena, while Queens do the same for living beings. We have one of each back at the base.”

“Dia Mater and Harvest.”

“Yep.” He raised his arm. It transformed into a short length of iron. “Rook powers can be considered a subset of the former two. It deals with the altering of physiology. Bishops manipulate energy. Pawns are super-strong, super-durable. And somewhere next to them are the En-passants: fast, agile, or capable of flight.”

The brawl at Sagidi crossed my mind. “No Light could generate electricity and alter his form. He was also super strong too.”

“Ah. A triple classer. Pawn, Rook, and Bishop rolled into one. You are actually an, err . . .”

“Bb2 or something,” I said. “According to Pro-now.”

“Oh, that makes sense. Kinetic energy is energy, after all.”

“So, I am a Bishop.” I clucked my tongue. “What’s up with the other qualifiers?”

Kabash moved on to another tree. “Bishop beta-two. It means you are a Bishop, of moderate threat level, whose powers work on contact.”

“So, I take it the g in Bg2 means gamma?”

“Correct. Bishop, dangerous, contact-based powers. That’s more accurate as pertains to you.” He slipped the new sliver of bark into his pocket.

I raised an eyebrow. “Why are you collecting those?”

Kabash pointed at the leaves. “Pawpaw trees. The bark makes a mean tea. ‘Helps with my knees after spending time jumping around.”

“Huh.”

“You don't like tree bark tea?”

“Haven't tried it. Can we get back on topic?”

Kabash huffed and pocketed his penknife. We continued down the path.

“Anyway,” he said, “Bb2 or Bg2. The three qualifiers form what we call an ESR. Effective Superhuman Rating. It’s an important factor that dictates the flow of battle, determining how best to engage Supers in a fight. You will need to consult the handbook to appreciate its intricacies. I'm not too conversant with the ratings.

“For the Unconventional classes, we have two Players in the base: Neviecha and AV. Supers whose powers revolve around knowledge and ideas. The final classifications are the rarest: Arbiters and Chessboards. The former refers to conceptual abilities and the latter to reality-altering ones. Odim is an Arbiter. I don't think I’ve ever met a Chessboard.”

I committed it all to memory. “Which classes are the most difficult to fight?”

“All of them,” Kabash said. “You need to remember, kid. Superpowers are insane. But they ultimately pale in comparison to the individual applying them. No one power grants an instant win.”

“I'm not sure I believe that.”

Kabash bristled. “That's the excuse Supers use to avoid bettering themselves.”

“And that sounds like words a motivational speaker would say.” He glared at me, and I coughed into my fist. “Sorry.”

“Do you want to continue this lesson or not?”

“I do. Please, go on.”

Kabash grumbled. “Well, a few rules are advisable while facing Supers. Be careful with the rare types, especially Arbiters and Chessboards. Engage them in a party or don't engage at all. Avoid melee with Pawns. Expect the unexpected with Rooks. And, well, everyone hates Queens, because a few of them have powers that break an unspoken rule in the Super community: the hijacking of someone else's will.”

“That sounds like Bazaar.”

Kabash didn't reply.

“You are hiding something,” I said.

“And you are too paranoid for your own good.” The frown remained on his face, but his body language told a different story.

“Should I sit on the ground again?”

Kabash rolled his eyes. “Let’s avoid a repeat of that. Tantrums are not a good look for you.”

“Go on then.”

“Look, while Bazaar was on the run, she was considered a dual Classer. Rook ability to alter her physiology and produce organic compounds. Mild Queen ability to affect the will of others. However, we are removing the Queen rating on her official records. Queens get a lot of bad rep once human control is involved. The public hates them. Villains love them. Heroes don't want to talk about them.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “The CAH, in particular, aren’t very fond of them.”

I could appreciate the logic behind that. Fighting Bazaar was not a fun experience. It was bad enough to hallucinate in broad daylight. But if her power was only a sliver of what real Queens could do, I never wanted to meet one.

“You know what?” I said. “Thanks for today, sir. Really.”

“You’re welcome,” Kabash replied. “I know studies are important, but Catherine really should have taught this in week one. Don't go around relying on ratings however. They exist to tell you what you might be up against. In truth”—he pointed at his head—“this is what matters. Hone your skills to the point that you can rely on your gut instinct. If it tells you something is wrong, then something is most definitely wrong.”

“The gut isn't located in the head though.”

“I'm just saying!”

I entered the underground base, much lighter than I’d been when I left. Further exercise wasn't an option, so I prepared for bed instead. I had just finished showering when a knock came from the door.

Alewo stood on the other end.

I suppressed the pang of guilt that threatened to surface at the sight of his red eyes and grinned down at him. “What's up?”

“Dinner’s ready,” he said, wiping oil stains on his pants. “Plus, there's something on the news. Kabash wants us all to gather.”

That got my attention.

We made for the living room, walking side by side in silence. I had expected the Pacesetters and Kabash to be present, but Catherine was a welcome addition. She sat cross-legged beside Toye, dressed in shirt and slacks for once. Someone lurked behind her, taking up the space at the back of the couch: a bear-like man; his crisp jacket was nowhere to be found. His shirt was creased, sleeves rolled up his elbows.

“Ardent?” I choked.

The big man raised a finger to his lips.

I settled at the dining table next to Ava and Obong. Alewo slid me a plate of beans and another of fried plantains.

“What's going on?” I asked him in a low voice.

He grimaced. “An important announcement. Or so Kabash says.”

Kabash reclined in a club chair with his bandaged leg propped up on a stool. The water bottle he'd pulled from the fridge hung forgotten in his grip.

On TV, a female newscaster recapped the incident in Sagidi, with updates on the current situation. The governor of the city commiserated with the bereaved, promising aid and recompense. A rebroadcast of the Petroleum Ministry’s press conference aired.

I tuned out the proceedings.

“In light of recent outrage,” the newscaster reported, “the superheroes have issued a response. At six p.m. today local time, the leader of the Newtown Council of Heroes granted an interview to reporters.”

Huh?

The video switched to a shot of the front gates of our base. Pro-now climbed a podium amid flashes from cameras. His black visor looked eerie in the lighting, mounted atop a heavy-duty respirator. Rabidor and Dia Mater followed behind him, their expressions grim.

“Good evening,” Pro-now said. The weird vocal effect he’d built into his respirator distorted his words. “I am Pro-now, leader of the Newtown Hero Council. This is our first broadcast since our establishment. Sadly, forces beyond our control have forced us to make one prematurely.”

“Someone, change the channel,” Ava groaned. “It's giving me a headache.”

“Quiet,” Catherine hissed.

“I don't see why you peeps need to watch it in here. I am pretty sure there are plenty TVs where you came fr—ouch!” Ava glared at Obong. “Did you just kick me?”

“You're acting like a kid,” Obong said.

“You kick me, then call me a kid?”

“Ms. Dominic,” Ardent said. He whipped out his phone. “I press one code on this and electric volts will run through your collar. It won't be enough to kill you. But at the very least, we’d get ten minutes of peace.” His brows narrowed. “Ten minutes. During which we will listen and consider your place on the team. Think carefully about this.”

Ava worked her jaw.

“. . . Our members were among the first on the scene,” Pro-now said. “We helped with the rescue and also leaped into action when one of the residents, distraught by his losses, underwent an Emergent crisis. We’ve posted video evidence backing our claims on our official media accounts.”

I shoveled beans into my mouth, barely mindful of my chewing.

“At the same time as the rescue,” Pro-now continued, “independent bodies investigated the cause of the blast. Preliminary findings revealed an initial leakage caused by negligent maintenance. Therefore, the insinuation from the Petroleum Ministry that Supers are to blame for this incident is unfounded, worrisome, and completely disingenuous.” He inhaled, drawing out his words. “The Federal Government, through its ministry, is lying through its teeth. But that is hardly surprising. Lying seems to be a requirement to ascend any position in politics.”

Toye chuckled.

“That was unnecessary,” Catherine said.

“He didn’t lie,” Toye countered.

“He didn’t,” Kabash agreed. “Pro-now doesn't intend to play ball with the big shots in corridors of power. He's laying out the ground rules early. I can respect that. We can't allow a repeat of what the Lagos team endured in their formative years. We occupy a position of power now. We should use it.”

Ardent didn’t look too pleased. He started to speak, but the broadcast interrupted him.

“It is most pertinent then,” Pro-now said, “to announce that our official unveiling will hold three weeks from today. For far too long, Newtown has suffered under the boots of self-proclaimed overlords, super-villainy, and a worrying crime wave that has gained traction in recent years. Consider this a declaration and a warning: Newtown is under our protection. The Council of August Heroes has extended its operations into the territory, and we will do everything in our power to secure the lives of all who live here.”

The three Heroes vacated the podium after that, leaving the reporters to their questions. As far as shows of strength went, it wasn’t too bad. But I’d witnessed the CAH perform similar over the years. It seemed being a superhero went along with a penchant to be dramatic.

Alewo piped up. “Is this being broadcasted all over the nation?”

“Not on all stations,” Kabash said. “But it will gain traction in the coming days. Everyone knows the CAH has the will and clearance to expand, but our latest affairs have been shrouded in secrecy. With Pro-now declaring we are now functional in Newtown, it won't be long before the other bases start making press statements of their own.”

“This is good,” I said. “Pulling our weight like this. It’s bound to scare off the small-time criminals.”

The adults fell silent.

“This is good, right?” I asked.

“It's a tricky position to be in,” Ardent said in a gruff voice. “Newtown has always been prime territory for the covetous because of what it represents—”

“—And its proximity to Lagos,” Catherine said.

Ardent hummed. “There is a battle brewing over ownership of the city. Pro-now is being proactive. He's pushing the commencement up.”

“I'm fine with that,” Toye said. “Gives our enemies less time to consolidate.”

“And does the same for us,” Catherine said. “Pro-now's not asking if our people are ready. He's saying we should be ready in the shortest possible time.”

“We will,” Toye said.

The screen switched back to the newscaster. Kabash's lecture on ESRs and superhuman fights popped up in my mind.

How soon would this battle begin?