Max tumbled through the darkness of empty space, the Combat 101 auditorium completely gone. Panic clawed him like a rabid animal.

The blackness surrounding Max was complete, its silence total. He couldn’t see anything, not even his own body; he couldn’t hear anything, not even his own screams. His mind raced with panicked thoughts.

Had he been involuntarily jerked into the shadow realm again, similar to his experience in Mirrorkin’s chamber?

But the shadow realm was bitterly cold; its gravity non-existent, with no sense of up or down. This void he now tumbled in was totally different, not cold at all. The fact he was moving was also unlike the shadow realm, where he had floated in an ocean of nothingness.

If this wasn’t the shadow realm, what was it?

Whatever it was, Max’s sensation of falling seemed both fleeting and eternal, a paradox that made his mind reel.

His body slammed into something solid and unexpectedly soft. The sensation of falling ceased. Bright light, sharp as daggers, stabbed his eyes.

Max blinked hard as his eyes adjusted from the pitch darkness to this abrupt brightness. Grit was in his mouth.

Sand. He was on sand.

Coughing, Max pushed himself up, spitting out a mouthful of sand. Around him, his first-year classmates were similarly sprawled on a beach, looking just as disheveled and confused as Max.

The beach’s sand was white as sugar, and bare as a newborn. The water noisily lapping at the beach’s perimeter was a brilliant shade of blue that defied description. On the opposing side of the virgin beach were trees and plants, thick as a jungle. A mountain loomed from the center of the jungle. A beaming sun, not obscured by a single cloud, warmed Max’s face. A gentle breeze cooled it.

All in all, it was like paradise.

Max had been here before. This was the beach of Villains Island. He and the other first years had somehow been transported here from the lofty heights of Prometheus Academy atop the mountain.

“Look!” someone cried, pointing.

Max’s gaze was drawn upward, toward an imposing figure dropping rapidly from the sky.

It was Pantheon, the head of the Apex Division. He looked like a god descending from heaven against the backdrop of the clear blue sky. He came to a halt a few feet above the beach, bobbing in the air in the midst of the students, imposing in stature and presence.

His intricate armored outfit reflected the sunlight in dazzling patterns. Gold designs were inlaid in his blue chest plate, gauntlets, and greaves. His ensemble reminded Max of a Roman centurion’s armor, but it was far more colorful and ostentatious. Pantheon’s arms were crossed and he stood ramrod straight, as if posing for a portrait. The ocean breeze tousled his flaxen hair, making his ivory and gold cape ripple and snap behind him like a flag deserving a salute.

A golden visor hid the Villain’s eyes, but Max could somehow feel them studying them all. He had the demeanor of a king inspecting his kneeling subjects. If Max weren’t such a red-blooded American, democratically raised to believe he was as good as any man and better than most, Pantheon’s regal presence might have tempted Max to bow before him.

Pantheon let the gaping students drink him in before he spoke.

“As you know, I am Pantheon, the head of Prometheus Academy’s Apex Division.” His voice boomed as if he were speaking through a bullhorn; it resonated with the kind of self-assured grandiosity that could fill an opera house. “Welcome to your first Power Channeling class. You are truly blessed to have a Villain as illustrious as myself as your instructor.”

“But not blessed to have sand in my hoo-ha,” Gene muttered, tugging on her jumpsuit in discomfort and shaking sand out of her blonde ballet bun. Damian was nowhere to be seen in the sprawl of students.

“The purpose of this class,” Pantheon was saying, “is to guide you along the road toward mastery of your Unreal powers. This is, without a doubt, the most important of all your classes. So you would be wise to hang on my every word. The gems of knowledge I will impart are valuable beyond measure.

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“The journey you embark upon today, under my unparalleled tutelage, is not merely an educational endeavor. It is, in fact, a climb toward the very apex of your potential, a chance to soar beyond the limits of Villains not fortunate enough to train under me.”

Pantheon’s arms unfolded to gesture grandly at the sky as if he were embracing the whole world. “Here, under my guidance, you will learn not just how to wield your powers, but how to transcend them. To reach heights that others can only dream of.”

He paused, as if waiting for applause. When it became obvious none was forthcoming, a moue of displeasure flashed across his face.

“As the storied leader of the Apex Division, my expertise in harnessing and maximizing potential is unmatched. I am not just a teacher—I am the architect of your future greatness. Under my mentorship, you will not only understand the true breadth of your abilities, but also how to mold them into tools of unparalleled power.”

He paced in the air, his cape flowing behind him as he slowly rotated to look at all of the students.

“This class, this experience, is the crucible in which your raw, untamed talents will be forged into weapons of extraordinary might. You will learn, under my watchful eye, to control, to dominate, to conquer. Each lesson, each challenge I present to you, is a stepping stone on your path to becoming legends in your own right.”

A student piped up. “Will you also teach us to be legends in our own minds like you are in yours?”

Pantheon froze. He spun on his heel to face the direction the voice had come from.

“Who said that?” he snarled. “Who dares take that tone with me?”

No one responded.

“If the perpetrator doesn’t have the stones to confess,” Pantheon thundered, “the rest of you should turn him in. It will go hard on you if you don’t.”

Again, none of the students said anything.

Max knew the smart aleck had been Ollie, who was nearby. Despite not being a fan of the Anarchy Division student because of how he and his cronies had picked on Gene, Max wasn’t going to squeal on him. Max was no narc. Besides, Max agreed with Ollie for a change. Pantheon was a blowhard, obviously full of himself. Max was already longing for Bastion’s humbler, more straightforward style.

The silence stretched on, becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

Finally, Pantheon resumed lecturing, shaking a gloved finger down at them.

“No further disrespect will be tolerated.” Gene stuck her tongue out at the Villain as soon as he turned his back again, causing a ripple of suppressed tittering. She, apparently, enjoyed Pantheon’s outsized ego just as much as Max did. “Remember, I do not just teach Power Channeling—I redefine it. Every moment in my presence is an opportunity to witness mastery at work. And so, I expect nothing less than your utmost dedication and respect. In return, I will mold you into the most formidable Unreals you are capable of becoming.”

A smile played on his lips, as if his sizable ego had already forgotten Ollie’s interjection.

“We shall begin by assessing the current state of your power mastery. Most of you are Initiate-level, though there is a sprinkling of Competents. I’m not at all surprised to see that most of the Competent-levels are in my Apex Division. But let’s delve past labels, shall we, and see firsthand what you all can do.

“To that end, you are going to divide into teams to play a superpowered version of Capture the Flag. During the tournament, you have full authorization to use your powers as you see fit. As long as you don’t use them to murder your classmates, ha-ha. I and my various replicants will assess your performance, discerning how best to train each of you going forward.”

Max was barely listening, his mind mulling over various escape plans. This was the first time he had been allowed outside the castle since coming to Prometheus Academy. Plus, there were no servitors acting as chaperones; the androids who had accompanied them to their Combat 101 class had not been transported here with the first years.

Max hadn’t planned on attempting an escape this soon, but this was an opportunity he couldn’t ignore.

If he could make his way to the jungle once Pantheon’s tournament was over, he could camouflage himself in the shadows there, and perhaps go unnoticed as the rest of the class made its way back up to the mountaintop castle. Then he could wait until a boat or another helicopter came, stow aboard, and escape the island.

It was a half-baked plan, but a half-baked plan was better than no plan. Besides, what was the worst they could do to him if they caught him? Abduct him again? You couldn’t condemn someone to hell if they already lived there.

But what about Edgar?

Max glanced at the speedster further down the beach. Max was less than impressed by Ed, but he couldn’t leave him behind. Not after they had promised to help each other escape.

Also, what about Damian and Gene?

Though both students were at Prometheus voluntarily, Max hated leaving them behind to deal with Malik by themselves. Considering how easily Damian had defeated Malik during combat class, though, maybe Malik needed to worry more about Damian than vice versa. Then again, if Malik was smart, he wouldn’t confront Damian head-on. He’d wait until Damian couldn’t see him coming, and stab him in the back. Or arrange an “accident.” Or figure out a way to nullify Damian’s situational awareness.

Max was so busy fretting with those issues, he nearly missed words that were music to his ears. His heart skipped a beat when what Pantheon was saying sunk in. His half-baked escape plans flew clean out of his head, supplanted by a better one.

“Other than the thrill of victory,” Pantheon was saying, “the winning team will enjoy a special treat. One usually denied to first years, who traditionally are confined to Villains Island their entire freshman year.

“The winning team will be flown back to so-called civilization to enjoy a night on the town. My treat, of course.”

I’m going to make sure my team wins, Max silently swore. And when I get off this island, good luck getting me back on it.