Randal pulled into the driveway of the house he inherited from his aunt and turned off the engine. He leaned on the hood of the vehicle as he lit a cigarette. The flame of his lighter was the brightest object in the foggy afternoon. Sometimes, Randal needed time to decompress, which usually involved smoking, an activity he could not do in his car. Seagulls called in the distance as they rode the wind away to the sea.
“Where’s Steve?” Rachel called out from the sidewalk. Randal failed to hear her approaching, torn from his trance. She was wearing her black tracksuit and had earbuds in. She must’ve just finished her run, he guessed.
“Ah, err. Steve wanted to walk the beach, so I dropped him off,” Randal replied. Rachel knew the mission had been successful. She was just curious. Randal took a drag from his cigarette and released a cloud of smoke that crackled with small green glowing particles. Child of The Wind was what news headlines called him over a decade ago. It had been a strenuous decade, 10 years filled with instability and strife, not just for Randal, but the entire world. The instability in the global supply chain caused by the scourge left millions starving and just as many sick.
“What’s on your mind, Randy?” Rachel asked. The two were old friends and had known each other long before Keith. Rachel knew he only smoked when something was bothering him.
“Uh, nothing,” Randal quickly replied as Rachel pulled him out of his thoughts again.
“It’s Steve, isn’t it? He showed you his spell,” She guessed correctly. Randal exhaled another puff of shimmering jade smoke that danced, spun, and formed rings around him.
“The fourth generation is finally here, huh,” Randal sighed.
“It really has been that long. 12 years since the Second Wave, we were both barely teenagers when they chose us,” Rachel reminisced bitterly. The bond Rachel and Randal shared was one formed through countless tribulations. It was a pact of blood. They shared the same fallen comrades and the same stains on their hands.
The relative peace and stability that the United States experienced was at the sacrifice of hundreds of young paragons. The gods chose their warriors in rough five-year cycles by necessity. But the second wave had been a completely unexpected variable, even for the gods. The second generation of paragons was forced into existence almost four years early, resulting in the highest paragon mortality rate the world had seen.
“These new 4th gens… they came out of the box with the highest rate of S-tier skills ever. But it still didn’t matter in Yakima,” Randal referred to Steve’s first party. By all means, they had the perfect beginning to become complete powerhouses but still met brutal ends. “Then Steve comes out of nowhere. Average skill gift, average physicality, nothing significant.”
“Yeah,” Rachel nodded.
“The spell Steve used, I’ve never seen anything exactly like it. It had roughly the power output of your [Reinforced Stone Bolt] while being two circles lower,” Randal took another drag of his half-gone cigarette.
“[Reinforced Stone Bolt]? What he showed me may be as good as [Rocky Projectile] If he could cast it faster,” Rachel said skeptically with a raised eyebrow. Randal realized that Steve must’ve improved his spell more since Rachel had last seen it.
“He one-shotted three harbleks,” Randal replied gravely. Rachel suppressed a shiver at hearing the name. The scar on her thigh twinged and itched. Harbleks usually formed packs of twenty individuals that were difficult for even a Lv. 5 to survive alone. No one recommended engaging with even smaller groups until Lv. 3. Despite the soft appearance of their fleshy exterior, it was extremely tough, and new paragons always had some difficulty producing enough firepower to penetrate it.
“You’re sure?” Rachel asked. She knew that Randal wasn’t bullshitting her, but she still had trouble believing it.
“I saw him explode two of them and carve a hole straight through the other,” Randal recounted. He had planned to intervene after Steve killed one or maybe two and turn the outing into a lesson. Instead, Steve killed all three creatures in less than a minute. The excursion became more of a road trip than a kill mission.
“Christ,” Rachel muttered. The power output Randal was describing was quite similar to [Reinforced Stone Bolt], one of her toolkit spells. It was an upper-third circle spell that was especially useful due to its high mana scalability. She could cast it in about two seconds and dispatch most Lv. 4 scourge in one hit. Steve took longer to deploy his, but possessing such firepower already was remarkable.
“We can’t let HQ know about Steve,” Randal said with conviction. Randal imagined how the last 12 years as a paragon would have gone for him if he had Steve’s innate talent for magecraft. Speed, strength, neither would matter if he had long-range firepower. PIMP, even their governing organization PDDC, had a short-sighted and reckless approach to things. Rachel and Randal knew first-hand how much new talent had been squandered by the PDDC.
“I know, we can’t. We must keep Steve under the radar for as long as we can. Just even a year,” Rachel agreed. The two jaded veterans had seen countless comrades come and go. Over time, they developed a sense of who would survive and who would die. Despite this sense, neither could predict the outcome of a paragon’s first year.
“If Steve doesn’t end up a novelty or a fluke, one year is all he needs.”
[Congratulations! You have learned Mana Shield] +10 XP
“Ye-haaa,” Steve cried out as he knelt on the beach in front of the surf. The waves crashed before him in an onslaught of turquoise. Heavy fog still blanketed the beach and clung to his skin. It took a week to understand the exact concepts and thoroughly memorize everything, but now the spell was done at last. He finally had a defensive spell that would help prevent him from dying. Killing everything that moved was a valid strategy, but it quickly fell apart at the slightest power gap. Steve knew he was lucky the conditions were perfect when he killed the harbleks. He had Randal as his safety net, the monsters came running in a straight line, and he had advanced notice of their arrival.
Steve channeled mana to the palm of his right hand and let tendrils of blue energy shoot out of his fingertips. The energy hissed and danced like blue fire as more tendrils grew from the first ones. What was left was a fractal-like spiderweb of glowing mana in front of Steve’s hand. It was a simple shield in its entirety. It blocked air, liquid, and solid objects all the same.
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“Why am I so slow at this,” Steve moaned as he practiced forming and retracting his shield. Over and over again. He burned through mana like a hungry forest fire, each second costing him four MP.
“Who are you?” A female voice called out from behind in a demanding tone. The voice immediately broke Steve's concentration. Steve slowly turned his head like a creaking hinge, irritation written boldly across his face. A dozen paces to Steve’s left was a young woman wearing a government uniform. She had light olive skin with jet black hair tied in a ponytail. Her glaring eyes faintly glowed golden in the shadow of the fog, as if Steve was encroaching on her private beach. A subtle detail Steve noticed was dark bags under her eyes. The gears slowly turned in Steve’s head as he tried to figure out who this familiar woman was. Her angular chin and delicate nose formed a distinct and regal face. She carried an intimidating aura around herself, and Steve could tell she was a high-level paragon. He must’ve been staring for too long because her frown deepened.
“Oh, you’re always on TV!” Steve exclaimed as recognition bloomed across his face. Steve was remarkably horrible with names, but he knew he should know her. “Give me a minute, you’re familiar,” Steve wracked his brain for a name to match the face. “Nope. Sorry, nothing.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” She retorted almost with venom in her voice. Steve was not a fan of this chick. She seemed sorta mean and was really bumming his vibe.
“Steve.”
“Steve, you’re in the way of my view. Get off the beach,” She commanded with a straight face as she stared into the foggy sea. She’s not for real, is she? Sometimes people like this showed up, and they always took a liking to Steve. Socially inept people with self-esteem issues liked to harass him for some reason. Steve didn’t do anything, he just stared back. Now thoroughly irritated, Steve pulled a warm mushy Go-gurt out of his pocket from the gas station and started to suck on it. All the while, he maintained eye contact with her as he scowled back at her. The spectacle was ridiculous as neither party backed down.
“Well, aren’t you going to tell me your name?” Steve broke the silence as he finished the tube of yogurt. With the speedy dexterity of a child factory worker, he rolled the emptied tube up and shoved it in his pocket. Steve would die before he littered on the beach.
“Does the title Empress ring a—” She was rudely interrupted by Steve slurping on a second warm Go-gurt. “Bell,” She finished, pretending Steve hadn't just interrupted her.
“No, sluuurrp, I don’t think so sluurrp,” Steve quickly finished his second Go-gurt and rolled it up too.
“I’m Sylara. If you leave this beach now, I’ll still consider signing an autograph,” She said whipping her hair with her hand. There’s no way she’s a real person Steve thought to himself. Sylara?
“Ohhhh,” Steve remembered why she was so familiar. It wasn’t exactly from TV either. Her eyebrows raised slightly, and her face softened as she was about to be recognized. It seemed she liked the attention. “You’re the paragon who went viral a few weeks ago for verbally abusing a Target employee,” Steve blurted out. Sylara’s scowl deepened. What was she doing here on the West Coast, though? Sylara the Empress was a New York-based paragon who was world-renowned for her overwhelming strength. Wait, she might kill me if I piss her off too much… He did not remember how strong she was, but she did make headlines at least once a month.
“I’m feeling generous today, so I will let you live,” She said, twirling her hair and briefly closing her eyes. It seemed like she was not lying, at least about some level of violence. She’s an attention whore, and in a bad mood, too. Steve took the chance he was given and quickly scuttled away into the fog. Steve was as close to fearless as most people could get, but he despised hassles over everything else. He sensed that the more time he spent in her vicinity, the higher the probability there was for a hassle to occur. This hassle could be getting beat up, getting robbed, getting roped into a government operation, or even getting verbally abused like the Target employee.
“Where’d—,” Before she could finish her sentence her phone rang. “Fucker,” she muttered, barely within earshot. Phew, hassle evaded. Steve could feel from the pressure of the air that Sylara was significantly more powerful than Randal. Her aura was greater, more refined, and heavier.
***
Steve hammered away at the buttons on his controller, blocking and evading every one of Rachel’s attacks. Rachel was an above-average Kirby one-trick, but she struggled to land a hit on Steve who had been one-tricking Ganon for years. Beautifully executing his combo, Steve eliminated Rachel’s last stock without giving her one of his own.
“Ahhhh, you win again,” Rachel sighed in defeat.
“Hey, Your Grand Magician Supremity, Rachel, do you know who Sylara is?” Steve asked earnestly. Rachel rolled her eyes at Steve’s use of a made-up title.
“Well, yeah. She’s probably the most ridiculous 3rd gen-er out there right now. Why?
“I ran into her at the beach yesterday,” Steve answered casually. Rachel raised an eyebrow.
“That’s surprising. She’s a very powerful paragon. Top 10 right now, I think,” Rachel replied as she opened her menu. Her eyes flicked around as she changed a few settings until a blue screen appeared for Steve to see.
[Leaderboard placeholder]
[end of LB placeholder]
It was a leaderboard filled with various names, numbers Steve did not understand, and their levels. Sylara was in the top 10 and was currently ranked 6th.
“Is this another level-restricted feature?” Steve asked. It was really cool and totally up Steve’s alley as a dumbass.
“Unfortunately. She must’ve moved up since I last checked,” Rachel commented. “I think she was 9th or 10th for a long time.”
“That’s impressive. But she totally bummed my vibes. I just finished learning [Mana Shield], and she comes up to me and demands to know who I am!” Steve complained. “Then she tells me to leave like it is her beach.”
“Yeah, she is notorious for not having an, uh, agreeable personality. She must be here for the annual Parahuman summit.”
“What’s that?” Steve asked.
“It should be starting soon. Randal should be on his way there,” Rachel answered.
“Oh, he didn’t tell me about that.”
“Well, he didn’t remember until I ‘told’ him early this morning,” Rachel said ominously. “It’s basically a place to share plans, ideas, and strategies for the strongest and smartest,” She explained.
“I see.”
“ Never mind Sylara, did you hear Caius Black Chain was just spotted in Vegas the other day?” Rachel asked, her eyes perking up as she mentioned the man. Steve may have lived under a rock his entire life but he still knew who Caius was.
“He’s back?” The news of Caius’s disappearance had made world headlines several years ago. Even Steve heard about it.
“Gosh, I hope I can meet him one day,” Rachel said. Those in their mid-twenties had a special sort of reverence for Caius compared to most people. He was the hero of their childhood as he was one of the most impactful men in the course of society during that time. Caius was the reason Rachel took Spanish outside of the academy before she was chosen to become a paragon.
“Ahhh, that jacket is so sickkkkk,” Steve said as he looked at the news article on his phone. Somehow the internet was working. The black bomber jacket the man wore in the photo made Steve’s mouth water. He decided the next time he had money lying around, he was buying a jacket just like the one Caius wore. Steve had some money set aside for little expenses, but he lived at the Sea Men's house for entirely free. Randal promised to pay him a salary once he became strong enough to participate in missions, which he thought was fair.
“Go to hell,” Rachel said with a gravelly voice, lowering her imaginary sunglasses down the ridge of her nose and peering over them as she imitated Caius’s catchphrase. Steve chuckled, even though he was familiar with it. That one phrase had cemented its place in pop culture just as deeply as Arnold Schwarzenegger’s famous line in The Terminator. The Peruvian man had an enigmatic persona that made him fascinating to people of all ages. He appealed to almost the entirety of North and South America because he could speak both English and Spanish. Then, there was the fact that he was almost unanimously called the strongest human.