The first hint Mark got he was under attack was feeling like needles of ice were stabbing into his right bicep. Numbing cold was seemingly injected into his veins, throwing off his aim in the process. A dozen miles away a bog with water like molten tar exploded instead of the group of zombies the torrent of explosive shots had been meant for.

His attacker was a translucent, barely-visible figure floating in mid-air. He - inasmuch as the figure ascribed to such things - was an emaciated man of impossible age, all bone and loose skin and a twisted snarl full of hate. A gaping maw of pointed teeth seemed to be drinking in the light from the surrounding area with each of the figure's rattling breaths and spindly, clawed fingers swiped at the flying boy with great ferocity despite the man looking like he'd died of hunger. The only spot of color was the apparition's cold blue eyes, the rest of his body and clothing seemingly made of shadows.

"Nope!" Mark shouted, gave the ghost-thing a full burst of depleted uranium armor-piercing shells that would have blown up a small building, then put in the acceleration in a bid to keep his distance. Unfortunately, two more unearthly figures appeared in Mark's path. No RADAR signals, no trails, no sound of them approaching; one moment the sky was clear, the next they were crowding in his airspace and swiping their hideous claws at him.

The black boy tried to turn, but his power worked against him. Even the most agile jet fighter might as well be a thrown brick when compared to anything human sized and shaped, let alone superpowered individuals. All he could do was cover his face with his arms and a split-second later more needles of ice were cutting into his forearms. His flight continued entirely unimpeded however as if he hadn't just collided with a pair of monsters. Or perhaps he had not.

Mark opened his eyes to more figures blinking into visibility, all of them twisted and corpse-like as if they'd come straight from some World War Two concentration camp. Men, women, even children; the things resembled people all right but were just another form of monster. The first attacker was among them, his ghostly form full of gaping holes that seemed to impede him not at all and were quickly vanishing even as Mark watched. Great, regenerators.

Then the superhero in training noticed the other changes. With each spectre added to the throng all light grew a bit dimmer and the figures grew... not brighter but more defined, denser, the dead light of their dead eyes reaching further yet illuminating nothing. The air grew colder too, swirling mist forming into darkening clouds.

"Come, you bastards! Find peace through superior firepower!"

A torrent of thirty-millimeter shells flew out from the boy's extended arm, the primary weapon of the Fairchild Republic A-10 Thunderbolt II brought to bear with his powers. Each such shell further contained the explosive force of a two-thousand-pound bomb, the weapons overlapping to combine the best of both their capabilities and Mark was shooting them at sixty rounds per second.

The monsters, whatever they were, did not seem to care. Armor-piercing shells tore through their bodies by the hundreds meeting zero resistance but if that caused them any pain they did not show it. The extra firepower of the spatially-folded bombs in the shells did not even come into play because neither the shells nor Mark's own simulated sensors could tell the spectres were there at all. And as soon as the torrent of fire was over, the ghostly figures reformed in moments. It was like trying to shoot mist!

What followed were several minutes of the worst aerial furball the continent had ever seen as the young super blasted indiscriminately, trying to find a combination of weapons that worked while using his superior speed to keep his distance. His ghostly adversaries on the other hand relied on superior agility and their ability to wink across distances instantly to engage him in melee with their ghostly, insubstantial claws. Blinding, deafening roars of explosive ordnance marked a sky that was getting darker and darker even as a storm brewed overhead.

THOOM! THOOM! THOOM! THOOM!

A tremendous, unseen force rent half the group of shades in twain even as it extended further to cleave a half-mile-long ditch into the swamps below. The shockwave of its passage sent even Mark reeling as the attack was repeated three more times, slicing the ghostly monsters to ribbons. A few moments later the familiar figure of Gabby flew in on one of his flying swords, wielding something closer to the size of a small passenger train than a sword.

"Hey Mark!" his friend shouted to be heard, the magnified abilities of supers the only thing making it possible. "Have you found how to kill those things yet?"

"You mean your ludicrously oversized magic sword didn't do them in?!"

The ghostly monsters confirmed just that by blinking closer to the two boys, claws slashing. Their bodies had already reformed.

"They're wraiths, man," Gabby shot back, manifesting a much tinier blade to cut at the ghostly figures too close to him for his larger weapon to bear. "They're already dead. Real dark fantasy shit."

"This is not one of your stupid fantasy novels, Gabe!" Mark shouted back while frantically maneuvering away from more ghostly claws. "We're fighting for our damn lives here! How do we kill those things?"

So far, despite being a lot more painful than most other things they'd had to endure, the wraiths' blows had not wounded the two boys at all. The sharp, needle-like stabs had not even drawn blood. Instead, each blow that landed had injected a numbing coldness into the teens, a concentrated dose of the unnatural chill they seemed to radiate with their presence alone. It might not have caused any physical harm so far, but both boys could feel their limbs stiffen and grow heavier, their breaths coming in faster and harder, a deep-seated ache growing in their bones. Neither had any idea what would happen if they grew weak enough for the ghosts to mob them and even less desire to find out.

"I dunno man, I only know stor- GAAH!" Gabby backpedaled and almost fell off his floating sword when one of the ghosts got close enough to try and claw out his eyes.

"Fucking guess!" Mark shouted, barely fending off his own attackers.

"Fire! In the stories they're vulnerable to fireeee!!!!" distracted, the Hispanic boy actually slipped and fell towards the swamps below.

"No! Gabby!" the black boy tried to get to his falling friend but the entire swarm of wraiths mobbed him. Not having an alternative, Mark mentally shifted the enormous block of steel whose durability he'd been imitating into the M67 flamethrower tank from the Vietnam war. A jet of flaming napalm over three hundred feet long sprayed the swarming specters. Instead of burning like people would have, the ghostly monsters screeched angrily and winked out for a moment, reappearing without the flames and with any burns the attack dealt to them already healing.

"Great," Mark hissed angrily. "Where's Captain Barbie when you need her?"

xxxx

Wraiths were supremely annoying. They did not show up in Force Awareness, only made sounds when they felt like it, tended to ambush you when you least expected and worst of all, did not have the decency to die when blasted to bits. Whoever had sent this particular swarm to interrupt my lava bath was in for a serious bad time when I got my hands on them.

A storm of insubstantial claws scraped against my skin like a herd of damn cats, annoying and painful but not immediately dangerous. Wincing, I summoned my costume... and promptly found out they could cut me through it, the layers of super-tough material and forcefields no bar to their viciousness.

Quickly slotting in Forcefield Creation I formed my own intangible construct over the nearest wraith, anchored to the wraith's volume and designed to follow it where it went. The forces involved in countless billions of imperceptible collisions between air molecules were amplified in that volume, amplifying the chaotic motion of said molecules rapidly. And what was chaotic motion if not heat? Just like other wraiths during the invasion, this one found what it felt to coexist with plasma hotter than the surface of the sun. It tried to disperse, but the forcefield molded to its shape. It tried to blink away, but each time it reappeared the forcefield was there, and so was the white-hot flame. With a piteous wail, it burned away to nothing.

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Unfortunately, there were still dozens of its fellow intangible horrors to deal with. Fortunately, these did not wield the destructive sorcerous powers of the spirits under the invaders' control and relied on their intangible claws and aura of darkness. Three more wraiths followed the first one into burning oblivion while I considered the situation.

For all that it had been a staple of fantasy since forever, ghostly critters being able to claw you while you could not punch them did not make sense. Yes magic worked on the user's beliefs, not reality, but here I was, believing that I should be able to punch those things back while unable to. Why did the magic of a bunch of lesser spirits matter more than mine? Either they were backed by a very powerful necromancer, or I was doing something wrong.

Two more wraiths immolated as I thought. A necromancer backing them wasn't impossible. In fact, the way the spirits were working in a coordinated group, had approached under cover and hadn't fled the moment they saw my powers could burn them were all indicative of remote control by someone more intelligent than the near-mindless undead spawned by the corrupted swamps of Florida.

On the other hand, spirits could affect other spirits seemingly physically and my own forcefields were anchored to them without issues. More to the point, these wraiths could be seen and vision was just our perception of light interacting with the physical world around us. This was proof that interactions of physical force with the wraiths were not merely possible but happening even as I watched. What the magic of these spirits did then was allow for selective interaction... and if they could do it...

Closing my eyes against the continued distraction of their attacks and unearthly screeches, I layered a forcefield over my arm and willed it... not denser. Forcefields did not have any density at all so that would make no sense. No, I willed it to reach out in the same way the wraiths tried to ignore the mundane world, bridge the distance between the physical and the immaterial. Force and distance were merely two sides of a coin, one defining the other. Why should it matter that the distance was not mundane but magical?

Then I reached out and punched the first wraith to volunteer itself. Instead of my fist merely passing through it or even the ghostly undead parting around it like mist, there was resistance akin punching at mud. The wraith gave off an ear-piercing way as it was hurled away, floating to a stop a good fifty yards away. The barest signs of a bruise marked its pale, decrepit cheek, sluggishly fading away. Oh well. I couldn't expect to get a brand-new use of my powers to full strength from the first attempt. It would probably need weeks of effort and thousands of wraiths punted into orbit to get as good as my abilities during the invasion...

...or would it? Before the ghostly undead interrupt, I'd been considering what new skill to spend my points on. Was it worth to burn two points worth of potential to skip the training montage and develop this new ability immediately? A slap with the cludged-together version I had now sent several wraiths reeling. With these sparring dummies conveniently being volunteered by their unseen controller, getting a head start would be possible given a few hours of throwing hands. It wasn't as if they were more than an annoyance to me. On the other hand...

A split-second of looking at what the kids were doing showed something weird. All three of them were frantically moving around and throwing attacks at nothing in particular. They had either gone crazy in the few minutes I'd not been paying attention... or were fighting something my long-range senses could not pick up at all. Fighting and losing, from how they seemed to be flailing and their bodies were shaking uncontrollably.

No time to waste, then. With an act of will I 'burned' two motes of untapped potential, forming a churning vortex of possible paths of growth based on my actions and the nature of my powers. The magic ring in my off-hand translated those half-glimpsed options to more clear descriptions for me to pick instead of following the paths of growth instinctively.

True Strike: as long as your total speed is greater than your opponent's your melee blows can't miss, be dodged, parried, redirected or evaded in any way.

Not quite what I was looking for. In some ways far more powerful than just punching the incorporeal because of how many different forms of active defenses it could just ignore. But it was limited in other ways, namely that it only worked in melee. Mindful of the time limit imposed by the kids' fights, I reached towards more potential options in my mind.

Unified Field Bubble: in your immediate presence selectively force interactions between forces of any type.

That stretched what I'd asked for in the other extreme; instead of a narrow but overwhelming effect it allowed the broadest effect possible. It would let me as well as others punch ghosts, yes. It would also do the same for fire or lasers or gravity, or let us grab active magic as if it was a physical thing. On the other hand, not only did it not guarantee the outcome of these interactions but also conferred no advantage in or special protections from them... and trying to punch the dark magic giving a wraith shape would not be pleasant if said magic had an equal and opposite reaction. A potentially broken ability of great potential, but not the best for the current situation.

Action and Reaction: if a creature, object or power can potentially interact with you, then you and your abilities can interact back to equal measure.

Now that... that looked exactly like what I'd wanted. If they could touch me, I could touch them back. If they could see me, I could see them. If they could affect me with their weird shadow aura... smirking, I confirmed my choice.

Name: Maya Wennefer Bio: female human, 17y11m22d Known skills:

Points: 8/218

Action and Reaction, Chronal Leap, Empowering Regeneration, Eyebeams, Focused Invulnerability, Force Adjustment, Force Awareness, Forcefield Creation, Forced Acceleration, Greater Proximakinesis, Immutable Force, Instant Action, Lasting Force, Retributive Defense, Super Suit, Spatial Distortion, Spatial Leap

Attributes: Might 50, Agility 25, Reason 6, Vigilance 22, Ego 25, Luck 7

Word of Force: Power IV, Control III, Versatility IV, Number of Effects III, Range II, Scope II

Word of Self: Power IV, Control III, Versatility III, Number of Effects III, Range II, Scope I

"It's past midnight, you insufferable wailing wretches," I roared at them as I slotted in the new skill and formed a gigantic force bubble with Forcefield Creation. "And the only one who could remotely said to be a witch here is me!"

Then the force bubble began to contract. From a thin barrier of force more than a hundred feet wide it became barely wider than a small truck, the air escaping freely as it shrunk. The wraiths, not so much. They were all trapped in an impenetrable - to them - sphere, already reduced to a tangled, screaming mass of ghostly bodies. Then the sphere contracted further; the screaming intensified. It shrunk again and again and again, the wraiths compressed as if made by some form of gas. For all I knew, they really were; they looked fluid enough.

When the orb had finally shrunk enough to fit between my palms, I combined Force Adjustment, Greater Proximakinesis and my own physical strength to crush it. With a clap louder than a thunderbolt, the wraiths were obliterated.

Then I was gone, flying towards the one of the three kids that was handling their own pack of wraiths the worst...