She was a twenty-first century girl, born with the nineties at her tail. An era where every year felt longer than the last, if not because of the impeccable memory of the internet of things, then it was due to the world at large. So many exciting things happened every day. This was truly the age of gifts. Where every other individual was born a genetic freak.

The potent gifts were one-in-a-million, but were looked up to by millions. And if one really rolled the numbers, that meant there were eighty apocalypses walking free in New Langshir alone. Maybe far less or far more, after variance was considered. Maybe none of them deserved to walk free.

No, that wasn’t right.

She grew up with a silver spoon between her lips.

She was given the best possible start.

If anyone were born with her level of power, then…

Words from the envious, the unheard, spoken quietly in dim, online theaters, resonating in its digital walls until its denizens believed them.

She could respond to them.

She could clarify that she grew up in the bayou where as a toddler she helped build their family cabin. There, she spent a childhood living off the land and walking miles to school every day.

She could explain that to participate in the world was to be exposed to its fortunes and misfortunes, thus being given a sports scholarship into a prodigious high school with a direct line to M.A.G.E did not invalidate all her accomplishments prior or after.

She could state unequivocally that one only needed to read a history book to see what happened when a person with a lesser character than her were given a similar amount of power. But that came off egotistical, self-aggrandizing.

No, it was the truth.

She remembered the feeling of cool dirt between her toes. She remembered the feeling of dragging that thirty pounder out of its mud hole by the river bank. She remembered the abrasiveness of bark against her knuckles as she felled her first tree with her fists. She remembered entering her first Supreme Tournament at the age of eighteen, one of the youngest to do so, and would become the youngest to win. It had given her all the self-importance in the world.

No, she grew up subordinate to the ideal of family and humility.

She bloated from the admiration of the crowd, a celebrity through and through.

No, she knew who she served.

The people? The people did not need a hero whose mistakes doomed thousands.

Neither would the people be better off without a hero whose inaction could doom millions.

“It should not surprise you I’ve danced this tune before.”

She has lived a life used to worship and murder.

“I’ve murdered no one, and I have never willingly played that pedestal.”

She has never known defeat, and has grown comfortable believing it would never happen.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“There you are.”

Lyssa barely had time to form her armor. Not that it mattered. The fingers against her neck cracked the scales as though it were chalk. A sonic boom rang in Victory’s wake.

“Multi-gifted,” Victory remarked. She lifted Lyssa with a hand so they could look eye to eye. “Interesting.”

Lyssa summoned the strength to attack again, but the world did not shift into the space of the mind. They remained in the crater. Victory’s fingers did not relent. Her piercing blue eyes remained squarely on Lyssa’s.

“Not even Whitworth dared to do what you just did, student,” Victory said. “And his psychic prowess dwarfs yours yet.”

The other students were moving. At first they were unsure, but one by one they began making their way to the finish line.

“You should… let me… go,” Lyssa managed to say.

“Let them,” Victory replied. “I’m more interested in how you decided to execute that attempt at shutting me down. You have a grievance against me. Let’s talk about it.”

Lyssa tried another psychic attack, this time with all her remaining strength. She could not find the slightest chink; Victory’s thoughts had become like steel. “How are you resisting me?”

“I’m not unstoppable,” Victory said. “I have been defeated before, just not by the likes of you. And you never will defeat me with that kind of hate coursing through you.”

The students were gaining more confidence. They did not question why Victory seemed so intent on one student. They simply took the opportunity to run. Above the finish line, the holographic number ticked down.

“We’re winning,” Lyssa said desperately. “You better let me go.”

“It was Rachminau, wasn’t it?” Victory said. “M.A.G.E’s PR team had me apologize at the time. I didn’t want to. It seemed disingenuous. But the optics of the alternative was allegedly worse. So I got up in front of a camera and said my piece. I clearly did not appease everyone.”

There were only fifty spots left at the finish. The students had begun to fight each other for them. The background swelled with violence.

“You’re going to lose the game!” Lyssa shouted.

“Haven’t you figured this out by now?” Victory said. “I don’t care about winning. I care about playing. You shouldn’t progress in the games harboring feelings like this. What do you need from me to move on?”

“Let go!”

“Hate should not be your impetus for crossing the finish line, student.”

“You pretentious cunt! Your failure to protect the city killed my family!”

“My failure killed a lot of people,” Victory said instantly. Her expression remained unchanged. “But if I had not done what I did, far more would have died. Would you like an apology?”

“Fuck you!”

“Or would you like to begin being more honest? I don’t need telepathy to read people. Your loss did not bother you as much as you pretend it did. What is it you really need? Say it out loud and I will let you go.”

There were ten spots left.

“I…”

Eight. Seven.

“I don’t…”

Five.

“I just wish everything had been different.”

The horn blew. Two hundred students had passed the finish line.

Victory let Lyssa go. She fell to the ground unsteadily.

“I don’t know your past. And I can’t change it for you,” Victory said. “But you’ve clearly begun to take your future in your own hands. Do it properly. Blaming me or anyone else for anything will only hurt you.”

“How do you not feel terrible for what had happened?” Lyssa asked. She still had resentment to spare. “How do you sleep knowing the number of people you missed?”

“If I don’t sleep, I would miss more,” the number one hero replied.

“I hate you.”

“As long as that isn’t driving you, I don’t care.”

A splitting headache rattled Lyssa’s mind mansion. With great reluctance, the poison fled her thoughts, and she felt Bil separate from her and dive deep within her mind. Lyssa had returned to a normal world. A silent one without thoughts permeating the air.

“I- uhm- sorry,” she said. “That wasn’t me. I don’t know why I said those things.”

Victory raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe you should see Whitworth,” she said. “You don’t seem all there, on second thought…” Her expression sharpened. Then in a movement faster than Lyssa could react, she picked Lyssa up and threw her away. A shadow fell from the sky, landing where they had stood. The impact carved another geological formation in the land.

Lyssa had closed her eyes. She felt a powerful arm control her momentum and gently deposit her far away from the impact. She opened her eyes as the dust cleared. A monstrous humanoid stepped forward. Its veins bulged. Its muscles were slabs of dense cable, forming a gorget around its tiny, sunken face, which had no eyes. It sniffed the air, and made jerky movements, before finally locking its interest onto them.

“This was not in the memo,” Victory said.