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The new hero policy was stupid.
There, it’s out, he said it.
Why did The Blade, number 1 hero, most effective crime fighter in the world, have to team up with a rookie.
Not just any rookie. A rookie that drove the Zephyrus, Philza Minecraft, Father of All Children to tears.
Which gods of bureaucracy had he pissed off this time??
So, here he was, next to the kid, fighting crime. Bruh. They didn’t even have any powers, so they were a liability.
Well, no time like the present to teach.
“Defence stance!” He ordered, assuming it himself, lowering his body weight and steadying his feet to defend against an attack.
The rookie copied seamlessly. So, he’d had at least some training. Good.
The fight, as if suddenly an almighty deity had clicked play, roared back into action.
Techno, admittedly, was off his form. Keeping an eye on both your opponents and your apprentice was hard, okay. The rookie was at least holding himself, though, so that was good.
A knife, engraved with silver, flew through the air, spinning as it went, just inches past Techno.
For a moment Techno laughed internally. ‘You missed.’
Then it struck flesh, deep, with a horrifying sound, and Techno turned to see it embedded in the rookie’s chest.
So, he’d failed. He’d let someone die.
He avenged the death in jabs and punches, beating the villains to the floor. His guilt flourished in the field of woe.
He stepped back. Turned for a second back to the body of the rookie, for just a second. To appease his conscience, perhaps, or to reassure himself they were dead.
They looked alive, and dead at the same time. It was awful.
Then fiery wings erupted from the hero’s back, blues and oranges and whites flaring in a magnificent inferno. A phoenix.
“Miss me?”
Yes, kid, yes, he had.