Fiend had asked
when Dixon opened the titanium doors of the containment cell and strolled
toward him with a grin that looked like the rictus of a corpse dead many days.
Dixon could not tell the bastard what he
was because he, himself, did not know. The powers he had begun to develop on
his twelfth birthday had descended upon him without warning or explanation.
They appeared as mysteriously as an overnight pimple and were just as raw to
the touch. He discovered he could look at a page of written material and
memorize it in the blink of an eye. Not only memorize it but understand it—no
matter how complicated or esoteric.
It wasn’t just the sudden ability to
memorize massive amounts of information at one sitting. He had total recall and
anything he saw he could bring back to mind hours, days, weeks and months
later—no matter how intricate. Building plans, schematics, map coordinates were
stored into his memory like the melody of a song that gets stuck there. He
could bring up the plans and schematics at will.
He suddenly had the ability to learn any
language he wanted to speak in a matter of hours and speak it with the correct
accent, inflection and grammar as though it was his native tongue.
But there were other powers that were as
dark as the night he realized he possessed them. He had feared those powers.
Trembled each time his anger got the better of him and he accidentally used his
mind to mentally or physically push another person without even touching them.
He’d hurt boys on the playground and in the gym when he hadn’t meant to because
he had yet to learn to control that one ability. He had to be careful because
he knew there were other powers—possibly more lethal ones—lying dormant in his
mind.
Before an hour ago, he had not known he
could levitate objects and stop them from touching him. He could see the shades
of the dead walking the corridors where they had died and knew he could
converse with them if he desired. He could now read minds and use his own to
influence others, bring them to him, make them put a gun to their head and blow
out their brains. With little effort he had disengaged the lock on the
containment cell door with focused concentration so he knew he could manipulate
inanimate objects. The most surprising ability was that of making himself
completely invisible to those around him, walking past guards who never knew he
was there until it was too late to do anything about it.
Though he had yet to attempt it, he somehow
knew he could send his thoughts as well as his corporeal body over long
distances without much effort at all.
He had giggled like a schoolboy when he
realized he could levitate his body so that he moved along without his feet
touching the floor.
And he could transform into a savage beast.
“How neat is that?” he asked. “What the
hell can do that?”
“ A Gravelord,” the thing inside him
whispered. “ That is what I will call you .”
“Gravelord,” he repeated, liking the sound
of it.
“ I have enhanced the abilities you came
into when the Black Ascendency settled upon your shoulders .”
“Cool,” he said, not knowing what the Black
Ascendency was or how he came to have it bestowed on him. There would be time
to ask questions of the thing inside him.
He was nearing the place where Sheik Sharif
Hassan was hiding. He had no need to see the man. He could smell him and his
fear.
And hear the wild beating of the man’s
thundering heart, the quiet whimpers that were pushing from his constricting
throat.
His hands—which now had the strength of
twenty men—curled into fists. The flesh was sticky from the blood he had shed,
the organs he’d torn out, the bones he had snapped in twain.
The Fiend had been the first to die when
the cell door snicked back into its track and Dixon came sauntering out as
though off for a morning stroll. Once again in human form, though double in
body mass, he had taken hold of the man who had tormented him, showered
when Dixon opened the titanium doors of the containment cell and strolled
toward him with a grin that looked like the rictus of a corpse dead many days.
Dixon could not tell the bastard what he
was because he, himself, did not know. The powers he had begun to develop on
his twelfth birthday had descended upon him without warning or explanation.
They appeared as mysteriously as an overnight pimple and were just as raw to
the touch. He discovered he could look at a page of written material and
memorize it in the blink of an eye. Not only memorize it but understand it—no
matter how complicated or esoteric.
It wasn’t just the sudden ability to
memorize massive amounts of information at one sitting. He had total recall and
anything he saw he could bring back to mind hours, days, weeks and months
later—no matter how intricate. Building plans, schematics, map coordinates were
stored into his memory like the melody of a song that gets stuck there. He
could bring up the plans and schematics at will.
He suddenly had the ability to learn any
language he wanted to speak in a matter of hours and speak it with the correct
accent, inflection and grammar as though it was his native tongue.
But there were other powers that were as
dark as the night he realized he possessed them. He had feared those powers.
Trembled each time his anger got the better of him and he accidentally used his
mind to mentally or physically push another person without even touching them.
He’d hurt boys on the playground and in the gym when he hadn’t meant to because
he had yet to learn to control that one ability. He had to be careful because
he knew there were other powers—possibly more lethal ones—lying dormant in his
mind.
Before an hour ago, he had not known he
could levitate objects and stop them from touching him. He could see the shades
of the dead walking the corridors where they had died and knew he could
converse with them if he desired. He could now read minds and use his own to
influence others, bring them to him, make them put a gun to their head and blow
out their brains. With little effort he had disengaged the lock on the
containment cell door with focused concentration so he knew he could manipulate
inanimate objects. The most surprising ability was that of making himself
completely invisible to those around him, walking past guards who never knew he
was there until it was too late to do anything about it.
Though he had yet to attempt it, he somehow
knew he could send his thoughts as well as his corporeal body over long
distances without much effort at all.
He had giggled like a schoolboy when he
realized he could levitate his body so that he moved along without his feet
touching the floor.
And he could transform into a savage beast.
“How neat is that?” he asked. “What the
hell can do that?”
“ A Gravelord,” the thing inside him
whispered. “ That is what I will call you .”
“Gravelord,” he repeated, liking the sound
of it.
“ I have enhanced the abilities you came
into when the Black Ascendency settled upon your shoulders .”
“Cool,” he said, not knowing what the Black
Ascendency was or how he came to have it bestowed on him. There would be time
to ask questions of the thing inside him.
He was nearing the place where Sheik Sharif
Hassan was hiding. He had no need to see the man. He could smell him and his
fear.
And hear the wild beating of the man’s
thundering heart, the quiet whimpers that were pushing from his constricting
throat.
His hands—which now had the strength of
twenty men—curled into fists. The flesh was sticky from the blood he had shed,
the organs he’d torn out, the bones he had snapped in twain.
The Fiend had been the first to die when
the cell door snicked back into its track and Dixon came sauntering out as
though off for a morning stroll. Once again in human form, though double in
body mass, he had taken hold of the man who had tormented him, showered
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