A figure rose up and towards them, a dark spec against the sky. Jane’s breath tightened. This was it. She could feel it – the radiating evil. The void around him, sucking in the light.

James Conrad knew.

“Spread out,” he ordered, waving out his giant hands, “Loose formation. One of you is a distraction, a group is a target. SPREAD OUT!” he roared, and the Legion fanned out behind him, filling the street, a crescent moon of faces and armour, crimson and gold. James breathed heavily, his jaw clenched, staring without blinking at the approaching shadow of Death.

“Hit him together,” he shouted at them, “All together, everything at once. Everything you’ve got.” He shook out his hands then scrunched them into fists. “He’s stronger than all of us alone, but together we can take him down.”

“You really believe that?” Jane said quietly, standing at his side. Watching as the shadow flew closer. James grimaced.

“Last time, the Legion had no idea what they were up against,” he muttered, the words black with anger, “This time we do.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. “I’m counting on you, empath.”

The dark shape drew near. The murderer, the imposter, the man who’d deceived her in the deepest, most personal way. Every nerve hurt to look at him. Every part of her ached with loss. Betrayal.

“I’ll kill him,” she whispered. The Darkness descended, alone save for the camera at his back. “I’ll never let you down.” And her shoulders clenched as she said it, the silver eagle gleaming in the sun.

Without sound or ceremony, the Black Death touched down at the very outskirts of their circle, forty feet away.

For a few moments, no one spoke. Armour creaked, feet shuffled, breaths drew shallow. The wind whistled between them, oblivious. The fiery crest extinguished, Celeste returned to the ground.

Finally, the Black Death spoke.

“So,” he called, holding out his hands, calm as you please. “I have to say, I am impressed. So many of you survived.”

Beside her, James Conrad gritted his teeth. “We’re stronger than you think,” he snarled.

“Obviously,” the Black Death smiled back. He paused, his dead eyes surveying the assembled crowd. “I’m actually pleased. This way we get to talk.”

“None of us what to hear anything you’ve got to say!” James roared.

But the Black Death was unmoved.

“I’m building a new world,” he told them, his voice ringing through the empty distance. His eyes slid off James’s shoulders and around their ranks, surveying the many faces of the Legion – some clammy, some hateful, some set. All, though they might try to hide it, afraid. “Where the great will not be constrained by the small. Where the natural order will be restored. Where the strong will rightfully rule.”

Slowly, he started to pace, his black boots treading sure, silent steps. His pale chin held high. “You are all exceptional examples of your gifts. Superior beings, worthy of a place in this world and of standing at my side. Think of me what you will, but I am not evil. I hold no grudges. I have no quarrel with any of you. I warn you now, I will kill you now if you stand against me, but I will take no pleasure it. The senseless waste of your talents.” His black eyes flicked to Jane. “So, I ask you. Walk with me into the future. Help me shape, help me better the world. Don’t be fools. Don’t throw your gifts away in defence of this sick society’s lies.”

He stopped and turned his head, gazing back at the assembled. “I am offering this to you and no others. Think for yourselves, think of your families. You could be royalty.” The Black Death paused. “Or you could die now, painfully, in some nameless, pointless street. The choice is yours.”

His voice fell silent, the space between them filled once more with the sound of rushing wind. Through the rows of crimson and gold, friend glanced at friend – student looked to teacher. For a few seconds, no one said anything – the Legion holding its collective breath, waiting to see if anyone would accept the offer. Waiting to see who would break ranks.

Until finally, in front of everyone, James Conrad’s shoulders slumped.

“How do we know?” he asked quietly, “How do we know we’ll be safe?” His eyes dropped to the ground. “That you won’t hurt us.”

A murmur rushed through the crowd, and Jane stared up at the strongman in disbelief – but James avoided her gaze.

“No,” she whispered.

“My good man,” the Black Death hummed pleasantly, “I am many things, but I am not a liar. I give you my word; stand with me now, and you will not only live, but thrive. I swear it.”

There was a brief, terrible silence.

Before James Conrad quietly nodded. His eyes still on the ground.

“Ok,” he mumbled.

“What was that?” smirked the Black Death, holding a hand to his ear.

“Ok,” James repeated louder. Still seemingly unable to look up – an expression of resignation, of defeat, fallen blankly over his face. “I’ll join you.” He took a step forward from the circle.

“James!” cried Jane, and her calls were echoed all throughout the Legion’s ranks. But the strongman just kept walking forward, towards where the Black Death stood grinning broadly.

“It’s no use,” James said sadly. His gaze trailed along the ground. “We have to face facts. We can’t win. We shouldn’t throw our lives away.”

He glanced at the Acolytes, his comrades behind him, his face blank. “I’m going to join him. We all should.” His great head swung back around. “We have to save ourselves. We have to be smart.” He paused, and his gaze dropped. “Like Giselle.”

And in that single, fleeting instant, Jane saw the glint in his eye.

James stopped, a few feet away from the Black Death. He looked up and then held out his giant hand. “To the future,” he said. For a moment, the Black Death hesitated – but then he too smiled and took a step towards the strongman.

“To the future,” he agreed, and reached his gloved hand out to shake James’s.

The glint in their leader’s eyes became a fire.

“NOW!” he roared and in an instant he slammed his palms together.

BOOM!

A thundering, rippling shockwave exploded through the air, slamming through the Black Death’s outstretched hand, into his body, concussing through his chest with a sickening, squelching crunch. Heydrich cried out, stumbling sideways, pushed backwards, his right arm suddenly hanging useless, his insides turned to mush. In a heartbeat, his eyes were ablaze, crackling with green energy that erupted, screaming out towards them-

But the Legion was ready.

A golden forcefield the height of a school bus bloomed in front of their lines, holding the streaming laser as around it the Academy charged, fire and light and earth and sound blasting out from a hundred hands and eyes and mouths, a hundred streams of searing destruction all racing towards one man, one man who staggered, barely able to move, barely able to throw up his own forcefield in time to save himself from the assault, his teeth gnashing, his knees buckling, struggling to hold his barrier against the relentless, pounding waves of power. He roared, the sound swallowed by the noise of the attack, pushed back, his boots tearing rocky tracks through the pavement, the Earth around him twisting, forming into stone spikes which slammed up into the rear of the Black Death’s forcefield as it shook, as it wavered, but still, somehow, held, the man inside it shaking as the combined might of the Legion pressed in around him-

And as James Conrad charged.

Six foot eight. Four hundred pounds. An unstoppable wall of superhuman muscle, his feet pushing cracks into the earth as he ran, alone, unarmed, towards their cowering foe – as he leapt, forward, his giant shoulders shattering the Black Death’s forcefield, his face contorted, his arms outstretched, never losing step, never losing focus, oblivious to the burning energy searing all around. Through the hurricane of light and noise Jane saw him go, not daring to hope, not daring to believe. She watched as the strongman flew through the chaos, towards the paralysed Heydrich, the eyes of the entire world upon him, as mighty hands closed around their enemy’s head, as James roared – and as he twisted, wrenching his arms, and snapped the Black Death’s neck.

The shooting stopped.

The Legion froze.

And the body of Klaus Heydrich, the man they called the Black Death, fell soundlessly to the ground, his head crushed and lolling like a rag doll, turned a full one hundred and eighty degrees.

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. James took a step back, his eyes as wide as saucers, staring at the body, staring at his hands.

“We did it,” he whispered.

For an instant, all Jane could feel was her heartbeat. All she could hear was her breath.

And then time unfroze and James Conrad spun around, his face electrified, ecstatic, punching his enormous arms into the air.

“WE DID IT!” he shouted as a cascade of cries, shrieks, and celebration went up amongst the Legion. Everywhere around Jane, Acolytes were yelling, screaming, grabbing, hugging one another, laughing, hysterically, some literally jumping with joy-

But then suddenly a cold voice chuckled. And all noise ceased.

“I’m sorry,” the Black Death laughed, floating back up off the ground – his head still turned the wrong way. “That was cruel.” And with every eye on him, with the entire Legion rooted in place, there was a sickening crunch and his neck whipped back around.

“I shouldn’t play,” he smirked. His eyes flicked over to James Conrad, standing four feet away, and his smile darkened.

FZZZAPP