The unofficial Mutant Council of New Lothoria was missing a few members. This was the conclusion Ansel drew as he sat with the rest of them staring into a dying fire, contemplating their fates.

Malix, their leader, had traveled alone into Vidland and was supposed to be returning any moment now. Jaret – Ansel bristled when he thought of Jaret – had left them, against Malix’s direct orders, in search of his brother. He was supposed to have been back yesterday, but he wasn’t. They didn’t expect him back. That’s why they were all packed, waiting on Malix so they could begin the search and dismiss Jaret from the group properly.

But the missing member that consumed most of Ansel’s thoughts was Dyon. Dyon’s absence meant the dissolution of the group and an end to the promise that had brought them together.

“Maybe Malix won’t be that angry.” Sary sat spinning a throwing star around her finger. She guided a few more of them as they spun around her head. Then she drove them into the ceiling, her brown eyes watching closely to ensure the blades stayed clear of her dark dreadlocks. She pulled them down to start again when she spoke.

Ansel admired her optimism. Given her past, he’d have thought she had no reason to be optimistic about anything. Although, he considered, if she had never been optimistic she may never have survived for so long.

“Don’t be stupid.” Relik briefly stopped pacing across the doorway to glare at Sary. “Of course he’ll be mad. Jaret broke the rules.”

“Yes, Jaret did. We didn’t do anything wrong.” Tracker was their most powerful reader, now that Dyon was gone. He should have been aware of Malix’s growing instability and the danger it put them all in. Yet he seemed never to be bothered by it and that made Ansel wonder if he really was as good a reader as he claimed to be.

“True.” Log, speaking from her perch on the only cushioned seat in the sitting room, stared into the darkness of the night on the other side of the glass windows. “But he’s been… irritable since Dyon left.”

“You mean since I killed him!” Again, Relik stopped pacing to angrily correct her.

And this was exactly what Ansel had been thinking about. Everything had gotten worse since Relik allegedly killed Dyon. No one actually believed he had done it. Relik seemed pretty convinced and Dyon wasn’t around to defend himself. But Dyon could have just as easily run away, and Relik could simply be taking the credit.

“Because he was going to betray us, right?” Sary had stopped her spinning blades to pin Relik with a disgusted glare of her own. She had never gotten over her bitterness at Dyon’s absence. They had been close, almost like siblings. She wished she could repay Relik in kind for Dyon’s fate, if she couldn’t get the truth out of him. But both of these things were against Malix’s rules. And no one went against Malix’s rules if they valued their lives.

“That traitor was planning on going to the Guard,” Relik growled.

“You’re not a reader,” Log said. “You couldn’t have known what he was going to do.”

“He had never agreed with any of Malix’s plans. It was just a matter of time before he would eventually betray us.”

“‘Eventually’ doesn’t mean that he actually did,” Tracker offered. “He could have changed his mind. And if Malix never punished him for it, nothing gave you the right to.”

“He confessed it to me himself. And since no one else was around, I had to stop him.” Relik spoke as if he had done the Council a great service. But killing mutants was against Malix’s rules. Relik should have been killed for his offense. But if Dyon really had intended to betray them to the Guard, well that would make him a Class Five mutant: Forsaken. His death wouldn’t have mattered.

But that was only if Dyon had planned on betraying them. Relik could say anything he wanted and no one could honestly say otherwise. And as long as he believed what he said was true, a mental check would only confirm his story.

“And the only way you could think to stop a ten year-old reader was to kill him?” Log scrutinized Relik. “He wasn’t a mover, Relik. You could have easily dragged him back to us.”

“Why are we even entertaining this stupid bloomer’s fantasies?” Sary asked. She’d grown tired of the turn their discussion had taken and Ansel could sense that she was on the brink of attacking Relik. That was why she had called him a bloomer.

‘Bloomer’ was a derogatory way of identifying a Class Four mutant. It implied that the mutant had to be nurtured to achieve their level of mediocrity, and that nothing they ever did would allow them to grow stronger as a mutant. Malix’s official name for them was ‘The Blessed’. He was obsessed with the concept of divine gifts and made certain that his Council knew how the new world would classify mutants. The Blessed could not evolve. They were fortunate to be mutants in the first place.

“He and Dyon fought every chance they got,” Sary continued, “and he never so much as scratched Dyon. There is no way he actually killed him. Dyon left.”

“I beat him into a weeping pile of broken and bleeding bones,” Relik boasted with an evil grin. “He begged me to put him out of his misery.”

“Bones don’t bleed you stupid bloomer. And where was that murderous spirit when you were a punching bag for the Guard?”

Relik’s hands twitched at his sides. “I’ll show you, if you call me that again.”

“A few more decades and that might actually sound like a threat.” Sary goaded him carefully, not wanting to be the one who threw the first thought. Malix didn’t have any rules against defending oneself.

“A few more seconds and it’ll be a reality.”

Ansel didn’t see Sary’s finger move. But she guided one of her throwing stars, shooting it past Relik’s cheek, to imbed into the wooden archway behind him. He flinched and let out a scared whimper.

“Filthy bloomers need to remember their places when dealing with their betters.” Sary smiled at his humiliation and sat back in her seat. “Even if you did manage to remember where you ‘dumped’ his body, I’ll believe Dyon tripped and hit his head on a rock before I’ll ever believe that you killed him.”

“I didn’t know that diving into trash bins for unwanted scraps made you better than anyone,” Relik snapped.

Sary had suffered a hard life before joining the Council. But she wasn’t ashamed of it and wouldn’t allow anyone to pity her for it. Even though she remained depressingly thin, she was the most powerful of the four Class Three mutants on the Council. She was always the first one to act on and the last one to complain about anything Malix requested of them.

“At least I know how to survive. The only reason the guards had so much fun knocking you around is because your parents fattened you up before handing you over to them and you were too weak to fight back.”

“At least I know who my parents are!” Relik retorted.

“I think we’re getting a bit off topic, here.” Ansel interjected before any more angry words were said. “None of you have anything to worry about from Malix. Jaret broke the rules, but so did I. I’ll be the only one here Malix will punish.” Ansel restrained himself from looking at the couple huddled in the corner of the room. Malix wasn’t through with their punishment.

“Malix will say that the five of us could have stopped him,” Log said.

“But I was responsible for keeping you all here,” Ansel said. “And if Tracker is sure that he isn’t coming back…”

“I’m sure.”

“Then there is nothing we can do about it now.”

“Malix would have broken his legs,” Relik added quietly.

That would have been true, a month ago. But Ansel knew that Jaret was never meant to be a part of this Council. Jaret was a bloomer, after all. And Malix didn’t want bloomers on his Council, nor did he willingly invite them to join him. Relik had been a pity recruit and had only just become a Council member with Dyon’s alleged death, also a month ago. But Jaret had the regrettable fortune of being recruited just days after Dyon’s death.

Malix had been mad with rage over the loss of Dyon, but he kept it to himself. Dyon was an integral part of Malix’s plans. And if Malix was ever to reach what he felt was his destiny, if Malix was ever to overthrow the Last Lothor King and bring the kingdom into its proper order by putting a mutant on the Seat and mutants on every administration, he needed Dyon’ unique gifts. And Dyon, unlike Relik, was irreplaceable.

But Malix had been unable to punish Relik, because of his own rules. So he seethed. Until he recruited Jaret.

Ansel knew what Malix was up to as soon as Jaret was introduced to the Council. Not only had Jaret been a bloomer, but Malix had failed to demonstrate and impress upon him the importance of following the rules. Every one of the Council member and recruits were inducted being fully aware of all the rules and their accompanying punishments.

A week ago, Malix had led them to this estate in the village of Braelburg. After they had wrested it from its owners – the couple sleeping in the corner – he left them. Ansel was instructed to make sure that everyone remained in their newly acquired home while Malix went out to visit a neighboring village. The estate housed all they’d need to survive the week that Malix would be gone so there would be no reason to leave. Even if the house was coming down around them, Malix had said, a room full of movers should easily be able to keep it up.

Malix’s first and most important rule was obedience. His orders were supposed to be accepted as absolute and woe to anyone, mutant or middling, who dared to even think otherwise.

Hours after Malix had given his orders, Jaret left for Valyria’s Watch, the last in the string of villages that spanned these Last Counties. If he managed to make it back, there would be little harm done and he wouldn’t suffer too horribly for it. He had promised to be back before Malix was, planning to make a six day journey in five. And he was succeeding. He and his brother had been less than a day away. They had stopped in Damville because Jaret’s brother recognized someone he knew. Tracker lost them after they sent that man flying through a window.

That was two days ago.

Ansel wasn’t assertive enough to be left in charge. He didn’t have it in him to hand out threats, let alone make good on them. Malix should have left Sary in charge. Especially with a new recruit who didn’t fully understand the rules. One who conveniently had a brother being held in a prison that was just a few days away. One who had made it no secret that he fully intended to collect his kin, and hoped the Council would help him. Malix knew all of this and had intentionally made it too tempting an opportunity to pass up.

And that brought Ansel back to his original train of thought. Besides being the most powerful reader any of them had ever come across, Dyon had the unusual ability to calm people’s moods. No one knew how he did it, but it was really hard for anyone to be angry with Dyon or near Dyon; another reason they were dubious about Relik’s claims.

Malix often got frighteningly anxious about fulfilling his destiny. He was easily angered when even the most trivial incidents frustrated his goals. With Dyon around, it was never a problem. But with Dyon gone, Malix was free to abandon himself to his maniacal fits. He hadn’t lost himself completely; he still upheld his own rules. But he was creating opportunities for them to fail; creating opportunities for him to hand out punishments – like he had in bringing them there.

“They could still be coming,” Sary offered hopefully. “Just because Tracker can’t see them doesn’t mean –”

“Yes it does,” Tracker calmly interrupted. “That’s exactly what it means. If they were anywhere near here I’d know it. The only explanation is that Jaret and his brother are dead, captured or running away. In either case, our situation doesn’t change.”

“We’ll still have to clean up whatever mess he’s made,” Ansel added.

“And move.”

Those two words, breathed out with a weary sigh, told Ansel more about Sary than she ever would have willingly divulged to anyone. She may have been wandering aimlessly through the kingdom for all of the fourteen years of her life, but she wanted stability. Ansel felt the first stirrings of true anger at Jaret’s insubordination.

“I’ll make Jaret pay for making us move so soon,” Sary said. “And give this bloomer a lesson on how it’s done.”

“I told you stop calling me that!” Relik’s fists were shaking with anger at his sides.

“Try and make me, you pathetic little bloomer.” Sary stood up. “I’ve been itching to kill something all day.”

Relik swung his arm toward her, throwing the small end table from his side to Sary’s head. But Sary’s nimble hands pulled the table from his control. It doubled back and slammed into his body, carrying him through the foyer and pinning him to the door.

She smiled triumphantly at him. “It’s sad that you’ll never evolve into a reader. You’ll never have the ability to hide your thoughts from your betters.”

Just as the words left her lips, her smile vanished. She yanked Relik from the door. Hurriedly, she slammed him back onto his feet and moved the end table back into its place. Just as the door swung open.

Malix had returned.

Malix and Ansel were the same age, but even at fifteen Ansel could see that he would never command the same air of reverence as Malix did. Ansel was taller but he had smooth – almost soft – features. There was nothing soft about Malix. Ansel’s grey eyes helped anyone read that he had not a shred of malice in him. Most people were wary of looking into Malix’s hazel eyes. In some lighting, they appeared green and Malix would seem threatening, but not unapproachable. In others, they seemed to be dark brown and gave Malix a murderous look. They looked like dark pools and made one fear that they could fall in and never return if they dared to stared too long, if at all.

Malix’s eyes scanned the room. The packed trunks piled near the far side of the room, everyone dressed in their travel wear and Jaret’s absence told him all he needed to know. But he read their minds anyways.

It was an unpleasant feeling, having a reader aggressively charge into one’s mind. It felt like a rough grating against one’s identity, an invasion upon the most intimate part of him; his innermost being. Ansel had to fight the urge to push Malix out.

Not that he would stand a chance. For a very powerful mover, Malix should have been a relatively weak reader. It was unheard of for a mutant to be that powerful with both reading and moving abilities. A mutant’s strength in one area was supposed to reflect their weakness in the other. But Malix was the Prince of Promise. And, among other things, he could simultaneously invade the minds of a dozen people.

After Malix completed his mental probing he stepped aside and Ansel was troubled to see that Malix wasn’t alone. Two men and a woman stood behind him. They were all mutants; Malix didn’t bother speaking to middlings, let alone bring them home to meet the Council.

The first man was an imposing pillar of brown, topped with a round collection of kinky black hair. He wore a leather vest that revealed his massive arms and his hand rested on the pommel of a sword sheathed at his hip. A thin line of hair traced the frown of his lips. His frown deepened when he took stock of the room.

The second man was taller. He had a thinner build and was dress like a simple farmer. He scratched his blond goatee nervously as he too looked over the Council members.

The woman was the more imposing of the three. She was dressed for battle. Her black hair was cut short. It hung over her face and she looked angry underneath it. She had bracers buckled on her forearms. Two thick baldrics crossed from her shoulders to her hips, each housing a sheathed sword at her back.

“This is Cen,” Malix indicated the first man, “Kella,” – the woman – “and Aldan. They’re our newest recruits and I trust you would all join me in making then feel welcomed.”

Ansel did not welcome the sight of them, and he knew Malix didn’t either. They all looked to be at least thirty and Malix never recruited from the older generation. They always had problems with his authority, which usually led to arguments and inevitably to blows. That’s what Cen and his group were really there for; to take the brunt of Ansel’s punishment. A more hopeful heart would have said they were there to take all of his punishment, but that would only have been true if Dyon were still around.

Ansel pitied the adults. It was very rare to find an adult mutant who was willing to oppose the King. Anyone who would have been strong enough would either have volunteered to live a life inhibited, or would have been forced into it after being arrested for some violent – or petty – crime.

These people were bloomers; that was obvious from the fact that they hadn’t noticed the danger Malix posed. But they seemed like sensible folk; the kind of people who could find a more diplomatic solution to the mutant problem, a peaceful and bloodless way of improving the mutant condition. Not driven by a sense of divine destiny but by logic and reasoning; civility. They looked like the sort that wouldn’t lose patience and explode over little hiccups in their plans. The sort who wouldn’t ask too much of him. The sort that Ansel should have joined up with. But Malix had found him first.

“The three of them are on a mission to ‘liberate all people of the kingdom from the limits born from the fear and hatred towards mutants by building understanding of the mutant condition, so that mutants may live peaceably and freely among the rest of humanity,’” Malix announced before turning to Cen. “Did I get that right?”

“Yes,” Cen answered. “Is this all of you?”

“Save for one,” Malix answered easily. “But we’ll fix that soon enough.”

“But you’re all children,” Kella protested.

“Please, don’t insult us,” Malix said as he moved through the foyer and into the sitting room. “No one here has ever been treated like anyone’s child. And we will not begin tonight.”

That was mostly true.

At twenty, Tracker was their oldest member. He was a powerful reader, but had no moving abilities. That would keep him a Class Three mutant: Called. His past was a mystery to all but Malix and Dyon, who’d recruited him two years ago. He harbored a lot of anger and hatred for the world and its anti-mutant sentiments. That coupled with the scars and burns that decorated his body suggested that he had not had a happy childhood.

Log’s parents had both been proud mutants. So proud, in fact, that they had lost all interest in their child after she made it through the first five years of her life without exhibiting a shred of mutant abilities. Any mutant who becomes so after the age of five has a decreased likelihood of ever being more than mediocre. They didn’t know that she had been an empath from the age of three, and by the time she’d developed her moving abilities at ten, they had already been arrested and executed for murdering several Guardsmen. Log had been sent to live with some relatives who did everything they could to rid themselves of the responsibility of her and she suffered for five years before she eventually killed them. She had already been on the run from the Guard for two years when Malix and Dyon invited her to join the Council two years ago.

Sary had been recruited a year ago. She was a fantastic mover and worked daily to improve her reading ability. The life of a homeless, wandering mutant was the only one she knew; always cold, always hungry, always alone and always hated. Especially after the Queen was killed. She’d learned to lie, cheat, steal and kill. Even her name was stolen from a child she’d once envied. She had handicapped many Guardsmen in her attempts to avoid apprehension. But they’d eventually managed to catch her, and she’d been seconds from execution when Dyon and Malix came to her rescue. She hadn’t cried or begged for mercy, and she wasn’t excessively grateful for the aid. Ansel deeply admired her nerve.

Even Relik’s life could be seen as horrible. He’d enjoyed a happy enough childhood until he mutated at seven, literally days after the queen’s assassination. When he refused inhibition, his parents immediately turned him over to the Guard, who beat and starved him regularly; even after he begged for inhibition. It had taken them a year to beat him into a hollowed out shell of the carefree boy he was, and another to fracture him completely. Malix had been so outraged when he found Relik that he’d killed every Guardsman in that fortress and freed all of its prisoners. Relik worshiped Malix from that day and refused to leave his company, so Relik joined them and had been faithfully following Malix for nearly three years.

Ansel was the only exception. He became a mover when he was four. His family had accepted it and made efforts to keep his mutation a secret. Their neighbors had always suspected but were never seriously concerned. Then the queen was killed.

He’d been ten when the kingdom started hunting mutants and persecuting their families. Ansel had tried inhibition but it was such an unpleasant experience. It wasn’t just the pain, Ansel didn’t mind the pain. But inhibitors were like a slow death. They weren’t advertised as such but there were tales of mutants who had actually died after a prolonged inhibitor regimen.

The neighbors had quickly turned on his family and he watched his parents suffer bitter hostility on his behalf. Ansel left to spare them any further distress. But he’d been unable to survive more than a few months on his own. He’d been filthy and ill and weak with starvation when Malix found him; a seven year old Dyon in tow. Malix had spoken of gathering a force to oppose the usurper King and Ansel had been wary of joining up with him. But Dyon had been there to ease his mind about the whole ordeal and so Ansel became their first recruit.

But now Dyon was gone, and all Ansel was left with was Malix’s growing callousness.

Malix stopped in front of Ansel. The former scrutinized the latter and Ansel did his best to ignore his mounting fear as he stared back. Ansel released the breath he’d been holding when Malix looked away.

“Now, Cen, you have come at a most opportune time. You and your companions can learn a little about the rules.” When Malix turned back to Ansel, he grabbed Ansel’s collar and pulled him to his feet. He kicked the bench away and slammed Ansel onto the floor. He put enough telekinetic force behind it to knock the breath from Ansel’s lungs.

Ansel gasped and coughed and rolled onto his elbows to pick himself up. Then Malix kicked him in the gut. The force sent Ansel off the floor, slamming him into the vaulted ceiling. Malix held up a hand to keep him pinned there and even though Ansel knew it was hopeless, he fought against the unnatural state he was in. He pushed against the ceiling, trying to get his body on the ground again.

Malix put an end to Ansel’s futile struggles by pinning Ansel’s hands to either side of his head.

“What are you doing?” Cen ran into the room and gave Malix a reproachful look.

Malix ignored him and spoke to Ansel. “When I left, I gave you a task. Do you remember what it was?”

“Yes.” Ansel answered quickly. It wouldn’t do him any good to allow Cen to question Malix to his satisfaction. It would only prolong his time with the ceiling. Ansel was beginning to feel light headed and he wanted to be put down.

“Share with us, for the sake of those who do not know, what it was.”

“I was supposed to keep everyone inside the manor until you returned.”

“Have you succeeded in this task?” Malix asked.

“No.”

That’s when the strangling started. Ansel drew shorter breaths as Malix began to slowly push his thumb and forefinger together, exerting his telekinetic force against the sides of Ansel’s neck. Ansel was already woozy from looking down on everyone from such an unwelcomed height. But now that he also had trouble breathing, his panic grew to unsafe proportions and wreaked havoc on his mind. It filled his mind with dangerous thoughts and angry wishes that would be of no help to him now; ruminations he would disdain later.

“Stop this!” Cen said, stepping towards Malix.

Relik moved to stand between them. “It’s better if you don’t get involved,” he warned.

Cen moved to shove Relik aside but was thrown against the door behind him. Cen couldn’t move his legs or arms. He couldn’t even pull his head from the door. Relik held up two clawed hands to keep Cen immobile. There were many ways to pin a mutant and Malix had taught all of his Council members, at some time or another, how to do so properly.

When Cen’s companions stepped forward to help, they were thrown back and pinned against the walls on either side of him. It was Sary who had done it, and she only used one hand. She teased Relik with a triumphant smile and Cen groaned as his invisible restraints tightened.

“Why were you unable to keep Jaret here?” Malix asked.

“I … didn’t know… how to stop him.”

“He went into a guarded town, to break into a guarded prison, to free a royal prisoner. Alone! You should have broken his legs!”

“I’m sorry!” Ansel felt the pressure swell and where the air had just a moment ago been coming sparingly, it wasn’t coming at all.

“‘Sorry’ isn’t good enough,” Malix said calmly, eerily. “‘Sorry’ isn’t going to assure me that you will not fail me again. You cannot stay long on this Council if you are unwilling to do what is required of you. I need to know that I can rely on you to do what must be done in order for our goals to be met. No matter how squeamish it makes you. That’s what I want to hear.”

“The boy can’t breathe, let alone speak,” Cen said.

“You cannot be particular about which orders you will carry out to the best of your abilities. Jaret could have compromised our entire organization and all of the progress I’ve made over the years will have been wasted simply because you were too weak. I cannot allow your fears to jeopardize what I am trying to accomplish. I require your best, Ansel, nothing less. I don’t want you to try, I want you to succeed or die. Tell me you will not let your timidity hinder you from performing your duties and I will let you down.”

Ansel heard more protests and insistences from Cen but he was too far gone to understand them. He understood only what Malix was requesting and he fully intended to refuse him. Malix was asking too much of him, but Ansel couldn’t say so. He couldn’t understand why it was too much, why he felt it was unwarranted and unfair but he resolved to hold on to the sense that he would not agree. He would faint and fall and wake less trusted and possibly demoted to a Class Four. He would be content with that. As long as he didn’t have to agree to do what Malix required of him.

But as deprivation robbed him of his sight and much of his consciousness, his thoughts took on a darker nature. One that argued that Malix wasn’t being unreasonable. One that encouraged Ansel to embrace the darker part of him and give in to Malix’s demands. Ansel knew Malix would be listening and he tried to fight those thoughts, to silence them. But he could not find the strength, only the need for air and the words he should think in order to receive that air.

Okay. Ansel encouraged and dreaded the words as they came to mind. Just let me down, please. Let me breath and I give you my word I will never fail you again.

Then Ansel was falling. He felt the air rushing past his face and through his hair and filling his lungs. He heard his body land on the hard stone floor and the sound jolted him into full consciousness. He was aware of his heart, hammering at the center of him. He heard its rushed efforts to spread feeling through to his extremities and he became aware of all the pain he was in. He rejoiced in his aches because they meant he was alive.

“Apology accepted,” he heard Malix say.

Ansel’s punishment was over. He’d expected his injuries to be much worse and considered himself very lucky. He was alive and his pain would eventually wane. He was grateful for that. Until he remembered what Malix had just wrested from him.

Malix intended to hold Ansel to the desperate thoughts, for they were as good to him as any spoken oath. Now only death would follow his failures and Ansel mourned the parts of himself he would have to lose in order to keep his life.

“Sary, Relik, release them. We have work to do. The rest of you get all of this stuff loaded. Tracker, do your job and find the brothers. I don’t want to waste any time searching for them.”

Ansel heard the three adults arguing silently after being released as he rose shakily to his feet. He saw Cen step into the room as the rest of the Council began to leave, lifting and guiding their luggage and supplies with them. Ansel didn’t want to bear witness to what was about to happen so he hastily turned away to follow the rest of the Council out of the room.

‘Not you, Ansel. I want you to stay.’

Ansel hadn’t been reading anyone’s mind. He heard the thought because it had been projected into his mind. Tracker wasn’t able to do it, and even Dyon had never shown an aptitude for it. It was another one of the unusual mutations that made Malix the only Class One mutant in existence: The Ordained One.

Ansel moved stiffly to sit on the displaced bench, watching as the others left, wishing he could go with them. He thought himself a fool for thinking the minor abuse he’d suffered would be sufficient punishment. But forcing Ansel to agree to abandon his inhibitions wasn’t cruel enough for Malix. No. He wanted to force Ansel to watch him fight these people. Ansel abhorred violence. He hated to watch people suffer, much more to be the cause of their pain. He was no empath but he felt their pains more than he ever felt his own. He could never bring himself to harm anyone, no matter if they deserved it, and especially if they did not.

Malix turned to face the livid adults. “If you understand anything from this, let it be that my orders are absolute. I do not tolerate any disobedience or insubordination of any kind. If you find that you cannot submit to my authority, then this is where we will part ways. Ansel,” Malix turned to him, “you will join us when you’ve eliminated any trace of our being here.” His eyes darted to the corner before returning to Ansel.

Ansel followed his gaze to the sleeping couple. The man had a broken arm, obtained when he had touched Malix in a vain and ill-thought attempt to prevent the teen-aged mutant from commandeering their home. They had spent the past week in that corner; they ate there, they slept there, they glared angrily at all the mutant passersby from there. The cloying stench they radiated betrayed the fact that they hadn’t washed since the Council’s arrival. Ansel regretted that they would remain that way when they died.

But he was grateful for his assignment. He’d already gone through the house twice, but he’d gladly do it again if it meant he would avoid watching Malix and Cen go at each other. The added bonus of missing out on the murder of the manor’s owners (they knew too much about the Council for Malix’s comfort) was only slightly marred by the fact that Ansel would have to take care of their bodies after Malix killed them.

“Wait,” Cen cut in. He also followed Malix’s gaze and saw the prisoners for the first time. “You’re going to kill them?”

“No,” Malix replied indignantly. “Ansel is.”

Ansel shot his gaze back to Malix in confusion. He didn’t believe that Malix had said what he’d heard. But Malix stared back at him intently and Ansel could almost hear his thoughts, daring Ansel to object, daring Ansel to refuse, which Ansel felt very comfortable doing. He’d promised to overcome his squeamishness, but he didn’t think he’d have to do it so soon. And he wasn’t simply squeamish about killing. He was terrified.

Killing was supposed to come easily to mutants. Mutants had been known to slaughter entire villages, even their own families and friends on a lark. It shouldn’t have been a problem for Ansel to kill two middlings. But he was terrified that two would become twenty would become two hundred and so on until he simply stopped caring about how many there were. Or whether his victims had once loved, supported and protected him or not. He was afraid of embracing that dark part of him, of becoming what the world said every mutant inevitably became. He was afraid of what his parents would think of him if, or when, he returned one day to add them to his list of kills. He didn’t want that to happen, not with him, not to them.

“No.” Ansel couldn’t kill these people. The mere thought of it made him physically ill. He backed away, his head slowing shaking his protest. “I… I can’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Malix said. “What did you just say?”

Ansel realized he had underestimated Malix’s thirst for cruelty. He expected Malix to give him small tasks that would break down his resistances and work up to the willful maiming of people who deserved worse fates. He’d hoped they would only tempt the limits of his sanity that far before Malix recovered his good senses, got over the detrimental loss of Dyon and came up with a new plan to reach his destiny.

Ansel had been waging war with this darker part of him since the Queen had been killed. He fought to maintain his pacifism and stave off the characteristics of the callous murderer Malix wanted him to be. He never expected to have to kill someone immediately. Ansel would have preferred to be beaten within an inch of death over bringing about the end of someone’s life. But Malix would kill him, mutant or not, if he failed to keep his word. Ansel didn’t have any choice but compliance.

Cen stepped in front of the couple and looked between Malix and Ansel. “I’m not going to let you kill these people.”

Ansel stared at the man in wonderment and he began to hope again. He had completely forgotten about the adults but there Cen was, preventing Ansel from doing something he didn’t want to do. Ansel hoped that Malix had only made the request to win the ire of the adults and spark the physical quarrel he so eagerly craved. Ansel hoped that Malix never really intended for him to harm anyone.

“And as I said, if you feel you will have problems with the decisions I make, I won’t stop you from leaving; as long as you agree to go on as if we had never met.” Malix turned back to Ansel. “Don’t forget to burn the house as well. They will no longer have a need for it.”

Ansel nodded but he was unsure about the authenticity of Malix’s wishes.

“You’re not listening,” Cen said. “I won’t allow you to hurt these people.”

“I never asked your permission,” Malix responded irritably.

“Listen,” Cen started calmly. “I understand that you want to make life better for mutants but you can’t do it by running around killing as you please. Or ordering others to kill for you.”

“I take no pleasure in this.”

Ansel knew Malix’s shocked reaction was quite genuine. The only thing Malix cared for was his destiny. Anything that advanced him to it was pleasing; anything that hindered it was displeasing. Everything else, like the death of two human beings, left him disturbingly unmoved.

“Then don’t do it,” Cen suggested.

“But it has to be done,” Malix uttered somberly. “If this world will ever be what it’s meant to be, if the kingdom will ever fall into its natural order, they, and others like them, will need to be executed. It’s the only way to secure our future.”

And there, in Cen’s face, Ansel saw some of his own recurring thoughts reflected. Mutants had always been treated with less care then even the most despised of animals. Mutants had never been considered more than sub-human. That was the kingdom’s natural order. Any Lothorian who thought otherwise was either insanely foolish or simply insane. The truth, however, was worse than that. Because Malix was Maronai; raised under the hand of a savage Queen and abandoned to the care of a hateful King. Such insanity was natural to him.

“But it’s not your place to make decisions like that.” Cen spoke patiently, as if trying to explain something to a confused child. “Your intentions are noble but this mission is too much responsibility for you. Let us take over and we will work to ensure the best possible future for everyone.”

“No,” Malix said. “It has to be me.”

“You are a child, ordering other children to destroy the lives of innocent people. Can’t you see that there is something wrong with that?”

“They are not innocent!” Malix shouted angrily. “And they are not people! They are the weakness that plagues the existence of our kind. Because of their fear and their ignorance we are unjustly shunned and imprisoned. They mercilessly suppress our divine gifts to the detriment of our very lives… And they call it a cure.” Malix spat the last few words out with disgust. “They are a slowly dying race that will be nothing more than a rotting carcass in the world that I must create!”

“Those are the kinds of ideas that got us here,” Cen said. “Continuing them will only make conditions worse.”

Malix had no response, which surprised Ansel. If Malix were certain of anything it was the truth of his claims. Malix always had arguments ready to defend and justify his ideals but he seemed stunned into disbelief, and Ansel was left to wonder if Malix had actually ever considered that his machinations would make the situation worse, not better.

“The Maronai wasted their freedom in terrorizing the kingdom and never did anything to bring about change. Now they are all dead. If you continue to follow their ideals, you will lead yourself and these children to their deaths. You harbor unrealistic goals and have no plans through which to achieve them. Simply collecting as many powerful mutants as you can in the hopes of one day seizing the palace city or claiming the Seat is not a plan,” Cen added when Malix started to object. “It’s very well thought out if you had suicide in mind. But as for changing anything in the kingdom, it’s full of more dreams than a wishing well. There are others who are better prepared. We have a plan that could work, but only if you step aside. Abandon your plots and let us give you a better future, because your way only leads to death.”

It seemed for a moment that Malix had been swayed. But as Cen finished his speech, the moment passed. Where Malix had once stood shamefaced and confused about his future, Ansel could see that his eyes burned with determination. Malix stood a little straighter and even appeared a bit taller as he said, “I am the Prince of Promise, last of the royal Maron line. I cannot fail! A new generation of mutants had been bred into this world and it is my duty to lead them. I am the one who will wrest the Seat of the Gods from the villainous trash who dares to call himself King. I am the one who will cleanse this world of the worthless dogs he holds in such high regard. I am the Promised Prince! This is my destiny. And I will not allow anyone else to take it from me. You will either join us or leave us to our campaign. Now is the time for you to decide.”

“I will not join you if this is your vision for the future. And I will not leave you if this is what you’re planning to do with your freedom.”

“Then the solution is simple.” Malix drew his sword and everyone started as he set about rearranging the furniture. He carelessly guided all the furniture through the room and against the walls to make room for the battle that would ensue. There was usually more preamble before Malix went to blows. He usually gave his opponents a real chance to change his mind before deciding that a duel was the only way to settle the issue. But he was rushing it and Ansel was concerned about what his impatience could mean.

“This is the irrational behavior I was talking about.” Cen held is hand up in objection. “There is no need to draw swords unless you are prepared to use them.”

“This is more than a simple disagreement. This is a difference in ideals. I will never be able to convince you and you will never convince me of your stand. In my experience, the only way to settle this is through single combat.”

“What experience?” Cen grew irritated with Malix’s insistences. “I will not fight a child.”

“If you wish to spare their lives,” Malix said, the tip of his sword aimed at the couple behind Cen, “you will have to.”

“No, I won’t.” Cen said, reaching for something in the small leather pouch on his belt. Before Cen could get anything out, Malix raised an arm and pulled the pouch and its contents away from Cen. He upended the pouch between them and tossed it aside to examine the pale yellow liquid housed in the three phials that had fallen out of it.

“Are you so weak, so pathetically disgraceful that you would bring this poison into my presence? That you would rather defeat me with treachery than face me in an honorable duel?” Malix spoke slowly, his rage barely contained to a soft whisper. “This is what the ungifted trash use to weaken their betters.” Malix threw the phials into the fire and they shattered against the stone wall, spilling their contents into the blaze. “I will not have it used as a weapon in conflicts between us. Such underhanded means are beneath the standards of mutant-kind.”

The longer he observed them, the more Ansel wished that Cen’s group had found him first. They all shared his pacifism, they all doubted Malix’s sanity and they were all surprised to find that Malix dared to speak of honor when he so wantonly supported the ruthless murder of helpless middlings.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Malix said. “If the fulfillment of my destiny requires my service to you, then you are meant to defeat me here and will win for yourself a loyal and obedient servant. I will concede to your judgments and decisions without question. I only ask that you do the same if I am proven victorious. You must agree to join me and act as an advisor. I don’t usually bestow such positions on mutants of your class, but I feel that you may be of some use to me. Do you accept the terms of this agreement?”

After a pause, Cen placed his hand on the hilt of his own sword. “Agreed.”

Ansel wanted to leave. He already knew how this would end. But he stayed and watched to avoid doing what he’d been asked to do.

“You two,” Cen addressed his supporters, “Get them out of here.”

Aldan and Kella woke the couple and offered reassurances in response to their panicked surprise before ushering them out of the room. They were taken out of the manor and Ansel debated whether he should follow them or not. If Malix intended for him to kill them, he wouldn’t accept ‘I couldn’t find them’ as an excuse.

Ansel looked to Malix for an order to pursue them; he certainly wasn’t going to take the initiative. But Malix held his gaze firmly on Cen, his face betraying his anger. Malix was about to attack and Ansel didn’t want to draw any of that rage to himself.

Malix began his assault by throwing his sword across the room in an attempt to strike Cen’s neck. Cen must have been quick to guard because Malix had shot the weapon with unnatural speed. The blades collided with a sharp ring and Malix drew his weapon back before Cen could take hold of it. The two approached each other and delivered a flurry of swings and jabs that were blocked or just barely dodged. Malix had the advantage of knowing his opponents thoughts as they came. Cen had the advantage of reading the movements of his opponent’s body. Both had the use of telekinesis, and both knew how to use it in battle.

They shoved each other back. Steel hammered against steel. The furniture that had been pushed out of the way became part of the fray as each combatant tried to batter the other. Someone’s legs or arm would get wrapped up in drapes and they’d be left to defend themselves while freeing themselves from the handicap. And it always came back to the clashing of the swords. They spun in attack and growled from pain.

Ansel spent most of the time cringing and wincing and convincing himself to stay in the room. He had to move out of the way a few times but he didn’t leave. He was glad to see Malix’s frustrations melt away as he lost himself in the sport. And he hoped his willingness to endure this would win him some favor from Malix, would win him a reprieve from Malix’s displeasure.

Ansel knew it ended when Cen delivered one powerful upward stroke that knocked the sword from Malix’s grip. Malix had championed through his injuries, but he sustained more than he’d given and he grew weary more quickly from Cen’s displays of strength and experience.

Cen imbedded Malix’s sword into the ceiling and slammed his palm into Malix’s chest, sending him back a few paces. He followed swiftly with a kick that sent Malix back another few paces, sore in his core. He finished with an upper-cut, sending Malix sprawling on the floor. Malix tried to get up but Cen held one hand out to pin Malix where he lay.

Ansel watched with nervous anticipation as Cen sheathed his sword and reached into another pouch for another corked phial.

“That’s the problem with young people.” Cen produced a long black box and pulled from it a syringe. “You don’t respect the wisdom of your elders. You are no prince. Your Golden Generation is no better than the mutants who got us here.” Cen plunged the syringe into the phial and drew the inhibitor into it. “Your insanity ends here.” Cen threw the syringe at Malix’s neck.

The needle stopped inches from Malix’s skin.

Cen strained harder and still the syringe didn’t move. He turned an accusing eye to Ansel. “Stop interfering!”

“I’m not doing it.” Ansel held up his hands to show that his telekinesis wasn’t the cause of the stopped syringe. “He is.”

Cen looked from the motionless boy standing apart from him to the immobile one before him and grew even more perplexed. “How is this possible?”

“Evolution,” Malix said. “That’s what makes us better than all those who have come before us. That’s what makes this generation more powerful than any other. It’s what makes me able to do things that you’ve never even dared to dream of. And it is time for us to take our rightful place in the world.”

Then Cen flew back, pushed by Malix’s will, and slammed into the wall on the side of the fire place. He fell to the floor and Malix was freed to rise to his feet. Malix drew his sword down from the ceiling and used it to strike the floating syringe to the ground. Cen collected himself and Malix guided his sword to rest its tip against Cen’s throat.

“You are defeated,” Malix said. “Kneel before your new master.”

Cen peered at the sword, then at its controller. “Never.”

“I’ve defeated you in combat and you have sworn to obey me. When I ask you to kneel, I expect you to KNEEL!”

On the last word, Malix withdrew his sword and held his arm out to Cen. He pulled at the man’s body and Cen strained to keep his right hand from closing into a fist. He screamed in pain as he fought to keep his arm from crossing over his chest and his body from dropping onto one knee. Ansel turned away from Cen’s loudest screams as Malix forced his head to bow to him.

“If I were commanding your limbs your resistances would be more effective,” Malix said. “But another useful evolution of mine has granted me the ability to command things that cannot be seen; your bones, for instance. I’m sure you realize by now how painful it is to try to fight it. Don’t turn away, Ansel. You need to be reminded of what happens to disobedient servants.”

Ansel forced himself to look on as Malix expelled his anger on Cen’s helpless form.

Malix pulled his hand back, guiding Cen to him. He closed his fist and drove it into Cen’s face. Cen flew back into the wall. His eyes bulged in shock, his mouth hung open to try and take in as much air as possible. His body shook and rebounded from the force. He still hadn’t fully recovered when Malix reared back for a second attack.

Malix held Cen aloft before him and drew his arm back for another devastating strike. Cen crossed his arms over his chest and face, bracing for another punch. Malix instead delivered a pointed kick to Cen’s ribs, sending Cen flying through the glass windows and skidding into the dark garden. Malix snapped his leg back sharply, drawing Cen’s body back into the room through a different panel of glass.

Cen came back bloodied from many small cuts. Tiny shards of glass had torn his vest and some were still imbedded in his wounds. But he was most concerned with the pain in his side, his body folding into the ribs that Malix had cracked. He squirmed painfully as he was brought to face Malix once more. Malix delivered another kick, this one launching Cen into the ceiling.

The wooden support beams cracked under the force and Cen was left to fall back, barely conscious and half aware of his injuries. But Malix didn’t let him reach the floor. When Cen had dropped to about Malix’s waist, Malix delivered a third kick, driving Cen’s body back into the wall with enough force to form a small crater.

Ansel could feel tears stinging in his eyes as he watched Cen fall limply to the floor. Malix stalked angrily to him and kicked him up into the wall, held him propped there as he delivered blow after blow of punches and kicks, all made more destructive with telekinesis. Cen had no strength to fight back or fend them off. All Ansel could hear was fist meeting flesh, bone giving way to boots. And Malix’s grunts of exertion as he tried to beat the man to death.

Ansel wanted to tear his gaze away, to run from the room and never look back, but he didn’t. He wanted to stop it but he couldn’t. What if Malix turned on him? Every injury Cen sustained, Ansel could easily imagine receiving himself. He imagined what it would feel like to have his chest cave in, his lungs emptied, his ribs cracked, the back of his skull nearly bashed in; all blocking out and overpowering the feel of glass cutting into his skin, the dizziness that came with blood loss, the disorientation from moving at such unnatural speeds. He imagined the wooziness and wished for it to be over.

Ansel was finally seeing the savage brutality that Malix was capable of and it scared him. This was the true nature of the boy who had saved him from starvation. The boy he had chosen to follow. The boy he had sworn to obey. Ansel had always known that Malix could be ruthless, but this was too much. This was worse than what he imagined mutants to be capable of. And there was no stopping it. Malix was too strong for him to fight. And he was only fifteen! Ansel couldn’t imagine how much further his mind would deteriorate over the years.

Ansel stumbled out of his safe corner.

It was suicide to interrupt Malix now, but that’s what he had to do. He no longer cared if Malix turned on him. He’d welcome it. There would be no one left to interfere on his behalf but he was fine with that. He didn’t want to watch Malix beat this man to death. He didn’t want to have to kill two innocent humans. He didn’t want to see Malix fall into any more of his maniacal fits. He didn’t want to be a part of the Council. If being beaten to death was the only way out, he’d take it. So Ansel went and caught one of Malix’s fists.

When Malix pulled at him he stood firm. When Malix turned his murderous gaze to him, he remained in spite of his sudden desire to flee.

“Stop,” Ansel croaked. “He can’t feel it anymore.”

Malix tried again to pull free but Ansel only hung tighter. Malix released his hold on Cen’s body, letting it slide once more to the floor. Then he pulled Ansel to him and shoved him, pressing his back against the mantle of the fireplace.

“We do not kill our own, remember?” Ansel fought against panic as Malix’s dark eyes bored into him and the heat of the fire grew intense in his legs. “That is your rule.”

“He is not one of our own!”

“He still has secarin in his veins. He is one of us.” Ansel forced himself to look into Malix’s eyes; forced himself to think clearly and confidently, even though his words didn’t come out that way. His efforts didn’t go unrewarded. Ansel could see Malix calming; the rage had faded and Malix took deep breaths as logic and sanity returned to him.

“You’re right,” Malix finally said, and smiled when the realization finally dawned on him. “Thank you for stopping me.”

Ansel only nodded in acknowledgment before Malix hastily released him.

“But he has no right to call himself a mutant!” Malix went on. “Twice he’s tried to poison me. Twice! He placed more value in preserving the lives of trash then he had in the duel. And he had broken his word. If it had been me, I would have gone through with it. I would have honored the agreement. I wouldn’t have lied!”

“What he did is deplorable, I agree.” Ansel stepped between them because Malix had worked himself up again and glared murderously at what was left of Cen. The man was alive, but only barely. Now that he had gotten Malix to stop, he couldn’t risk letting him start up again. He wouldn’t be able to find the courage to stop it again. “But you can’t kill him for being human. People lie. They make mistakes. They say, think and do things they don’t really mean to.”

“But he has proven himself to be no better than the Usurper. He is dishonest and weak, and he doesn’t know his place. He is unfit to have his gifts and he can’t be allowed to misrepresent mutants in this way. It’s my duty to ensure that the world sees mutants in the proper light. But there is no way to correct Cen’s mistakes if I can’t kill him.” Malix stood tormented by this dilemma of violating one idea to uphold another.

Cruel thoughts ran through Ansel’s head all the time. They were sent by the darker part of him and he always crushed them when they arose. If he let them live in thought they will ask to exist in words. Given freedom in speech they would seek refuge in deed. Ansel was victorious in silencing them, cursing them, and denying them passage from his mind. But as he stood there with Malix, something had changed.

Maybe it was seeing how tame his thoughts were compared to Malix’s insanity. Maybe it was his promise to be less of a pacifist. Maybe it was his desire to win some favor from Malix or even to appease Malix’s childlike frustration. Maybe it was all of these things or maybe it was none of these things, but Ansel lost his second battle with his darker half that night. “There may be a way,” he said.

“How?” Malix asked.

Ansel asked himself why he was doing this. He wanted to understand if he was slowly declining into the brutal murderer that all mutants inevitably became or if it were the better part of him trying to save the man’s life. For he was certain Malix could talk himself into killing the man. And at least this way, he would live, if he survived the injuries he already had. But what kind of life would it be?

“Ansel, tell me what you mean? What way is there?”

Ansel could feel Malix probing his mind, nudging it to reveal his thoughts. Malix was going to get the idea from him one way or another. “He’s only a Class Four mover,” Ansel said. “He can only use his abilities if he has his hands to use as guides. If you take away the use of his hands…” The thought brought such a horrible outlook to mind that Ansel couldn’t bring himself to voice it.

Malix beamed. “I could take away his moving and he won’t be able to tarnish the righteous name of mutants. Well done, Ansel! Who knew under all that disgusting squeamishness hid a brilliant cruelty?”

Ansel felt a small stirring of pride from the praise and was ashamed of himself. He turned away as Malix set to work making it impossible for Cen to ever use his abilities again. He heard lots of bones being broken, accompanied by Cen’s delirious moans.

“Just in case you manage to recover from that…” he heard Malix say.

Then came the other sounds; a squelching noise that Ansel’s imagination proved very gifted in conjuring images for. Ansel had to get away.

“Oh. And Ansel?” Malix said.

Ansel stopped and turned back to look at him. Malix had finished admiring his work and was wiping his bloodied hands on some drapes. Ansel caught a glimpse of Cen’s deformed figure. His stomach turned when he saw that both of his arms – from his shoulders to the tips of his fingers – had been flattened. Whatever bone had once given them structure had been decimated.

“I gave you an order. I’m sure you will carry it out, now that I know what to do with you if you fail.” Then Malix was gone from the room and Ansel was left there alone with Cen.

Death haunted them both.

After what he’d just been forced to listen to, after what he’d been forced to watch and endure, Malix wanted to destroy his peace of mind further by insisting that he take innocent lives. If Ansel obeyed, he would start the path that would lead him to murder his own family.

Ansel thought of running. He thought of abandoning the Council and the many opportunities it presented him with – and tempted and encouraged him – to give in to the darker part of himself. But there was no place in the world far enough away. Malix would find and punish him. Ansel was so disgusted with himself. He’d let a bit of the darkness slip and it had already turned against him.

To never be able to use his abilities again would be worse than death, worse than inhibition. He’d be a mover who couldn’t move, shunned by mutants and middlings alike. Sure, he would still have his reading, but that was a useless ability. Ansel was a mover first, that was the ability that defined him as a mutant and he’d feel incomplete without it.

And if Malix was frustrated enough, he would punish Ansel further by threatening his family anyways. His parents, his baby sister, his grandfather; all endangered if he provoked Malix’s wrath. And Malix would show them no mercy because they were only humans.

Both paths led to the destruction of all that he held dear and the deterioration of his sanity. Ansel had to decide if he should choose it, or have it thrust upon him.