Heroes, Villains, and Renegades Fiction: Trial of Strength Part 15

 

Jordan sat on a bench in the A.W.W. HQ locker room. He stared at the floor with his elbows on his knees, one leg nervously bouncing. A million thoughts ran through his head about today. This was it, one day to face the challenge of the Avatar. Hanuman Hammer was currently sitting at the top of the hill, but the other contestants were going to be here to face him. A dozen other fighters were due to challenge for the top spot. Each person who won would take the spot and the next challenger would try to remove them. Hanuman was a powerful fighter, but The Berserker was incredibly strong.

"I wish I hadn't watched his matches." He muttered to himself as he thought about watching The Berserkers fights over the past week. EB had encouraged him to watch the fights so he would garner some wisdom about how the competitors fought, but all he could think about was how often the match with Berserker would end in blood and ambulances. The man was a maniac, heartless, and terrifyingly strong.

Another thought crossed his mind as he tried to push the bloody images out of his head. Where is everyone? He was alone in this room and this was the only locker room for the guys. More than half of the contestants who won this past week were guys and they should be here getting ready.

The door opened and closed and he could hear feet. His nerves prickled at the idea of facing his opponents before the match. It was Gar and EB who appeared around the corner.

"You ready to win?" EB announced as he bounced up and landed right next to Jordan on the bench.

Jordan said, "I'm not sure what I'm going to do. I'll try my best."

"Your best has been ah'may'zing!" EB shadowboxed with his tiny paws. "Dodge, distract, and punch, you were great, you were quick, you were made to win this contest. Man, I cleaned up in the betting pools in Vegas over you. No one in his right mind put money on you at first, and I walked away with a fortune... well another fortune, I am seriously rich already. But, it was a great time."

Jordan, now used to the way EB would ramble, waited for the bunny to stop and then asked, "Where is everyone else?"

Gar said, "That is why we're here. To tell you the others refused to fight if The Berserker is allowed to compete."

"What?" Jordan asked.

EB said, "Yeah, it seems they don't want to get hospitalized by that mad man. They are protesting his presence. But, The Avatar said that he would allow The Berserker to compete, so they are flat outta luck. That means, it's just you, The Berserker, and Hanuman Hammer! You got this in the BAG!"

Gar said, "You can back out too, if you want." His tone was earnest.

EB waved a paw. “Naw! My champ is no pansy. He won't quit.... will you?"

Jordan gulped and looked around at the empty room. He realized how many superheroes were competing today. They were strong, experienced warriors with powers, and yet they refused this fight. Should he?

In a soft tone, he said, "I have to go through with this."

"What?" Gar asked.

"I have to prove to myself that there is more to me than just a window washer. Even if I lose, I want to finish what I started. Besides, If this Berserker character wins, it could be a bad thing... right?"

"Well, sorta." EB said, "I mean, he could gain unlimited godlike powers that would turn a villain into one of the most powerful super villains on earth. But, that's all."

"That's all." Jordan jokingly said, "I have to try."

"That's my boy. Now, get out there and get ready. The fights will start soon."

They left the locker room and walked down the corridor that led to the ramp where pro-wrestling champs would make grand entrances normally. There were flashing lights, and the sound of music over head, but the roar of a crowd was absent. Jordan saw empty stands, save a throne where the Avatar sat and the command staff of BADGE.

"Where is everyone?" Jordan asked.

Gar said, "Nova felt it was safer to ask everyone else to leave."

"Safer? How dangerous is this match?"

EB comforted him with a cheerful tone. "Don't worry. Nova can be a little over protective. It's his nature. Just focus on the fight. That's all."

They stopped on the floor beneath the ring. Across from him, near the corner of the ring was the imposing figure of The Berserker with his antlered helmet and that sword in his hand. Near him stood Theodore Zeus. The Texan promoter smiled around his thick cigar.

Robert Layton stepped out onto the ring and spoke toward a camera since there was no audience. "Tonight, we have two contenders for the place at the top. First, The Berserker will challenge Hanuman Hammer, the winner of that match will face The Mustang. Tonight, The Avatar has declared he will give a victor the power of the oracle. Now, the leading contender and undefeated king of the mountain, Hanuman Hammer!"

Lights danced, firework fountains blasted off, and down another ramp strutted the Indian hero who wore a tan outfit and had a monkey's tail. He was as impressive as The Berserker in his physique, but his smile was far more congenial. He stepped through the ropes and stood center stage.

Robert called out, "And now, the first contender of the night, champion of the Confederate Brawlers arena, The Berserker!"

The Berserker stepped through the ropes and walked right up to Hanuman, getting threateningly close. If this weren't a genuine fight, it appeared more like the theatrics of a pro-wrestling match. Berserker turned and stabbed his sword into the floor of the arena, hung his antlered helmet off the top of it, and turned to continue threatening Hanuman with his look. EB was booing with all his might from the side.

"You know the rules, anything goes, but do not kill. No super powers beyond strength and agility related abilities. When the bell rings, the match begins." Robert let the hanging mic go and he left the ring.

The bell clinged and both men raced toward the other. There was no preamble of circling the other, or further sizing up, it was a dash right into the fight. Hanuman dodged the initial swing from Berserker, and then nailed him with a hard punch right to the gut. Berserker flew back and bounced off the ropes, on his return flight, Hanuman Hammer slammed his fists right down into Berserkers back, planting him hard against the mat. He then stomped on Berserker's back, holding him down.

"Call it quits and I'll stop embarrassing you." Hanuman taunted.

Berserker, true to his name, flew into a rage and grabbed the leg pressing against his chest and threw Hanuman off of him with a massive growling grunt. The beefy Hanuman Hammer stumbled and fell back. Berserker jumped to his feet and balled both fists together and swung down, Hanuman dodged the down swing, but missed the up swing that followed. Both fists met Hanuman's chin and he flew back, slamming the back of his head against the mat. Berserker grabbed Hanuman by his arm, pushed his foot into the heroes side and yanked with a yelling roar. The sound of popping bones echoed out as Hanuman screamed. Then Berserker jumped and plowed his elbow right into Hanuman's spine. He held him down while the Indian superhero had blood coming out of his mouth.

Berserker said, "Call it quits and I won't cripple you for life."

Hanuman cried out, "Enough!"

The bell rang and Berserker got up without a care that he had just caused serious injury. Hanuman tried to stand, but he yelped as he went to move.

Robert rushed up onto the mat and waved over Nova. They were with Hanuman for a moment before Nova looked up. "EB, here!"

EB zipped over. "What is it?"

Nova said, "Zap him to the BADGE infirmary, now."

EB clapped his paws together and Hanuman Hammer vanished in a flash.

"Nova to Dr. Henderson, medical emergency arriving now." Nova clicked off his comm and stood with rage in his eyes at Berserker, "That was too much!"

"He's alive." Berserker dismissively stated.

Nova looked at the Avatar, "This should be disqualification!"

The Avatar said, "Rules are rules. I said no death."

The Berserker chuckled in victory. "Rules are rules, Nova."

Nova walked off the mat with EB behind him. EB rushed over to Jordan.

"Jordan, buddy, if you back out, I would understand. I didn't realize just how... horrible that creep is."

Jordan looked up at the arrogant man with Hanuman's blood splattered on him. "Someone has to stop him."

"Dude, I'm loving the confidence and determination, but that guy is a monster." EB said.

Jordan said, "I know. But, if we don't stand up to the bullies, they will always win. Besides, my dream is to be a hero, if I can't face monsters, what kind of hero am I?"

EB said, "Well, okay. You're good, you're fast, and .... BADGE is pretty good about putting heroes back together, so... good luck."

Continue the Story

Heroes, Villains, and Renegades Fiction: Trial of Strength Part 14

Chase dashed through the station, flipping over a student hero who nearly collided with her, and skidded to a stop in front of the Central Lounge. Inside, every couch and chair was taken, and extra seats had been dragged in from the mess hall. The room was packed with students watching the screens, popcorn being passed around in every direction. Chase slipped through the crowd and found the central couch where Nova sat. A student occupied the seat next to him.

“Move,” Chase ordered.

The student scrambled up in a panic and retreated to the back of the room with the others who had no seats.

“Is he on yet?” she asked as she sat.

“It’s about to start,” Nova replied.

They watched as the announcer stepped into the center of the ring. A commentator’s voice overlaid the image.

“This is the final round. The top two contenders will fight to determine who advances. This has been one of the most-viewed contests in the world. On one side we have Stellar Stormer, captain of the Pacific Watchers League. She’s a heavy hitter with an impressive record—she single-handedly stopped three attacks from those strange creatures months ago. But Stormer isn’t the main draw tonight. We have an unknown contender who has risen to second place with no one seeing him coming. The Mustang has no history, no league affiliation, and we’re not even certain he’s affiliated with BADGE. He’s listed as morphonic, yet almost nothing is known about him. Still, he keeps winning. What happens in the next ten minutes will decide this match.”

On the mat, a seven-foot-tall, heavily muscled woman with a reddish complexion stepped into position. Across from her stood the shorter, average-looking Jordan in his wrestling leggings, expression confident but still carrying a trace of nerves. The referee called for the start. The bell rang.

The two fighters sized each other up. Jordan kept his hands high. Stormer prowled like a lioness ready to strike. She lunged first. Jordan dodged. He twisted and threw a punch of his own, but she pivoted at the last second and caught him with a hard kick to the side. He flew into the ropes and hit the mat. Stormer leapt, aiming both knees at him. Jordan rolled clear, scrambled to his feet, and reset his defensive stance.

“He can’t win this,” Chase said around a mouthful of popcorn. “Stormer is too strong.”

Nova answered calmly, “He’s been surprising me all week. But I know Stormer—she would try to punch Midgardsormr if she got the chance.”

Jordan landed a solid hit to her face. She answered with a rapid series of punches. He slipped every one of them, moving left and right, always backing up just enough to stay out of range. It looked as if he could do nothing but defend—until he suddenly dropped low and drove a hard punch into her gut, followed by another to her chest, then a third squarely to her face. Stormer staggered. Rage overtook her. She threw a wild strike. Jordan caught her fist with a clean two-armed block, used her own arm to spin around her, twisted it behind her back, and kicked her hard in the rear. She stumbled forward, turned—and met Jordan’s heel slamming into the left side of her face. A few uneven steps later, she collapsed.

The crowd in the arena exploded. So did the lounge. Popcorn and students went flying. Even though Stormer was a well-liked BADGE graduate, the underdog’s victory was far more exciting.

Once the cheering settled, people began switching screens to the other final matches of the night. Winners from around the world would now head to A.W.W. Headquarters to challenge the current champion.

Chase asked casually, “Do you think he can do it?”

“Face Hanuman Hammer and win?” Nova considered. “A week ago I would have said no. But Jordan has something I rarely see—a pure drive to win. Sometimes that matters more than raw power. He stands a chance. Still, he won’t be the only one up there.”

Chase glanced at the other screens. “Are you sticking around to watch the rest of the finals? We have several more this hour before the replays start.”

Nova stood. “I have work to do, and so do you. We should—” He stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening as he focused on one particular match that had suddenly drawn everyone’s attention.

Chase turned and felt her stomach drop. Blood covered the mat. One contender lay on the ground, bleeding heavily, while the victor calmly wiped his hands clean. The Berserker wore a confident, malicious smile as he walked away from his latest victim.

The student heroes, not fully grasping the seriousness, shouted at the screen.

“Foul! You can’t do that!” a girl yelled.

A boy threw a handful of popcorn at the largest display. “Cheat! You’re not supposed to go that far!”

“Silence!” Nova’s command cut through the noise. The room went quiet instantly.

At the arena, confusion and angry murmurs filled the stands. A referee and a medic checked the downed fighter. The entire venue waited in tense silence. The referee conferred with the medic, then stood.

“Ground Pounder is injured but still breathing. His injuries do not appear life-threatening. By the rules set by the Avatar of Strength, the winner of this match—and of this week’s contest—is The Berserker!”

The crowd erupted in boos and shouts. Some threw trash toward the ring. The Berserker remained completely unfazed. He raised his arms in victory, still wearing that same vile grin, and left the mat. The angry reaction from the audience seemed to thrill him, possibly more than if they were cheering.

Nova gave Chase a sharp gesture. She followed him out of the lounge as he strode toward Operations.

“This is bad,” Chase said once they were in the corridor.

“This is terrible,” Nova agreed as he scanned his ID for the command-level lift.

“The Berserker has left every opponent bleeding and hospitalized. He has no restraint.”

“He has some,” Nova said as the doors closed. “So far he hasn’t killed anyone. And that is the only rule the Avatar set for immediate disqualification.”

“The Avatar can’t possibly accept someone like that. The Berserker is dangerous. He has no heart for what he does—he just mauls people and walks away.”

Nova’s voice was grim. “That’s the problem. The Avatars seek to bond with humans so they can understand emotion and life more fully. Right now the Avatar of Strength still lacks that understanding. I fear all he sees is strength.”

They stepped into Operations. Chase asked, “His definition of strength is just brute force?”

“That is what it appears to be.” Nova pointed at the nearest console. “10915, open a command-level channel to Gar, EB, and Justin.”

“Signal open.”

“Nova to command staff. We are attending this week’s final match at A.W.W. Headquarters. I will be joining you. Gar, inform Robert Layton that we’re coming and that the arena should be cleared of all unnecessary staff.”

Each answered, “Understood.”

Chase frowned. “Why clear the arena?”

“If the Berserker gains this power, there is no telling what he will do next. We will be there to make it clear that BADGE will not stand idle while he uses that level of strength for harm.”

“You’re assuming he will win.”

Nova met her eyes. “Yes. I hope he fails. But after many years as a protector, I’ve learned to prepare for the worst. Get ready. We leave in an hour.”

Continue the Story

Heroes, Villains, and Renegades Fiction: Trial of Strength Part 13

“I don’t know about you, but I think Hanuman Hammer will stay on top. He’s already won two straight weeks at A.W.W. HQ.” A woman with a thick Texan accent spoke from the commentary desk as the crowd roared behind her.

An older man with a husky voice nodded. “You might be right, Sue. But we’ve got some hungry kids here who are just as dedicated. This ain’t any ordinary fight. What are your thoughts, Widowmaker?”

The camera shifted to a former champion with a stoic expression. “I think we’re in for a good show. I just heard Mr. Zeus has found himself a new champion.”

“Who? One of his regulars?” Sue asked.

The crowd suddenly erupted as lights strobed. All three commentators turned toward the arena. Theodor Zeus strutted down the ramp in cowboy boots, a white suit, and his oversized hat, microphone in one hand as he waved with the other.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone else out there! Tonight I present my contender, my warrior, my champion… The Berserker!”

Fireworks exploded and smoke filled the air as The Berserker walked down the ramp. His antlered helmet gleamed, and he carried a massive sword in one hand. His expression was pure menace as he made his way to the ring.

“Who is that?” Sue asked. The other commentators only shrugged.

Zeus continued, “And his first opponent will be William Smith of Austin, Texas!”

A far less dramatic entrance followed. A muscular man in standard MMA gear—pads on his elbows and knees, a helmet, and fighting gloves—walked down the opposite ramp. He was built similarly to Berserker, but without the theatrical presence.

Widowmaker commented, “I don’t think the Berserker can use that sword. The rules say no killing, but I’m not sure what they say about actual weapons.”

Zeus waited until both fighters stood opposite each other. “Tonight we run this as a king-of-the-hill. Every winner faces the next contender until only one remains. Let the fight begin!”

The Berserker stabbed his sword into the mat near the corner, cracked his knuckles, and walked to the center of the ring. William Smith settled into a proper fighting stance. The two circled each other for a long moment, sizing one another up.

Then Berserker spread his arms wide, deliberately leaving himself open. William lunged with a swift kick aimed at the abdomen. Berserker caught the leg mid-strike and slammed William hard into the mat. The impact bent the man’s leg at an unnatural angle. William’s scream of pain cut through the arena. First man down.

Sue said quietly, “I think this is going to be an interesting night.”

---

Jordan’s leg bounced uncontrollably as he waited for his turn. EB hopped back and forth between checking with officials and returning to try to calm the nervous contender. They were in the holding area for the Atlanta match. This particular contest was structured as traditional one-on-one fights, with winners advancing to the next round.

“If I lose today, do I just go home?” Jordan asked.

EB answered, “Well, if you lose, then yes. But the Avatar never said you couldn’t try again later.”

“But if I lose, why would I try again?”

EB huffed. “Jordan, Jordan, Jordan. Stop only thinking about losing. You’re going to defeat yourself before your opponent even gets the chance. Don’t think about what happens if you lose—think about what happens when you win. Fame, fortune, an interview with that cute reporter they sent… She’s so cute. I might offer to do an interview just so I can talk to her. Do you think she’d like coffee with a fluffy bunny? I could bring her chocolates. I—” He noticed Jordan’s leg still bouncing. “Sorry. I get sidetracked. What was I saying? Right. Don’t worry. Just fight and do your best. You’re a good fighter.”

The door opened. A woman with a clipboard called, “Jordan Moore.”

He stood. “Right here.”

“He’s called The Mustang!” EB announced happily.

Jordan protested, “I didn’t—”

She scribbled on the clipboard. “Got it. You’re on.”

Jordan muttered, “I didn’t say my name was going to be The Mustang.”

“Just go with it,” EB said. “It’s cool. Now get out there and show them what training with BADGE looks like.” He hopped up and gave Jordan a firm slap on the shoulder.

Jordan forced himself to breathe steadily as he walked toward the door. Beyond it was a short path between the bleachers leading to the mat. Lights blazed, the crowd was loud, and music pounded. His face already appeared on the giant screen above the arena with the name “The Mustang” underneath. He had no idea how they had put that up so quickly.

“Next, we have The Mustang versus Stone Vulture!” the announcer called from the center of the ring.

Jordan climbed through the ropes and faced a man a full foot taller and twice as broad, pure muscle with a terrifying glare. Jordan recognized him immediately—a League hero who had recently been in the news for stopping a villain who tried to seize control of Cincinnati’s public works. This was no ordinary contender. He was an experienced morphonic superhero.

“I can do this. I can do this,” Jordan muttered under his breath. “Just put on a good show. Even if I lose, make it look good.”

The referee stepped between them. “Rules are simple. First to be knocked out loses. Fight starts with the bell.”

Jordan offered his hand. Stone Vulture crushed it in a punishing handshake, then stepped back. Jordan swallowed hard and waited for the bell.

Ding!

Stone Vulture swung immediately. Jordan slipped under the punch, then spun aside to avoid the follow-up. A third strike—a kick aimed at his face—came too fast to dodge completely. Jordan crossed his fists and took the impact on the backs of his hands, then spun and drove a hard chop into Stone Vulture’s side.

The bigger man staggered. He recovered quickly and launched a flurry of blows. Jordan ducked, weaved, and avoided every strike, beginning to read the pattern. He slid just far enough that a heavy fist whistled past his left ear. Now face-to-face, Jordan snapped a sharp jab into Stone Vulture’s nose. The larger fighter lurched backward, then instinctively lunged forward—only to meet a rising uppercut that crashed into his chin.

Stone Vulture hit the mat hard. It was over.

Jordan stood frozen, barely able to process what he had just done. All the nightmares of losing his first match vanished. He could hear nothing except the pounding of his own heart. Then a small weight landed on his shoulder and a paw patted his head. The roar of the crowd finally reached him, along with the announcer’s voice.

“Round to The Mustang!”

Jordan whispered, “I… I did it.”

EB, still perched on his shoulder and waving to the crowd, said, “This is only the beginning.”

Stone Vulture slowly pushed himself up, shaking his head. He stomped over to Jordan.

“Fight’s over, bub,” EB warned.

Stone Vulture simply smiled. “Good work, kid. You’ve got skill.” He patted Jordan on the shoulder and left the mat.

 

Continue the Story

Heroes, Villains, and Renegades Fiction: Trial of Strength part 12

 Jordan jumped, tumbled, and dodged left and right. Each movement evaded a strike from The Catalyst, a trainee roughly his height and build. Slipping under another swung arm, Jordan landed a solid blow to Catalyst’s side, then swept his leg and tripped the other hero.

“That’s enough!” Coach Thrasher bellowed from the edge of the mat.

The large, four-armed coach pointed at a med droid. The robot hurried onto the mat, scanned both fighters, and gave an all-clear signal. Thrasher stepped through the ropes.

“Good work,” he said. “I’m impressed. Your agility has improved a lot this week.”

Jordan, still catching his breath, replied, “Thanks. That obstacle course you have me run every morning helped. The way the targets keep changing has made me a lot more aware.”

Thrasher nodded. “Your martial arts background helps with that agility too. Keep relying on both your training and your powers, and you’ll become a formidable opponent.”

Catalyst asked, “How’d I do?”

“Fine, fine. You’re learning,” Thrasher said. “Extra credit for helping out. Now go shower.”

Jordan wiped sweat from his brow. “Do you think I’m ready? My time here is almost up, right?”

Thrasher considered for a moment, then nodded. “You could always use more training, that’s normal for any hero who wants to stay sharp. You’ve learned and grown a lot in this week. I think you stand a real chance of surviving the competition. I can’t promise you’ll win, but you’ll put on a strong performance.”

“I… don’t know how to take that,” Jordan said as he walked with the coach.

“I don’t sugarcoat things, kid. You’re strong, agile, and you’ve got good common sense. Those traits will take you far if you lean on them. But there are a lot of powerful people who want this, so you’ve got a hard road ahead. Stay focused, trust your strengths, and be ready to take a hit when it comes.”

“Got it.”

“Now hit the showers and get some dinner. I’ve got rookies to terrify.” Thrasher walked off with a wicked gleam in his eye.

Jordan had come to understand the coach. Thrasher was brash, powerful, and smart. He knew his craft and pushed his trainees hard, but it was all to make sure they were truly ready.

After a hot shower, Jordan stepped into the lounge near the training area where other hero trainees relaxed. Soft couches filled the room, and a large television showed the ongoing tournament matches.

The sports announcer, who normally called A.W.W. events, now spoke like a news anchor. “We’re looking at the end of week two of the Avatar’s challenge. A new group of champions from around the world is converging on A.W.W. HQ Arena for a king-of-the-mountain style match to determine who ends up on top. The current leader is Hanuman Hammer, captain of the New Delhi superhero league. He’s strong, but some of the new arrivals will put his dominance to the test. The next match begins in half an hour as the world watches.”

An image of the hyper-muscular Indian hero in his monkey-themed costume filled the screen before commercials started. One of the girls muted the television, and the group began debating who they thought would win.

Jordan had deliberately avoided watching most of the matches this week. Every time he saw them, his nerves spiked about what lay ahead.

EB suddenly bounced into the room. “Jordan! Great, Coach said you were done. You look fantastic. You’ve really been hitting the weights this week.”

Jordan, whose terrycloth bathrobe had slipped open enough to show his chest, smiled sheepishly. “Oh, I hadn’t noticed.”

“Don’t try to fool a habitual flirt. You’re beefcake now,” EB grinned.

Jordan blushed as two of the girls glanced over after EB’s announcement. He quickly pulled his robe closed. “Uh, so… who do you think will win this week’s fights?”

“Dunno. My money’s still on Hanuman keeping his spot. He’s one tough contender. But Paradoxia is no slouch either — she can really fight. You saw her match at the Vladivostok arena… wow.”

“I… really haven’t been following the matches that much.”

“Oh, really? You should have watched. It helps to study your opponents. Everyone knows that’s smart.”

“I thought about it,” Jordan admitted. “But every time I watch them fight, I get nervous. They look so strong and professional. Hanuman Hammer especially… he’s incredibly powerful. I don’t know…”

EB hopped up onto Jordan’s legs so they were face to face. “How many heroes have you trained against this week?”

“Ten… or so. But they were just trainees.”

EB grinned. “They were super-powered people ordered by their coach to beat you. And how many did?”

“One.”

“One out of ten. That’s pretty darn good. Remember those wins. When you face real opponents out there, muster that same courage, dig deep, and push harder than you ever have here. You won’t just win , you’ll send a clear message that you’re not going to lose. Got that?”

Jordan nodded firmly. “Yes, coach.”

“Great!” EB hopped down. “We leave tomorrow for the A.W.W. Arena in Atlanta, Georgia. That’s where you’ll fight for your spot at HQ.”

“Why Atlanta?” Jordan asked.

“Simple. My promise was to help you reach your goals. If you don’t win the whole thing, at least you’ll have shown the world what you can do. Atlanta is one of the most heavily viewed arenas, great exposure if you want a future in pro wrestling.”

Jordan frowned. “A moment ago you sounded like you really believed I could win this.”

EB smiled. “I do believe in you. But I’m the Easter Bunny, I know it’s not wise to put all your eggs in one basket. Don’t sweat it. Just do your best and let fate decide. Now go get some food and rest. Tomorrow we’re off to Peach City!”

---

Gar stood with Robert Layton in his office, watching the arena below. Champion after champion challenged Hanuman Hammer, trying to unseat him as the current leader. It was an epic display that kept the audience roaring. Paradoxia came close to victory, but Hanuman Hammer finished her with a decisive strike that left her unconscious.

Seated on a throne made of crushed and reshaped arena seats was the lion-like Avatar of Strength. He

watched the proceedings with intense focus, showing no emotion at the victories or defeats. When the crowd went wild, he remained calmly observant. Once the victor of the round was decided, he waited for the audience to file out, then rose and walked away.

“How many more rounds until he chooses a victor?” Robert asked.

Gar shrugged his winged shoulders. “He doesn’t talk much. I tried asking, but he didn’t answer.”

“I want answers. I love the publicity, but we can’t keep this up forever. I have millions tied up in events coming later this season. I can't keep moving and canceling things, or I will lose big time.” Robert walked with Gar out of the office and through the arena.

In the locker room, they found Hanuman Hammer sitting on a bench, resting after his latest match.

“Hey, Gar. Some fight,” Hanuman said, clasping Gar’s hand in a firm, friendly grip. They knew each other well from BADGE work.

Gar smiled. “You’re doing very well. Two weeks and you’re still on top.”

Hanuman wiped his face with a towel. “How many more fights until he names me the Oracle?”

Just then the Avatar of Strength entered the locker room on his way to the gym where he trained almost constantly.

“Avatar!” Robert called.

The Avatar stopped and looked back. “What is it, human?”

“Don’t you think it’s time you chose a victor? Hanuman Hammer has faced so many opponents.”

The Avatar stormed over with a snarl. Without speaking, he grabbed Hanuman by the shoulders and stared deeply into his eyes. “Do you think you are ready for my power?”

Hanuman met the gaze steadily. “I know I am.”

There was a long, tense pause as the Avatar searched his eyes. Finally he released him. “No. You are not ready. Prove your strength to me.” With that, he turned and left.

Hanuman slammed his towel down in frustration. “What does that cat want from me? How many more people do I have to beat before he admits I’m the strongest here?”

Robert let out a tired sigh. “If I wasn’t making a fortune from the advertising and ticket sales, I’d be furious. But I can’t let this drag on forever. My regular pro-wrestling schedule can’t stay on hold while my arenas are tied up with this.”

Gar offered, “Nova said the Avatar has a month. Two more weeks.”

“And how exactly does Nova plan to get that cat out of my HQ if this isn’t resolved by then?”

Gar smiled. “Nova has a way of doing what most people think is impossible. Maybe it will be decided before then.”

“I hope you’re right,” Robert muttered.

Continue the Story

Heroes, Villains, and Renegades Fiction: Trial of Strength Part 11

 

Nova stood at the center of Operations on the BADGE station. Massive viewscreens filled the walls, each displaying competition matches from around the planet. A central window, four times larger than the others, showed a live feed near Purgatory Penitentiary. He watched the BADGE vehicles driving away.

Robot 10915 announced, “Incoming transmission from Field Agent Kyle Gibson.”

Nova turned. “I’ll take it in the meeting room. Get Chase and Justin up here, now.” He walked up the steps to the conference room at the back of Operations.

Inside, the round table and holoprojector waited. The BADGE call signal floated above the emitter. Moments later, Chase and Justin entered.

“Is there an emergency?” Justin asked.

Chase sat down. “I haven’t heard anything from the heroes I recruited.”

Nova activated the signal. Agent Gibson’s face appeared on screen.

“Agent Gibson here. Hello, Agent Chase, Agent Justin.”

Nova got straight to the point. “Report.”

“Yes, sir. We arrived for a standard tag-and-release of a known morphonic felon. Before we could reach him, a talent agent working for Confederate Brawlers met with him and they signed a contract to represent him in the Avatar’s competition.”

Justin asked, “Who?”

“Joseph Jeffries. His street name during his crimes was The Berserker.”

Chase frowned. “I don’t recall any super-villains by either name.”

Nova explained, “Mr. Jeffries was a small-time criminal. He earned Purgatory Penitentiary by using his newly discovered powers just for the thrill of destruction and spreading fear. If he’d been a normal person, he would have faced ordinary charges for property damage and public nuisance. But because he has powers and chose to use them so recklessly, he received the full Purgatory sentence.”

Agent Gibson added, “Our reports show his megalomaniacal tendencies have only grown stronger in prison. Discovering his powers seems to have unlocked a darker side. He was already a thug, but now he’s far worse.”

“Then why release him at all?” Chase asked.

Nova’s tone was measured. “We follow the law. His crimes warranted this length of imprisonment — no more, no less. Preemptively imprisoning people based on what they might do risks violating basic human freedoms. We did have the right to attach a BADGE tracking tether to monitor him… until this agent stepped in.”

Chase said, “Then go find him and tether him.”

Agent Gibson held up several documents. “We were given printouts of rules, laws, and agreements. This talent agent is more like a lawyer. BADGE agreed not to interfere with contestants as long as they commit no crimes during the contest. Since he is officially an entrant, we cannot tether him until it ends. Otherwise it would appear we’re trying to influence the outcome. I’ve read every line — there’s no loophole. He’s free to compete without tracking. All we can do is watch him carefully… from a distance.”

Nova sighed. “I hate bloated legal systems. There is always red tape, loopholes, and people who use the law to get away with wrongdoing.” His words carried the weight of thousands of years of experience.

Chase suggested, “We wait for him to get knocked out and then tag him. Shouldn’t be difficult. The Avatar’s rules say he can’t kill anyone, so Berserker will compete, lose, and then we tether him.”

Nova turned to Gibson. “Tell them what you put in your report about him.”

Gibson replied, “Joseph Jeffries is incredibly strong for his size. His morphonic powers have grown considerably since he discovered them. Worse, he has little regard for who he hurts or how badly. He can take a beating and keep going. Prison staff noted he seems eager to harm others. His restraint is almost nonexistent.”

Nova placed both hands on the table, his face serious. “So far the competitors have been average fighters and a few superheroes. But my worst fear has been realized — a morphonic villain with the potential to win just entered the contest. And because we agreed to stay hands-off, we have very limited ways to stop his climb.”

Justin said, “I’m sure if he wins, the Avatar won’t simply hand over his power. That would give a megalomaniac near-godlike abilities.”

Nova shook his head. “I’m not certain what the Avatar will do. Even the Oracle of Tech has expressed concern that the Avatar of Strength is too single-minded to grasp the dangers of giving his power to just anyone. If Berserker wins, we could have a serious problem.”

“What can we do about it?” Gibson asked from the holo-screen.

Nova replied, “I want you and your team shadowing wherever Berserker competes. Keep as close an eye on him as possible and report to me daily.”

“Will do, sir.”

Nova turned to Chase and Justin. “Tell me you two have found heroes who can stand against someone like Berserker.”

Chase answered, “I only found two willing to join: Queen Anne’s Mace and Chug. Both are strong, but I’m not sure they’re strong enough against Berserker.”

Justin added, “I only got one agreement — Hanuman Hammer. He’s still holding the top spot.”

Nova asked, “Just those?”

“Many heroes were excited at first,” Justin said. “They love showing off at League Wars and the Olympiad. But when they learn the grand prize means permanently becoming the Oracle, their enthusiasm fades fast.”

Chase asked, “Why haven’t you asked EB?”

Nova sighed. “He’s completely focused on Jordan Moore, who is a low-grade contender. I suspect he won’t make it past the first round of his local competition.”

“That’s pretty bleak, sir,” Justin said. “EB has put a lot of effort into training him this week.”

“A week of training is hardly enough,” Nova replied. “Jordan failed to join BADGE several years ago for a reason. I’m not placing much hope in his success.” He noticed the looks on their faces. “I know I should be more supportive, but this is a serious situation. If the competition weren’t open to anyone who wanted to join, I would have found a way to keep Jordan out — for his own sake. But I don’t have the right to stop him.”

Chase stood. “I’ll head out and see if I can find more heroes willing to compete. I still haven’t spoken with the leagues in Northern Africa.”

Justin added, “I’ll go through our registered morphonic individuals who aren’t aligned with any major league or the Rangers and see who might be interested.”

“Find me someone,” Nova said. “I want to know that whoever wins is truly worthy of becoming an Oracle.”

They acknowledged their orders and left to begin the work.

Nova walked back into the main Operations center. The various fight broadcasts continued playing with the sound off. He stopped in front of the largest screen. “10915, give me a camera on the training center.”

The main window switched to the training facility, where students were working on their powers. “Zoom in on the sparring mat in zone three.”

The image focused on a fighting mat where two trainees faced off. One was a woman with flaming hands. The other was the unassuming Jordan Moore. Coach Thrasher and EB watched from the side. The woman attacked with quick martial-arts strikes. Jordan dodged and ducked repeatedly, moving with surprising speed and agility. He never got hit. Finally, he spun and kicked her squarely in the rear, sending her face-down onto the mat.

“Good show,” Nova murmured, a note of genuine surprise in his voice.

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Heroes, Villains, and Renegades Fiction: Trial of Strength Part 10

 Jordan stepped out of the BADGE shuttle into the cavernous shuttlebay on the station. He glanced around, taking in the scale of everything, until EB hopped out at his feet.

“Hey, whatcha smiling for?”

Jordan blinked. “I’m smiling?”

“The whole way up here. You’ve had this goofy smile on your face since the shuttle landed.”

Jordan followed EB toward the exit into the station. “I guess I’m just happy. I know I’m not going to be accepted as a superhero like I wanted, but I thought I’d never see a shuttle again, fly in space, or be on this amazing station. And here I am. It’s like a dream.”

“Well, it’s all real. And yeah, it’s totally cool. This place is fancy and nice — like something out of a wicked sci-fi movie. Just, less drooling aliens and more boring lectures. Fortunately, you aren’t here for hero classes. Just physical training.”

They walked through the station. The shuttle docking hallway opened into the central mess area. Student heroes and instructors chatted over meals.

Ladybug, one of the instructors, approached them. She wore a red-and-black polka-dotted outfit and carried a tablet. “EB, is your cadet here yet?”

EB gestured proudly to Jordan. “He’s right here.”

Jordan gave a nervous little wave. “Hi, I’m Jordan.”

“Jordan Moore. Right. Hero Wear is ready for you, and Coach Thrasher has two hours this afternoon to start your special training.”

“Thanks,” EB replied.

Jordan asked, “What’s Hero Wear?”

“Costume department, of course,” Ladybug said, already walking away.

“Costume?” Jordan looked down at EB.

“Sure. I got clearance for a real supersuit. Don’t worry — it’ll be designed like a wrestler’s outfit, not some boring uniform.”

Jordan’s goofy smile returned. “A supersuit of my own.”

“Yup.” EB’s tall ears twitched. “What’s that?” He hopped away.

Jordan followed closely, not wanting to lose sight of his benefactor. They left the main mess hall for a small lounge area normally used for quiet study. Today, however, a large viewscreen dominated one wall, and a crowd of students was gathered, watching the fighting competition intently.

“What is going on in here?” EB asked.

One of the students replied, “Nova said it was okay. We all want to keep up with the contest. Look! He’s down!” The room erupted in cheers.

On the screen, two fighters battled in an arena to a roaring audience. A massively muscular man lay on the mat, clutching his head, while the victor stood over him, blood trickling down his face. A referee checked both, then declared the winner. The downed man was carried off as a new contender jumped the ropes.

The announcer’s voice boomed, “Dancing Dan defeated Mark Ali in five minutes. Now Greg Thomas joins the ring. Greg comes from a UFC legacy family with many victories. Let’s see how he does against A.W.W.’s Dancing Dan.”

The bell rang. Both men circled each other. While Dancing Dan was bloody and drenched in sweat, his glare remained deadly. Greg lunged, but Dan dodged, grabbed his arm, swung him into the ropes, and drove him to the mat with his knees.

EB hopped up and down. “Go Dan!” He glanced at Jordan’s frightened expression. “Sorry, force of habit. I followed Dancing Dan all last season. Trust me — you can take him.”

Jordan looked bewildered. “Are you sure? I mean, look at that guy. He’s a mountain of muscle with eyes.”

“You know what they say — the bigger they are… Anyway, we can’t keep the costume department waiting, and no one should make Coach Thrasher wait. Move, move, move!” EB hurried him along.

---

The sun was setting on the western coast of Australia, casting long shadows over the imposing Purgatory Penitentiary. The high-security prison for meta-humans housed some of the most dangerous villains captured by BADGE or the various leagues. Releases were rare — most inmates faced lifetime sentences.

A squad of BADGE vehicles waited outside the gates, ready to tag and register the man finishing his sentence.

A muscular man with reddish hair, an unshaven face, and a fierce glare looked down from a window. He wore the standard orange prison jumpsuit with his inmate number emblazoned on it.

The heavy metal door slammed open. The warden entered with two security guards and a man in a black suit. Another guard carried a plastic crate marked with the same number.

“Mr. Jeffries, the paperwork is complete. Your belongings are here.”

Joseph Jeffries ripped open the crate. Inside was the outfit he had been wearing when arrested. With little regard for modesty, he stripped off the jumpsuit and began dressing.

“You… don’t have to… whatever,” the warden muttered, clearly used to far stranger sights.

The suited man stepped forward. “Are you ready to sign?”

While pulling on a strange leather kilt that accentuated his muscular, oddly Nordic build, Joseph said, “I looked it over. Just one question. BADGE is waiting outside to tag me like a wild animal. You said you’d handle that.”

“Trust me, I have. Sign this, work with us, and the loophole will tighten around their necks. They won’t be able to track you until the contest is over. When that happens, you’ll have everything you need.”

Joseph bellowed, “WHERE’S MY SWORD?”

The warden didn’t flinch. “It is now permanent property of the state. We’re not arming you the moment you walk out. And consider your actions carefully. Violence put you in here, and it can put you right back.”

“I don’t need any more lectures from you.” Joseph snatched a pen from the warden’s pocket. “Give me the contract.”

Ken, the agent, unrolled the legal document across the metal table. Joseph signed it with a flourish: Joseph Jeffries the Berserker. Ken smiled with a wicked gleam. “You will not be sorry.”

The warden and guards escorted Joseph and Ken through the maze of gates and checkpoints to the front of the prison.

“I don’t want to see you back here,” the warden said before retreating inside.

The BADGE team was already approaching. Suddenly a helicopter roared overhead and landed dangerously close, staggering the agents and blocking their path. Joseph and Ken climbed aboard. The helicopter lifted off immediately.

“That felt good,” Joseph said, watching the scrambling BADGE vehicles below.

“They’ll try to argue we broke the rules,” Ken replied, “but I have them bound by legalities they can’t ignore.”

“That’s almost as fun as punching them in the face.”

“You’ll get to do plenty of that for us,” Ken said. “You’re about to become the most famous fighter in the world.”

After several connecting flights and thirteen hours in the air, they arrived at the private airstrip for Confederate Brawlers headquarters. Ken led The Berserker straight to Theodor Zeus’s office. The CEO waited behind his desk.

“Ah, my champion. That is certainly an… interesting outfit you have.”

The Berserker stood tall in his revealing, imposing attire, a snarl on his face. “Who are you?”

“Theodor Zeus — your new boss, and the reason you aren’t currently being tracked by BADGE.”

The Berserker smiled. “Thanks.”

Ken and two assistants brought in items. One was a Nordic Viking helmet with large antlers attached. “We recreated the one you lost when they arrested you.”

The Berserker donned it with satisfaction. “Perfect fit.”

The second assistant presented a cloth-covered sword. The broad blade had a ruby embedded in the long hilt. “This is a special gift — an improvement on the weapon they confiscated. It’s believed to be an ancient blade once belonging to Loki himself.”

The Berserker’s eyes lit up. He lifted the sword, and the ruby flashed. A strange darkness flickered across his eyes. “This feels… strong. I feel invincible.”

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Heroes, Villains, and Renegades Fiction: Trial of Strength Part 9

 

A computer tablet propped nearby played the news while Jordan Moore ran a cloth back and forth across the window pane. The INN anchor’s voice carried clearly in the quiet air.

“The first week of contests has concluded, and twenty-five champions are headed for A.W.W. Headquarters to face the reigning champion. Fifteen of those contenders come from the pro-wrestling circuits. It is now well known that the ultimate winner will become the next Oracle of Strength, ending any other career they might have. Fans of these wrestling stars are torn — saddened to lose their favorites, yet excited to see them rise to a new level of power. Our analysts believe most, if not all, of the pro-wrestlers will fail against the superheroes also competing…”

Jordan tapped the screen, switching to a replay from the Smash Stars arena in Florida. Two women battled to the roar of the crowd. One wore flashy pro-wrestling gear; the other fought in a judo uniform.

“Madam Masher just dodged five consecutive attacks from Sally Fairfield. Sally is the women’s world champion in judo. And… that one connected! Sally is reeling… no, she counters with a swift kick. Whoa — clean hit! Masher is down… yes, she’s out! Sally Fairfield advances to the next round!” The crowd roared as a referee helped the defeated wrestler to her feet.

“HEY, JORDAN!”

Jordan startled, nearly dropping his squeegee. He was five stories up, yet the voice sounded right behind him. “Who—?”

A white bunny landed on the platform beside him, nearly knocking over half his equipment. Jordan scrambled to catch a sloshing bucket before it spilled down his leg. “What the heck?”

EB smiled brightly. “Oops, sorry! Here.” He clapped his paws, and the water instantly evaporated from Jordan’s clothes. “All better.”

Jordan set the bucket down carefully. “What are you doing here?”

EB beamed. “I have the best news for you! Nova asked us to find strong contenders for the contest — people with real power who can compete. We also want nice guys, not villains or meanies.”

“And?”

“I picked you!” EB struck a dramatic “ta-dah!” pose.

Jordan frowned. “I’m not in the mood for jokes. I’ve been up here since six this morning.”

“No joke,” EB insisted. “I think you could be a real contender. If you win, you get the best job in the world. If you lose, at least you get on television for everyone to see. Win-win!”

Jordan shook his head. “But I can’t win. I’ll get pummeled by real superheroes. I was trying for the pro-wrestling gig, not ultimate fighting.”

“Oh, come on. Let me try. I have a plan. I’ll take you up to the station and get you training with Coach Thrasher…”

“Thrasher?” Jordan gulped.

EB barely noticed his fear. “Yeah, nice guy, great coach, amazing at shouting. He agreed to give you a crash course in super-powered combat and let you work out in the BADGE gym. A solid week of prep, then we send you to one of the contests. I’m sure you’ll do great with that help and finally get your shot at A.W.W. HQ.”

Flashes of glory ran through Jordan’s mind. Even if he failed, the training alone would be incredible. Still, he felt unworthy. He glanced up at the many windows still waiting to be cleaned. “I… don’t know.”

EB grabbed the bucket and rag and zipped up and down the side of the building in a white blur, cleaning every pane in seconds. He landed back on the platform with a proud grin. “There, all done! Now, are you coming with me or not?”

Jordan realized how serious EB was. “Just tell me one thing.”

“What?”

“Why me? There have to be better, stronger superheroes you could ask.”

“Chase and Justin are contacting other heroes. But you lost your big chance because of all this, and that made me sad for you. Plus, I think there’s more to you than you realize. I’ve been around a looooong time — I know people. There’s a lot more to you than there is to you… wait, that came out wrong. You get what I’m trying to say?”

Jordan managed a small smile. “You honestly believe in me?”

“Yes. No matter what happens, you can only learn and grow from this. So, what do you say?” EB stuck out his paw.

Jordan looked around, "I won't get paid if I don't finish my job. We have five buildings to clean."

EB grabbed Jordan's cell phone and waved a paw over it. It rang and the voice of someone came through. "Jordan? What's going on? Are you finished?"

EB said, "Mr. Jordan quits. Get someone else to finish the windows. Have a nice day." He hung up.

Jordan said, "Uh, that still means I don't get a paycheck."

"I'll make sure you have money. I'm worth half a trillion dollars and I hardly need money at all. See, paycheck included. You ready?"

Jordan took the small paw in a firm handshake. “Make me a champion.”

“Right! Off we go.” With no warning, the two vanished in a flash of light.

---

Theodor Zeus hurled a computer tablet across his office, smashing it against the wall. His face was flushed red, fists clenched, as he bellowed at the three nervous people seated across from his desk.

“Why have all our champions lost?”

“I’m just the market analyst,” a trembling woman replied. “And I should remind you we’ve never made this much money on advertising in the history of Confederate Brawlers.”

Zeus snarled, “Money isn’t the immediate point. I want that Oracle under my roof as my mascot. I want to be the home of the Oracle of Strength. I will own wrestling with that kind of power in my corner. Do you understand?”

They all nodded quickly.

A man with his own tablet checked a list. “We still have a few of our best wrestlers willing to try. They compete in next week’s rounds.”

“They’re second-string losers who barely cut it as fake wrestlers,” Zeus growled. “They’ll get their butts handed to them just like the rest. I want a real champion!”

The door opened and the seedy-looking agent walked in, wearing a serpentine smile. “Sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t help hearing the roaring from the parking lot.”

“I’m in no mood for jokes, Ken!”

Ken, the agent, replied smoothly, “I’m not here to make you laugh. I’m here to cheer you up.”

Zeus sat back, drumming his fingers on the desk. “You promised me big things, and all I am seeing is failure."

"Don't worry. I have good news that should change your outlook."

"What?” Zeus chewed angrily on the end of his cigar.

“I’ve been doing my research. There’s someone I made contact with who is more than willing to take this challenge on behalf of Confederate Brawlers.”

“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Zeus said angrily.

“Joseph Jeffries. Though he prefers to be called Berserker.”

Zeus sat forward. “Never heard of that wrestler.”

Ken smiled. “That’s because he’s not a wrestler. Mr. Jeffries is a superpowered man with incredible strength who… made some poor choices and ended up serving time in Purgatory Penn.”

One of the women spoke up. “Wait, we can’t use an ex-con. The PR will be—”

“Not now,” Zeus cut her off. “Ken, where is this man?”

“He’s still in Purgatory Penn but gets released in five days. I’ve already spoken with him. He’s eager to take the challenge.”

Zeus shook his head. “BADGE rules say anyone tracked as a villain can’t compete in this…”

“He hasn’t been officially tracked yet,” Ken said with a wicked grin. “They won’t tag him until he walks out and they attach the tracker. The moment he’s free, he signs up for the contest. The rules are vague enough that anyone who signs up can compete. They won’t have time to mark him before he’s already a contender.”

Zeus’s smile returned. “I like this. But are you sure he’s good enough? We’re jumping through a lot of loopholes. This will piss off BADGE. If we fail, it’ll backfire badly.”

“Don’t worry,” Ken assured him. “I’ll make sure he’s exactly what we need. All I need from you is authorization to enter him.” He slid a contract across the desk.

Zeus took it and signed. “As of now, Berserker is a member of Confederate Brawlers. Make sure he makes us look good.”

Ken took the signed contract with a satisfied nod. “He will. I’ll ensure it personally.”

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