Prologue
The trawler plunged into the angry swells of the dark, furious sea like an awkward animal trying desperately to break out of an impenetrable swamp. The waves rose to Goliathan heights, crashing into the hull with the power of raw tonnage; the white sprays caught in the night sky cascaded downward over the deck under the force of the night wind. Everywhere there were the sounds of inanimate pain, wood straining against wood, ropes twisting, stretched to the breaking point. The animal was dying.
Two abrupt explosions pierced the sounds of the sea and the wind and the vessel's pain. They came from the dimly lit cabin that rose and fell with its host body. A man lunged out of the door grasping the railing with one hand, holding his stomach with the other.
A second man followed, the pursuit cautious, his intent violent. He raised his arms and with a sound that broke through the storm above them, projected a soundwave and sent it rocketing forward. He repeated the action again. And again.
The entirety of the ships metal shook and bucked under the pressure that was these powerful blasts. And all the while, he knew he was putting very little effort into his projections. His intent wasn't to kill. Not yet. No, he wanted him to suffer.
The man at the railing whipped both his hands up to his head, arching backward under the impact of the fourth soundwave, threatening to break his skull open. His ears already bleeding a deadly pool of blood. The trawler's bow dipped suddenly into the valley of two giant waves, lifting the wounded man off his feet; he twisted to his left unable to take his hands away from his head. The boat surged upward, bow and midships more out of the water than in it, sweeping the figure in the doorway back into the cabin, a fifth soundwave sent wildly. The wounded man screamed, his hands now lashing out at anything he could grasp, his eyes blinded by blood and the unceasing spray of the sea. There was nothing he could grab, so he grabbed at nothing; his legs buckled as his body lurched forward. The boat rolled violently leeward and the man whose skull was ripped open plunged over the side into the madness of the darkness below.
He felt rushing cold water envelop him, swallowing him, sucking him under, and twisting him in circles, then propelling him up to the surface—only to gasp a single breath of air. A gasp and he was under again.
And there was heat, a strange moist heat at his temple that seared through the freezing water that kept swallowing him, a fire where no fire should burn. There was ice, too; an ice-like throbbing in his stomach and his legs and his chest, oddly warmed by the cold sea around him. He felt these things, acknowledging his own panic as he felt them. He could see his own body turning and twisting, arms and feet working frantically against the pressures of the whirlpool. He could feel, think, see, perceive panic and struggle—yet strangely there was peace. It was the calm of the observer, the uninvolved observer, separated from the events, knowing of them but not essentially involved.
Then another form of panic spread through him, surging through the heat and the ice and the uninvolved recognition. He knew it. In both his mind, his body and his soul. His body was breaking down. Falling apart. He was dying, and it was only a matter of time before death claimed him. But he had to survive only a little longer. The Arc had to be preserved. It had to be safe.
He kicked furiously, clawing at the heavy walls of water above, his chest burning. He broke surface, thrashing to stay on top of the black swells. Climb up! Climb up!
A monstrous rolling wave accommodated; he was on the crest, surrounded by pockets of foam and darkness. Nothing. Turn! Turn!
It happened. The explosion was massive; he could hear it through the clashing waters and the wind, the sight and the sound somehow his doorway to peace. The sky lit up like a fiery diadem and within that crown of fire, objects of all shapes and sizes were blown through the light into the outer shadows.
He had won. Whatever it was, he had won. If only for the moment. He bought himself at least 30 seconds. A minute if he was lucky.
Suddenly he was plummeting downward again, into an abyss once more. He could feel the rushing waters crash over his shoulders, cooling the white-hot heat at his temple, warming the ice-cold incisions in his stomach and his legs and…
His chest. His chest was in agony. He had been struck—the blow shattering his ribs and disturbing the flow of the blood throughout his heart and body. He had even less time. It was now or never.
And again, he felt yet another object that exploded made its way over to him and struck him on the shoulder. But through the great darkness he located what exactly had just broke his shoulder. It was a sizable piece of shrapnel. A five-foot hunk of metal.
He could feel his life slipping out of his grasp. His limbs felt week and heavy. His eyes felt as though they weighed a ton. His heart, instead of beating like a well-lit fire was faint and hardly present. Resembling a dimly lit piece of coal ready to give out any minute.
He was very nearly out of time.
Somehow, someway, he clutched his fingers onto the hunk of metal through the crazy force of the black sea all around him. His clothes stuck to him while he pulled himself up and on top of it, resting his upper body on his temporary life saving flotation device. He pulled himself further up and managed to get one leg on either side of the large object, balancing himself for what little good it would do in a few seconds.
He pulled his mask off and tossed it aside, revealing a handsome face with brown skin and black hair. A button nose, high cheek bones. He had a scar on his jawline just below his left ear and hazel colored eyes.
He cupped his hands in front of him and in a bright flash, a small cylinder no bigger than his palm formulated itself as if out of nowhere. A centimeter width and three inches long. As light as a feather and as valuable as 500 tons of platinum. It was black with a purple glow coming from within. One who was unknowing would mistake such an object as a bigger mood rock. But the Arc was more. Oh, so much more.
His arms felt so heavy, so weak, so tired, his arms dropped into his lap, nearly dropping the Arc into the water.
"Gotcha!" He said completely drowned out by the storm and likely deaf to himself, his eardrums completely beyond repair.
He closed both his hands over the Arc, and shut his eyes, focusing the last of his energy and life force into one final transport. One final act or heroism. After tonight, it would all be up to them.
The man lurched forward and let out a terrible scream of agony as once again, the terrible pain of soundwaves enveloped his body. His blood boiled, and his bones shook with a vigor he knew was deteriorating all that kept him alive. His organs were in the final stages of killing themselves and his nervous system was bordering on non-responsive.
"Blink!" A booming voice came from above him and 8 feet from his left.
Looking up, the man saw the sound bearer flying in the sky, his arms at his sides with his hands facing the ground. Soundwaves so powerful that they were almost visible in the air kept him hovering where he was. The parts of the sea that were taking the blast from his hands were deepened by 20 feet at least and parted around 5 in diameter. He was unseen in the dark however. His facial and physical features hidden in the dead of the night.
"Do not make this difficult! Hand over the Arc, and I will make your death quick and…less painful." His voice boomed at levels of sound, one's voice should be destroyed.
The man now identified by his alias, Blink, ignored the mans words and gave everything he had and shoved it into his hands. As he focused, the man from above lowered himself out of the air, slowly. The dept of the water increased the lower he got. Plunging deeper and deeper until he stopped with his feet gently landing on the hunk of metal. He pulled back his soundwaves.
Blink looked up to his soon to be killer and once more, couldn't identify a single feature on his face. The man bent his knees, bringing his face level with his own. He closed his hands even tighter.
"Give me the Arc. You are a dying man." His voice was back to normal, but still held power in every word. Each syllable that left his mouth was like the flat end of a knife, gently gliding over the skin. Any second flipping to the blade end, promising an unimaginable pain. "Do you really wish to continue your agony? Only release what we desire, and peace will take you. The last moments of your life do not need to be in misery."
Blink quickly brought his face up and spat a mouthful of blood into the killer's face, the liquid coming from his decaying lungs and innards. "You won't win…" He somehow choked out. He barely had any air left in his body, but his final words, he would use, "you will never win. None…none of…you will…"
"Stupid has been," The sound bearing man responded, bringing his arm across his face, wiping the blood away, "you insist on doing things the hard way. As you wish."
Deafening sounds filled Blink's ears once more and looking down he saw the sound bearer was aiming his deadly force at his hands. He could feel the bone in his hands breaking down, shattering and turning into an almost liquid, permanently deforming them. He shouted in agony, in fire and in a fury so hot and cold he would explode.
The sound bearer ceased his assault on Blink's hands and closed his hands, shaking them and bringing himself down. His reached for his hands and looked Blink in his eyes. "If only you had minded your business and kept your nose out of it. You would have returned to your home. Slept in your bed. Filled your stomach. But you heroes always insist on going where you are not welcome."
He gently laid his hands on Blink's now putty like hands and pried them apart. Only, they were empty.
"What! Where is it!?" He asked furiously.
"It…is as I said," Blink said with his final breath and looked into his attacker's eyes knowing his mission was complete, "You will never…win."
The sound bearer threw Blinks hands down and stood up straight. He looked down at him and prepped his hands. He'd make Blink's death far more painful than he had intended before.
"You don't get it," The sound bearer said aiming his hands at Blink, "we have already won. It is only a matter of time." With those final words, he sent yet another blast into the dying mans direction. The man managed to scream loud enough that the sound bearer's projections were broken through. And not long after, Blink's body went limp. All life drained at gone.
The sound bearer raised a hand to his ear and waited for the *kling* sound to reach his ears before he heard a woman's voice. "Do you have it?"
"No. He made one last blink before I could secure it."
"Is he still alive?"
"That's real funny. I need you do a search if this man had any allies. Who did he know? Who would he trust enough to send the Arc to? Did he have any family? Any children? Anything that would let me trace the Arc."
The line on the other end went silent for a few seconds. In the meantime, the sound of the storm continued to boom and bang all around him. The waves raging and bucking at anything in reach. A bolt of lightning struck the water some distance away.
"Blink was in little to moderate contact with the hero known as Frozone. The two worked together on multiple operations in and outside of Sanctus. If he were to trust and send the Arc to anyone, it'd likely be to him. I am sending you everything we have on him."
"Understood."
The sound bearer raised his left arm up to his face and pushed the blinking orange light at the base of it. A holographical screen jumped off the watch and hung in the air. It showed yet another hero in a costume. It was icy blue and white, with a visor for a mask.
Next to it, another picture showed up. The same man most likely, brown skin, with a woman who appeared to be his wife standing next to him. She had long brown curly hair that stopped just below her shoulders. And in both of their arms, he saw three children. Two girls and a boy. The boy looked exactly like his father. A younger version of him however. Except he had his mother's eyes. He looked like a teenager. The girls were spitting images of their mothers, except the younger sister had black hair like her brother. One looked to be around the same age as the boy, and the other girl looked to be much younger than them both. And lastly, a third image popped up with a location on the globe for what area this family was in.
"The 'Best' Family." He said into the deafening storm air.
He pushed the button on his watch once more and dropped the images back into his watch. The sound bearer looked over to blink and tipped his hat, and said, "Adios, Arc protector."
With one final burst into the air and water, the sound bearer shot himself straight into the sky, making a B-line for Metroville…