Numb. That was the best word that could describe Nathan's state of mind after witnessing his friend. He should've felt scared, angry, confused... anything besides nothing.

He just stood still, in a catatonic state.

Even after the announcement came that Damien was the winner of the match (with Melody missing after her father had taken her, they didn't have much choice in the matter), he could do little more than stare at the far wall of the tunnel. Nurse Holl and the groundskeepers didn't seem to notice him at first, mainly concentrating on Damien and Mrs. Whittaker as they were both injured. They barely paid attention to the blood running over his palm from the claw he'd broken, trying to break through the gate, not that he could feel any pain from it.

Eventually, Payton seemingly popped into existence at his side and led him back into the preparation room, grabbing a roll of bandages from Holl's first aid kit as they went. His friend led him to a bench and pressed a hand against his shoulder, instructing him to sit, which he did, very unceremoniously dropping onto the cold metal with a loud thud. He was vaguely aware that Payton was shooting him worried looks as he set about bandaging his injured hand. However, it wasn't until a few moments later that he finally spoke. "So… I'm guessing you're just as much in the dark about what just happened as the rest of us?"

"That's never happened before. I've never seen her Quirk do anything like that." Nathan surprised himself by speaking. Slowly, things began to click into place. The ringing in his ears died down, and the sting of his broken claw finally registered, and all of a sudden, he felt very claustrophobic sitting in the preparation room. Taking a deep breath, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, trying to calm his still racing pulse.

"Sorry, I wasn't much help. I was watching in here, and just sort of… froze," Payton said, sitting on the bench beside him. Nathan shrugged – he couldn't find it in himself to heap any blame on his friend – and felt a vibration run up his leg. He'd forgotten about his phone until that point and hurriedly retrieved it; his heart rate increased tenfold. Then, he hesitated. Did he really want to know? Hundreds of 'what-ifs' passed through his mind in an instant, and a feeling of great dread worked its way through his body until his entire body felt cold, despite the room's humid temperature. He could feel Payton's eyes boring holes in the side of his head and gritted his teeth. He swallowed his fears and glanced down at his phone's screen.

"She's safe." The instant he read those two words, it was like a massive weight rose off his shoulders. His face must have betrayed his relief because Payton let out a breath and clapped him on the shoulder. However, the pit in his stomach remained. Not once during their friendship had Nathan seen anything like the terror and pain that Melody's contorted, decaying face had betrayed a few minutes ago. He should have noticed something was wrong or tried to convince her to sit it out if she wasn't feeling well. 'Yeah, that would have gone over well. She'd have insisted on fighting if she was on her death bed. To think she has the gall to call me stubborn,' he thought, a faint smile crossing his face.

"Oh no," Payton said suddenly, his face grave.

"What's wrong?"

"I just realized I have to fight Damien," the Canadian lamented, a literal stormcloud, about the size of a football, forming above his head. While his friend hung his head, Nathan chuckled fondly. Somehow, Payton always knew the exact moment to change the subject of a conversation or step in when the mood became too heated. It was one reason the two had really hit it off during their first week of classes. He always knew what to say in any given situation, and, in this case, Nathan was more than willing to change the topic of discussion.

"Bah, Damien has nowhere near your raw power. Just blow the bastard off his feet."

"He doesn't have the same power I do, but he is one-thousand percent more precise with his attacks. Plus, he can do that weird thing where he goes into his own shadow. Anything less than a blizzard or a continuous gale would be evaded easily," Payton said, brushing his, now damp, bangs out of his eyes while glaring up at the stormcloud.

"You just gotta get close. Besides, you always have Zap Cannon to fall back on. I know your suit is fried, but you could still pull it off. See, now this is why I'm always telling you to work on your close-quarters combat. When you get into a situation where your Quirk is limited in its capabilities, you're useless. It's annoying that we have you and Damien in the finals when neither of you will be able to show off your real potential. At least maybe the upperclassmen will make up for it."

"You are quite the supportive friend; you know that, right?" Payton asked sarcastically. Nathan rolled his eyes and shrugged.

"So I've been told." Any further conversation abruptly stopped when the sound of footsteps reached their ears. Nathan nearly groaned. He recognized the gait and the telltale clicking of six-inch heels on the tiled floor. USAEI's Hero Etiquette teacher (a teacher Nathan truly despised), Rosapast Barthory, entered the room with her head held high. However, she was a bit paler than usual. The moment she saw the pair, her eyes narrowed.

"Mr. Larson. You should be up in the student's box, should you not?" She asked. While she wasn't technically wrong, the accusing tone of her voice lit a fire in Nathan. From their very first Hero Etiquette class, he had openly scoffed and joked about the many "rules" and "behaviors" she wanted them to follow religiously because he thought they were ridiculous, and this didn't seem to sit well with Barthory. After a single class, she had branded Nathan as an instigator through and through, which meant that her sharp eyes were now focused on him alone most of the time. Annoyingly.

On an ordinary day, he probably would've obliged with a sarcastic or witty remark to hiss back. But with everything that had happened and how tired he felt, he just couldn't scrounge up the motivation. Instead, he gave Payton one last reassuring look and made his way slowly to the exit.

Although the final was only three hours away, the back hallways in the bowels of the stadium were all but empty. The only people he saw were Castor and Pollux, who looked at him with unreadable expressions. After witnessing the goliath the twins could combine into, Nathan was in no hurry to get on their bad side (thankfully, the chocolate bar he'd bribed them with to get into the prep room seemed to acquit his rule-breaking in their eyes). Once he got onto the main concourse, however, it was a completely different story. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of people crammed into the spacious hall, many milling about waiting for the next match or stretching their legs.

He slipped by them all without incident, thanking whoever on the school board had recommended students wear masks of some sort during the tournament. He'd nearly made it to the escalator to the upper levels when his enhanced hearing picked up on the people's conversation just ahead of him. The first man shivered and shook his head at something his friend had said. "That match was all sorts of freaky. What the hell was wrong with that chick?"

"Did you see her face? That thing was straight up nightmare fuel," the second man said, chuckling nervously. Nathan scowled and tried to tune out the men, unsuccessfully.

"Imagine that being the face that shows up to save you. They're letting just anyone into the Forge these days, huh?"

"Reminds me of the stories my old man used to scare me with at bedtime – people who wear masks to cover their skeleton and go around taking people's souls. Is it bad I'm glad they gave that Erebus guy the win?" At this point, Nathan's blood was beginning to boil. Before either of the men could utter another word, he roughly shoved his way between them and stormed toward the escalator, knocking several passersby aside as he went. Their indignant calls fell on deaf ears.

By the time he reached the student box, he was still so distracted and angry that he nearly bowled over Ms. Honoka, who was standing vigilant outside the box's entrance. Unlike Mrs. Barthory, the Forge's combat teacher seemed to like Nathan, or at least didn't think him as incompetent as some of his classmates. Instead of snapping at him for running into her, she appraised him for a moment before silently stepping aside. The first thing he became aware of when he entered the room was how quiet it was. A quick glance around the box, and it was clear why. Every set of eyes in the room was on him, but no one moved a muscle. After what felt like hours, Kira stood up and came over to him, her face tight. "Is she okay?"

"As far as I know. Carlyle's taking care of her, he'll know what's best." Though she didn't look particularly satisfied with his answer, she nodded and, to his surprise, pulled him into a quick hug. The embrace only lasted for a few seconds before she pulled away and gave him an apologetic look. Just like that, the room reverted to how it must have been before he'd entered with many of the assembled students breaking off into smaller groups and having rather tense conversations. Nathan stood awkwardly just inside the door for a moment before catching Zach's eye and making his way over to his small group, consisting of Benji, Ryūken, and himself. "Guys."

"Crazy shit, huh? You doing alright, dude?" Benji asked as he sank into the seat beside him. Zach swiftly smacked the boy on the back of his head for his lack of tact, but Nathan just sighed and shrugged. If not for his still tense nerves, he was sure he'd have blacked out from exhaustion the moment he sat down.

"That's putting it lightly. She's in good hands; I'd trust Carlyle with my life." Benji appeared poised to ask another question, but a sharp glare from Zach cut him off. The black-haired boy then turned his attention to Nathan.

"Did you talk to Payton?"

"Yeah, seemed a bit nervous, but other than that, still his normal, overly dramatic self." Zach grimaced slightly, but this soon dissolved into a knowing grin.

"Stormcloud?"

"Stormcloud."

"Regardless of the outcome, it should be a quick match. Payton might be my friend, but my money's on Damien. Especially at that time of day," Zach said, glancing over at the clock. "The ceremony kicks off just before sunset, and as Freshman, we get the first battle. Payton better be ready. If he isn't, the match will be over before he knows what hit him."

Purpose of a Hero

Derek Holl sighted tiredly. To his relief, his job as a commentator ended after the disastrous fight between Melody and Damien. He was all too happy to hand the reigns over to Tanaka – who'd been doing the play-by-play for the Senior class – and take a much-needed break. Still, it felt strange sitting in the box alone.

Almost immediately after he'd called for Carlyle – he added her father's old codename to the long list of things he would have to explain to Melody one day – Oddball had rushed out, claiming the need to check something out. It didn't take expert deductive skills to see that he, too, realized what had happened and the consequences that would surely follow. He had a feeling he knew what, or more precisely who, Oddball felt the need to contact.

Considering the recent events, it shouldn't have surprised him when he got a hurried call from Carlyle – he would have to ask how he got his number later – explaining that Melody would have to take an extended leave of absence from school. After Holl ended the call, he remained still in the booth, feeling utterly useless. He wondered if he could've done anything to help her. He looked over at the clock on the wall, saw he still had nearly two and a half hours until the ceremony and got to his feet with a groan. 'I'm too young to feel this old,' he thought as he slipped out of the booth and into the stadium's near-abandoned upper levels. The few people that were present paid no mind to the former Number Three Hero as he passed.

Derrek had no real destination in mind until his stomach growled loudly, and he realized he hadn't eaten at all since last night. With his mind set on grabbing something to eat, he took off towards the escalators to the lower levels (all the stands on this floor were closed). As he passed one of the entryways to the stadium seats, however, he felt a chill and, subconsciously, let his mind wander.

"They weren't kidding. She is the spitting image of that crotchety old bastard. Though that image is a bit blase, and her performance was a bit hammy but overall a good show. Six, no, six-point five on ten for taking out a teacher along the way." As the man's footsteps began inching closer, Derek ducked into a nearby outcove and reached out with his Quirk, trying to find anything to prove his suspicions wrong. "Food was pretty typical for carnival fare, but the performers were pretty top-notch. To be expected of the Friedman Brothers, I guess. Not a complete waste of a cross country trip, though I don't see why both Vesuvius and I had to be here. Not to mention Prophet's gonna be at the Grand Finals ceremony thing with the rest of the council. We're expending a lot of resources for a bunch of snot-nosed brats."

At one point in his life, Eric Ansten could have been considered handsome, but it was clear to Holl that the years had not been kind to him. His dark hair hung like a greasy curtain over his black-ringed eyes, and there was a layer of uneven stubble along his jawline. As he walked, he held a small cellphone just inches from his face, his eyes darting across the screen as his fingers danced on the keyboard. 'I guess the rumors about him were true. How the hell did a member of the Black Order slip past our security?' Holl pondered, not moving from his hiding place. Eric sighed heavily and slipped his phone into his jeans' front pocket, a scowl forming on his face.

"Still don't see why I had to come all the way to New York. Already got two generals stationed here, probably a third after Spitfire wakes up, so why bring me? Aw, right after X-Presso finally got my order correct too. Fuck you too, old man, let the Ozette branch fall," he complained aloud, much to Holl's surprise. Either the man knew there wasn't anyone around (that he could see anyway) or didn't care who heard. "Making me cross the damn country to watch some shitty brats beat the crap out of each other. Such a bother."

Only once the man entered an elevator, Holl lost all connection – his Quirk wasn't strong enough to work through thick metal plating – and stopped trailing him to assess the situation. He'd just learned more in thirty seconds than any of Carlyle or his own moles had discovered in nearly a year, and most of it was not good. "All four generals in the same place… they're planning something big. I need to let Oddball know; he can get the news out discretely,' he thought, taking one last forlorn look at the elevator doors.

"What happened to you, Eric?"

Purpose of a Hero

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming out tonight. My name is Angelo Wingley, vice-principal here at USAEI. First of all, I'd like to welcome you to our Grand Finals ceremony and apologize on behalf of our principal for his absence. Regardless, I'm delighted to introduce all of you to our eight finalists!" The noise of the crowd swelled to a near-deafening cheer, causing the vice principal to wince slightly, but his smile never wavered. With a dramatic wave of his hand, the tunnel at one end of the arena opened, and a pair of students walked timidly on to the field.

"First up, this year's freshman finalists: Canadian Winter and Erebus!" Damien kept his eyes firmly locked onto the dark orange sky, signaling the setting sun, with a sour expression on his face. Meanwhile, Payton looked as if he were about to lose his lunch, his face as white as snow. Following the directions that Mrs. Barthory had drilled into them over the past ninety minutes, they walked to the middle of the field and to the far edge of the stage that had been erected.

"Next up, this year's sophomore finalists: Legionnaire and Hourglass!" Reyna King smiled and waved to the crowd, trying her best to keep her poise. Beside her, however, Jason Lars was eating up the attention, throwing his hands into the air, and completely disregarding each and every order that their Hero Etiquette teacher had given them. Once they took their place beside the Freshman, Jason sent the two a wink before continuing to wave at the crowd.

"Now for your junior finalists: Blink and Psyche!" It soon became apparent that the two Junior winners made up for Jason's enthusiasm with their own rather mundane approach. Rune Holl barely appeared to be awake, not even trying to hide his yawn and dragging his feet the entire way up the stage. Dominick was much more awake but no less laid-back with his arms crossed behind his head and a confident smirk as he strutted to the stage.

"And last but certainly not least, your senior class finalists: King Cobra and Chance!" Payton couldn't help but glance over at the fourth years as they took their place in line, and he was not afraid to admit that he felt most intimidated by them (perhaps because they both had at least six inches on him in height and three years in experience). Xavier McClellan stood at attention besides Rune, his serpent-like eyes trained on nothing in particular, though every few seconds, they would look in Rune's direction when he would begin drifting to the side. Percy, however, exuded nothing but confidence, rolling a silver dollar coin in between his fingers.

"As is customary, we shall begin the Grand Finals with the freshman and each subsequent grade until we have our champions. The battlefields will be the standard dirt fields that were used in the third round. All support items may be used, though they must be nonlethal. As soon as the official calls the match, all fighting must cease. All that being said, let's give another round of applause for our finalists while we clear the field for the freshmen!"

Purpose of a Hero

"Shadow Lance!" Damien called, stomping his foot on the ground, making three long spears of his shadow to shoot into the air and soar towards his opponent. The first two, Payton was able to dodge with relative ease, but a last-second change in direction with the third caused him to take the hit in his side. The attack sliced through his already damaged suit and shaved off a few layers of skin. He cursed under his breath and immediately sent a blast of wind at his attacker, though it appeared to have little effect as Damien advanced once again. 'Why did they have to schedule our fight around sunset!? Next time I have an opening, I have to take out his light,' Payton thought frantically, ducking beneath yet another merciless attack from his classmate and sending another strong gust of wind in retaliation. Before his counter could even get close, though, Damien's body melted into his shadow and out of sight.

And then he launched his next attack. Payton was barely able to react as the black whip lashed mercilessly against his back, knocking him to his knees. Luckily, he was able to roll out of the way before the giant, shadowy hand slammed into the dirt. In the second it took him to get back on his feet, Damien had risen from the ground less than three meters away and had, once again, let loose a barrage of spears. Payton spun to the side and thrust his fist upwards, creating a gust of hot wind that uppercut Damien, snapping his head back and knocking him off balance.

Thunder cracked overhead as a mass of black clouds began to form, spreading over the arena's open roof like a blanket. The setting sun's light faded away, and the battleground was enveloped in darkness. Once he'd recovered, Damien scowled at the black clouds and turned to look at his opponent, who he had to admit looked a bit frightening in the low light. Lightning danced in Payton's eyes, and he'd summoned a small tornado beneath his feet, lifting him several meters into the air. "No shadows to work with now, Damien!"

A glance at the array of stadium lights hanging from the arena's roof confirmed that Payton had thought of everything. There was only a faint glimmer of light, blocked behind the imposing stormcloud. His opponent had flipped the entire battle on its head in a single move, and he now had to scramble to get his footing again.

Before he could even think of crafting a battle strategy, however, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and there was a bright flash of light. The bolt of lightning struck a little over three meters away and sent shards of debris and much larger chunks of earth pelting into any area of exposed skin. If it had been a regular lightning bolt, Damien doubted he'd still be conscious, let alone being able to feel the heat and hear the crackling of air. The blast had knocked him clear off his feet, and, by the look of the clouds, that wouldn't be the last bolt of lighting he'd have to face if he still wanted to win.

He needed a gameplan, a counter-strategy, and fast. He knew, or suspected, that the first bolt had been lucky. Payton's accuracy with his lightning was always a bit spotty in more enclosed spaces, though he'd never explained why. That was the only thing really working in his favor at the moment. The possibility that maybe his luck holds out over Payton's, though that still didn't solve the problem of his Quirk being useless and his hand to hand skills being just a step above useless. "Think dammit, think! I won't let it end like this!'

Purpose of a Hero

"What'd you mean earlier? About me not being good solo?"

"Never said you wouldn't be good. You're just better in a team. At least for the moment, you lack critical decision-making skills. You have incredible talent and power, but you're as bad at seeing the bigger picture as you are at hand-to-hand combat."

Purpose of a Hero

Oliver's words hit him like one of Payton's bolts of lightning, and he looked up at the ominous clouds above his head. 'Bigger picture…' His expression slowly morphed into a grin, and he closed his eyes. It only took about a second for the next bolt to fall, but as soon as he saw the first sign, he reached out with one hand. The strike landed halfway across the arena, but to the audience's surprise – those that could see it anyway – the attack had seemingly knocked its summoner off his miniature storm and sent him crashing into the dirt.

"The hell?" Payton murmured as he picked himself up. He watched as his tornado petered out but was surprised to see that Damien was nowhere near it. 'What the hell hit me?' He thought frantically. 'Was the strike too close to me? That's not supposed to happen. They shouldn't be able to strike within the eye unless I allow it.' The sound of fast-approaching footsteps put his thoughts to a halt. To say that Damien – who had always ranked in the bottom half of the class in terms of close combat skills – charging at him with the intent of attacking him with hand-to-hand combat was, needless to say, shocking. So shocking, in fact, that he was only just able to dodge the wild haymaker and back peddle away from his follow-up.

In a panic, Payton created a burst of wind that backfired and sent both combatants flying across the arena. By some miracle, he was able to land on his feet and, after skidding back a few yards, came to a stop at the far wall. Damien had not been so lucky, hitting the ground hard and rolling to a standstill with an audible grunt of pain. 'That was close… and unexpected. Guess it really shouldn't be, though; this is the finals after all.' Payton grinned and raised one arm into the air. Once again, thunder boomed within his stormcloud.

When the lightning, again very far from its intended target, struck this time, there was a brief second where Payton noticed something odd: Damien raising both his arms into the air. Before he could ask himself why, the answer became apparent as the stadium lights, still hidden behind the cloud, exploded. A rain of sparks fell like a waterfall from the busted fixtures, landing harmlessly amongst the arena's outer edges. It was only when he'd become engulfed in black that Payton realized their purpose.

"Shadow Prison!" Damien grunted, his hands clutching at an imaginary sphere. His face contorted at the strain of harnessing the minuscule amount of shadow that the sparks were creating on such a grand scale. "It's done!"

The referee, Mr. Mayer, stepped towards the black orb, his face unreadable. After a second, he nodded and went to raise his arm, but stopped as thunder rumbled over their heads. Damien felt short of breath and saw the black lines crawling up his arms as he held on to his opponent, who'd stopped struggling. He looked to the sky in shock, just in time to see the bolt fall. He'd been expecting the last-ditch move to land at some random point in the arena, just as all the others had. Instead, to his awe, it crashed down on the prison holding its summoner.

"ZAP CANNON!"

Purpose of a Hero

"Holy shit, I thought the opening ceremonies were a bit over the top. This is just ridiculous!" Kira shouted over the noise. Beside her, Andrew grimaced and glanced around, looking a bit uncomfortable. For the closing ceremony, Ms. Whittaker had lined them up according to their placement in the tournament. They stood near the back of the line, between two FH1 boys and Diana's team. Her smile dimmed slightly at the still very noticeable burn on her former partner's cheek. The burn of his cheek, her arm in a sling, the fact that they stood with the rest of the teams that had gone out in the first round, it was undoubtedly a blow to her pride.

She looked toward the front of the line, where the teams of two became single combatants, and her mood became worse when she noticed an empty spot between Sirius and the runner-up Damien. 'Where are you, Mel? You better be back at the dorms tonight to tell me what the hell happened.' Suddenly, the sound of someone tapping on a microphone echoed throughout the open arena. Standing on the stage at the head of the four lines was a man she hadn't seen very much of in their short time at the Forge.

"Hello, everyone. For those that don't know me, I'm Principal Ivanov. Every year I stand up at this stage at the end of this tournament and give the same old spiel. Thinking of going off the books this year," Principal Ivanov said, much to the dismay of the teachers lined up behind him. Among them, Mr. Holl rolled his eyes and raised an eyebrow at his wife standing beside him. "Now, you brats have been through a lot these past few days; trials, tribulations, all that. For you freshman, this was your first taste of the real world. You're gonna have to fight tooth and nail to get to the top; many of you won't. On the other end, you seniors have seen nothing yet. The next few years are life or death for your careers as Pro Heroes. Make you last year count, get a good internship, and who knows? Maybe one day you'll hit the big time. Nothing is certain, remember that."

"Uh, Mr. Ivanov?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, Derrick, I know. Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, your champions!" Payton was the first to emerge from the tunnel, looking slightly nervous and, not to mention, still a bit singed from his last attack. He took his place a the far end of the stage just as Reyna King entered, her face a bit bruised and her hair full of sand. Then came a very, very beat up Rune, still holding an ice pack to his black and blue cheek. Finally, Xavier, one of his eyes covered by a white bandage, finished the quartet. Ivanov grinned, nodding his head, and raised the microphone to his lips once more. "Congratulations, you four, but the battle's only just begun."

Purpose of a Hero

Melody awoke to the sound of soft rock on the radio and the rumble of a car engine. Her body felt like it had gone through a meat grinder, and the sunlight hurt her tired eyes. It took a moment for her to get her bearings, but her father's quiet humming and the everpresent smell of pizza grease calmed down any panic that had been building. Finally, she opened her eyes and stretched her strained limbs as best she could in the confined space. The humming stopped, and she noticed her father's eyes looking back at her worriedly from the rearview mirror. "Melly."

"Dad? Where are we?" She asked tiredly.

"What do you remember?" For a moment, the question confused her; then, everything came flooding back. She shot up and looked at her father with wide eyes.

"Where the heck are we? What happened in the fight?"

"Melody. What is the last thing you remember?" His voice was hard, with no trace of its normal jovial tone. Her brain felt muddled as if something was pressing down on her mind.

"I… I was trapped in Damien's attack, and then... nothing. I guess I lost then?" Carlyle didn't answer her, his eyes back to staring at the road, unfocused. Something was wrong; Melody could tell. She reached down to her pocket to grab her cell but realized she was still in her hero costume. Her gaze flicked to the window, and a green road sign caught her attention.

Boston, 5 miles

"Boston? What the h–" She turned to look at her father but stopped. Her head snapped back to the window and then to the rearview. At her reflection, her eyes widened. "What the heck happened to my hair?"

Purpose of a Hero

And there we have it. After over a year, an end to the Halloween Tournament. This isn't the end of the arc, however. We still got a few chapters before we get to the next one but there should be very, very, very minimal fighting scenes in them so a break from that.

A bit of an announcement: for the time being, I'm going to officially make my upload schedule for this story every other week. I know my upload schedule has been trash recently but I'm hoping moving from the idea of weekly uploads to every other week will take a bit of the stress off of me.

In addition, just today I posted a new story. Completely unrelated to PoaH. If you like Avatar the Last Airbender, check it out I suppose.

EDIT: Forgot to mention! New Profile Pic of Melody. Props to Strife for his amazing work.

Thanks as always to Hiatus for beta-ing this chapter and now, let's get to the preview.

Next Time on the Purpose of a Hero

Chapter 47: The Pawn