November 22, 2317
Clara awoke with a start.
For a moment, the unfamiliar dark room made her already panicking mind surge with hysteria. She leaped from her bed and immediately slammed her knee into a nightstand she had not seen, cursing loudly. Thankfully, the pain was able to make her mind see through the haze and recognize her surroundings, which only made her feel embarrassed and angry. 'One night and a few nightmares and I'm already a jumpy spaz. Fucking hell, Clara. Get ahold of yourself,' she scolded. Now that her mind was lucid, she knew exactly where she was in her childhood room and made the trek to the light switch without any more issues.
The sun wasn't up yet and if the clock on her desk was correct, it wouldn't be for a while. Hoping no one heard her movements (though with her father's hearing, she knew that if he was awake he had heard her), Clara huffed and sat down on the edge of her bed. She stayed in an uneasy silence, both nervously dreading the eventual rise of the sun while paradoxically unable to stand the suffocating quiet, until her stomach growled loudly. She really hoped her father was still asleep.
'My own damn fault for not eating before I fell asleep. Not that I had much of an appetite anyway. He said we're starting from zero, so there's zero chance I get anything to eat before noon,' Clara thought, scowling at the tray of food she'd so easily forgotten. She wasn't brave enough to touch the freezing cold slab of steak or hardened mashed potatoes, but she did grab the two stale slices of bread and before she could blink, she'd already devoured them.
It did very little to quell her discomfort.
Frustrated, Clara did what she normally defaulted to when anxious. She slipped off her bed and lowered herself to the ground before starting to do pushups at a fever pitch. The exercise didn't make her feel any less horrible about the coming day, but it at least chased away her lingering drowsiness.
Logically, she knew that tiring herself out before the absolute hell she knew was coming wasn't the brightest thing she'd done, but after a while she began to relish the repetition and lose herself to the ever increasing numbers, finishing with pushups and moving on to crunches, then to squats, lunges and by the time her muscles really began to burn, the sky was beginning to turn lighter.
She had so successfully distracted herself that the knock at her door nearly made her fall over as she reached the apex of her handstand pushup. She cursed, righting herself before yanking the door open and glaring out at Garrett's very punchable face. They both know that she knows why he's there, yet that doesn't stop Garrett from smiling at her rumpled, sweaty face and directing her out of the room. "Wouldn't want to keep your father waiting, would we?"
"Piss off. I'll be there in a few," Clara snapped, smacking his arm away and purposely going the opposite direction that he'd been pointing. She reached the bathroom in record time and petulantly slammed the door shut behind her. For a moment, she stood with her hands braced against the sink, breathing hard through her nose as she tried to control her anger and anxiety. 'Damn it, handle your shit, Clara.'
Despite her frayed nerves, Clara took her time getting ready for the day ahead. She didn't see much point in a shower considering she was almost certainly going to spend the morning (and maybe even afternoon, judging by her father's anger the previous night) being slammed into the dirt by sound waves, but she did take the time to brush her teeth and splash cold water on her face. Her hands reached up, intending to put her hair up like she usually did during training – the fewer weak points she gave Richard the better – but scowled when her hands met air.
"Fucking cat," she hissed, lowering her arms and staring at herself in the mirror for a few more moments before sighing. Her shoulders slumped and she rolled her neck to ease some lingering stiffness. 'Let's get this over with.'
Garrett was gone when she emerged from the bathroom. As always, the house was much too quiet whenever she was alone in it. Even with her enhanced hearing, she couldn't make out anything more than her own heartbeat, which meant her father was already waiting for her in the backyard. As she traversed the empty corridors, she tried her best to summon the bravado she had gotten so used to portraying, but to her immense frustration, she couldn't keep her hands from shaking.
She came to a stop as she passed her father's room. A sudden sense of nostalgia washed over her as she pushed the slightly ajar door open a bit wider. Instantly, her eyes found the stain on the wall, the ever-so-slight outline of a picture frame beside it. All these years later, she finally knew the names to go with the faces so annoyingly burned into her mind. It had been hard to miss the carbon copy of the woman draping herself over Richard when she'd run into her at the exams.
She'd never even met the girl before, but in the instant, it took for her to recognize Melody as the woman's doppelganger, her mind had flashed back to the night she'd found the photo… and the pain that followed. She couldn't even remember why she'd said what she said. The simple fact that Melody was standing before her had made her so angry, she'd wanted the redhead to feel even a sliver of the anguish she'd felt herself.
Then, out of nowhere, another ghost had arrived to tell her off. While she had noticed something familiar about Andrew at the time, it hadn't been until later that the pieces clicked in her mind and when the final person in the picture turned out to be her teacher, she stopped being surprised.
As much as she'd wanted to find out what type of people her father's old friends were, to find out what type of person he was, her curiosity was outmatched by her bitterness. With a scowl, Clara slammed the door shut and stomped further down the hall.
She'd just made it to the foyer when she heard voices. 'Must have left the back door open. Either that or the soundproofing has gotten worse,' Clara thought as she came to a stop, holding her breath as she listened. "–he same technology the Forge uses to protect the crowd during their tournament. Spared no expense. There should be no issues, sir."
"Good. I'd rather not have to pay for a few dozen shattered windows again." Clara frowned. There was something… off about her father's voice. It was nothing about his tone – that was, as usual, slightly annoyed and monotone – but something about the inflection. As he addressed Garrett again, though the words were lost on her, Clara realized just how much louder his voice was than normal.
She set her jaw to keep it from quivering and stepped out from around the hallway she'd been hiding in. With each step she took toward the open back door, the louder his voice became. 'Fucker. He never forgets shit like that. I should have known. Well fuck him, I won't be some sniveling little bitch. He wants a fight, I'll kick his goddamn ass.'
As she stepped out onto the back patio, she squinted against the light of the rising sun and held her head high. As soon as he acknowledged her presence – 'Fucker probably knew I was there this whole time.' – Richard turned away from Garrett and glowered at her. For the first time in nearly six years… Clara saw her father's face without his voice dampener.
Purpose of a Hero
June 26, 2312
Clara: Age 9
"Not good enough." Clara let out a colorful string of words as she pushed herself up on her elbows and knees. Her ears still ringing, she allowed herself to be yanked up by the arm and planted shakily on her feet. Her father looked down at her in disgust and frustration, but she glared right back with hatred burning in her eyes. If Richard noticed this, or cared, he gave no notion of it, instead pulling out a cell phone from his pocket and narrowing his eyes at the screen. "We're done for today. You will continue your studies in the library. Garrett will be checking in on you periodically, so don't think of goofing off."
"Yes sir," she snapped back sarcastically. Instantly, her father rounded on her and backhanded her across the cheek. Clara went down without a sound. Her face stinging, she looked over her shoulder and glared at her father, who had already turned away and was speaking in hushed tones to someone on his phone.
Deciding not to push her luck, Clara got to her feet and stomped across the yard until she reached the back door, which she slammed as hard as she could behind her. She'd pay for that later, but in her mind that was an issue she'd deal with when it came back around to her. 'Asshole. How the hell am I supposed to learn anything when all he does is beat the crap out of me? Some teacher.'
Her family's library was immense. Nearly four times the size of her bedroom with shelves reaching from floor to ceiling. When she was very little, before her Quirk had materialized, her father had read stories to her in that room. Granted, they were always stupid stories about Quirk purity, but it was one of the few good memories Clara had of him. Nowadays, the room was reserved for Clara to study whatever he felt her public school should be teaching her.
"Lucky me," Clara grumbled as she saw the pile of books already set aside for her. With a huff, she practically collapsed into the old wooden chair – making it creak dangerously – and grabbed one of the books from the top of the pile. 'Ooooh, Quirk Physiology. Fascinating.' Clara groaned, flipping open to the first page, and began skimming through it as quickly as possible.
As was usually the case, her attention span could not outlast the chapter she'd been assigned and Clara quickly shut the book and leaned back in her chair. 'It's a good thing he hasn't felt the need to test me on any of this yet, or I'd be screwed.' With a grunt, she slid out of her chair and did what she spent most of her time "studying" doing… perusing the much more interesting books and secrets the library held.
Ever since her father had begun sticking her in the room alone, she'd found everything from Pro Hero Field Tactics guides, to historical classics, to fairly racey romance books (the origin of which she did not want to know). Since she very rarely ventured out of the house to go anywhere except school or the occasional visit to her father's agency, she had become content learning about the world around her instead of Quirk Physiology.
She began her search right where she'd left off the day before, striding across the room to where a large collection of, bizarrely, cookbooks. The books themselves were of very little interest to Clara — Garrett made all their meals and she'd be screamed at if she dared dirty her hands in the kitchen — but what intrigued her was the writing within them. She'd stumbled upon the handwritten notes by accident the week before when she knocked over one of the books trying to climb up to a higher shelf.
Humming contently to herself, she grabbed a book at random and quickly began flipping through the pages until she found the, now familiar, scratchy scrawl.
Created by my father, this attack is one of the few truly long-ranged ones I have been able to discover. It is able to maintain its destructive power for nearly twice the distance of Howl Missile with significantly less vibrational drop-off. It is unfortunate then that it was created by my father, as his naming of our Quirk's abilities… leaves a lot to be desired in my humble opinion. Regardless, Howlitzer is a remarkable showing of the potential for long-distance attacks and is much more precise than any other techniques I've developed.
"He's right. Stupid fucking name," Clara whispered, propping the book up on the shelf and pulling out a small notebook. She quickly jotted down the entry, as well as the accompanying instructions on a new page before shutting the cookbook and moving on to the other. 'Dad's obviously never looked through these before. I've never seen him use any of these moves. Just gotta keep working on them myself and then I can give him a real shock. Disappointment my ass!'
Peering suspiciously over her shoulder, she moved onto the next book, only to cast it aside when she found no trace of writing in it. 'Weird that whoever did this chose cookbooks of all things to hide their secret moves in. Wouldn't be my first choice,' Clara thought as she thumbed through another book. This one was also empty, as were the next two. By the time she reached her fifth book of the day with no handwriting within it, her anger got the better of her and she slammed the "Traditional Irish Cuisine" book back on its shelf with a loud bang.
It was only thanks to her hearing that she heard the soft noise of something falling behind it.
Curiously, she removed the book again and leaned down to look into the shelf. To her surprise, there was a small indent in the wall behind the shelf, invisible to most, with a book placed in front of it and due to it being on the second lowest shelf. Clara reached in, warily, and nearly jumped out of her skin when her fingers came into contact with a cobweb. She yanked her hand out as if it had been burned and glared at the secret cubby. 'Real tough, Clara. Scared of a little spider? Get over it, moron,' she scolded herself.
With much more determination, she reached back into the indent and, annoyingly, felt her heart jump when she touched something cool and smooth. It took her a few moments to work whatever it was loose of the very narrow opening. Once it was in the light, she stared down at it, bemused.
It was a book. A small, leatherbound book with a small band holding it closed. Based on the yellowing sides of its pages, it had to be quite old. 'Dude hides his secrets in the cookbooks and behind the cookbooks. I swear if this is an actual recipe book, I'm tossing it in the fireplace,' she thought as she slipped the band off and ran her fingers across the cover. There was something written in the bottom right corner, with faded gold ink.
Vasily Ramirez
"Who?" Clara asked aloud. Tentatively, she began to open the cover, only to — again — jump a foot into the air and drop it as the door to the library sprung open. She whirled on the spot, kicking the book behind her and out of sight as she came face to face with Garrett, who sneered at her.
"Taking a break already?" Clara scowled.
"Saw a word I didn't know. Been trying to find a dictionary," she answered, though judging from his raised eyebrow, Garrett was skeptical of her.
"In… the cookbooks?"
"Fuck off, there wasn't one in the reference book section. Maybe if you organized this shit like it's your job to do, I wouldn't waste so much time searching." The two glared at one another for a few moments before Garrett stepped further into the room and walked to a shelf directly to the left of the door. After less than a second of searching, he grabbed a red book from the third shelf, turned and slammed it down with the rest of her pile, shooting her the biggest shit-eating grin she'd ever seen.
"Glad to be of service," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Clara flipped him off as he turned and left, shutting the door tightly behind him. Letting out a breath, Clara turned and reached down to grab the book and, before opening it, walked over to hide behind one of the shelves. 'This was probably hidden for a reason. Don't want dad finding it, just in case. Besides, if it's anything like the cookbooks, this could give me an edge.'
Judging by the date on the first page, the book had belonged to either her grandfather or great grandfather. Instantly, she noticed that the handwriting within the book was the exact same as what she'd been finding in the cookbooks and her excitement rose. Flipping through rapidly, she managed to find a few of the attacks she'd already jotted down in her own notebook hidden amongst the diary entries.
'This is amazing! Dad's never used any of these, so he won't expect them. Gotta wonder why it was kept hidden so long. Maybe the old man was just super secretive?' Her curiosity peaked, Clara found herself flipping through the back half of the diary, searching for its last entry. When she finally found it and read through it, her stomach did a somersault.
"What the fuck?"
Purpose of a Hero
Present Day
Clara hit the ground hard with her ears ringing.
As she skidded to a stop, she looked up and swore, rolling to get out of the way of her father's next attack. Due to its size, she couldn't quite avoid all of it, but she at least managed to evade the epicenter and, with that, an even larger headache than the one she already had.
With a great deal of effort, she was able to get back to her feet and roared a Howl Missile at Richard, who barely flinched. Just like all her others, the attack never even made it close to him, breaking apart at the invisible wall of sound that swirled in front of him. The only reason she knew there was a wall in the first place was because of how the ground was ripped apart every time he exhaled. 'Fucking asshole. I find a way through his defenses and I can land a hit and maybe this bullshit will end,' she thought, taking a second to glare at the setting sun.
Unfortunately, she'd been trying to find a chink in his armor since they started in the early morning. Her chances of finding one when she was beaten down, tired, and hungry were next to zero… not that they'd been much higher when they'd first begun. "Feeble. This is what our training has accomplished? You've barely improved at all over the past three months. We've only got today and most of tomorrow to get you back on track. What I have seen today has not inspired confidence in that."
"Fuck off. I've barely gotten started," Clara growled, though both of them could clearly tell that was not the truth. 'Damnit, think! There has to be a way to break through,' she thought, though her planning was interrupted as her father, once again, roared. Clara ran a few feet before diving, this time managing to get clear of the attack, but sacrificing a steady landing to do so. She only just had enough time to brace herself before she crashed into the stone wall outlining the perimeter of the backyard.
Not giving herself a moment to rest, she charged. As soon as she reached the outline of his sound wall, she reared her fist back and screamed. As she thought, her Howl Knuckle slammed into what felt like a concrete wall and her entire arm shook with the vibrations it created. To her shock, she felt the wall give slightly when her father inhaled. She was so caught up in the moment, that she failed to react as another one of her father's own Howl Missiles hit her head on, sending her careening into some patio furniture before coming to a rest against the side of the house.
"Away from the house, Clara. I will not be paying for repairs due to your inadequacy," Richard bellowed. Clara followed his instructions almost unconsciously, stopping after a few feet to swear at herself under her breath. When she set herself back into a fighting stance, she took an extra long moment to study him, knowing he would wait for her to make the first move – as he had every time they'd finished one of their "breaks'' in which he did nothing but criticize her. Her eyes focused on the cracking ground beneath him. 'If the wall is formed by his breathing, then I just need to make it a bit more erratic. That should give me an opening so I can fucking hit him and get this over with for today.I've got no way of tiring him out without getting myself hurt… so that only leaves one option. I'll just have to make it convincing. Fuck my whole life.'
Right when it was becoming apparent Richard had gotten tired of waiting and was about to attack, Clara took off at a run. Her goal was to make a half-arc around his sphere of protection to put him between her and the house. "Howl Missile!" She yelled, not expecting the attack to do much. Indeed, it hit his shield and dissipated into nothing. Watching as intently as she was, Clara saw the instant her father's chest expanded with air and, praying her timing was right, waited until the very last moment to dodge out of the way of his attack.
As she stumbled – something she hadn't planned on, but worked to her advantage nonetheless – she turned her head and let loose another Howl Missile, intentionally aiming far to Richard's left. To her great satisfaction, her plan was successful and she allowed herself a small smile as she heard her attack tear into the west wing of the house, blowing the roof wide open.
Instantly, she noticed the change in her father. His eyes momentarily widened, then became as cold as ice as he turned to look at the damage. His posture became much more stiff and his hands clenched into fists at his side. Clara's smile turned into a much wider grin as she noticed the ground beneath his sound wall begin to crack more erratically. 'One shot. That's all I get.' Just as Richard began to turn back around with a thunderous expression, Clara took a deep breath and pursed her lips. "Howlitzer!"
Just as it had in her private training, instead of the large, wide soundwave produced by Howl Missile or her other attacks, this one's vibrations formed a small cone, no bigger than her fist. Also unlike her previous attacks, it shot right through the cracks forming in her father's defensive wall and crashed into the right side of his chest.
Richard grunted and took a step back at the impact before steadying himself. For a long moment, he stayed silent, staring down at his chest with an unreadable look on his face, then he glanced up at Clara and nodded curtly.
Letting out a sound somewhere between a sob and a sigh of relief, Clara sank onto the grass and sprawled out on the lawn, relishing the cool grass against her skin as she looked up at the darkened sky. She stayed that way for several minutes, doing nothing, thinking nothing, the only thing she was aware of was her own labored breathing.
Her reprieve did not last long, however, as soon the heavy footfalls of her father approached. Through a Herculean amount of effort, Clara managed to force herself up onto her elbows and glared at the man as he towered above her, his dampener re-affixed to his face. "I haven't seen that attack before. I'm glad to see you haven't been completely wasting your time."
"Gee, thanks," Clara drawled, flopping back down onto the grass. 'Think I'll let him believe I created it myself. He wouldn't be as forgiving if he knew I read it in a book,' she thought to herself. Richard shot her a scathing look.
"However, taking nearly twelve hours to land a single hit and causing significant property damage to do so is not what I would call a success. Tomorrow we will begin again. My dampener will be removed and I will not be on the defensive. You will have until ninety minutes before you are to report for patrols to land a hit, otherwise I will call you back here over Christmas break as well." Clara scowled.
She honestly didn't know which option appealed to her more. No one except maybe Lyon or Shaula ever talked to her outside of arguments, so she wasn't expecting them to invite her to sing Christmas carols or anything like that, but spending her entire break locked in her dorm room was much more appealing than dealing with her father for nearly two weeks. 'I'll have to check the book again. See if there's anything I can use.'
"Unfortunately, no matter what the outcome of tomorrow is… I will need to restructure your training anyway for summer break." Clara's head shot back up, her face twisted in confusion. Richard regarded her angrily, then reached a hand up to point at his dampener. "Your Quirk has regrettably mutated. Through Garrett's blood work and my own observations, I've come to the realization that you will never reach my level of power."
"The fuck's that supposed to mean? You're not as strong as you think, old man," Clara said hotly. Predictably, her father ignored her.
"It appears as if your imperfect Quirk trades power for precision. Today only cemented it. Neither I, nor my father, could create an attack like the one you showed. My father's Quirk was much stronger than my grandfather's, and my own is much stronger than his. Somehow… yours has regressed." Clara stared at him, dumbfounded, then snorted and got back to her feet, suddenly feeling a bit too exposed sprawled out on the grass.
"This is about your bullshit Quirk purity nonsense, isn't it? What, so you think because I don't shatter windows wherever I go that I'm not as strong as you? So fucking what if my Quirk isn't exactly the same as yours?" Clara asked, incensed. Richard crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. Her anger mounting, Clara continued, "I think having the control to hit my enemies in their weak points is a lot more valuable than just blowing everything in my way to hell, don't you? Precision is what let me land a hit on you, not power!"
"And yet your attack did little more than stagger me for a brief moment," Richard retorted. Clara scowled and looked away, unable to meet his eyes with how much loathing and disappointment resided in them. He turned and began walking away, stopping just before entering the house. Despite the distance, with her enhanced hearing, Clara heard every word he said. "Perhaps your children will be able to right the course and return our Quirk to its former glory. In the meantime, I will do all I can to ensure you do not bring shame onto our bloodline. Be here at dawn tomorrow."
There were no words to properly describe Clara's emotions in that moment. Blood roared in her ears as her fingernails dug so hard into her palms it drew blood. Her teeth groaned with how tightly she clenched her jaw. Her breathing bordered on hyperventilation. However, she noticed none of this… her attention entirely focused on trying not to simultaneously let out the largest Howl she could… or break down into fury-filled hysterics.
She couldn't be sure how long she stood there, festering in her whirlwind of different emotions, before she glared up at her father's darkened window. 'One of these days… I won't just surpass you. I'll make you see me.'
Purpose of a Hero
Excerpt from the Diary of Vasily Ramirez
September 30, 2287
The Purifiers.
Good lord, Sergio. What have you gotten yourself involved in?
I'm not sure what I was expecting. A secret lover maybe? Drugs or alcohol were my most pessimistic outlook, but this supersedes anything I could ever imagine. Ever since I found the papers in your study, I have attended rallies in secret… read their secretive websites… I've even spoken to a few members.
Their beliefs are ludacris. How anyone can believe them, let alone you. I always raised you to be a kind person, who sees everyone as equal. I… I cannot fathom how Melissa would feel about this.
I pray that you had nothing to do with the attacks in Jersey a few months ago. It sickens me to see you associate with murderers and vandals. I don't want to believe it.
I must confront him. I must hear it in his own voice. I want to know… Richard deserves to know why his father has all but abandoned him. I don't want him to grow up with nothing good to say about his father, like me.
I'm sorry, Melissa. I should have seen the signs he was hurting earlier. Perhaps I did, but this old fool couldn't react fast enough. I won't make that mistake again.
Purpose of a Hero
Hello again. Three updates in four months, what the fuck is going on? As you can tell, I really enjoy writing child abuse…
(That's a joke fwiw)
Anyway, let me know what y'all thought of this chapter. We're seeing a bit more layers to Clara, she's basically an ogre at this point. Richard is terrible.
And hey, see. The Flashbacks aren't just thrown in there as expository fluff. Neither are the diary entries. Very important to Clara's story. Anyway, that's all from Buixy. Later dudes!
Next Time on The Purpose of a Hero:
Chapter 63: After Dark