Age of Antiheroes

Chapter 1 - Slums

As I gaze into the blood-red skies, streaked with the ashen remnants of rising smoke, I am reminded of the overwhelming emptiness that has led me to this moment. Lightning cascades down at my feet, and I find myself consumed, lost in the depths of my anguish, an internal tormentor that never relents. It feels as if my mind is ablaze, searing me from the inside out, while I helplessly watch as I tear apart everything in my path.

What separates me from so-called heroes? Aside from my brown skin and the absence of a polished, all-American smile, I possess the unsettling ability to see the world as it truly is.

I can't shake the thought of how they will react when they witness my destruction. They have constructed a world where the wealthy hold absolute power—a privileged few with an endless supply of resources, dictating the terms of our existence. They justify their tyranny by tossing a few coins into the hands of those who labor tirelessly to keep their system intact. Families starve, children die, and we toil in vain, all while they reap in the fruits of our labor.

They feel no remorse. No empathy. No guilt. No shame. But their gravest sin is the façade of hope they wear—the false promises of a new beginning.

I wasn't always consumed by darkness. When I was a little girl, heroes were my religion. There were hundreds, if not thousands, and with each passing year, they seemed to multiply. Among them were the greatest of all, those who saved civilizations teetering on the brink of ruin. They were known as the Elite heroes.

Supernova: The first and only female Elite hero, she wielded the power to command the cosmos. With a single motion, she could orchestrate cataclysmic events—colliding planets, raining meteors upon unsuspecting victims, and igniting stars in fiery explosions.

Invictus: The eldest of the Elite heroes. His name, translated from Latin, means "unconquerable." His strength was legendary, epitomized by the moment he single-handedly lifted a bus that had veered off the freeway, saving its passengers from a tragic fall.

Skyhawk: With majestic wings, he soared at the speed of light, able to rescue those in peril in the blink of an eye.

The Sentinel: A soldier, a living weapon, he bore machine guns embedded in his flesh, capable of cutting down hordes in an instant.

Vortex: The most powerful of them all, able to command the winds and the earth itself. He could summon natural disasters with a flick of his wrist, and if he chose, he could snuff out life on Earth by stealing away its oxygen.

Though we didn't own a television, I would stand with my siblings, peering through the glass of our local convenience store. Like so many struggling families, we prayed to win the Lottery—a concept that had morphed over time. What was once a chance for an individual had transformed into an opportunity for entire communities. Ever since the United Nations announced this initiative, countless citizens from impoverished neighborhoods gathered to witness the drawing. Each year, they selected communities from the millions and broadcasted the event globally. The chosen community would receive a visit from an Elite hero, sent to perform what they called the Restoration.

Although we had nothing, heroes gave us hope—hope for a better life, a better world. We lived in the Ashen Guildway, a fractured society that ensnared the desperate in dark trades for survival. Once renowned for our innovation and craftsmanship, we slowly unraveled as the world's resources dwindled, and desperation seeped into the very fabric of our community.

I once dreamed of becoming a hero. I envisioned donning my suit with pride, bringing honor to my family. I longed to afford my mother's medicine, a privilege reserved for the Elites. I dreamed of freeing my father from jail, whose only crime was stealing food to sustain us. I wanted to provide for my four younger siblings, whom I was responsible for alongside my dying mother. I knew that when she inevitably left us, I would assume the role of their guardian.