The Solar-Powered Man

Chapter 2

It had been a week since he’d last seen the masked man and Pryce. After the masked man fled, Pryce swam north, saying that he must find “the others”. Chase had no idea what that meant, but he nodded anyway. He also told him to be on guard always, as there are people more dangerous than the masked man hunting them down.         

The masked man. Chase still had nightmares about his encounter with him. The man spoke nothing about his objectives, but his actions say it all: he would stop at nothing to kill them both. He tore through the water wall with one kick, and he knocked out Pryce with the same. He was able to throw the three shurikens at the boys’ heads, and if it weren’t for their luck, they would have died, just like how Pryce nearly fainted when he was hit at the back.         

Chase saw what happened. Just like him and the sun, Pryce’s wound was healed when he plunged into the water. He raised his hand to the sun, and he saw a speck of sunlight dancing on his palm. He thought of the fireballs he made when he was attacked by the masked man.         

The speck started twirling around his palm, and pretty soon he was able to create a spinning fireball on his palm. He grinned, and then he accidentally touched the grass. The ground made an ankle-deep hole filled with chartreuse grass. He bit his lips. His mother would yell at him for destroying the ground.         

He scratched his head as he wondered how to fix it, and then he heard an explosion not so far away.         

Chase froze. Then he heard gunshots. He sprinted ahead, following the black puff of smoke in the sky. He cursed as he looked at his house, which was being consumed by a massive fire. With one deep breath, he entered, smashing the front door open with a tackle.         

The entire first floor was crumbling down, and the second floor’s wooden flooring came crashing down. He ran straight for his mother’s room and kicked the door open. His mother was on the bed, a long piece of wood on her bloody stomach. He cried before her as she coughed out blood. Chase apologized for leaving her alone.         

Chase was yanked away from her, and crashed on a flaming wooden table. He rubbed his aching throat, as he was yanked by the collar. When he opened his eyes, the masked man was staring at him with cold, murderous eyes. Chase was petrified.         

“So glad to see you, Chase,” began the masked man.         

The boy blinked twice and attempted to punch the mask, but his fist was caught by his gloved hand. “Still too slow, as usual.” He choked Chase and tossed him aside like a rag doll. Chase coughed.         

He felt the boot of the masked man on his chest, ready to stomp. But he just kicked his ribcage. Chase winced. The man knelt next to him. “I would love to kill you myself, but I’m only ordered to knock you unconscious.” He raised a fist, poised to strike.         

Chase could feel the anger rush through his body. Anger caused by the masked man’s devilish act. Anger caused by the fact that he wasn’t able to save his peaceful and loving mother. Anger caused by his foolishness. And all the anger turned into pain; the pain of his dying mother, the pain of the masked man’s kick, and the pain of being helpless and weak and slow.         

He focused all the anger and pain into one powerful uppercut. The man stumbled on the floor as Chase stood up. He would love to incinerate him, but it wouldn’t be that fun. He made an evil grin, and then he lunged at him, landing punch after punch on the man’s mask.         

“This is for my mother, Celia!” A left hook.         

“This is for my house!” A right hook.         

“And THIS,” he grabbed the man’s collar, with a right jab ready to finish him for good. Fire swirled around it, and it formed a boxing glove. Chase’s evil grin grew even wider. “This is for everything!”         

The mask looked like it was about to break, and if Chase landed his punch, the man’s face would get burnt. He looked at the man’s eyes. The man was pleading for forgiveness.         

Chase was just an inch away from the mask, but he sighed and smashed the floor instead. He released the grip of the man, and he pushed him away. The masked man rose and fled. He stayed by his mother’s side until the fire subsided, along with his house. He cried on the bed sheets. He felt the surge of guilt. He nearly killed a person, and he was just fourteen.            

“I’m sorry,” he said, soaking the bed sheets. He clutched his dead mother's cold hand tightly, as if she was fading and he didn't want her to leave yet. “I’m so, so sorry.”         

He loosened his grip and stood up.  He was so angry that he kicked a nearby table and punched the remains of the wall. After an hour of thrashing around, his legs gave way, and then he fainted.