United

Prologue

The human boy doesn't remember much before he teleported. Mostly, he remembers the feeling of being on the run. Those feelings just trigger the other memories.

He remembers the smell of blood filling his nose and mouth as their group escaped a nasty battle outside of London. The city had been in flames, smoke staining the once beautiful blue sky he remember when he was a boy and his parents took him on a holiday to the city. Big Ben was the only building he remembered looking for on the horizon; he kicked himself for only remembering one building in all of London.

He remembers Natan.

His small group, consisting of him and an English boy with a white mohawk, Nigel, alongside of him, found another boy from Poland who spoke broken English and shook with a heavy limp. He'd been injured saving a school on the Eastern side of the city and had twisted his leg funny. He ran away with them as best he could, hiding from the soldiers with them, speaking of his family on their first night together under a ruined store front in the besieged city.

The Polish boy would live three days total.

On the first, the wounded boy told them his name. Natan. About his family. About making his grandfather and father proud of him. Their little boy was a soldier at last.

On the second, Natan showed them his legacies. Telekinesis, like the two of them already had, night vision, and the power to construct force fields out of natural energy.

On the second day, beautiful Fleur from France had now joined them. She was bold and brilliant, but she chose to be reclusive about her powers. Telekinesis by deduction but otherwise, she was mystery.

To the short brunette boy, Natan had told him in a few short words how he was destined for greatness. He gestured to the place where stars would have been if the smoke and fire didn't plague the cities.

You will be strong some day. You will be hope. I see it.

The shorter boy didn't believe him. He blamed the language barrier for his ignorance and just nodded along with every word.

Natan had stalled the Mogadorian monsters with his legacies, hastily trying to explain what they feared were his last words. He held up a shaky invisible border, blocking the three of them and numbers of English civilians as they fled the battleground. It was halfway through that third day and they were finally at the edge of London, on track to Stonehenge and to becoming the aid for the Loric fighting in the States.

The most his language barrier could manage to tell them was that he was useless to them injured like this.

That he wanted them to live his dream and save the world like the heroes the Loric wanted them to be.

He looked the short brunette boy in the eyes and smiled.

Be what I see.

The Polish boy's smile was kind and his eyes danced with hope. Hope for his life perhaps, but more so hope for his world as he left it in their three pairs of hands. The soldier cut that light out after bursting through his weakening defense and impaling the boy entirely.

He remembers hearing the blonde girl in his group scream at the top of her lungs as she held the body of the fallen human boy from Poland; he died with a smile, having felt safe with leaving fate in their hands. He had wanted to save the world most of all and thought he did just that by saving them. Fleur punched the soldier who killed him and ripped his head clean off his body with the force of her fist alon. She recoiled at the pure ounce of her brute strength but she did not let it break her. He remembers the powerful screaming that came from Nigel and wincing at how the sound practically pierced his mind and shook it to the core. He remembers tossing herds of Mogadorian soldiers as far as he could with his telekinesis, his only legacy he could hone as a weapon, as they fled through Basingstoke.