Indimite

By Maddox Marie

Imagine a world where everyone has a superpower. Amazing yet frightening. Thankfully, the Guardians keep civilians safe from those who become killers - branded as Indimites.

Enter Shay Sotaro. Burned out, on job probation, drunk from dusk 'til dawn. Floating through life.

She encounters Celeste, a teenager wh

• Language: English
• Publisher: New Degree Press
• Release date: Dec 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637309971

Book preview

Contents

Chapter 0

Part 1. On the other side of the Wall

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Part 2. Whatever it takes

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Part 3. Fading lines

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Part 4. The Harvest Festival

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Part 5. After

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Acknowledgments

0

A little girl crouches behind a cabinet with her face pressed against the panel and her heart pounding in her chest. Sitting as still as the floor underneath her, Madsenen holds her breath and stares through the thin crack.

Her parents stand in the living room, or what remains of it. Pieces of drywall are scattered over the burned carpet. The glass coffee table is split in half. And the cause of it all, her sister, Sitra, lies fast asleep, chained to a chair. Metal casings cover her entire arms.

This has gone on for far too long. We must kill her before she kills us. Neema’s voice is hushed. Most of her hair has fallen out of her bun. The rim of her glasses is cracked, blood spatters paint her blouse, and her shoes are covered in a fine layer of dust.

Madsenen steadies herself. The fumes of asbestos have gone to her head. There’s a ringing in her left ear, a faint echo of the earlier chaos.

We cannot do that. Think of all those wasted years of training. No. Amran shakes his head. No, no, we cannot kill Sitra. It would be a tragedy to wipe out such potential. Stroking a slow hand over Sitra’s face, he pushes aside her hair. Her eyes are closed. "Out of all of them, she is the only one destined for something great. The only one who’s powerful." He says powerful as though he means worthy.

From behind the cabinet, Madsenen takes a deep breath—her lip trembles. She presses her mouth in a tight grimace and glowers at her sister.

"This is her third attack. Neema scowls, pulling out a gun. Her arms tremble as she clutches the weapon with both hands. If they find out we’re harboring an—"

Hushing her, Amran approaches and pushes the weapon down. No one will ever have to know. I’ll keep this family safe. He cups the back of her head, pulling her into an embrace. His voice is muffled, and Madsenen can’t make out what her father is saying. He strokes his wife’s hair. Perhaps he’s trying to comfort her. She remains stiff, and her expression never wavers. Whatever he’s saying, it’s not working.

Letting go of the embrace, Amran turns his attention back to Sitra, who hasn’t moved an inch. Madsenen fears her sister is dead. No, it’s not fear she feels but hope.

Amran taps the metal casings. As long as we keep these on, nothing bad can happen. We lock Sitra away, and only once she regained her humanity do we continue—

Sitra’s eyes snap open. With a low grunt, she lifts her arm and strikes her father. The metal drips red with blood. Madsenen scrambles backward, letting out a cry. It’s silenced by that of her mother. Sitra goes for another blow, and this time their father crashes to the floor. Hitting her back against the wall, Madsenen takes heaving breaths, unable to look away.

Neema fumbles with the gun. Her fingers slip over the safety, again and again. Madsenen watches, unable to move, unable even to breathe as the flicking of skin against steel grows louder. Inside she screams at her mother to shoot. Unbothered, Sitra takes off the chains and looks down at her arms. The metal melts, reaching to her shoulders and fusing with her skin. Without warning, Sitra plunges a silver hand forward just as their mother pulls the trigger. A loud bang and then…

Nothing.

Their mother shoots again. The bullets hover in the air.

Sitra clenches her hand into a fist. The entire house creaks in response. Their mother grows pale, taking a small step back. In a second, the bullets shoot into her. Iron rods rip out of the walls and plunge toward her one by one. One bursts through the wall only a foot away from Madsenen. The wind of it blows against her and flings her hair into her face. Pressing her eyes shut, she covers her ears until the only sound is of her heart. It pounds in her chest, and, at last, it beats the sense back into her. Jumping to her feet, she runs.

Her feet slip from underneath her as she dashes down the hall. She reaches for the door handle. With a loud creak, the hinges bend, and the wood tears. A second later, the door is blown away. Madsenen never slows. Ignoring the screaming around her and the floorboards breaking and flinging themselves into the air, she keeps running. A window shatters right beside her. Four siblings cross her in the hallway, and her heart leaps. She is not alone. Invisible forces hurl them against the ceiling, bending their limbs like crumpling paper. Madsenen cries out their names. Scurrying behind the corner, she hides. And, not for the first time, she wishes she was someone else.

Her pulse beats in her arm. One of the glass shards pierced her skin. Blood drips down. She clenches her hands and focuses. Her skin darkens and pales, but the cut will not heal. Exhausted, she stops. She’s weak. She’s not powerful, not worthy…

A thunderous sound erupts above. Lifting her head slowly, Madsenen looks up. The roof is torn open. The wooden beams split apart, letting in the icy rain. Madsenen has to shield her eyes to see. Individual tiles lift, then the chunks of drywall and bricks. All of it comes together in a whirlwind, with Sitra floating in the middle. It’s hard to see through the storm and in the dead of night, but Madsenen knows the girl above is no longer her sister. Something deep inside made her human die.

Even as a steel frame four times her size moves right above her, even as everything in her tells her to run, Madsenen doesn’t move. There’s nowhere to go. There’s nothing she can do. She is weak, worthless. Closing her eyes, she lets out a long breath. The wind blows down on her, and she clutches her hands.

She flinches for the impact, but it never comes. She pats herself, pinches her arms. It’s not a dream, nor the afterlife. She is still here, and she’s unharmed. She peeks through her lashes before opening them fully. A Guardian carries the frame above their head. Their black-and-purple suit is dazzled in raindrops.

Look away, Eternal commands.

Madsenen slumps to the floor. Embracing her legs, she presses her eyes shut. Only when all is silent does she dare to look. Gently, the Guardian lies Sitra down. Her eyes are wide open, but there is no fear in them. Blood spills from a single bullet wound in her forehead. Eternal brushes Sitra’s face, pushing her eyelids closed.

Madsenen rises to her feet, taking an unsure step forward. Wet locks cling to her face. Her sister is dead. Her parents are dead. So many siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles didn’t survive. And yet, she is still here.

Eternal is about to leave.

Wait, Madsenen yells; her voice breaks. Please, wait. She hurries to their side. The Guardian doesn’t move. "Why did you save me? Why me?"

Eternal turns to block out Sitra’s body and kneels. Because that’s what I do. And everyone is worth saving. No life is more important than another. They see her glance over their shoulder and add, in a softer tone, Well, almost everyone. Some people are dangerous and want to hurt those around them. The only way to save lives is by taking theirs.

Rising to their feet, Eternal holds out a hand. Looking at the metal, Madsenen expects it to be cold and hard, but it’s not. Now, let’s get you away from here and somewhere dry and warm.

They make their way through the ruin that was once her home, but Madsenen has no eye for any of it. She stares at the Guardian, letting the rain drip down her lashes. As sure as she knows anything, she knows she wants to be just like Eternal when she grows up.

A hero.

PART 1

On the other side of the Wall

1

The sound of loud music is replaced with flesh hitting flesh as Shay Sotaro steps out of the bar. She’d already put her cigarette in her mouth and is about to light it when she spots the fight. A glowing fist plunges into someone’s face, and the flash blinds her. Blinking, she holds up a hand and steps back, nearly falling over.

A low grunt. Water splashes as a man in a flashy blue tracksuit steps in a puddle and kicks another in the stomach. The victim wheezes, collapsing forward. His eyes are half-lidded, and his head dangles as though barely connected to his body. Two others hoist him to his feet. A stubby hand forces his chin up, revealing vomit on his jacket. It’s only then Shay notices the tangent smell obscured by that of smoke and sweat.

The victim’s gaze falls on her. Help… me, he mouths as his eyelids sag closed.

Flicking on her lighter, she takes a drag. Serenity washes over her. The tobacco is cut with serastium, a magically enhanced mineral. She sinks her hands in her pockets and walks away.

She has her own problems to deal with.

The brightness of the adjacent street seeps around the corners and into the dim alley that is solely illuminated by the fluorescent swing signs from gambling dins, strip clubs, and bars. Rain puddles sprawl the pavement, perfectly reflecting the neon colors. The ground wobbles. Shay stamps into the water, distorting the image. She holds onto the wall for support. Then, under the sign NO REST, where the letter O symbolizes an eye, she stops.

Leaning back, she listens to the sounds of the city. Faint echoes of songs from wildly different genres come together in an unholy mixture. Keeping her cigarette between her lips, she tugs her oversized blouse back in her high-waisted jeans. Her fingers keep slipping as she tries to close the buttons. She gives up halfway through. Swallowing, she still tastes the whiskey on her lips and feels the bartender’s hands around her waist. She tries to put her hair back in a high ponytail. Black locks fall over her eyes.

Heavy footsteps approach. She taps off the excess ash. Her black bomber jacket glows red from the light above. She pats it, searching for her phone. Her screen blurs. Holding it inches from her face, she sees there are no new messages. Three months ago, she started taking odd jobs, and tonight, she’ll meet up with her new clients. The exact details, like time and location, are still unknown.

Hey, lady, a voice barks, and judging by their agitation, this isn’t the first time they’ve tried to get her attention.

Through the strands of hair, she sees three figures. The one in front wears bright, blue sweatpants. Spark fingers. Looking up, she realizes the thugs wear cheap replicas of the masks of local Guardians. The irony of it isn’t lost on her.

Hey. She lifts her chin.

The one cosplaying as the Shaman holds up a gun. Seems like his magic has worn out. Wallet. Phone. Jewelry.

"They don’t pay you heroes what they used to, huh?" She laughs to herself, and she sags down the wall.

He said, repeats the tallest of the group whose Galactic costume is more a piss-yellow and murky gray than gold and black. Instead of stars against a night sky, it looks like dirty underwear. Wallet. Pho—

Yeah, Yeah. I heard him and… no. She takes a drag and stares up. The red glow intensifies, landing on her like a warm embrace. Now leave. I’m not in the mood.

Listen, lady, I don’t give a rat’s ass what mood you’re in. I’m not playing. A sharp metallic click follows the Shaman’s warning.

Her eyes widen. This is a sound she knows all too well. She looks straight ahead at the end of a barrel. His hand is on the trigger. The thing is, anyone can threaten but few can follow through. She staggers toward him. He flinches, tightening his grip on the handle. She leans forward and rests her forehead against the gun.

Ay! Are you crazy? He jumps backward.

The ground hurtles at her. She grabs the first thing within reach. She pulls herself upright, only to find herself staring right at the Titan. Good thing he isn’t the real one. She’ll take threats over lectures any day.

Now, either you shoot me, or you leave me alone. She takes her time to look each of them in the eye. The fall landed her in the middle of the group. She tries to take a drag, but her cigarette has died out.

Or what? The Titanium Titan clenches his fists, and lighting sparks his knuckles. From this close, they audibly crackle and give off a faint, burning scent.

The light is hypnotic. Leaning closer, she watches her cigarette burn. She takes in a satisfying breath as warmth rushes through her. She smiles. Why don’t you find out?

Oh, I will, the Titan says with a smug tone that gives away what little surprise his attack could have had. It doesn’t help how slowly he pulls back his hand. She can easily grab his arm and use his own momentum to redirect—

His fist hits her full in the face.

One moment she stands, the next she hits the pavement as invisible needles pierce every inch of her skin.

Let’s go, a distant voice says. She isn’t worth it.

Laying on the cold concrete, with her hair drenched, she glares at the neon eye. It seems to sway and double. Pathetic, her old mentor hisses, weak. Her jaw aches as she grinds her teeth. She can’t let them win. Her muscles throb and contract from the aftershock, and it takes all her strength to move her hands and push herself upright.

She lunges forward. She collides against the Titan, sending both of them toppling against a trashcan. She strikes him once clean on the jaw. Her second swing lands miles away. She strains her shoulder. Maybe the fourth bottle had been overkill. The Titan digs his finger into her arms. Strobing lights flare up around her. All she hears is a deafening crackling noise like a forest fire. The scent of burning meat fills the air.

Now, stay down. The Titan’s voice fades in.

She clutches her fists over and over. First, only her fingers move, but soon it’s her entire hand. She grabs the Titan by the arm.

What? You haven’t had enough? He lets out a breathy laugh and turns to his friends.

Yanking him closer, she pulls the hidden knife out of her sleeve and stabs him between the ribs. He bites down a curse. Sparks ignite. She slams his wrist in the rain puddle. The water lights up bright blue. Lightning soars through the streets, crashing into Galactic, who stiffens and spasms. Lightning bites her arm and burns her skin.

The Titan tugs his hand back. The blue bolts die out. She twists the knife. With a groan, the Titan spreads his fingers. The lightning bolts snap it back in place brighter than before.

You bitch, he snarls.

A force pulls at the knife. Her arm is yanked back. The blade slips out of her grip, cutting her. The Shaman steps into view with a clenched fist. Turning, she watches the blade glow red as it elevates in the air. It hurls toward her. A sharp, piercing ache strikes her chest. The metal tip resurfaces from her blouse. It goes straight through her heart.

Her pulse falters. She lets go and slumps back. Titan falls to his knees. The lightning dies out. With a thud, Galactic collapses to the ground. Taking sharp breaths, she gets in no air. Her fingers grow numb. Every muscle in her body vibrates. Then it stops. She flatlines. There’s no light, no darkness. There’s nothing at all. Were she anyone else, she’d be dead.

Good thing she’s not. Her heart pounds. She gasps. Her body burns from within. Her skin buzzes as muscles knit back together and flesh conjoins. A steel chain is wrapped around her wrists. Her lip curls into a smile. Just the thing she needs.

Water splashes. "Damian? Shit. Are you still there?" Clothing squeaks, rubbing together as the Shaman struggles to lift his friend.

Jumping to her feet, Shay flings her hands over the Shaman’s head and presses the steel against his neck. He clutches his hand; again, it’s his right one. The cuffs tighten, cutting circulation to her wrist. The skin turns red. She pulls harder and concentrates. Under her shoulder, a lump forms. First, the growth is slow, but soon it’s an entire arm. Using her third hand, she grabs the Shaman’s dominant one and crushes it until she hears the satisfying cracking of bones.

The Titan is dropped.

I told you I wasn’t in the mood. Her voice, calm and steady, is only slightly disrupted by her breathing. Next time, listen.

She holds on until the Shaman goes limp and leans all his weight on her. With one hand, she throws him aside while using the others to yank the chain from her wrists.

Trash litters the alley. Blood coats the pavement as though the red light above bleeds into the puddles. The steel curtains of a coffeeshop are bent from the Shaman’s futile attempt to fight her off. Now he lies motionless. The Titan gasps for air. Galactic twitches.

Shay pulls the knife out. Dammit. One of her favorite blouses now has a massive hole in it. She opens up her jacket, checking the deep purple lining. Luckily, the fabric has restored itself. She steps over the Titan, putting a new smoke between her lips.

She takes out her phone. There is one new message. The meet-up is in two hours, at the other end of the city. Walking onto the main street, she lights a cigarette, takes a long drag, and sighs. Around her, the streetlights glow like stars. The last of her wounds has healed, and all that remains is the bloody stain.

2

There is never a sensible reason for any good Samaritan to levitate. After all, God created gravity, and who art thou to defy His law?

Celeste Littlefield is the first to notice Brother Abel is no longer standing on the ground and is instead floating inches above it. Averting her gaze, she inhales deeply. It is a trick of the mind. It is not real. When she looks at him again, he is levitating still. Abel Popkiss is a good person, she reminds herself. He is always on time for prayers, milks the cows every morning, and is formal even to those younger than him. Abel is good, not evil. She takes the smallest step toward him.

A burst of laughter erupts behind her. She tightens her grip on the hay. Moving only her eyes, she finds the sound’s source. A Sister lies with her hands stretched out, and her face blushed red. Lifting a lump of herbage, a Brother throws it over her. Fine dust fills the barn. Celeste sighs, only to suck the air right back in. A few feet away, Nellie Sweetwater pops into view. She finishes tying a hay bundle together before attaching it in a circular pattern around the legs of the kismet cow. If Nellie looks to her left, she will see Abel’s affliction acting up.

Celeste presses her stomach, though it does nothing to