Page 105 of Supernova

And yet, everything had changed. Two minutes ago, he would have killed her. But in the light of this wonderful clarity, nothing but a truce would suffice.

Nothing but a chance for peace, for compassion, for—

A shadowy form gathered at the edge of his vision. Adrian cocked his head, feeling the disturbance in this stunning new reality like a knife slashing through tissue paper.

Phobia appeared in the stands, standing behind a boy who was, inexplicably, wearing Ace Anarchy’s helmet. The boy didn’t seem to notice Phobia towering over him.

It was as though it were happening in slow motion. One moment, Adrian’s thoughts were full of wonder and possibilities and truth. Of second chances and hope.

The next—they were nothing but horror.

“No!”

His scream made Nightmare shift to see what had caught his attention.

Phobia swung his scythe. The blade punctured the boy’s abdomen, slicing from his navel to his breastbone.

The world stilled. The air left Adrian’s lungs and refused to return.

He heard a scream, and thought it might have been Nightmare.

As the boy collapsed, Phobia withdrew the blade, sending blood splattering across the stands.

He took hold of the helmet with one skeletal hand and lifted it off the boy’s head.

Callum Treadwell.Wonder.

“One cannot be awed who has no soul,” Phobia said, and itseemed almost as though there were humor in his brittle voice. “Just as one cannot be brave who has no fear.”

Adrian blinked. He was still in shock at the senselessness of it. Dazed not only by the sight of Callum’s lifeless body slumped over a seat, but by the jumble of worldviews crashing through his thoughts.

Heroes and villains. Friends and foes. And those words… that phrase…

One cannot be brave…

A sour taste filled Adrian’s mouth. He gaped at Phobia and felt the injustice of Callum’s death surge through him as the words that had haunted him for nearly his whole life burrowed into his skull.

Phobia.

It was Phobia.

And now, standing over Callum’s body, Phobia held Ace Anarchy’s helmet. He lifted his voice so all would hear him, even as the spell of wonder evaporated from their minds.

“You have all fought bravely,” he said. “And now… it is time for you to know fear.”

Then he was a phantom, an inky, transient monster soaring like a bird of prey over their heads, his cloak like darkness. He dropped into the center of the arena, making no noise as he stepped across the platform and lifted the helmet overhead.

The helmet left his grip, hovering in the air for a moment, before settling onto Ace Anarchy’s shoulders.

Ace Anarchy lifted his head.

The shackles on his wrists sprang loudly apart and fell to the dirt.

“Master of Anarchy,” Phobia rasped. “Rise again, and let us watch them fall.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

THE MOMENT THATAce Anarchy was in possession of his helmet, everything changed. He did not stand so much as float upward, his spine straightening and his hands flexing, as if he were regaining feeling in his extremities.

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