MORINJO
I press my back to the cold, vibrating wall of this cursed spaceship. Everything reeks of metal and something burnt. The ship's interior is cold and silent. Dark metal walls stretch around in sharp, uneven angles, like the inside of a massive, alien machine. Thin blue lights glow along the edges, casting soft shadows that flicker with every small movement. The floor feels solid but hollow, like it's hiding something beneath. Strange patterns run across the walls—faint, pulsing, almost alive. The air is still, heavy with a quiet tension. It doesn't feel like a ship. It feels like a place built for something far more unsettling.
In the shadows beside me, I glance at Trivium—muscles tense, lightning pulsing faintly from his knuckles as he grips Almighty Axe. Moth crouches low next to me, his fingers dancing against the wall, his face sharp with thought. And standing out in the open, calm but radiating pressure like a rising storm, is me—Path Finder.
Across the room, the Epic Sorcerer hangs by his wrists. His arms are stretched high by electric chains, blue pulses ripping through him every few seconds. His back arches with every shock. Skin singed. Jaw clenched. Blood leaks from his nose. But he won't scream. He just stares straight ahead.
Floating calmly before him is Abaddon, the telekinetic monster who I almost defeated before interruption came. He doesn't blink. His fingers are relaxed, like he's conducting a quiet symphony of pain.
"Give up the Amulet." Abaddon says, voice like silk pulled across a blade.
The Sorcerer doesn't answer. Another shock hits. He grunts—barely.
I whisper, "Moth… plan?"
Moth nods slowly. "Alright. Trivium goes first—drops his mighty axe right on Abaddon's head. While he's dazed, you and I rush in. I'll shoot a metal rope on the electricity controls, you blast him with air, keep him spinning. Then, we grab the wizard—"
"Epic Sorcerer." Trivium corrects, eyes still locked on the torture.
"Right," he says. "We'll snatch him and get out. Fast."
Trivium rolls his shoulders. "Let's burn this freak."
Moth counts us down. Three… two…
We spring—
Everything breaks.
The air slams against us like ice. My body lifts from the floor. No warning, no motion—Abaddon just thinks it, and we rise. Every joint in my body snaps backward. Arms twist, elbows hyperextend, my legs are wrenched apart. Pain floods my nerves. I scream before I can stop myself.
Trivium roars as his limbs are bent, bones grinding loud in my ears. Almighty Axe drops and clangs to the floor. Moth's spine arches hard, arms yanked back, his mask torn from his face as his head whips sideways.
We hang there—three broken heroes, crushed by thought alone.
Abaddon's lips barely move. "Did you think I wouldn't see it coming?"
I feel my ribs folding inward. My lungs scream. My vision fades at the edges.
The Sorcerer screams now too—chains bursting with volts, burning his skin black, blood dripping to the floor like a slow, steady rhythm.
"Give it," Abaddon says again.
Then—
I break.
Not my body—my mind.
My powers slam through me like fire and thunder. Eyes glow gold. The designs on my armor blaze. Air hurls out of me in a vortex.
BOOM.
The walls of the ship bend. Wind tears through the dark like blades. Abaddon is flung across the chamber, slammed into steel. He drops control for a second.
That's all we need.
I land hard, still glowing, feet grinding into the floor. I suck in a breath and raise my arms.
Trivium rises to his feet with a snarl, his right hand burning white as he pulls lightning from his fingertips. He hurls it with everything—everything— straight into Abaddon's chest.
Crackling power lights up the room like a dying sun.
Abaddon doesn't scream like a man. He screeches—inhuman, twisted—as his skin chars, flakes, burns to ash in seconds.
Gone.
Moth, still shaking, stumbles to the Sorcerer. He rips through the webbed panel, sparks explode, and the chains vanish. The Sorcerer falls, limp and smoking. Moth catches him.
"You okay?"
The Sorcerer coughs blood, his voice ragged. "Remind me… never to wait for you again."
I drop to my knees, panting, shoulders numb, hands trembling.
This wasn't a rescue.
This was war.
And we almost lost.
After a moment, I force myself to stand.
I scan the field and see Moth—helping the Sorcerer to his feet. The kid's movements are careful, steady. He's not just some wild teenager looking for trouble. He's focused.
I walk toward them. Slowly.
My mask folds back, sliding open like a wave of nanotech. I stop in front of him and speak.
"Thank you for your support, kid."
He turns to face me. "You're welcome, Sir."
Before I can say anything else, Trivium steps forward. "Now you need to find your way home."
"What?" Moth's mask opens. His eyes are sharp, confused. "Why are you chasing me away?"
"Because you're too young to fight battles," Trivium says, his voice cold.
Moth doesn't back down. "You have no idea of the battles I've faced in my country."
"Enough, both of you," I interrupt, firm but calm. I turn to Moth. "I'm glad you helped us—but this is our fight, not yours. If anything happens to you—"
"Nothing is going to happen to me, Mr. Johnson," he cuts in.
Trivium scoffs. "Oh really? Have you forgotten you foolishly tried to breathe in space because of your stubbornness?"
Moth steps forward, emotion in his voice, fire in his chest.
"You're right, Thunder guy. I am stubborn. But maybe that's exactly what this team needs. You think being a teenager makes me unfit for this fight? Then tell me—what age is right to care? What size do you have to be to protect the people you love? 'Cause I've been small enough to sneak through enemy lines and big enough to lift a bus off a screaming kid. I can shrink to a whisper or grow into a roar. That's who I am..."
He pauses. The spaceship is silent. Even the Sorcerer says nothing.
"You don't have to trust my powers. But trust this—I choose this fight. I choose you. I choose the Ventures. And if you give me a shot, I'll make sure you never regret it."
I glance at Trivium. At the Sorcerer. No one speaks. We just… watch him. The fire in his eyes. The truth in his words.
A long moment passes.
I take a step closer.
"What's your name?" I ask.
He stands straight. "John Kingsley. Protector of Nigeria. Sidekick of Time Manipulator."
I stare into his eyes. Strong. Focused. He's not a kid anymore.
My voice is low, steady. "Congratulations, John. You're a Venture now."
I turn and walk away—because I already know—
He's earned it.
CHRISTIAN
The stars stretch out forever—bright and cold, like we're flying through a living diamond field. Our Quinjet hums low beneath us, smooth and steady, gliding across the black.
One hand on the controls, the other tapping the side rhythmically.
Charlotte sits beside me in the co-pilot seat, boot propped up, twirling a lollipop between her teeth like she owns the sky.
Then the music kicks in—loud, bold, full of fire.
"Risin' up, back on the street..."
Charlotte instantly bumps her shoulder into mine, mouthing the words before throwing her head back and singing at the ceiling.
I can't help but laugh.
It's impossible not to.
Michael's in the back, feet up, tossing a small flame between his fingers like it's a toy. He punches the air with a shout—
"Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet!"
Emma bursts out laughing.
"Michael, you're totally butchering it!"
Michael points at her dramatically.
"I'm giving it soul, Emma. There's a difference!"
Emma shakes her head, grinning, but then joins in too, voice smoother, in tune—
"Just a man and his will to survive..."
Even Conner, who's usually Mr. Cool-Against-the-Wall, taps his boot against the floor.
I catch the small smirk he tries to hide.
Charlotte leans over, waving her hand like she's conducting an orchestra.
"Come on, Christian! Don't make me sing your part!"
I smirk back.
"Oh, you think you're the lead singer now?"
Without waiting, she belts out—
"So many times, it happens too fast..."
I throw my head back and finally give in, shouting along, rough but proud—
"You trade your passion for glory!"
The entire cabin explodes into singing.
Off-key, way too loud, totally perfect.
"Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past..."
"You must fight just to keep them alive!"
Michael's hand to his chest like he's performing at the Grammys.
Emma's laughing so hard she misses half the lyrics.
Charlotte's drumming the dashboard with her fists, yelling every word like it's a battle cry.
And me?
I'm gripping the controls, flying through the stars with my family, screaming the chorus at the top of my lungs.
"It's the eye of the tiger, it's the thrill of the fight!"
"Risin' up to the challenge of our rival!"
The Quinjet soars ahead, and for a few precious moments, there's nothing but us, the music, and the endless sky.
This... this is living.
Emma leans forward in her seat, grinning.
"I just realized—where exactly are we heading? And, uh, why?"
I laugh, keeping my hands steady on the Quinjet controls.
"We're headed to Neverland. A planet full of strange signs and crazy wonders. And..."
Charlotte, sitting beside me, cuts in with a smirk.
"And we're going to retrieve a magical helmet from an alien."
"A helmet?" Conner raises an eyebrow, chuckling. "What do we even need that for?"
Charlotte shrugs, tightening the strap across her chest.
"We're not using it. We're protecting it—from something worse."
Michael leans forward, frowning.
"What kind of 'worse' are we talking about?"
My eyes narrow.
"Not sure. But whatever it is, it's from a planet called Megan."
"Megan?" Emma says, puzzled. "Never heard of it."
Then—ping.
The dashboard flares to life.
DISTRESS SIGNAL LOCATED – TREASURE PLANET. SECTOR 9.12
The music keeps playing, but something changes in the air.
We all move at once.
Charlotte jams her boot against the floor.
Michael clenches his fist, steady and sure.
Emma pulls her gloves tighter.
Conner pushes off the wall, jaw tight, eyes locked in.
He speaks, low and certain.
"Let's move."
No second guessing.
I lean into the controls, wrapping both hands around them. The Quinjet dips and dives, a silent arrow cutting through the sky toward whatever's waiting for us. Behind us, the chorus fades, but the words stay alive in my head. Through the thick glass of the cockpit, space churns in front of me—violent, chaotic, alive.
Chunks of shattered rock drift by like floating tombstones, lit by bursts of crimson fire. A massive explosion ripples across the void, painting everything in a furious red. I see it clearly: a planet—or what's left of one—spiraling into itself, its crust torn open like paper. Bits of debris scatter, spinning wildly.
"I thought we were heading to Treasure Planet?" Conner says, leaning forward.
"I thought so," I murmur, my voice edged with fear.
My heart pounds as I bank the Quinjet hard to the right, narrowly missing a sharp shard of twisted metal that screams past. On my left, another blast erupts, illuminating a monstrous shadow moving through the wreckage—something enormous, serpentine, gliding between the ruins like a ghost. For a second, the stars vanish behind its massive form.
"What happened here?" Emma asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I force myself to breathe slower. Every second counts. The twin barrels of the turret hum with power, waiting—but I don't fire. Whatever did this… it might still be here.
"Everything is... gone," I whisper.
Ahead, a swirl of blue and purple gases glows like a storm given life. Lightning dances within, flashing silhouettes of broken cruisers and drifting bodies. One figure spins slowly past—a suit torn wide open, blood crystallized around the seams. My stomach clenches.
This isn't a battlefield.
It's a graveyard.
Suddenly, a dull thud strikes the front glass of the Quinn Jet.
Charlotte gasps sharply, stepping back. "What the hell was that?"
Outside, a body floats directly in front of us—a man, naked and covered in charred, blackened skin. Portions of his flesh are cracked open, revealing raw red muscle beneath. Smoke curls from his limbs. He looks barely alive.
Then—
His eyes twitch. Slowly, they open.
"Jesus Christ!" Michael shouts. His voice shakes, eyes wide with horror.
Conner stiffens. For the first time, he looks uncertain. "Is he alive? He's—he's looking at us..."
Emma clasps her hands to her mouth, trembling. Her knees buckle slightly, and she grips the belt of her seat for balance. "Oh my God... those burns... how is he even still breathing?"
Charlotte's face is pale, lips trembling. Her stormy eyes well up. "This... this can't be real. This isn't just destruction—this is annihilation."
"Bring him in, Conner." I said
"We don't need him." He said
"Yes, we do. We need to interview him."
Conner and Michael haul him inside the Quinjet.
He barely weighs anything.
His body hangs between them like soaked cloth, limbs stiff, cracked, and charred in places. His skin—what's left of it—clings like overcooked leather. Every inch of him looks like it's been cooked alive. Bits of ash fall from his back with each step, and the stench—burnt flesh, smoke, and something sour—fills the entire cabin.
They lay him gently on the metal table, but he still lets out a raw, broken sound—more like a whimper than a scream. I hear it catch in his throat. His chest rises in short, shallow gasps. Each breath sounds like it's dragging through glass.
His lips are blackened and cracked, eyelids swollen. His right eye is fused shut with melted skin. The left flutters open, glazed and wild. He's not seeing us. Not really.
Charlotte turns away immediately, covering her mouth.
"Oh my God," she whispers, eyes tearing up—not from emotion, but the smell. "This is disgusting. How is he even alive?"
Emma backs up until she's pressed against the wall. Her arms cross tightly over her chest, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on his burnt foot dangling off the edge of the table. "This is insane. We're not a rescue ship. We can't carry around half-dead corpses."
"He's a survivor," I say quietly, but no one answers. "Not a corpse."
Conner shakes his head, stepping back and wiping his hands on his pants, as if touching the man left something behind. "Dude... what's the point? He's done. I mean—look at him."
Michael doesn't say anything. He's standing still beside the table, eyes locked on the man's face.
The survivor moves.
Barely.
His fingers twitch, flaking away skin with the motion. One hand curls weakly. His lips part again, dry and shaking, trying to form words—but all that comes out is a rasping wheeze.
I step closer. I don't even realize it until I'm at the edge of the table.
He turns his head slowly toward me—like it costs everything he has. His eye catches mine for a second. Just a second. It's filled with something I can't name—raw fear, pain… and a question. Why am I still alive?
He shudders violently. I see his muscles clench, like a wave of pain ripples through him. His burnt chest tightens with another breath, and he lets out a dry cough that leaves blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
"Hey," I say gently, almost whispering. "You're safe now. We've got you."
He doesn't respond, but his trembling slows—just a little. Maybe he hears me. Maybe he wants to believe it.
Charlotte grabs a sanitizing cloth, covering her nose. "We need to wrap him in something. This—this is unhygienic. The air in here…"
Conner just shakes his head, still not moving. "He shouldn't have lived. No one on that planet is alive."
But Michael steps forward and looks them both in the eye. "It's a good thing he's alive. And that means something."
I glance back at the survivor, watching as his body trembles with each breath, nerves firing under ruined skin. His pain is constant. Real. I can see it in the way he winces at the cold air brushing his arm, the way he curls in when the ship hums beneath him.
This man has survived fire and death, yet he keeps moving.
"I have an idea," I say, turning to face them.
"Okay, what is it?" Michael asks, curious.
"Emma, I need you to probe his memories," I reply.
Emma furrows her brow, asking, "Excuse me?"
"It's the only way to get answers. We don't know who he is or how he survived the destruction of Treasure Planet—but something tells me we were meant to find him."
"No way. She's not delving into the mind of this burned stranger, reliving his nightmares." Conner protests.
"I'll do it," Emma declares suddenly, stepping forward and approaching the man.
She touches his head with both hands, closing her eyes in concentration. After a few tense moments, she withdraws her hands, visibly shaken as if waking from a nightmare.
"What did you find?" I ask, concerned, as we all look to Emma.
"He's... he's anxious, angry... overwhelmed with loss and guilt," Emma breathes heavily.
"So, you couldn't uncover who did this?" Michael queries, looking at her expectantly.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't," Emma replies softly. "His memories were too painful to endure. I saw flashes of agony and horror."
"I get it," Michael sighs, frustrated. "But we can't just save him and ignore what happened."
"You mean seek revenge for a stranger?!" Conner interjects angrily, glaring at Michael. "We don't even know if he's the enemy Christian warned us about!"
"He's not our enemy!" Michael retorts firmly.
"Enough!" I shout, silencing them, then speak calmly. "We heard Emma. He's in immense pain, isolated. Our lives changed with the Cyclotron explosion. Since then, we've sworn to protect the world and those in need." I gesture towards the burned man.
Emma, Michael, Conner, and Charlotte remain quiet, absorbing my words.
"I think I have a better idea," Emma finally speaks up, breaking the silence.
We all turn to her, waiting.
"If I can't read his memories, then maybe I can heal him," Emma continues.
"What does that mean?" I inquire, intrigued.
"I'll absorb his pain," Emma declares.
"What?!" Michael and I exclaim in unison.
"You can't be serious," Charlotte protests, shocked.
"Do any of you have a better plan?" Emma challenges us.
Conner, Michael, Charlotte and I remain silent, immersing her words.
She approaches the man decisively.
"Wait.... Are you sure about this?" I ask, hesitant.
Emma nods firmly, meeting my gaze, then touches the man's head with both hands. After a brief moment, Emma begins to tremble.
"Is she alright?" Conner asks, watching her closely.
"Yes. She knows what she's doing," I reassure him.
Emma's trembling intensifies, turning into violent shaking. She lets out a guttural cry, her body convulsing.
"Emma!" I cry out, rushing to her side with Michael.
We catch Emma as she collapses to the ground, blood trickling from her nose and eyes. The man stands, observing himself.
"Emma, are you okay?" Michael asks urgently.
"I... I'm fine," Emma manages to say, slowly getting back on her feet.
The man's wounds begin to heal gradually while he turns toward us. Not all the wounds get healed.
"Thank you, Emma." The stranger utters
Emma cleans the blood off her nose and eyes; "How are you feeling now?"
"Much better. Most of the pains are....gone." He said, looking at his body
"You're lucky we have a healer." Charlotte respond to him; "If not, you would still be in hell on Earth."
"I know, and that was why I appreciated her." The man utters "I'm also glad you all find me, alive."
"Same here." I said, moving close to him "I believe we can get answers from you. I mean, what happened here? How did you survive when everyone else are dead? What are you? And,.."
"There's nothing for you here, only death." He said and sits and places his hands on the table we laid him on
The word "death" makes us look at each other and wonder why he said so.
"What do you mean death?" Emma asked
The stranger remains silent and calm. We all perceive sorrow, pain and loss as soon as he looks at us. Then, I realize it's the villain Bloodlust warned us about.
"Oh shit." I said after realizing.
To be continued....