The Quantum Prophecy

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TEN YEARS EARLIER… (#ulink_2038984f-973e-54a1-836f-28b5ebf2ec57)

RENATA SOLIZ STOOD in the centre of the empty field, directly in the path of the approaching figure.

She had her long black hair tied back and was wearing grey jeans and a plain red T-shirt. The only thing that marked her out as anything other than a normal girl was a pair of thick leather gloves and the black Zorro mask she’d “borrowed” from her little brother.

The midday sun broke through the clouds and illuminated the tall man making his way towards her.

Renata stood her ground, watching him approach.

Though Dioxin was still twenty metres away, there was a stench of death about him: a putrid, damp, fungal smell that reminded Renata of the rotting timbers in the basement of her grandmother’s house. He sneered at her as he stomped forward over the rough ground, his grin spreading across the blotched yellow and red skin of his face like an opening wound. “Haven’t you got the sense to run away, little girl?”

He continued walking towards her, the grass dying where his bare feet touched it.

Renata watched him carefully. She knew all about Dioxin, knew what he could do. His skin oozed a thick, clear, acid-like venom and if his touch didn’t scorch the flesh from your bones, it infected you with a deadly poison.

Dioxin stopped a couple of metres away. “Seriously. Run away.”

Energy had told Renata that of all the villains she had faced, the one who scared her most was Dioxin. Ragnarök was incredibly intelligent, strong and fast; Brawn was four metres tall and capable of knocking a moving train clear off its tracks; Slaughter was a ruthless killing machine; but they were nothing compared to Dioxin.

“So what do they call you?” Dioxin sneered.

“Diamond.”

Dioxin looked her up and down. “What’s the deal here, kid? Don’t tell me that you’re one of Titan’s crew! You’re what, fifteen?”

“Fourteen.”

“Fourteen. And you think you can stop me?”

With that, Dioxin lunged towards her, his poisonous arms outstretched.

Paragon quickly checked the information that was projected on to the inside of his visor. Flight power was down to less than forty per cent.

A plasma bolt hit him in the left shoulder, burning a hole into his armour. He dodged to the right, quickly unclipped the still-burning shoulder pad and let it fall to the ground. A deep red welt appeared on his dark skin. One of the few active superheroes who didn’t have any superhuman abilities, Paragon relied on his armour and weapons as much as his natural intelligence and athletic abilities, but there were times when even these weren’t enough.

Paragon was sweating – and it wasn’t just from the weight of his armour, or the heat of the plasma bolts.

This was a bad situation.

There had been no sign of Ragnarök for months and now this: a hundred-metre-long mobile fortress, rumbling its way across Pennsylvania towards the city of New York. The tank stopped for nothing; cars, trees and even houses were crushed beneath its giant wheels. Unable to halt or even slow the machine’s progress, the police and army had concentrated on evacuating people from its path.

Another volley of plasma bolts streaked towards him and Paragon cut the power to his jetpack and dropped, angling his descent so that he was falling directly into the path of the enormous battle-tank.

He reactivated his jetpack ten metres above the ground and found himself face-to-face with Ragnarök, protected by the battle-tank’s metre-thick windshield.

They stared at each other for a split second, then Ragnarök frantically gestured to one of his henchmen, mouthing the words “Kill him!”

The armoured hero dodged to his left just as a huge column of white flame scorched the air around him.

He swooped down towards the battle-tank’s undercarriage, settled long enough to attach the explosive charge, and then zoomed away, dodging a storm of bullets and plasma bolts.

Paragon glanced around. He could see Energy floating above the battle-tank, using her powers to deflect the tank’s fire away from the others. Paragon activated the communicator built into his helmet. “Everyone! Pull back! Three seconds!”

There was a flurry of activity as the assembled superheroes darted to a safe distance, then—

The sound of the explosion was almost unnoticeable over the roar of the tank’s massive engines, but everyone felt it; the ground trembled, the blast rattling windows for ten kilometres in every direction.

Paragon peered through the huge column of smoke and dust. He activated his visor’s infrared filters and … Yes! The tank was burning!

“All right, people!” Paragon said. “Maybe the big guy isn’t with us, but it looks like we’ve just had our first break. Max?”

Max Dalton’s voice said, “I’m here, Paragon.”

“Get inside the thing. See if you can lock on to someone.”

“I’m on it.”

“Energy, follow him. You might need to shield him against weapons-fire.”

“Will do,” Energy said.

“Quantum?”

Silence.

Paragon paused. “All right. We’ll have to do it without him. Anyone know how Diamond is holding up?”

Dioxin raged. He ranted. This is impossible!

He’d reached out to infect her and the girl – Diamond – had simply locked her hands around his wrist and changed.

It had taken less than a second; she had shimmered, glistened and become solid, unmoving and transparent. Even her hair and clothes had changed. It was as though she’d been replaced with a statue carved out of solid diamond.

Dioxin couldn’t shake her off. She wasn’t moving. He didn’t think that she could move in this form. All she was doing was holding on to his wrist, still staring at him with that determined look on her face.

A voice called out, “Dioxin!”

He turned to see an annoyingly familiar figure behind him.

Dioxin sighed. “Dalton.”

Joshua Dalton smiled. “You can let go now, Diamond.”