The Price of Power

[Michael Vellas]

In the bowls of the earth, the world was about to change. Eight men stood before him with an array of emotions from confused to expectant. The designated room had been cleared of everything. Nothing could pass the barrier between two worlds without examination and permission.

A little way off to the side, Marucs watched. Behind the recruits, a team of doctors waited, Dr. Weston foremost among them. The air was rife with wild tension. He could feel it in the bones of every soul in the room, if it was not fear, it was curiosity or hunger.

Cut in black, Michael was a tower of stark power. Even without the bubble of calm he felt at home. The energy in the room gave him life that did not pale in the face of these would-be Ascendants.

His message was plain but powerful. "Welcome, Ascendants. I am here to give you mastery over your power. You are the first, but you will not be the last. You have gained an extraordinary ability, but at a price."


A pale-faced man with hard eyes spoke up, his back stiff and gaze straight. A soldier. "Spare us the shit,"
he said in a French flavoured accent. "'With great power comes great responsibility.' 'You are maggots as you are.' I have heard it before. I did not survive to be put back in boot-camp."


Michael ignored the faces of the rest, focusing on the former soldier. "Your name?"
He asked in a neutral tone.

"Julian Monserre."


Michael stepped forward, some of the others fell back, some remained. He did not bother to take note of which. It was like looking into the faces of newborn children. Until they learned how to walk, he could not gauge them. Realising the power within changed a man for good or ill. It was then he would be most cautious.

"You remember what it was like. Good. Then demonstrate what comes next."
The man's confidence wavered as Michael held is eyes, but his pride would not allow him to back down. "Show me you are beyond it."


Several minutes passed in slience. Monserre grasped at the ascendant power five times before he caught it. Michael could here murmurs amongst the other seven as they felt the storm.

The 'storm' was little more than a sun-shower. It was barely a quarter of what he himself could summon.

While Monserre revelled in triumph, Michael remained cool. "A worthy feat. It is not easy to grasp such power. It takes some men days to do what you have."
Monserre's pride ballooned, but it was soon to be popped.

With deliberate calm, Michael stepped forward without haste and punched Monserre in the stomach. The wind lunged from his lungs and the power fled his feeble grasp, sending a spark of power through the man's body that threw him halfway across the room.

When Monserre struggled to his feet, his steps were unsteady and he looked like he was about to vomit.

Michael turned back to the other seven. "Julian was lucky he was not killed. It may be an old saying, but it applies to this more than anything you have done. We are playing with fire. At any moment, if you cannot control yourself or your power, it will devour you. It is an eternal struggle, and one mistake can prove fatal. Now, your names."


The replies were simple and boast-less, even if some still held a fire in their eyes.

The Korean man, Im Seung Jun. An smooth-shaved Iranian, Karim al'Shadis. Dominik Taichechski; his young Russian eyes burned bright with hunger. Samuel Leweski, another Russian younger still. Sanjay Ramanujan, a soft-spoken Indian. Anthony Petrovic, Bosnian IT expert and Allan Rykovi last, a British born Russian with a small smile.

He gazed at his recruits and measured their worth. Aside from the disappointment of Monserre, they were a mix of ordinary men who had lived ordinary lives, but they were his, and he would make them extraordinary.