The textbooks in 2029 call it an evolutionary leap. The grieving call it a culling. But to those who saw the sky turn the color of a bruised lung back in '57, it was simply The Selection.
They didn't see a miracle coming. They saw an obituary.
It arrived as a ghost on the radar. A massive, light-bending anomaly the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics and the United States both tried to nuke out of the atmosphere. They failed. The fancy name in the classified files was the Non-Baryonic Event Horizon Flux, but science didn't matter when the cloud touched the ground.
They expected the end of days. They predicted the total extinction of the human race as the dark matter rearranged the very atoms of the air. But humanity was stubborn.
Ten percent of the world, Two hundred and ninety million people ceased to exist in the first seventy-two hours. Their biology hit a wall it couldn't climb, and they simply dissolved into the soil. The other ninety percent? They were the ones who had to live with what came next.
For seventy-two years, that dark matter has been a slow-acting poison, or a slow-burning fuel, depending on who you ask. With every passing generation, the 'Flux' in the blood has grown denser. What started with people being able to see in the dark, or an old man who was never tired in the 60s became the Prime Heroes of the 90s. And now, in 2029, the third and fourth generations are hitting the streets with powers that made the old gods look like parlor tricks.
In this new world, the Enhanced aren't just celebrities, they are a different subspecies. The mutation gets stronger every year, and the gap between the survivors and the titans is widening into a canyon.
But while the world watches the sky for the next bright light, they're missing the shift in the dirt. They think they understand the Flux. They think the Dark Matter was a gift. They don't realize that when the Selection happened, it didn't just change our DNA. It broke the seal on a basement door that had been locked since the beginning of time.
And something in that basement just realized the latch is gone.
********†********
The air in the house was thick with the smell of cheap malt liquor and the heavy, humid heat of a California night. It was March 29th, 2018.
The flickering blue light of the television was the only thing illuminating the darkened living room. Seven-year-old Ark sat cross-legged on the carpet, his eyes wide and reflecting the golden streak of a man flying across the screen.
News Anchor: ...unprecedented coordination from the Vanguard. Reports coming in from three continents confirm the meteor fragments have been neutralized. But the threat isn't over. In the heart of Brussels, the city is trembling under the weight of Malakor the Void-Stitcher.
On the screen, the sky was tearing open, not like the Flux, but like a jagged wound. A towering figure clad in shifting, obsidian armor that seemed to swallow the light around it was throwing the world's greatest heroes around like ragdolls. Synapse was down. Geos was buried under a mountain of rubble.
Then, a sonic boom rattled the news camera.
Paragon descended like a falling star. His gold armor was cracked, and a streak of blood ran down his temple, but he didn't flinch. He caught Malakor's obsidian blade with his bare hands, the sheer force of the impact leveling the surrounding buildings.
Ark: (Whispering) Go, Paragon... get him...
Ark's small fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. When Paragon finally delivered the finishing blow, a burst of pure solar energy that shattered Malakor's armor and sent the villain spiraling into the earth. Ark jumped up, a tiny, genuine smile breaking across his face.
Ark: He did it!. Paragon did it!.
CLICK.
The screen went black. The sudden silence in the room was heavy and suffocating.
Ark froze. Standing by the TV was a shadow that smelled of sour sweat and cheap bourbon. Dusk Jefferson stood there, his hand still on the power button, his breathing ragged and uneven. He looked at Ark not with pride, but with a simmering, pathetic jealousy.
Dusk: You think that's real?. You think some guy in a cape gives a damn about you?.
Dusk didn't wait for an answer. He stumbled past Ark, clipping the boy's shoulder and sending him stumbling toward the coffee table. He marched into the kitchen, the floorboards groaning under his weight. Ark heard the fridge door swing open, then the sound of glass bottles clinking as they were shoved aside.
Dusk: (Yelling from the kitchen) Ark!. Get in here!
Ark's heart dropped into his stomach. He slowly walked to the kitchen doorway, his hands trembling behind his back.
Dusk: Where's the food?. I've been out all day trying to make something of this pathetic life, and there's nothing on the table?
Ark: Mo..Mom went out to get something. She said she'd be back soon with groceries.
Dusk turned around slowly, his face flushed a deep, ugly red. He leaned against the counter, his ego bruised by the silence of an empty house and the stomach-turning realization of his own failure.
Dusk: Went out?. On my money?. With the little we have left?
Ark: Dad, no. She said she's using her own money.
He took a step toward Ark, his shadow stretching across the laminate floor, completely erasing the memory of the golden hero on the TV.
Inside the cramped kitchen, Dusk Jefferson was a looming shadow of a man, his face showing a cocktail of failure and bottled-up rage. He hadn't worked in a year, and every time he looked at his son, he saw a reminder of everything he couldn't control.
Dusk: You think you're better than me?. Look at me when I'm talking to you!.
He slammed a hand against the laminate table, making the mismatched plates rattle. Amanda Volks stepped in and immediately came between them, her hands trembling as she reached for Dusk's arm.
Amanda: Dusk, please. He's just a kid. He's tired. Let him go to bed.
Dusk: Shut up, Amanda!. You've coddled this bastard since the day he was born. He needs to learn who the man in this house is!.
Dusk's ego was a brittle thing, and tonight, it had finally snapped. He lunged for Amanda, his hand raised to strike, but a small, desperate blur moved faster.
Ark didn't think. He didn't feel powerful. He just felt a cold, sharp terror. His hand closed around the handle of a steak knife left on the counter. With a strangled cry, he drove the blade into Dusk's thigh.
Dusk: AAGH!. You little piece of—!. I'll kill you!.
Dusk collapsed, clutching his leg, his eyes turning murderous as he tried to grab the boy's throat. Amanda didn't hesitate. She threw her entire weight against Dusk, pinning him down for a fraction of a second.
Amanda: RUN, ARK!. DON'T LOOK BACK!. JUST RUN!.
Ark didn't wait to hear the rest of the order. He burst through the screen door, the mesh slapping against the frame, and hit the dirt road at a dead sprint.
He ran until his lungs felt like they were filled with broken glass. He ran past the neighbors darkened houses, past the rusted-out cars on cinder blocks, and deep into the rural brush where the streetlights didn't reach.
He was seven years old, alone in the dark, and his hands were stained with the blood of the only father he had ever known. He tripped over a jagged root and tumbled into a dry ravine, his small body shaking with silent, heaving sobs.
Ark: Mom... please...
He curled into a ball in the dirt, the silence of the LA hills pressing in on him. He wasn't a hero. He wasn't a fighter. He was just a boy who had finally broken under the weight of a house that had never felt like a home.
The dry brush of the ravine scratched at Ark's arms as he curled into a small, shivering ball. His chest heaved with ragged, silent sobs, his little mind replaying the metallic slide of the knife and the roar of the man he'd left bleeding on the kitchen floor. The dirt was cold, but the house he'd fled was colder.
In the heavy silence of the rural LA night, the crickets suddenly stopped.
A shadow lengthened across the dirt, tall and impossibly still. Ark flinched, pressing his back against a jagged rock, his eyes wide and stinging with tears. Standing just a few feet away was a man who looked like he had stepped out of a different century. He was dressed in a charcoal-black, impeccably tailored suit, the kind a high-ranking butler would wear in the mansions of crazy fantasy movies.
The man tilted his head, his gaze piercing the dark.
The Butler: A child?
His voice was like velvet over gravel. Smooth, but with a dangerous weight behind it. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as if he were seeing something pulsing beneath Ark's skin.
The Butler: Why do you carry the aura of our Lord?
Ark flinched, his sneakers skidding in the loose gravel as he tried to scramble further away. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Ark: S-stay away!. Don't touch me!
Valerion paused, his sharp eyes dropping from the boy's terrified face to the dark, purple bruises blooming on his collarbone and the raw marks on his wrists. The man's expression shifted, the cold curiosity was replaced by a smooth, professional calm. He slowly sank to one knee in the dirt, keeping a respectful distance.
Valerion: Peace, little one. I am not here to add to your burdens.
He adjusted his silver cufflinks, his movements graceful and precise, designed to show he wasn't a threat.
Valerion: My name is Valerion. You have no reason to trust me, but you have even less reason to stay in this ditch.
Ark wiped his nose with a soot-stained sleeve, his sobbing slowing to ragged hiccups. He looked at Valerion's polished shoes, then back up at the man's face. The terror was still there, but the sheer exhaustion of the night was starting to take over. He felt small, so much smaller than the man in the suit.
Ark: My... my name is Ark.
He whispered it, his voice cracking. He looked back toward the distant lights of the farmhouse he'd fled, his small body beginning to shake again.
Ark: He's gonna find me... he said he'd kill me
Valerion's eyes flickered with a faint, unnatural light, a brief flash of his 'gift' as he looked at the boy's essence. What he saw made him go very still. The signature was unmistakable. It was a power that shouldn't exist outside.
Valerion stood up slowly, a faint, knowing smile touching his lips.
Valerion: Tell me, Ark... do you wish to return to that man?. To the one who gave you those marks?
Ark: NO!
The scream ripped out of Ark's throat, raw and desperate. He gripped his own arms, his eyes wide with the memory of the kitchen floor and the smell of bourbon. Memories of every single time Dusk have ever abused him came rushing in.
Ark: Please... don't make me go back. I don't want to go back there.
Valerion reached out a hand, palm up, waiting for Ark to make the choice. He looked at the child with a quiet, certain kindness.
Valerion: Then you shan't. If this place has nothing for you but bruises and hunger, then come with me.
He looked at Ark, his voice dropping to a gentle, steady tone.
Valerion: I will take you to a better place.
********†********
The rural edge of LA hadn't changed much in eleven years, though the air felt heavier.
A young man stood at the edge of the dirt road, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of a clean, white hoodie. Ark was eighteen now, his frame lean and his posture too calm for someone standing in a graveyard of memories. He looked at the scorched patch of earth where his house used to sit. It was nothing but a concrete foundation now, choked with weeds and blackened by an old fire.
He walked toward the neighbor's house, the same one with the rusted-out cars on cinder blocks. An old man was sitting on the porch, squinting through the hazy afternoon sun.
Ark: Excuse me.
The old man jumped slightly, startled by how the young man seemed to appear out of the shadows without a sound.
Old Man: Can I help you, son?. You lookin for someone?
Ark: I used to live here. A long time ago. I'm looking for Amanda Volks.
The old man's face went slack. He let out a long, whistling breath and leaned back in his creaky chair, looking at Ark with a mix of pity and suspicion. He didn't recognize the boy, he just saw a stranger asking about a tragedy.
Old Man: You're about eleven years too late for that, kid. That's a name we don't say much round these parts.
Ark didn't flinch. He just waited, his expression as still as deep water.
Old Man: It was a hell of a night. Back in '18. Their boy ran off, just vanished into the brush, and that man of hers, Dusk... he lost it. Neighbors heard the screaming, heard the furniture breaking. By the time the sirens were coming up the road, he'd already... well, he'd stabbed her to death.
Ark's hands tightened inside his pockets, but he didn't make a sound.
Old Man: Cops surrounded the place. Dusk wasn't gonna go quiet. He came out onto that porch with a gun, firing at anything that moved. They didn't give him a second chance. Gunning him down was the only way it was gonna end. House burned down a week later.
Ark stood perfectly still. The wind kicked up a swirl of dust around his sneakers, but he didn't blink. The world had moved on, but for him, the clock had just reset.
Ark: (Quietly) And the boy?
Old Man: Never found a trace. Most figure the coyotes got him, or he fell down a ravine and the earth just swallowed him up. Poor kid never stood a chance.
Ark turned his gaze back to the empty footing of his home.
Ark: he did.
Ark turned away from the foundation of his old life, the dust of the ravine still clinging to his white hoodie. He pulled a sleek, obsidian-black phone from his pocket. It didn't look like any model sold in the Apple store, the screen glowed with a deep, liquid violet light.
The phone vibrated before he could even dial.
Valerion: I assume the homecoming was... enlightening?
Ark: (Voice low) Not exactly as we hoped, Valerion. She's gone. Eleven years ago. The same night I left.
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Valerion didn't offer empty platitudes or fake sympathy. He knew the weight of time better than anyone.
Valerion: I am sorry, Ark. Truly. But perhaps this is the closure you required to step out of the shadow. You have spent a decade preparing. Now, you may finally start living the life you told me you wanted in that ravine.
Ark: You mean like him?.
Ark looked up at a distant billboard, where a weathered but still smiling Paragon was promoting a charity for Flux-affected youth.
Valerion: If that is your wish. To be a hero, to save those who cannot save themselves... that path is yours to walk. Your father, before his most recent... departure, ensured you would have the foundation to do so. He has left a penthouse for you in Uptown LA. A base of operations, if you will.
Ark let out a short, dry chuckle, the first hint of warmth in his voice all day.
Ark: Let me guess. He ran away again?
Valerion: (With a heavy, audible sigh) Unfortunately, yes. His restlessness is... legendary. I am currently tracking a lead in the Mediterranean.
Ark: (Grinning slightly) Good luck with that. Safe travels, Valerion. Tell the old man I said thanks for the keys.
Valerion: Be careful, Ark. The world is much louder than it was when you were seven.
Ark: I know gramps.
Valerion: I take offence at that.
Ark immediately hung up, tucked the phone away and walked toward the main road. Waiting at the curb was a matte-black SUV with windows so tinted they looked like solid ink. As Ark approached a man with a military-straight posture and eyes that seemed to hold a flicker of something not quite human stepped out and opened the rear door.
He didn't just nod. He bowed his head low, a gesture of absolute fealty.
The Driver: Welcome back, my liege.
Ark paused, one hand on the doorframe. He let out a soft, tired huff of a laugh, shaking his head as he looked at the man.
Ark: We've talked about this, Malphas. "Ark" is fine. We're in LA, not a throne room.
Malphas: (A ghost of a smile appearing) As you wish, my Liege. But old habits die hard in the service of your blood. It is good to see you in the light again.
Ark slid into the plush leather seat, the door closing with a heavy, pressurized thud that cut off the noise of the city. Malphas climbed into the driver's seat but didn't put the car in gear yet. He looked into the rearview mirror, his expression shifting to one of quiet significance.
Malphas: Before we make our way to the penthouse, your father left a final gift. He felt your homecoming required a... proper accompaniment.
He reached over to the passenger seat and lifted a long, heavy case wrapped in charcoal-grey silk. He handed it back to Ark.
Ark took the weight of it, his fingers tracing the texture of the fabric. He unwrapped it slowly, revealing two neatly packaged swords. The scabbards were made of a strange, matte-black material that didn't reflect the streetlights outside, it was like they were made of solidified shadows. The hilts were simple, elegant, and perfectly balanced.
Ark drew one just an inch. The blade didn't shine like steel, it hummed with a low, subatomic frequency that made the air in the SUV grow cold.
Malphas: They are special, if you want them to be. They will cut whatever your will demands.
Ark stared at the twin blades for a long moment, the violet light of his phone reflecting in the dark metal. He slid the blade back into the scabbard with a sharp click and leaned his head back against the headrest, letting out a long, heavy sigh.
Ark: (Muttering) Dad always did have a habit of overdoing things. I asked for a life, and he gave me a means of war.
Malphas: He gave you options, my liege. Whether you use them to save a life or end one... that is the life he has granted you.
Ark: do you hear the words that are coming out of your mouth?.
Malphas shifted the car into drive, and the SUV began to glide toward the glowing towers of Uptown LA.
The SUV glided through a skeletal district where the neon of the city died and was replaced by the flickering orange of trash fires. Ark's head suddenly snapped to the side. His pupils dilated, turning into thin, predatory needles.
Ark: Malphas. Stop.
The car hadn't even fully settled before Ark was out. He stood in the middle of the cracked asphalt, staring at a massive, windowless concrete block. A sign hung crookedly over the bay: 'MULLER'S WHOLESALE MEATS.' The rhythmic thud-thud-thud of heavy cleavers hitting bone echoed from inside.
Ark: Are you hearing the same thing I am?
Malphas stepped out, his shadow bleeding into the pavement. He closed his eyes for a second, his nostrils flaring.
Malphas: It is faint, my liege. Beneath the sound of the saws. Small lungs... gasping for air between the blows of a club. Children.
Ark's aura didn't just flare, it turned heavy, a localized gravity that made the gravel around his sneakers grind into dust. His face remained calm, but his eyes were a storm of violet static.
Ark: I hear the clubs hitting their body. I hate this.
He tried his best to look as calm as he could. Malphas knocked on the rusty metallic door and Ark made his way in. Inside, twelve butchers dropped their saws. These didn't look like men, they were human-shaped rot in the eyes of Ark.
Butcher 1: good day sir. How can we be of service?.
Ark: drop the act, I hear the children crying
Butcher 2: oh. Then I'm sorry, but you have to die.
They all immediately swung at Ark with their various gifts. One man's skin turned to jagged, rusted iron, another began to vomit a corrosive, neon-green acid that hissed against the floor. They moved with the coordination of a pack.
Ark: Malphas. Stand back.
Ark moved. He didn't just fight, he dissected the room. He caught the iron-man's punch and, with a terrifying display of raw strength, ripped the arm clean off at the shoulder. He moved to the next, a blur in a white hoodie, delivering kicks that shattered femurs and elbows with surgical precision. He wasn't killing them, he was making sure they would never stand again. By the time he reached the elevator to the sub-level, the floor was a sea of crippled, screaming men crawling on their own blood.
He descended.
The basement opened into a nightmare. Cages. Dozens of them. The children were shackled to tables where "Doctors" in stained aprons were injecting them with glowing, unstable Flux-residue. The air smelled of burnt hair and copper.
Ark froze. The sight of a small boy curled in the corner of a cage, his back a map of fresh welts, hit him like a physical blow. His hand went to his chest, his breath hitching as the memory of a kitchen in 2018 flooded his mind. The metallic slide of a knife. The smell of bourbon.
Ark: Malphas. Father's gift.
Malphas appeared at his shoulder, presenting the charcoal-grey case. Ark drew the twin blades. They didn't ring, they hummed with the sound of a dying star.
The three doctors stepped from the shadows behind the cages.
Vora the Leech. A woman whose skin moved like liquid mercury, capable of absorbing the life-force of anything she touched.
Krieg. A massive brute whose sweat was nitroglycerin. Every movement he made caused localized explosions.
The Neuro-Weaver. A spindly, pale creature with psychic tendrils that could force a victim to relive their worst trauma until their brain fried.
The Neuro-Weaver: (His voice a psychic hiss) what have we here?. Ohhh, the taste I'm getting from you. I can't wait to have a bite.
Vora: He'll make a fine battery. The Lord of the Basement provides a feast.
Ark: Malphas. Get the children out. These three... I'm sending them to whoever their lord is . And I'll make sure to kill their lord too.
Malphas: My liege?
Ark: (Coldly) I... won't repeat myself.
Kreig: and what makes you think we'll let you do what ever you want kid?.
Ark: please come at me. Or would you prefer the opposite?.
Without waiting for a response, Ark charged at them. Krieg lunged forward, his fists detonating as they hit Ark's crossed blades. The shockwave leveled the cages, luckily malphas had already evacuated the children around that area. That pissed off Ark though. He spun, his left blade a dark arc that sheared through Krieg's explosive arm. Vora tried to wrap her liquid limbs around his neck, but immediately found herself heating up and solidifying, didn't take long for her to turn into glass.
Suddenly, the Neuro-Weaver's eyes glowed. Ark staggered, his vision blurring into images of his mother's face.
Neuro-Weaver: DIE IN YOUR OWN MEMORY!
Krieg, despite his missing arm, roared and delivered a blow to Ark's chest. The force was astronomical. Ark was sent hurtling upward, smashing through the reinforced concrete ceiling, through the slaughterhouse floor, and out into the night sky.
He hovered for a fraction of a second in the air before gravity took hold. Kreig had some a mistake of knocking Ark back to his senses. He crashed back down through the hole, landing on his feet in a crater of rubble.
He didn't wait. He didn't feel pain. He just felt pure rage.
He moved like a ghost. He crossed the distance in a heartbeat. The right blade took Vora's head clean off, her glassy-mercury body breaking and splashing onto the floor like spilled paint. Before Krieg could detonate again, Ark's left blade entered his throat and exited the back of his skull. The brute fell like a mountain of lead.
Only the Neuro-Weaver remained, his legs severed at the knees by a backhand sweep of the shadow-blade. He was crawling away, leaving a trail of black ichor.
Ark stood over him, the right blade raised, the tip vibrating with the intent to erase.
Voice: stop child
The basement was flooded with a gold so bright it blinded the darkness. Paragon descended through the hole Ark had made in the ceiling. He looked at the bodies, then at the children being carried out by Malphas.
Ark: (Gasping, eyes wide) Paragon?. You're... you're here. Why are you here?.
Paragon: (smiling) I am a hero. Shouldn't I be trying to safe lives?.
Ark: yes.... Yes you should.
Paragon: you've done a great thing today. Those kids are gonna have a better future because of you. You saved them. But do not take that life, son. Put the blade away.
Ark: wha-what?. He tortured them!. He tortured kids!!. He made them live through their worst nightmares over and over!. He deserves to die!
Paragon stepped closer, landing softly on the blood-slicked floor. He didn't look like a god in that moment, he looked like a concerned father. He placed a heavy, warm hand on Ark's shoulder.
Paragon: I know this. I know way more than you do. But you're a kid who has a lot of life to live. Don't start by becoming them
Ark: I already killed two of them, what's the assurance that I'm not already them. Paragon: I don't think you had a choice for those two. From where I stand, it was self defence. But now kid, you do have a choice. Choose right.
Ark: (sniffs heavily)
Paragon: what's your name?.
Ark: I'm Ark. Ark Morningstar.
Paragon: listen Ark. I know you think this is justice, it's not. It's just you becoming a monster but giving yourself a stupid goal so as not to feel like one. You call it a sense of justice but in reality, you're just a killer. You've saved the kids. Let that be what you're known for.
Ark: (sniffs) bu...but it's just not fair. He has to pay for what he did to those kids.
Paragon: he will. I promise you he will.
Ark looked at Paragon's eyes, those legendary, honest eyes. He felt the violet rage in his blood begin to cool. He slowly lowered the blade.
Ark: (Whispering) I... I want to be like you. I don't want to be a monster.
Paragon: (Smiling softly) don't be like me, be better than me.
The Neuro-Weaver, sensing a gap, began to cackle, coughing up black fluid.
Neuro-Weaver: (Wheezing) Oh, look at the big man!. Mercy!. How sweet!. I'll be back in six months, Paragon. And I'll start with tracking down this boy, and I'll make sure to kill him and everyone he loves. I'll make them scream until their hearts stop!. You can't keep me locked up forever!. You know that
Paragon didn't flinch. He didn't even look angry. He just looked... resolved.
In a movement that happened in a fraction of a millisecond, Paragon's hand shot out.
CRACK!.
The sound echoed off the concrete walls like a gunshot. Paragon had snapped the Neuro-Weaver's neck with the same effort one would use to flick a speck of dust. The villain's body went limp instantly.
Ark staggered back, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Ark: You... you just... you told me not to!. You said I had to be better!. Why?
Paragon stood up, his golden cape settling. He looked at the corpse, then back at Ark. For a second, the gold light around him flickered, revealing a man who was carrying the weight of a billion deaths.
Paragon: I am a hero who lived during the darkest times of our existence, Ark. I've done things I'm not proud of. Things that keep me awake when the world thinks I'm resting on a cloud.
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, humane growl.
Paragon: ( looking sad with tears) I know I'm a hypocrite, but I'll rather be a hypocrite than watch you or another child turn out like me. I want you to live in a future where you don't have to know what the sound of inhumane death feels like. I want you to be the hero who can smile and mean it. If I can create a world where children like you, who have already seen too much blood can live in pure happiness with no stains on your soul... then I will do anything. I will be the killer, Ark. I will carry the sin into my death bed, So you can stay in the light.
Ark: (weakly) what happened during those times?. The darkest times.
Paragon: (chuckles) an eighteen year old who just appeared out of no where without any memory but one word he felt was his mom's. "Make the world a better place". That eighteen year old found out he had absurd powers and wanted to use it for good, but there were greedy people who wanted it for worse. They captured the eighteen year old and put him through the worst kind of torture, hoping to at least clone his gift. For as long as I can remember, the world has been a shitty place. But I'm hoping that before I eventually die. I'll make this world a better place. For you and every other child out there.
Ark stared at him, his mouth agape. He realized that Paragon wasn't just his hero, he was a protector from a darkness Paragon had already accepted for himself.
Malphas immediately stepped in to notify Ark that the police had arrived and it was time to go.
Paragon: one more thing kid, look at your shirt, in a place filled with blood, they remained white. Keep your soul that way. And I assure you, you'll be a better hero than me
Ark: thank you paragon.
Paragon: (smiling weakly) now hit it. I'll handle the reports.