Reckoners 01 - Steelheart

head as I knelt, bloodied, before him. He always liked to use his enemy’s own weapon against him. That was part of the pattern. The wind stirred the smoke rising around us.
    “That’s the secret,” I said. “You keep us in darkness. You show off your terrible powers. You kill, you allow the Epics to kill, you turn men’s own weapons against them. You even spread false rumors about how horrible you are, as if you can’t be bothered to be as evil as you want to be. You want us to be afraid …”
    Steelheart’s eyes widened.
    “… because you can only be hurt by someone who doesn’t fear you,” I said. “But such a person doesn’t really exist, do they? You make sure of it. Even the Reckoners, even Prof himself. Even me. We are all afraid of you. Fortunately I know someone who isn’t afraid of you, and never has been.”
    “You know nothing,” he growled.
    “I know everything,” I whispered. Then I smiled.
    Steelheart pulled the trigger.
    Inside the gun, the hammer struck the back of the bullet’scasing. Gunpowder exploded, and the bullet sprang forward, summoned to kill.
    In the barrel, it struck the thing I had lodged there. A slender pen, with a button you can click on the top. It was just small enough to fit into the gun. A detonator. Connected to explosives beneath our feet.
    The bullet hit the trigger and pushed it in.
    I swore I could watch the explosion unfold. Each beat of my heart seemed to take an eternity. Fire channeled upward, steel ground ripping apart like paper. Terrible redness to match the peaceful beauty of the sunrise.
    The fire consumed Steelheart and all around him; it ripped his body apart as he opened his mouth to scream. Skin flayed, muscles burned, organs shredded. He turned eyes toward the heavens, consumed by a volcano of fire and fury that opened at his feet. In that fraction of a sliver of a moment, Steelheart—greatest of all Epics—died.
    He could only be killed by someone who didn’t fear him.
    He had pulled the trigger himself.
    He had caused the detonation himself.
    And as that arrogant, self-confident sneer implied, Steelheart did
not
fear himself. He was, perhaps, the only person alive who did not.
    I didn’t really have time to smile in that frozen moment, but I was feeling it nonetheless as the fire came for me.

41
    I watched the shifting pattern of red, orange, and black. A wall of fire and destruction. I watched it until it vanished. It left a black scar on the ground in front of me, surrounding a hole five paces wide—the blast crater of the explosion.
    I watched it all, and found myself still alive. I’ll admit, it was the most baffling moment in my life.
    Someone groaned behind me. I spun to see Prof sitting up. His clothing was covered in blood and he had a few scratches on his skin, but his skull was whole. Had I mistaken the extent of his injuries?
    Prof had his hand forward, palm out. The tensor he’d been wearing was in tatters. “Sparks,” he said. “Another inch or so and I wouldn’t have been able to stop it.” He coughed into his fist. “You’re a lucky little slontze.”
    Even as he spoke, the scratches on his skin pulled together,healing.
Prof’s an Epic
, I thought.
Prof’s an
Epic.
That was an energy shield he created to block the explosion!
    He stumbled to his feet, looking around the stadium. A few Enforcement soldiers were running away, fleeing as they saw him rise. They seemed to want no part of whatever was happening in the center of the field.
    “How …,” I said. “How long?”
    “Since Calamity,” Prof said, cracking his neck. “You think an ordinary person could have stood against Steelheart as long as I did tonight?”
    Of course not. “The inventions are all fakes, aren’t they?” I said, realization dawning. “You’re a gifter! You
gave
us your abilities. Shielding abilities in the form of jackets, healing ability in the form of the harmsway, and destructive powers in the form of the tensors.”
    “Don’t know why I did it,” Prof said. “You pathetic little …”
    He groaned, raising his hand to his head, then gritted his teeth and roared.
    I scrambled back, startled.
    “It’s so hard to fight,” he said through clenched teeth. “The more you use it, the … Arrrrr!” He knelt down, holding his head. He was quiet for a few minutes, and I let him be, not knowing what to say. When he raised his head, he seemed more in control. “I give it away,” he said, “because if I use it … it does