Powerful: A Powerless Story
Powerful: Chapter 20

A parade of bodies lines the path to the Bowl.

The sun beats down on my bent head, slicking me with sweat. I look around, scanning the hundreds of Ilyans trudging from all directions. It seems that the entirety of the slums has come to see the outcome of this final Trial.

I feel the press of each power, weighing down my steps. Following the current, I blend in with the bodies surrounding us and continue the trek to the looming arena.

Under different circumstances, I would have only been walking for little more than an hour. But with this crowd and the aggravating ability they possess to walk as slowly as possible, it takes much longer than that.

The sun is at its most scolding point in the sky by the time we file towards one of the many tunnels leading into the Bowl. The arena is coated in concrete, looking cold and uninviting. Conversations and footfalls echo off the arch of the tunnel we walk through before we are spit out onto the raised ring of pavement above the Pit floor.

Rows of seats rise towards the sky, filled with thousands of cheering Elites. The sheer size of this place is intimidating, let alone what is happening below us in the Pit. A giant maze of menacing hedges stretches across the sand, encircling a large opening in the center of it all.

I stand there, gawking at the arena as people brush past me in search of a seat. Only then am I reminded that I need to replace one of my own and start striding further down the path.

‘Not only do you have to be the first contestant to reach the middle…’

The source of this booming voice comes from a large glass box further down the path.

The king.

I swallow, feeling years of fear come rushing up my tightening throat. I always thought the day I saw the king would be my very last. But there’s still time for that.

‘… you must also kill the person that awaits you there,’ he finishes, his eyes on the arena though irrationality has me worrying that they will replace mine. But his words faze me least of all. I’m unsurprised by his willingness to sacrifice a criminal from his dungeons in order to put on a good show. Anything to up the stakes for his contestants.

The rest of his speech fades away as I focus on replaceing the one person I’m here for. Hundreds of powers buzz in my blood, and it’s a struggle to suppress them in search of her. I haven’t had much practice with the very ability I possess, seeing that I’ve been forced to hide it my entire life. So I hone in on the first, faint Phaser I can replace.

My concentration shatters when the Trial begins with a ripple of shouts and slamming of feet against the floor. I watch as the contestants race into the thick foliage towards that center ring.

Shutting my eyes, I focus again on that Phaser ability. And, this time, when it tickles my skin, I latch onto it.

I follow the feel of it, eyes searching the stands as I head down the path. It grows stronger, closer with every step.

That is, until it doesn’t any longer.

The power hums faintly beneath my skin, and no matter how far I walk down the path, it never seems to get any stronger.

Before I know it, I’ve circled the entire arena, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of her bright smile in the crowd. Maybe a frantic wave of her hands when she sees me coming.

Nothing.

I stop suddenly, spinning around in the path. Confusion crawls up my throat to escape my mouth in the form of a frustrated sigh.

‘Where the hell are you, Dena?’ I mumble towards the stands stretching around me.

Maybe I’ve focused on the wrong Phaser. Maybe I’m not searching for my Adena, but someone else entirely.

So, I shut my eyes again, forcing myself to focus. But this power feels familiar, intimate. I’m drawn to it in a way that tells me it can only be her.

And it’s tugging me to the right.

I peek open an eye, replaceing only the railing to the Pit beside me. I huff, shaking my head. Something is clearly wrong with me. Is the Mute that lines the stands messing with my ability to simply sense powers?

Trying again to feel her, I replace myself quickly turning towards the railing once more.

I look out into the Pit, scanning the foliage and the live footage playing on the screens above it. A flash of silver hair tells me it’s Paedyn who is currently being recorded running between the hedges.

There’s that tug again.

My gaze sweeps over the scene, landing on the circle of sand at the center of it all.

There’s a body there. Seemingly small and rightfully scared.

‘… you must also kill the person that awaits you there.’

So this is the criminal who was unlucky enough to be thrown from the dungeons and into a far worse fate.

I blink at the figure.

And then my mouth goes dry.

I’m forced to clutch the railing in front of me to stop from sinking to my knees.

Because I know that dark hair, those curls that bounce with each terrified turn of her head.

I can make out those crooked bangs from where I stand.

My shout is swallowed by the roaring crowd.

I’ve found her.

At the center of a Trial.