Boltman

Original artwork by Nicholas Aaron Rowden

When his favorite comic book superhero is murdered, Kevin believes he is chosen to fulfill his childhood dream by taking up the mantle, but something is wrong. Boltman’s trademark Boltray Vision is missing; Kevin’s friends believe he’s lost his mind and Boltman has a personality all his own that is bent on total psychological domination. Kevin risks life, limb and soul as he sets out on a quest to find his powers, complete his transformation and get the girl.

The Adventures of Boltman is a novel by Eric Quinn Knowles.

Prologue

“You’re late,” the King of the World glared beneath thick, graying brows as Butch sauntered into the study.  The old man leaned back in his chair, studying his son with disapproving eyes.

“I know.” Butch hated that look. “There were… complications.”

“But you did find her?”

“Yes.” Butch dropped into a chair at his father’s desk, waiting to be drawn out.

“You brought her here,” the King growled suspiciously, “to me?”

Butch grimaced, rubbing the stubble on his chin while he thought. He should’ve been back days ago. “That’s where it got… complicated.” The King gnashed his teeth and Butch knew he’d better start explaining. “She put up a fight.”

Butch remembered two of his men bursting into flame, the smell of roasting flesh still clinging to his nostrils. That could’ve been me, hHHe thought. He wasn’t going to be able to eat chicken for weeks.

“I explained it to her,” Butch insisted. “Money. Power. She wouldn’t even consider it.” His father tensed in anger. “The chick definitely had a hero complex.” Here’s where he blows, Butch thought, stiffening slightly in his seat. “We had to neutralize her.” He said and gulped, feigning confidence while waiting for the inevitable.

Surprisingly, the King took the news well, though he was disappointed. “You took the mind reader with you,” he observed expectantly.

“Ah.” I was hoping you’d forget that part, Butch thought. “No.” She smells. “I took the Enforcer instead.”

The King exploded then, slapping the desk with his palms as he launched from his chair. The suddenness of the outburst caused Butch to flinch in spite of himself. Butch hated that. The King ground his teeth and spun away to pace, his hands clasped behind his back. “I told you.”

“I know,” Butch insisted. “I thought we needed strength.”

“Ah,” his father hissed, turning on his heels to scowl at his only heir. “Strength!” he bellowed to the ceiling. “That’s always your answer. You lack subtlety.”

“I needed the Enforcer in case…”

“To kill, yes.” The King raised clenched fists. “Crush. Destroy. Yes, I know. But I wanted her here, Butch, with me. I wanted her power.”

Butch forced himself to meet his father’s long, heavy gaze.

“The Reader would have found a weakness,” the King finally continued. “A weakness of the mind, Butch – of the soul.”

“Yes. Sir,” Butch added as an afterthought, his ire stoked by resentment. “I don’t think it would’ve helped. She is… was an idealist.”

“Everyone has a weakness.” The King sighed as he explained yet again, baring his disappointment. “Needs. Desires. There is always a way.” The King returned to his pacing, but he was calmer, at least.

“They’re becoming much more common,” Butch announced, hoping to divert the conversation from himself, “and stronger.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Butch remembered the lightning man in Tunisia that had nearly killed him years before. Fortunately, his team had caught the fool in a small village where electricity was scarce, but not before Butch had been seriously injured. The scar across his chest ached from the memory of that searing pain.

The King paused before a globe of the Earth. He laid his palms across North America and Asia, spreading his fingers as far as they would stretch. “According to the ancient texts, it is because of us,” he mused. “For every action there is an opposite and equal reaction.”

“We have an enemy?” Butch doubted that. There was always resistance but the King’s rule had not faced serious opposition for centuries. Not as far as Butch knew, anyway, but his father was a secretive man. Layers upon layers, the King had told him once. That was how they operated. Is there someone else out there? Butch thought. It was an exciting prospect. What if we’re just another layer?

“Of sorts.” The King answered absently, staring at his palms before turning away from the globe. “They are being chosen, these people; played like puppets by the so-called Masters,” he growled the name, “to carry out an ancient crusade. Like all puppets, they do not understand what is happening to them, but as we approach this new phase of our control they will become, increasingly, aware. And then there will be war, Butch,” the King proclaimed with dread.

I’m starting to like the sound of this, Butch thought, his mood cheering at the prospect.

“For now, we must continue to bring as many of these puppets to our side as possible. With hope, we may be able to win without a fight.” The King must have noticed his son’s disappointment. “Subtlety, Butch,” he emphasized, looking to his son for a sign of comprehension.

“I don’t get it.”

The King scowled derisively, his face darkening. “As I am so keenly aware. You will never take my throne…” a sudden spasm choked his throat. The King resisted, struggling for composure. “If you don’t…” The cough consumed him then, a deep throaty hack that rang of illness. Butch watched curiously, unmoved as his father strained, clutching the back of a chair for balance.

I’m ready, Pops, Butch thought. It was hard not to grin. Ready when you are. And when I take your throne, things are going to be very different around here. Butch waited patiently for his father to recover – or not.

—–

For more about Boltman, try here.