Started A Story… Don’t Know If It’s Any Good

I started a story on a group of Teenagers with superpowers. They go through many extraordinary things, along with normal teenage stuff. I don’t know if I should continue with it, so let me know in the comments!

Prologue

“Mark, how could you? I thought you were honest!” Kori cries, looking at Mark, tears streaming down her face. “Please… don’t hurt me.”

The Mark in question says nothing. He has the Chosens tied up, defeated. The Chosens are invincible, but they have been betrayed by someone in their inner circle: Marksman a.k.a Mark Grayson.

“Mark, talk to me, talk to me, please!” Kori, the leader sobs. Mark says nothing and stands there, as though savoring his victory.

If only they knew that he was also fighting tears, though they couldn’t see under his eye mask. He was hurting because he was being controlled. His actions, his words were controlled. He said things that reduced even Adam to tears. Mark beat Kori down with words against his will. He cringed as he remembered a certain conversation:

“Mark, bud, what are you doing?” Kori says, her eyes widening.

“Ending you, dork” was the words that came out of his mouth.

“Mark, what do you mean-“ Kori starts “AHHHH!”

“Just so you know, I was lying. I truly wanted nothing to do with guys. My heart was and still is filled with malice. I feed off of trepidation and love to watch myself get close to superhero and smash them” he says, and he feels himself sneer. Oh God, Kori I didn’t mean it he thinks in his head as he hits her with a tranquilizer dart. He already knows that if he tries to say what he really wants to say it won’t come out, and when he returns to the hideout, he will be hurt physically and psychologically.

He fights tears as she falls. If somehow he breaks free of this neuroleptic interface suit he was wearing and saves his friends, the villain he was fighting Will. Face. His. Wrath. And he meant it.

**********************************************

“Good job, apprentice. You have proven yourself worthy of my teachings.” a man’s voice echos through his lair.

The man in question nods, pleased, watching on a screen as the Court of Chosens fall, one by one. His face is completely obscured from view by a shadow, one of the many dark things he controls. The man can hear his apprentice’s thoughts, and communicates with him in this way.

“I don’t want your teachings, I want my friends.” His apprentice, Marksman hollers.

“You should take this as a compliment. There has been many people who have come for my teachings, but are not worthy of them. There are many who have come seeking to be my apprentice and successor, but have not been proven worthy. You, dear boy, are my chosen successor.” The man says, as though he is explaining it to a young child.

“I don’t want to be your successor!” Marksman shoots back. He grits his teeth in anger.

“I’m sorry you feel this way. Sooner or later, you will see things my way. It is only a matter of time, Marksman.”

As he says this, he laughs. An evil laugh. A laugh that suggest he throughly enjoys watching people be tortured and killed. And that was true. He loves death. And he love torture. That is why he is making his apprentice hurt his friends. Little did the man know that he, was, in fact, not the person pulling the strings.

**********************************************

“Do you think they find out who they really are, Astra?” Asks Troia. “I mean, do you think they are ready to know?”

“This is a test. Thank goodness we didn’t choose Ravager to test them, or else he would have told them.” Astra replies. “If they pull through this, they will have earned themselves a place among the stars. They will be legends. Marksman included.”

“Of course. Future generations will look up to them. For hope.”

“Correct, Troia. If my vision was correct, they will go down in history more than once for more than one thing. This is just the beginning. They will be revered, highly respected, and will be thought as gods. They will throughly deserve it.” Astra explains.

“Astra, how are our teenagers doing?” A man who was the incarnation of perfection to any mortal who saw him walked over to the girls. The girls were wearing simple white dresses, with a golden band around the hem, neckline, and the sleeves. The man, was a wearing a simple white shirt with gold bands at the hem, neckline, and sleeves with pants with golden bands around the leg openings. They all wear gold sandals.

“They are doing good, Anzo. A little shaken up, but they haven’t lost faith yet.” Astra reports. “Marksman is hanging in there. Any other mortal would have given up by now.”

“Mark is not any other mortal, Astra. And he is holding up very, very well.” Anzo replies.

“All of the hope in the world depends on the Chosens, Anzo. They need to hold up.” Troia pipes up.

“Correct, Troia. They are the last thing between hope and darkness.” Anzo replies.

“And, if they past this test, we will make contact with them, correct?” Troia inquires.

“Yes. If the Chosens pass the test, they will have proven they have they have the grit it takes to protect the universe from the impending apocalypse.” Astra replies.

“They are our last hope. Our only hope.” Worries Troia.

“They will do just fine, Troia. I know they will.” Reassures Astra

“They will. Look at them, Troia. I suspect the Chosens have already won.”

“Yes, Anzo. They have.”

Rise of the Phoenix