Super Genetics

HeroWatch Entry

(last updated Year 55:7:3 14:09 local time)

Solomon Rosenthal (Sol)

Summary

Solomon Rosenthal (chosen super moniker: Sol), is an S-ranked Elementalist (confirmed) with an emphasis on electromagnetic radiation. He is a part of the designated (Originals) that first accepted (the Call) in Year 0 (1982 in the pre-super era calendar). He is believed to have been born roughly around Year -30 (1952) though the exact date is unknown (needs citation), making him approximately 88 years of age.

After returning from his (Capstone Quest) in Year 19, he formed the superhero group, (the Knights of Sol), and is localized around the Free-City of Topeka.

Powerset

As an S-ranked Elementalist, Sol exhibits superlative control over his specific element—in this case, electromagnetic radiation, colloquially known as light. In particular, he has been known to condense and absorb light with the capability to express it in both tight beams and powerful explosions.

It is hypothesized that he transitioned during his (Midmark Quest) from Infuser to Elementalist, which would explain his ability to draw his element into himself before expressing it externally (needs citation).

+ Infuser (F to C)

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+ Elementalist (C to S)

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Affiliation

Leader of (the Knights of Sol) and only officially recognized S-ranked super of Topeka. Maintains a cordial relationship with (the Council) of Kansas City. Openly hostile with the nearby Free-City of Wichita, ruled by (Terrence Fairway/Emperor Necroton).

Publicly claims to serve as Topeka’s protector against (the Swarm), rogue supers, and the neighboring Free-City of Wichita. When questioned, he has vehemently opposed the suggestion that he is a dictator using his powers to hold sway over the city of Topeka. However, critics have suggested that a more democratic approach, such as that taken by (the Council) of Kansas City would be a more appropriate system of governance.

Personal Life

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Notable Exploits

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Plate piled high with breakfast potatoes, ham, a second form of potato in hash browns, and a generous serving of scrambled egg, Terry made his way back upstairs to his room. The altercation with his aunt thankfully hadn’t done anything to curb his appetite. If anything, he was hungrier than ever.

“Can I carry that for you, my prince?” Bloodstain offered.

Terry stopped in place, turned to regard the ghoul with raised eyebrows, then shook his head with a chuckle. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own breakfast plate.” He turned to continue walking, then paused. Looking back over his shoulder, he added with a chagrined look, “Thanks anyway.”

Bloodstain nodded and they continued on.

When they arrived at his room, he paused in the doorway, a bit shocked by the state of his bedroom.

Soot stains climbed the mantle leading from the fireplace and the remnant smell of burnt plastic lingered in the air, stinging his nostrils. But that wasn’t what had drawn his attention.

The walls are so bare…

He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t have his posters on the walls and his action figures lining the desk and windowsill. Necroton, Sol, Siren—even his mother—had lined his walls only last week. He had always been proud of his family, the supers who had carved out their own kingdom. And his mom had been a universally loved superhero and one of his idols. The Siren poster, he had put up for boyish reasons that now felt silly. No, worse than that, it now felt treasonous to the memory of his mother that he had ever had a crush on Siren.

He sighed at the thought, plopping his plate onto his desk with an indifferent attitude. Though his stomach ached from hunger, it was what he deserved. Why should he get to stuff his belly when his mom was dead? When his dad was at war? If he couldn’t join them in death or battle, then he’d suffer to himself.

He swiveled his computer chair out and sank into it, staring blankly at the scorch mark above the fireplace.

Crunch made a noise, sort of like clearing his throat—if his throat had pieces of glass crunching together from the movement.

“You eat, my prince.”

Terry sank deeper into his chair, his head craning back to rest against the top as he stared at the ceiling.

“How can I?” he asked. “How can I enjoy a meal with my mom dead? With my grandfather and my father on their way to risk their lives? Invading my mom’s childhood home?”

A grating snap of teeth intermingled with guttural sounds sounded in the room. Terry perked up to see Crunch talking to Bloodstain and Burgundy in their native tongue. He strained his ears, his brain slow to translate the bizarre language.

Stand outside? No, not stand…attend, maybe?

Bloodstain flicked his eyes over to Terry, then replied in the same tongue, his teeth snapping against each other as he spoke. He pitched his voice low so Terry couldn’t decipher his words.

After a few back and forths, Terry’s self loathing was replaced by annoyance.

“What are you two talking about?” he demanded.

Bloodstain took a step back and stood at attention while Crunch turned to Terry. He opened his mouth to reply, then growled softly with frustration. To Bloodstain, he said, [Translate please.]

Crunch’s English had always been a bit lacking.

Bloodstain stepped forward and bowed before speaking in decent, if accented, English.

“This one,” Bloodstain started with a wave toward Crunch, “suggested prince’s two servants attend outside so can be alone. Your servant informed Emperor’s orders no let out of sight. This one said too…” He turned to Burgundy, saying a ghoulish term Terry didn’t know.

“Stiff? No. Rigid?” Burgundy added.

“Literal?” Terry supplied.

“Yes. Literal. Your servant agreed possible. Asked capable to protect prince alone. No arm, see? Prince ask translation.”

“Oh,” Terry said with a slight chuckle. “Crunch is perfectly capable of protecting me in the confines of my own room. Please stand guard outside my door.” They seemed to hesitate, the tips of their claws extending and retracting. Terry understood it as a nervous tick and not the threat it might appear to be. “If anything happens, I’ll scream for help. You said we were safe inside the palace…right?”

They seemed to mull his words over for a moment, then came to some silent agreement. The two ghouls bowed and left the room without so much as a word.

“Crunch?”

“Yes, my prince?”

“Will you help me with ghoulish? Your people are the backbone of my grandfather’s military. I should at least be able to converse with you in your own language.”

Crunch inclined his head. “The language difficult for [human tongue].” He peeled back his lips, revealing rows of jagged teeth. “Not enough.”

Terry’s brow furrowed, then relaxed as a smile formed. “Not enough teeth? My father and Mesmer seem to manage.”

“Tens of years practice.”

“You mean decades. Decades of practice.” He snapped, then held up a finger. “I have an idea. I’ll help you with English and you help me with ghoulish. How’s that sound?”

The ghoul’s teeth ground together. Terry knew it was a sign of thoughtfulness, rather than annoyance.

“Suggestion.”

Terry’s eyebrows rose. “I’m all ears.”

“Yes, teach Eng-Engli-[human] language. Crunch teach aura first. Ghoulish [advanced].”

“Aura? Why?” Of course, Terry had some basic understanding of auras. But it wasn’t something typically taught until after an Awakening. Most couldn’t even feel auras except as vague sensations nearly indistinguishable from gut feelings.

Crunch’s lips peeled back in a ghoulish smile. “Auras everything. Speak with auras.”

He perked up in his chair. Like a secret language? He found his curiosity sparked, an excitement filling his body that he hadn’t felt in what seemed like years.

“Does the Emperor know how to?” he asked. “Speak with auras, I mean.”

“Obvious.”

He raised his eyebrows at Crunch’s sarcastic tone. “You mean, ‘obviously.’”

Crunch inclined his head. “Emperor know…obviously.”

Terry chuckled, then leaned forward, his body vibrating with excitement.

“Teach me everything.”

Turned out that sensing auras for a normie was incredibly difficult. Terry hadn’t even been able to sense Crunch’s aura, let alone read the subtle shifts that were meant to be interpreted. He had asked to jump straight to ghoulish, since that he had already made some headway learning. But according to Crunch, the spoken component was only a piece; mastery of the undead languages originated from aura manipulation.

In Crunch’s words: “Ghoulish before aura, like write before speak.”

Apparently, all the nuance of emotion and meaning was layered through an undead’s aura.

After an hour of instruction, his brain felt muddled and he couldn’t confidently say he had taken even a single step forward. But he wasn’t discouraged. Aura control was inherently an undead and super phenomenon; there would be plenty of hurdles for a normie like him. But to be able to communicate natively with the creatures responsible for his safety, and the safety of the royal family—the entire city, really—was worth it.

If only it wasn’t so dang hard!

When Crunch suggested they take a break for the day, Terry was relieved. There had been something in the back of his mind distracting him, and the ghoul had picked up on it.

“Your thoughts heavy,” Crunch said. “Talk to servant?”

“No,” Terry replied with a smile. Crunch nodded, turning to retreat to the door, when Terry quickly added, “But I wouldn’t mind complaining to a friend.”

The ghoul paused mid-step, his expression inscrutable. From his hesitation, Terry felt that Crunch needed him to be less subtle.

“I mean you, Crunch. You’re my friend, aren’t you?”

The ghoul turned back and bowed deeply. “I am what prince needs.”

Terry snorted and shook his head. “Fine, Crunch. I need a friend…” It felt pathetic leaving his mouth, but it was true. With his mother dead, his father gone, and no kids his age in the palace, he felt stranded on his island surrounded in a sea of grief.

“I serve. Your friend listens.” Crunch stood at attention, his eyes boring into Terry with an uncanny stillness.

He mulled over his next words. Declaring his friendship was one thing, but Terry was no fool. Crunch’s loyalty was to his grandfather first and foremost. Still, he had to get this off his chest.

“Why did my grandfather go? Why did my father…” He trailed off, his chest tightening. He had been about to say: why did my father leave me? like he was some child—which he was, but that didn’t make the words feel any less pathetic. “Why did my father go?”

Crunch’s single eye blinked slowly and he didn’t reply for a moment. Then, “You think best to stay? Sol dead. Topeka weak.”

Terry was taken aback by the ghoul’s frank tone. “I-well…I guess not…”

“Then father stay? When Emperor go war?”

Terry turned away, the heat rushing to his face. “Well, no. But he could have at least said goodbye.” He hated the whine in his voice.

“Maybe hard?” Crunch suggested, his gravelly voice contrasting with the gentleness of his tone. “Maybe grieve mother by fight?”

Terry whirled back to face the ghoul. “And what about me? I’m grieving, too! And my only company isn’t even human!” He cringed as the words left his mouth and he spoke quickly. “I’m sorry, Crunch. I didn’t mean that.”

Crunch waved his only hand toward the bed across from Terry. “Sit?”

Terry’s eyes went wide. He’d never seen one of the undead guards sitting—didn’t think they enjoyed the activity, to be honest. But it felt like an olive branch, a breaking down of a wall between the two of them.

“Please!” he said, a touch too eagerly.

Crunch sat on the corner, his posture upright, even tense, to Terry’s eyes. Though, he had also never seen a ghoul relax, now that he thought about it.

“Friend, right?” Crunch asked.

Terry smiled. “Obvious.”

“Friend tell story. Yes?”

Terry’s mouth gaped open for a split second, before he realized how ridiculous he must have looked and he quickly shut it. He nodded, leaning in to better understand the ghoul’s grating voice.

“When young, fresh from pits, Bonesplinter clan almost gone. But me no thoughts. Only hunger.”

Terry chewed his lip, running the words through his mind. “When you were born, your clan was almost extinct? But you didn’t care? You were just hungry?”

“Yes.” He glanced out the window, a distant look in his lone eye. “Grandfather come. Promise free. Promise food. Save Bonesplinter. Protect Bonesplinter. Bonesplinter never forget.”

Terry leaned back. “Oh, that’s why you call him the Protector. Because he saved your clan and brought you to Earth?”

“Never forget,” Crunch repeated. “Even when all become ash.”

Terry’s mind churned those words over, like a plow cutting through soil. Ash? What did he mean by that?

“I’m not following,” he replied after a moment.

Crunch’s teeth gnashed together as he considered his words.

“New spawn not like Crunch. No hunger. No loss. No flee home. No understand.”

“I’m sorry, Crunch. I don’t mean to be rude, but…what does this have to do with my grandfather invading Topeka?”

The ghoul nodded as if it was expected for Terry to be confused.

“Emperor understand thing all leader know.”

“Which is?”

“Hunger bigger than loyalty. Food everything—undead or no.”

“Okay…” Terry was wondering if he was an idiot, or if Crunch was being deliberately vague. “I’m still not seeing the connection.”

“You see farm? Soil dead from Sol.” Terry’s eyes went wide. “No life for tens—for decades. Even yes, no sun. No sun, no food.”

“But he’ll dispel the darkness…right? I mean, he summoned it, so he can remove it.”

Crunch shook his head. “Think…no. Smell of Underworld. Smell of home.”

Terry couldn’t imagine living in night…forever. No sun. No day-night cycle. He’d go insane! But that wasn’t the point Crunch had been angling toward, he knew.

“Our fields are scorched and our land has no sun…but Topeka has fields and they have sun.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s why my father and the Emperor are rushing to take over Sol’s land. Without it, the living and unliving will go hungry. And you think they’ll rebel against the Emperor’s rule?”

Crunch tilted his head, his single eye regarding Terry calmly.

“Obvious.”