Chapter 1
Chapter Text
“….in life, there are times when a man must decide when to fight for what he believes. When he must choose between what is right and what is easy. That choice is what makes a hero. Not fancy costumes or flashy powers – but the unerring, unchanging moral choice that they make every step of the way. To hold eternity in your grasp, and choose to be kind.”
The tinny voice echoed out from the worn-out speakers attached to the even more worn-out TV set, currently blasting into the faded, greying bedroom the all-too-staged image of a press conference, a masked man making grand proclamations from behind a lectern, his cape flowing out behind him like the wings of some heavenly angel
The 2009 broadcast of the BBC’s interview with Nyctos, the leader of the cape organization The Society Against Evil – which, looking back on it, was really quite a sanctimonious name, though to my ten-year old brain it had sounded about as awesome as the Knights Templar
I was rewatching it again – a childhood habit that had grown into somewhat of an obsession over the years, as my friends helpfully reminded me from time to time. No doubt, I made for quite a pathetic sight – a seventeen-year old sitting hunched over in the midst of a room that looked like it had been recently struck by a hurricane, his knees pressed close to his chest as he repeatedly replayed an interview with a man who had been dead for six years
Sighing, I throw down the remote onto the faded bedsheets, and rise unsteadily from my bed, which wobbles precariously as I stand
A stack of books weighs down one end of the shaky piece of furniture, all garnished with fancy leather-bound covers and impressive titles like “Emperor” and “Protector” – biographies of heroes who had made it big enough to retire and live out the rest of their days coasting off the boundless ocean of their fame and ignoring the cries of the innocents who had raised them to that position
I grab one off the top, and turn it around to glance at the title. A pair of golden eyes decorates the finger-worn cover, embellished with what may have once been fancy gold leaf, but now was more like than tarnished bronze paint. A few pages nearly fall out as I hastily pick it up, dog-eared and worn from excessive reading
I sneak a peek at the name, before groaning in dismay – “Goldeneye” – a name I was fairly certain was ripped straight off a James Bond movie poster. I flip it closed and throw it down with a groan of disgust. Technically, I was supposed to be doing a book review on it – something about “Write ten pages on how capes make the world a better place” or some other arse-kissing crap- but I didn’t need it.
I had read the book- the autobiography of a once-popular-and-edgy, now washed-out-and-still-edgy, antihero – or, as the police liked to call him, criminal. It made for quite the story – not so much a fulfilling life. The man had gotten himself tossed into jail days after publishing the book – into a luxury cell with all the bells and whistles.
What I’m saying is that the man – who had murdered several people in the name of “collateral” got himself a free hotel room and undying fame, all for the price of one interview where he appeared so remorseless that he had to spend a good ten minutes looking like he was about to sh*t himself to shed so much as a single tear. How utterly expected
I sigh and leave my room, wincing at the loud creak the door emits as it swings open. Somewhere down the grimy, dark hall, I hear the tell-tale noise of a man collapsing unsteadily onto the floor from his bed. I suppress another groan and roll my eyes as I head to my father’s room
“Hey Dad”, I call as I enter the darkened space, only to be nearly knocked out by the bitter stench of alcohol that permeated the area. I sigh at the sight of his weather-beaten form collapsed at the foot of his bed in a pile of gangly limbs and liver-spotted skin
“Get up”, I say, leaning down and hooking my arms under his him, lifting him up with a slight grunt and depositing him unceremoniously onto his bed. Sighing again – something I had grown disconcertingly used to – I turn to leave, only to halt at the slight noise the lump of flesh I was forced to call “Father”, let out
“Wow”, I remark, turning to face him again, “You’re still sapient ? What – did the bar raise the price on drinks, or did you get kicked out for hitting on the owner’s wife again ?”
“Ugh”, the bastard said, rubbing roughly at his face, as though trying to rub away his no-doubt splitting migraine, “You…”, he turned to look at me through bleary eyes, “You’re not the bartender”
“Oh, so you just drank yourself into a stupor again. Same old, same old”, I roll my eyes, rising to my full stature and turning to leave the room, “Remind me to thank Frank for not just leaving you at the bar- though he probably did it because the sight of you would have turned away his actually paying customers”
“You shouldn’t talk to your father like that, you ungrateful brat”, the man says, rising unsteadily onto his elbows, “Why, if I think of all the blood, sweat and tears I poured into your birth, Alex –“
“Alex was born in the back of a drug-running truck in Mexico”, I interrupt, “Also, he moved out a year ago. I’m James”
“Who ?”
“The whor*’s son ?”
“….. who ?”
I sigh. Of course. “Cynthia ? From Kent ? That Cynthia ?”
“Oh her”, my father nods sagely, as if suddenly remembering every last detail of the random prostitute he impregnated on one of his drinking binges, “You have her eyes, you know ?”
“That’d be a feat”, I snort, “Given Mom’s eyes are blue and mine are green”
“Oh”
“Yes, “oh”, you beer-sponge”, I grumble, before reaching out to shake him a little, grimacing as I make contact with something weirdly slimy – what that was, I didn’t even want to know, “Now get up. The guys down at the revenue offices need someone over eighteen to sign the tax documents”
“The what ?”, my father mumbled through his hangover, “Where on earth did we get money for that ?”
“One benefit of your neglectful tendencies is that your children tend to grow up fast, and then send money home to support you for some godforsaken reason. Alex paid it this time”
“Oh”, the man blinked, before letting out a hacking cough, spitting up some glistening droplets of greenish phlegm, “Be a dear and help your old man up, will ya ?”
“No, I don’t think I will, actually”, I roll my eyes, “I’ll be in the dining room. Get down there in twenty minutes. Oh, and…”, I stick my head back into the room, crinkling my nose to convey my disgust, “Clean yourself up. You stink like a toilet full of an alcoholic’s piss”
“You ungrateful little…”, the man grumbled, even as he unsteadily dragged himself to his feet, shambling over to the wardrobe like a zombie. I watch for a few moments, and, once I am sure he’s not about to collapse and start convulsing or something, tear myself away from the pathetic sight, heading down the rickety stairs to our tiny kitchen.
Someone needed to prepare breakfast, after all, and there was no way I was trusting that living bag of alcohol near an open flame
Breakfast passed with minimal deviations from the norm- breakfast being a slice of toast that tasted like it was made of PVC and jam that I was ninety percent certain had never been within a hundred feet of a fruit.
My father, of course, gorged down the meager rations like he was devouring his final meal, before looking up, a disappointed expression on his haggard face, “That’s it ?”, he asks, appalled, “Where’s the rest ?”
“The rest ?”
“The rest !!”, he nods vigorously, “Real food”
“That costs money, Dad”, I sigh with all the patience of someone who had been dealing with this for the past seventeen years, “Money we don’t have. You still haven’t picked up your disabilities check”
“The mailman didn’t deliver it ?”
“They want you to pick it up yourself. To verify, they said”
“Damn money-hungry leeches”, he grumbles, “Think I can chop a leg off before I go ?”
“Just cough a lot. You’ll be fine”
“That’s more like it, son”, the man spoke around a mouthful of mushed toast, “Knew there was a reason I kept ya around”
“So that you don’t go homeless ?”, I roll my eyes, pushing my still-full plate towards him, “Here, I’ve lost my appetite”.
Sighing, I get up from the table, before traversing the small dining room to pick up the threadbare school bag I had left on a small, precarious ledge protruding from the wall, “I’m off to school”
“Hope ya don’t expect me to pay yer bus fare, brat”, my father said, already inhaling my share of the food, “I don’t have any money on me”
“That’s fine, I’ll walk”, I mutter resignedly, turning to push open the ancient wire-screen front door, letting in a blast of brilliant sunlight that nearly blinds me after the shadowed darkness of our gracelessly-aging one-storey house
Shadowing my eyes with one hand, I survey the street, and let out a small sigh of relief as I spot two figures making their way up the sidewalk to my house. Well, at least I won’t have to walk alone
I make my way down the untidy, overgrown cobblestone pathway, raising my hand in greeting as I approached them
“Hey guys”, I sigh heavily, as I easily fall into step with them, the two turning to shoot me near-identical crooked grins as I do. One of them – the one to my right, the lithe blonde with the body of an Olympian swimmer, reaches over to bat at my rat’s nest of a hairdo.
Emmet Dean – my best friend by privilege of being among the few who actually spoke to me, and bane of my existence
“Hey, Emmet”, I sigh in his general direction, earning myself a small giggle from my best friend, “Stop”, I bat away his hand, “Stop touching my hair”
“Oh, that’s hair ?”, a familiar voice sounded to my left – as Jade Turner, my other friend, shot me a wide grin, “I thought a bird had made a nest on your head”
“Not even a bird would be this messy, Jade”, Emmet grinned, prompting an exasperated eye-roll from me, one that is met with even more giggling
“What are you- five ??”, I bat away Emmet’s hand completely, resolutely ignoring the dimpled smile he shoots me, “And for your information, I’ve had a very busy morning – you’re lucky I bothered to pick out clothes, much less a f*cking hairdo”
“Ooh, is that a promise ?”, Jade laughs, a wicked glint shining in her eyes, “Hey Emmet, hear that ? If we annoy him enough, we get to see him naked !!”
“Oh, I heard that, Jade”, Emmet lips twist up into a small smirk, “Guess I gotta start upping my game, huh ?”
“Please don’t”, I shoot them a pleading look, before dropping it at the deadpan looks they give me in reply, “What ? You can’t blame a man for trying”
“Since when has your pleading actually stayed our hands, James ?”, Emmet sighs theatrically, like a disappointed father, “One would think that you knew one better than that”
“Emmet, if you refer to yourself as one again, I think I might actually kill myself”, I deadpanned, “And for your information, my dad turned up dead-drunk again today”
“Jim ?”
“No, Frank from down the street”, I roll my eyes, “Of course, Jim !! Do I look like I have multiple dads, Jade ? I barely have more than one parent !!”
“Alright, geez, don’t get your panties in a twist”, Jade grinned slightly at me, before her smile dropped in favor of an irritatingly-concerned expression, “How much money d’you think he spent on drinks this time ?”
“Judging by his level of intoxication…”, I stroke my chin like an ancient Greek philosopher about to deliver some earth-shattering hypotheses, “…. Ten bottles”
“Of ?”, Emmet asked, fiddling distractedly with his hair as he walks, “Beer ?”
“Vodka, going my the smell”, I sigh, “He’s upgraded his tastes. Refined his palate”
“Raised your bills”, Jade remarks, “Vodka is a good ten pounds more expensive than beer”
“Hey, do I look fine ?”, Emmet, used to such conversation by now, interrupts with a question so off-topic that I nearly break my neck from the whiplash. He’s fiddling with his hair, and I don’t have the heart to tell him that he could probably wash his strands of gold in pig blood and still sell them for a premium price, so I go for a compromise
“Emmet, your hair looks fine”, I say, because my eloquence failed me the second I started waking at 5:00 and sleeping at 2:00, “Stop touching it before I cut your hand off”
“Speaking of cutting people’s hands off-“
I swivel to shoot Jade an incredulous stare, “Speaking of what now ?”
“You’re the one who brought it up !!”, she protests whiningly, before turning to look over me at Emmet, who was still fiddling with his f*cking hair, “Guess what happened to Emily from Year 13”
“Who ?”, he asks back, only half-paying attention to the conversation
“Emily Madison ? The alpha bitch ?”
“Oh, her”, he said, with the air of a man who had no idea what he was talking about, “She got her hand cut off ?”
“Nope. Fell into a thresher. Got her back sliced into ribbons. Her boyfriend’s the one who got his hand lopped off trying to pull her out”
“No heroes to save the day this time ?”, I ask, mildly surprised, “That’s a shocker. London’s usually a hotspot for those f*ckers”
“Apparently a hero did get there….. two hours later”, Jade grimaced, “Darksyde or somethin’. Took one look at the blood-spattered thresher and vomited before blowing it up”
I mentally scan through my database of known capes and come up empty. Darksyde must be newbie, then. No wonder the poor sod vomited. He probably expected action and adventure when he signed up with his hero agency, not a bloodthirsty thresher
“Who’s he ?”
“You know Brock Eddison from a little ways down the street ?”, Jade asked, helpfully pointing vaguely in the direction of the jock’s house
“Yeah”
“That’s him”
“So much for a secret identity”, I snort, “Then again, nothing’s really secret with you – at least not for long”
“Including p*rn preferences unfortunately”, Emmet groused, and I hid a smile behind one hand. That was an eventful summer
“I said I was sorry, didn’t I ?”, Jade rolls her eyes, “I was worried that my poor sweet Emmet was getting into bestial*ty is all !!”
“Poor and sweet, my f*cking ass”, Emmet flipped her off, even as his smile stretched into a familiar, crooked grin, “Also, that’s not what “bear” means, bitch”
“Speaking of heroes…..”, I say, groaning slightly as we near my high school, and immediately come face-to-face with an absolute fleet of news trucks and hero-agency cars, all emblazoned with the brilliant blue-and-red of the Glaxxon Capes-For-U Organization – one of the premier hero-recruiting programs in all Europe.
A big-namer had shown up.
I stifle another groan. Time for yet another ridiculously sanctimonious assembly speech about how “great power comes with great responsibility” or “justice begins at home”, a particular favorite among the lazier hero crowds, who generally didn’t want to bother with actually cleaning up the streets as much as posing and looking cool for the cameras
“Maybe they’re here for Brock ?”, Jade suggested, before her eyes catch onto something, “Oh wait no, there he is – hightailing it outta here. Did he sign up with Glaxxon, d’you think ?”
“Either way, I doubt his agency is too pleased with him destroying civilian property while wearing their brand name”, Emmet remarked, “He’s probably gonna get fired”
“Killed, if he’s signed with the shadier organizations. Did you know that the MXN Hero Agency has ties with both the Sinaloan and the Juarez drug cartels ?”
“The MXN began as a drug-running operation that hired newbie heroes to protect their cargo, Jade”, I remind her, “I’d be more surprised if they didn’t”
“Lotsa hero agencies got their start as criminal enterprises – AZN began as a front for England-based Yakuza operatives before legitimizing themselves, RSN still answers to the Russian government, Scitra is run by a cult leader”
“Former cult leader”, Emmet corrected, “As he insists on telling us. He “isn’t about that life anymore”, apparently”
“Really ?”, I deadpan, “Is that why every hero under Scitra wears the same uniform ?”
“For uniformity, he says”
“Like a cult, perchance ?”
“Hmmm…”, Emmet smirks, before waggling his eyebrows at me, “So, decided on your own hero agency yet ?”
“Nah, been a bit busy”, I raise my hand to my eyes, watching my veins gently pulse under my pale skin, before they bulge suddenly as I grab hold of the RBCs that flowed within them, forcing them to a halt, causing a faint clog in my blood vessels, something that translates to a slight sting in my left wrist, “Bit dark for a hero, innit ? Dunno, might go full villain instead”
“Good luck with that”, Emmet snorts, “London’s a hotspot for capes, remember ? There’s like seven cape organizations in Central alone. You’d get obliterated”
“Indie, then”
“You won’t get paid, though. And what’s the point of hero work if you don’t get some green from it, as any self-respecting hero will tell you ?”
“Hmm…. you have a point”, I muse, “Unfortunately, I have a terrible thing about procrastination. I’ll decide later”
Chapter 2
Chapter Text
Inside the school isn’t much better than outside it. Reporters swarmed nearly every hallway, picking up random students (it was, of course, only a coincidence that said “random” students all happened to be wearing Glaxxon memorabilia.) and pushing a mic in their faces, asking all manners of questions that ranged from inane to way too personal
The assembly hall – a great intricately-carved hall made of polished granite and engraved with designs and reliefs that dated back to the times of Alfred the Great, as the principal reminded us nearly every morning – had been emptied out too, all the seating and tables pushed to a far away corner near the back, where the cameras wouldn’t pick them up
At the front of the hall, on a raised wooden dais, a man in a skintight – very skintight, as Emmet assured me, his voice heavy with lust in a way I never wanted to hear again – garishly-blue and sunset-red suit stood, busy adjusting the small mic that had been clipped onto his collar….. somehow
He looks up, and I recognize him instantly, with a jaw capable of cutting diamond, and a hair that had been gelled and oiled so much that it shone like plastic under the studio lights. Maximan, the newest “model hero” selected by Glaxxon, recruited straight out of college, a mere five months after the passing of Nyctos, their former model
“The All-American Boy Scout”, they called him, as the tagline written in bold red letters on the banner that hung over his head helpfully informed us, which was funny, because I was fairly sure the man was born in Manchester, which is about as far from America as you can get. Eh, the Devil works hard but Glaxxon’s PR department works harder, I suppose
I look up as the lights dim and the man starts speaking. His voice is stilted, manufactured, built in a factory based on popular demand – nothing like Nyctos, who spoke from the heart, no matter what he said. It wasn’t his fault, I knew – he had no idea who Nyctos even was, much less what he was like. Still, it left a bad taste in my mouth
“Greetings, ladies, gentlemen…. Teachers, staff. Everyone”, he laughs nervously, with all the grace of a schoolchild speaking before the whole school for the first time, “I’m Maximan, as you may know…”, he strikes a pose, “You know, Protector of the Innocent. Lover of Humanity, Destroyer of Evil, and general cool guy, I hope ?”
He smiles nervously, but no one so much as cracks a smile in response. Undeterred, he keeps going, “I’ve….as some of you may know…. been invited here to… um…. Teach you !! Yes, teach you. The finer points of heroism, and cape-work. As some of you may know, superpowers are a rare parahuman mutation, found in…. very few people, caused by…. By….”, he looks over at a suited Glaxxon employee, who rolls her eyes and holds up a cue card
“By the exposure to what we … er… well… we don’t actually…um..it’s classified….”, the employee waves her hand impatiently, gesturing for him to hurry up before the students started rioting. He coughs and changes the topic
“Regardless”, he flounders for a bit, looking lost, before the employee holds up another cue card, “For reasons classified by the PR&D division of the World Security Council, that is, the Parahuman Research and Detainment division, exposure to the Happening – which in itself, is also classified – results in the formation of a strange cardio-neural structure in the body, nicknamed the “Godsheart”, or the Virtus Labor organ, a roughly fist-sized protrusion in the lower medulla, which is widely believed to be the source of all powers. Parts of the organ include”, his voice grows even more stilted, and he sounds like a bored student reading from a biology textbook. Beside me, Jade yawns
“The Helvedor is a small, one-inch wide cluster of nerve endings in the virtus labor, believed to be the…. Remote control, so to speak, for all active powers. Those of you with passive powers, such as bodily mutations or vague auras”, he looks up, as if finishing a business proposal, “will not have it”
For a moment, he is silent, before yet another Glaxxon employee runs onstage and whispers frantically into his ear. Eyes widening, the hero returned to the mic stand, drawing in a deep breath to continue speaking
“Of course, the actual powers themselves emerge only after what is colloquially termed as a “trigger” or a “formation clause”. A reason for your powers to burst into being – a life-threatening situation perhaps, or simple need”
I grimace at his words, memories rushing back. My own powers had awoken after a particularly bad night. The smell of bitter alcohol flooded my memories again, as my nose crinkles at the remembrance, the sharp glass shards cutting into my knees as I kneel by my unconscious father’s side, desperately trying to pump the alcohol out of his bloodstream
Emmet hits me lightly across the shoulder to draw my attention back to Maximan, who had apparently finished his fifth grade Biology class lecture of a “speech”, and was now busy spouting as many moral cliché lines as he could think up, which was surprisingly a lot – he had started about five minutes back and was going strong, with no signs of stopping
“…. And remember, fame is a fickle thing. Never chase the limelight. It’s not worth it”. Oh thank every god in heaven, he finally finished. Although, what a way to go out – with a quote from Harry Potter, of all things
The hero raised one hand in farewell, and theme music started to blast from the speakers that had been arranged around the room as he sauntered off-stage, into a small cluster of employees bearing the silver crossed-swords-over-an-earth emblem of the Glaxxon International Corporation – the parental company to the Europe-based Glaxxon Capes-For-U Organization, who immediately start applying make-up and helping him down the hallway.
I could swear that one of them brought him a glass of what looked suspiciously like sherry, which was just comically excessive. Didn’t stop him from downing a whole glass of alcohol in front of a horde of teenagers, though. What a role model
“I guess we don’t need today’s Biology class anymore”, Mr. Byrne, our resident Biology professor, grumbled from a few feet ahead of us, “Given that bastard just covered today’s syllabus in his little speech there”
“You think that’s bad, Byron ?”, Ms. Stone, our Cape Studies and Moral Sciences teacher, turned to him, a resigned look adorning her face, “That dipsomaniac action figure of a man just set back respect for heroes by about fifty years”
“Looks like the teachers aren’t too pleased with him either”, Jade observed with an inordinate amount of glee, “What about you, Emmet ?”
“He’s hot, I guess”, Emmet shrugged, “Bit too bulky for my taste though”
“He’s good at looking good”, I observe derisively, “and not much else. Glaxxon’s standards have really fallen as of late”
The bell rang, signaling our freedom from the torment of having to listen to the cape speak. Slowly, hesitantly, the horde of students dispersed, some, the more dutiful lot, going upstairs to their respective classes, while others jumped at the chance to play truant and immediately fled the premises
I headed towards the staircase, not because I was a particularly obedient student, but because I really didn’t want to be home with my drunken trainwreck of a father. Jade and Emmet followed silently, for similar reasons, as their comforting silence told me
“Hey”, I lean over to whisper lowly to Emmet, my lips close enough to his ear that he could hear me, even over the chaos and general hubbub that was the Mercy Pecard School for Young Individuals, named after Mercy Pecard, better known as Nightstalker – the first cape to ever show themselves publically, and founder of the now-global Glaxxon Corporation, “I think I’m gonna go out tonight”
“Go out where ?”
“I don’t know”, I admit, shrugging slightly, “Roam the neighborhood, maybe. Beat up some bad guys, if I get the chance”
“What’s brought this on ?”, he eyes curiously
“It’s just….. I think I’ve put it off long enough”, I whisper to him, hoping I don’t sound too cold, “Strike when the iron is hot, you know ? The heroes are weak. The villains weaker. The timing is perfect”
“You get a costume yet ?”
“No”, I shoot him a knowing look, “We’ve got a day”
He stares back at me for a few seconds, before sighing heavily, “Fine, fine, you can come over after school today. Lemme see if I can dredge up some of my father’s more heavy-duty fabrics – Kevlar, dragline silk. Stuff like that, y’know ? It’ll be incomplete…. But well, it’ll be better than nothing”
I shoot him a quick, grateful smile, “Thanks, Emmet. I owe ya one”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever”, Emmet brushes me away, even as the tips of his ears go bright red at the praise, “Now get to class before the teachers disembowel us”
I make my way to class as instructed, sitting down just as Ms. Stone enters the classroom in a flurry of energy and motion, the way she always did. She sets down her pile of books onto the teacher’s desk – an action which makes it creak loudly, like it was seconds from breaking down – and looks up, her eyes running across us, mentally noting down every student who had dared to leave the school before her class.
I silently felt grateful at my clairvoyant decision to remain
“Alright class”, she declares, seemingly appeased by whatever she had noticed, “So, have you prepared the presentations I had you write ?”
Nothing. Dead silence.
“Of course you didn’t”, she sighs, “Well, I suppose I can’t be too hard on you lot – I forgot too. So it’s for the best, really”
She comes back to her desk, pulling out a thick, leather-bound book, pages dog-eared and worn from constant use, emblazoned with the red-and-blue of the Glaxxon Corporation. A title written in poster-paint-red declared it to be “The Public’s Compendium on Parahumans”
She raises it to her face, reaching up to adjust her thick-lensed glasses with one hand while idly flipping through the pages with another. At last she comes to a page that seems to contain the information she wants, for she gives the book an approving smile, before starting to read off it
“The name “parahuman” is derived from the Greek word para-, meaning “beside”. A being almost fully human, but not quite completely mortal. It is, however…”, she flipped the page, “…. Important to remember that however “awesome” heroes may be – they are still mortal.”
She puts down the book, and looks up to give us a kind smile, leaning against the desk, “I’m legally obligated to say that, by the way. Apparently some f*cker clobbered Patriot across the head with a baseball head over in America a few years back. Gave him a brain embolism. The UN passed the…”, she gestured meaningfully, “… can anyone tell me what law ?”
“Superhuman Ethics Act !!”, a nasally voice spoke from behind me, and Ms. Stone nods approvingly
“Very good, Robert”, she smiles reassuringly, “Though it’s the Parahuman Ethics Act, not Superhuman. The whole point of the Act was to remind people that heroes were, in fact, close to humans, not above them”
She nods slightly, as if trying to formulate a lesson plan, before giving up and leaning heavily into the desk, “So, what’d you all think about that hero, huh ?”
Nothing. Crickets. A kid coughs in the back row and it echoes around the room like a gunshot
“O-kay, then”, her lips curve in an unconscious grin, “I guess that answers my question. Trust me guys, not all heroes are like that. Just….. Glaxxon heroes”
“Nyctos wasn’t like that”, I mutter, somehow forgetting about the class’ dead silence, in which my voice rings out like a bell
Ms. Stone turns to me, giving me a look brimming with sympathy, “Nyctos was….well, he was something else. The one who propelled Glaxxon from “small hero-run hero company” to “globe-spanning supercorporation”. The founder of both the Society and the Protectorate. I don’t think we’ll ever see his ilk again”
For a moment, the whole class is silent. Maybe they were mourning, maybe some of them had simply fallen asleep, but a quiet settled over the classroom like a fog, till Robert’s voice splits it open again
“Who’s the Society ?”
“The Society Against Evil, Robert”, Ms. Stone groans slightly, with the air of one who had had to explain this repeatedly for several years, “After Nyctos’ death, they rebranded to simply “The Society””
“Are they government-run ?”, another voice called
“No”, she shakes her head, “Theoretically, they’re Glaxxon-based, but in praxis, Nyctos was the only one connecting them to Glaxxon, so they’ve all-but severed ties with the global corporation now”
“What about the other corpos ?”, a young boy asks from the back row, leaning uncaringly against the back of his chair, “PR&D, PRC, UN ?”
“PR&D stands for Parahuman Research and Detainment division, which is part of the UN, Mark”, Ms. Stone corrected sharply, “Though that is a good question. You want it as homework ? “Write ten pages on how corporations and industries affect the growth and existence of capes and cowls ?””
Almost-instantly, a chorus of groans and grumbles rings through the classroom, and Ms. Stone stifles a small laugh
“Lazy f*ckers”, she insults facetiously, before continuing, “Fine, then- I guess we have the time. Can anyone tell me what the PRC is ?”
“Product Research and Commercialization”, someone snickered from a back row. I smirk as I recognize Jade’s voice
“I heard that !!”, the teacher sighed, “It’s “Parahuman Recompense and Compensation”. It’s the governmental organization that deals with cleaning up the messes left behind when capes fight”
“I think my full form’s better”, Jade’s voice rang out again, accompanied by a chorus of snickers
“Listen, guys”, Ms. Stone sighed, “Glaxxon’s the only one who commercializes their heroes that much. They’re not even the only organization on the block !! See that five-storey building down the street ?”, she points out the window, “That’s the MXN Agency. That one over there – that’s the AZN Agency”
“So, the choice is between capitalism and criminal activity, then ?”, Mark remarked, his black-painted lips curling up into a grin, “Not much of a choice there, Miss”
“Technically, both MXN and AZN are reformed agencies, Mark”, she sighed, “Emphasis on the reformed.”
“That “reformed” is doing so much heavy-lifting there that they probably stole it from Atlas”, Jade snigg*rs again, “Seriously Miss, do you really think they just gave up on crime ?”
“Believe it or not, Jade, that’s what they say”, Ms. Stone says wryly, “I doubt they’re gonna have their heroes committing crimes after claiming something like that”
“Not openly, maybe”, I mutter, prompting a disapproving glare from a now thoroughly-exasperated Ms. Stone, who simply sighs as she turns back to the compendium, flipping it open, “Anyways, can anyone tell me Nightstalker’s powerset ?”, she looked up as she spoke, a smug tilt to her lips as she brute-forced a change in topic
“Shadow-manipulation and super-speed”, Jade answered near-immediately. I hide a grin. Jade was many things, and a superhero super-fan was absolutely among them – she had nearly had an aneurysm out of sheer excitement when I revealed my powers to her
“Correct. Thank you, Miss Turner. They were, indeed, shadow-manipulation and super-speed. The then-20 year old Mercy Pecard discovered her powers after awakening one morning to the sight of a burglar in her home”, Ms. Stone smoothly transitions to reading from the book again, “She…”, she grimaces at the next lines, “… activated her powers unconsciously and….neutralized the threat”
“She mulched him, didn’t she ?”, Jade asked, with an entirely inappropriate amount of glee, “According to her autobiography, it took a full week to get the viscera off her walls and floor”
“Miss Turner !!”,the teacher chided, “While it is good to hear of you seeking alternate routes of information, please refrain from bringing up such… a gory topic in class !!”
“It’s important to know this, Miss”, Jade shot back cheerily, “To remind us of the dangers of herowork, as Miss Pecard said in her autobiography”
“Which autobiography ?”, I turn to look at Jade, “There’s like, a hundred. All written by people who were very much not Mercy Pecard”
“The real one, dipsh*t”, she grinned at me, “The First, published by the Glaxxon Corporation”
“Is that the real one ? I thought Beginner was the actual book ?”
“That trash-heap of a book was published by MXN. She was a Glaxxon cape. Also, if you’ll notice, it spells her name as Mercy Picard.”, Jade deadpanned, “Somehow I doubt Mercy would misspell her own name”
“Enough, enough”, Ms. Stone clapped her hands together, dragging our attention back to her, seconds before the bell rang, signaling the end of class, “You f*ckers”, she grouses, dragging one hand through her strands of thinning red hair, “Alright, I’ll see you here Monday at six. Same time, same place. Anyone absent will be eviscerated”
“Homework, Miss ?”
“Robert, I barely have enough brain function remaining to go home and sleep, much less assign homework that I’m certain you’ll shirk anyways. Go”
Chapter 3
Chapter Text
The rest of the classes go by in mostly the same fashion – boredom and textbook information being funneled into our unresponsive brains. Nothing too bad – I was too small, too pathetic, too unresponsive to be worth bullying.
Also, I was fairly certain that most of the school bullies were afraid I would snap and go full school-shooter on them. With my ratty, shoulder-length black hair, perpetual eye-bags, beanpole-thin figure and the haunted look constantly decorating my features, I certainly looked the type. Oh well.
I walk outside into the brisk afternoon air, shading my eyes to guard them from the sun. It was a nice day, if windy, with crisp, cool air, and a brilliant, cloudless blue sky that reflected the sapphire riverwater below.
Mercy Pecard Academy was situated near the banks of the Thames, which made for a nice view. The capes liked it too, which was why the Thames was so clean nowadays. Throw something in there, and expect to find your house destroyed via superhuman ability when you returned
Still, there was a chill that ran through the air. London was a hub for all manner of superheroes, it was true – from the weakest indie to the strongest Glaxxon heroes, but, of course, as such things are wont to lead to, it was also a hub for all manner of villains, from petty thieves to outright gang members
Worse still, it was early afternoon, meaning nearly every criminal gang was out in full force, patrolling the streets, eyeing up the competition. To walk the streets of London after 12:00 pm and before 4:00 pm was to invite death via gang shoot-out
We lived in East London, the students of Mercy Pecard, a district of London divided mostly into the Banks, which ran along the Thames and served as merchant hotspots… and, therefore, criminal hotspots.
The Inlands were further inwards, pressing up against Central, and were widely considered the worst parts of the city, perpetually covered with a gloomy, greying mist of factory smoke from Central and just general pollution, as though not even the sun wanted to look upon the wretches who dwelled there – addicts, beggars, and criminals, mostly.
There was a time when the Inlands were all factory-spots, pumping out thousands of jobs a week, but all that changed after a particularly trigger-happy cape – a man named Bolter – devastated the region in a heated battle against the local Sǐwáng Bóláo gang. The gang, being composed mostly of rogue capes themselves, lost only a few members, but the Inlands were completely leveled. After that, no one really bothered to rebuild the region, leaving the warehouses and factories empty and unlocked, making them prime real estates for the extremely desperate. Oh, and gangs, of course. Lots of them. Most of the Inlands were locked in a constant power struggle over the dilapidated pieces of scorched earth
Last I heard, Bolter’s hero agency, the AZN, had refused to speak about the situation, even more vehemently refusing to fire the man. Add that to the fact that most of the Inlands were now controlled by the Ha faction of the West Japanese Yakuza, who mysteriously entered London mere days after the Inlands fell, and it was difficult to see the devastation as anything but staged and intentional.
However, I digress. Moving on from there, I eye the road leading north, it’s sidewalks stained and littered with garbage and empty beer cans. I grimace as I turn away. Those led to the Slums. Home sweet home. My father was, of course, too much of a wastrel to ever be able to afford a home in one of the nicer districts, and there was only so much my siblings could do, so we had to settle for a home in the Slums, a firmly lower-middle-class region, lined on either side with small, low-to-the-ground houses that looked like they would fall over if a light breeze blew against them.
No criminals controlled the region. There was no point. Nothing worthwhile lived there, anyways. Just people who were too poor to be notably upper-class and too comfortable to be lower-class. People who were content to waste away in their own mediocrity. I grimace. I didn’t like thinking about it. It hit too close to home. Perhaps because it was home
Over to the east of East London, pressing against the borders of the city proper, stood what had been delightfully nicknamed the Goodies. That was the region containing the headquarters of Glaxxon proper, and therefore, the best neighborhoods, with next-to-no criminal presence. Capes were a common sight here, flying this-way-and-that, signing autographs, holding babies, you know the drill. Basically, this was the upper-class neighborhood.
Emmet lived here. Not because he was any richer than me, but because his father, a renowned supersuit-maker, had been gifted a house there by Glaxxon. And thank God for that, too. It was bad enough that Jade and I lived in the Slums. If all three of us did, I think we would have choked on the alcohol-ridden air and died a long time ago.
I sigh and rake my eyes around the Banks. Two teenagers were leaning against the railing that overlooked the foaming Thames. Each bore an insignia of a skull engraved with the words “England Freaks Survive” on his upper forearm.
Standard edgy-talk to an outsider, but any resident of East London worth their salt knew that acrostic. EFS. The teens were members of the feared Empire of the Fallen Stars, the gang that ruled a good chunk of the Banks and a decent slice of the Inlands, led by the cape known only as Starlight.
I averted my eyes so as to not catch their attention, hissing out a slight curse as my eyes fall on another man, a tall, heavy-set Russian man, who bore a stylized Sk on his temple, barely concealed by his close-cropped hair. He was eyeing the two teenagers like they were the scum of the Earth
I mentally ran down my list of gangs, slowing as I remembered the name of a newcomer
Soldaty Korolya. A newcomer who quickly rose to prominence after single-handedly slaughtering a warehouse full of Sǐwáng Bóláo gang members – lower class ones, without the cape powers of the upper ranks. They were led by the fearsome supervillain King, who was sworn enemies with….. Starlight
sh*t.
I leap back as the Russian pulls out a steel-grey weapon from under his thick-furred coat, firing two crackling bolts of energy straight at the teenagers, who dodge at the last second, letting the bolts crackle against the railing, immediately turning the metal white-hot
One of them shouts out a series of curses as the Russian turns on him, releasing what looks like a hooked metal baton from a holster on his belt. The other one whips out a razor garrotte. The first one jams the hooks of the baton into the Russian’s hand and pulling hard, tearing the flesh with gruesome ripping noises and forcing the man to drop the energy weapon
A crowd had started forming by now, gathering at least five miles away from the three combatants, composed of curious bystanders and shocked outsiders. I look up, and notice a few faces peering through windows to see the action, just as a bolt of flame heats my face as it passes nearby
The Russian was now thrashing around wildly, trying to throw off the teenager, who had latched onto his back by burying the tines of the hook deep into the flesh above his spine and was currently riding him like a bucking bull as his friend tried to get the garrotte wire around a limb or a head. All in all, a normal occurrence in East London, were it not for the fact that the man’s fists were on fire
“A cape”, an awed voice says from beside me. I look over to see, of course, Emmet standing beside me, looking over at the action with an awestruck look adorning his features. Beside him, Jade lets out a low whistle
The Russian lets out a bellowing roar as he fires off yet another stream of flames at the young man, managing to singe the side of his face, eliciting a yell of pain from the EFS member. The other man growls at the sight, and, ripping out the hook, holds onto the Russian’s back with one hand as he raises the baton high, flicking a switch on its base as he did
Suddenly, the baton starts to hum with a strange energy, emitting a low drone in the teenager’s hand as he swings it down hard. It buries itself in the hulking Russian’s back with a scream of sizzling flesh, and the Soldaty Korolya soldier collapses with a scream of pain, convulsing once, twice, and then going limp.
Breathing heavily, the EFS member extracts the now-bloody taser-hook-baton-thing from the other man’s back, and gestures for his fellow gang member to back him up. He takes the garrotte from the other man’s hands and slips it around the fallen man’s neck
I, Emmet and Jade, turn away at that, somewhat unwilling to witness what followed, though the sound of slicing flesh and bone and the collective wince of the crowd told us enough
We turned back at that, to see the two members leaning against the Russian’s now-headless body, talking heatedly on the phone with someone. Their voices were raised as they spoke, till they were basically shouting into the phone, their voices colored with their strong accents
A few moments later, a black, nondescript truck rolled up beside the two teenagers, and, as the driver stuck his head out the window, I cannot help but notice the EFS tattoo he has emblazoned in bright red against the side of his neck
The two talk for a moment, before two men in all-black jumpsuits and gloves leap from the back of the van, and carry away both body and head to somewhere deep inside the van. The first teenager follows, while the second teenager turns his blood-spattered face towards us and tries at a smile, “IS OKAY, FOLKS !!”, he waves cheerily, “THE MAN IS DEAD !! THE EFS WILL PROTECT YOU !!”
With that, he entered the van too, and then they were off, presumably heading back to the EFS headquarters. Beside me, Emmet let out a sigh of relief, before straightening up and punching me in the shoulder
“Ow !!”, I cry, rubbing my shoulder somewhat pathetically, “What was that for ?”
“Why didn’t you help, dumbass ?”, he exclaims, “This would be the perfect way to get your start as a hero !! Imagine the headlines – sixteen-year old defeats Soldaty Korolya cape in seconds !!”
“I’m seventeen, prick”, I correct, “And what happens when all of Soldaty Korolya comes after me with a vengeance for that, huh ? There’s a reason heroes have secret identities”
“Fair enough, I guess”, Emmet grumbled, though his lips curled up into a teasing smirk, “You probably wouldn’t have been able to beat them anyways”
“Shut up”, I grumble, “I’m more surprised that they did – regular people generally can’t defeat capes that easily”
“That’s the EFS for you, I guess”, Emmet shrugged as we started walking towards the broad, sunlit avenue that led to the Goodies, swerving to avoid the slowly spreading pool of viscera, “Top-of-the-line men, top-of-the-line equipment. Even their teenagers are well-armed”
“Nice to see how nobody gave two sh*ts, though”, Jade snarked, “Man gets brutally killed in front of you. Just a normal Tuesday”
“This is East London”, I shoot her a scathing look, “It is just a normal Tuesday for us”
Chapter 4
Chapter Text
The Dean household stands right beside Glaxxon Headquarters – a five-storey building made out of polished steel and glass, glinting like diamond in the sun and shrouded in a force-field so powerful that not even germs can pass through it
The house proper stands outside the forcefield, some cross between a modern mansion and a dinkly old Georgian terrace-type home with the window boxes and wrought-iron railings. Years ago, I remember being awed by the building. As a five year old raised in what effectively amounted to a shoebox in front of this, it was basically the coolest thing in the world.
Now ? Now, I just saw the errors in the construction. The reductions and redundancies that made the house impossible to really live in for a normal family – the yard was too small to avoid crossing the perimeter of the Glaxxon corporate offices, the whole house was painted in Glaxxon’s signature red-and-blue, there was some kind of awful screeching noise coming from below ground where the forcefield-generators stood.
Just like hero-work, the house, too, had lost its luster for me
Overhead, I hear the familiar whoosh of a hero’s flight – probably one of Glaxxon’s flight-based heroes out for an afternoon patrol. I look up, but all I see is their silhouette, outlined against the sun. I wonder who it is, for a second
Thinking, I idly flick my wrist forward, only to wince as something spatters against my back. I look back to see that I had apparently sent the dead Russian’s viscera flying directly into me. I stare at the crimson trail behind me for a second. Jade does too
“We’re gonna need to work on fine control, aren’t we ?”, she sighs, “Come on, Hama, let’s get you cleaned up”
I sigh and push past her to enter the house, eliciting a small giggle from her. I take a moment to take in the opulence of the Dean household – the kind you could only really afford via supercorporation payout, all crushed velvet and beautiful art. Mech sculptures made by only the greatest Thinker-class cape artists. A chandelier of pure crystal. Million-stich tapestries. It looked like it belonged in the King’s throne room, certainly not in a residential area in East London, of all places
But it did. That was the way East London was nowadays. Either you were filthy-rich, or you came from the Slums. The Upper-Middle class was a thing of folktale and myth. The desolation of the Inlands had just driven the final nail into it’s sordid coffin
Regardless, I follow Emmet, making my way up a very opulent set of stairs to a small corridor, and then, a little ways down said corridor, into a room – Emmet’s father’s workshop
It looked too hi-tech to exist, like something straight out of Doctor Who. All glass and polished white metal, curved in a way that made me think that several billion pounds worth of tech was hidden under them. The room was vaguely donut-shaped, rounded out with curved edges, a central glass tower thrumming with power, several lines of molten energy flowing through it like lava
A console surrounded it on all sides, a thick sheet of metal, studded with glowing buttons and bulbs, and inlaid with screens and all manner of tech. Emmet was standing beside it, busy tapping away at the screens.
Beside him was a large glass dome, covering what looked like two mechanical arms protruding from the floor, pulling and stretching loops of red-hot thread like a candy-maker pulling taffy.
The dome glinted and gleamed in the harsh florescent lighting of the column, looking too solid to be glass, a bit too hard – and, as I note while approaching, just a tinge too opaque. I point to it with my thumb, gesturing vaguely in Emmet’s direction
“Lava-glass”, he mentions distractedly, “Not really glass. More a very transparent… and very expensive… rock. Harder and more durable than steel, yet lighter than wood. Used for industrial work – or, in this case, parahuman work”
Jade lets out an impressed whistle behind me, and I cannot help but silently agree, turning to look at the dome with a hint of approval, “Can’t we just make my costume out of that ?”
“If you wanna bake alive, sure”, Emmet smirked, his eyes still fixed on the console’s surface, and the blinking lights trapped within, “Lava-glass is an insulator, dipsh*t. It traps body heat”
“Huh”, I let out a non-descript sound, before turning back to Emmet, who was busy tapping away at the screen. I sneak a glance at his work, and it looks like gibberish – a string of letters and numbers so densely placed together that I could barely read them, much less understand them,“You can understand that ?”
“Yup”, Emmet raised his head to look me in the eye, “Been able to since I was a kid, and….”, he swallowed hard, pausing for a moment, before continuing, “Anyways, it’s a gift of mine. Dad says that he thinks it could be a cape ability, but honestly ? I doubt it”
“I don’t”, I remark, tracing my finger across the edge of the screen as his busily tapped away at an inbuilt keyboard at record pace, “You’re seventeen, and you can fashion a full superhero costume from raw materials alone ? If someone told me you were a cape, I wouldn’t so much as bat an eye”
He smirked at that, before returning to his work, “Yeah, yeah”, he rolled his eyes, “But even if I was a cape- so what ? So I can think better, or have more technical skill. Won’t do sh*t for me when a bullet’s flying towards my skull. Better to just…. keep it on the down-low”
“Suit yourself”, I shrugged, before plopping myself down onto a nearby egg-shaped armchair, “So, how long is it gonna take ?”
“I came up with the design a few days ago and inputted it, so…”
“You what ?”, I blink incredulously, “How ??”
“I know you, James”, he deadpanned, “Not much of a leap in logic to assume you would be impulsive enough to want to go out today. Anyways, since the designs are inputted already, all that’s left is the actual weaving process…… I’d say… five to ten minutes ? Give or take a few minutes”
“So, decided on your agency yet ?”, Jade asked, already lounging in a chair, one leg dangling carelessly off to the side, “MXN sounds fun”
“Mmm… drug running. Sounds nice”, I say, a touch sarcastically, “No thanks”
“What about Glaxxon ? They’re the biggest group by far”
“Their public perception is way down right now. Basically the only ones who look up to them are actual children- and I’m talking five, six year olds here. Besides, I already applied, few years back”
“Really ?”, Jade eyes me curiously, “What’d they say ?”
I wince at the stinging memory, “Take a wild guess, Jade”, I roll my eyes, before raising my voice in a high-pitched mockery of the examiner’s simpering tone, “I’m sorry, Mr Harrison, but your powers are simply…. well, they’re anathema to the presses !! We simply can’t have powers as dark as sanguinokinesis on the team – no, no, think of the children !!. Never mind that Maximan can bench press a truck and Sunstreak can melt stone with his blasts of flame. Oh no, it’s my bloodbending that crosses the line”
Emmet winces, looking up from the console to shoot me a look of sympathy. “That’s rough, buddy”, he commiserates, “Why didn’t you tell us ?”
“As careless as I seem, Dean, I do, in fact, care about my reputation – and telling you I applied to a corporation I’ve spent years deriding, not to mention failed, would be intensely humiliating”
“You know we would never judge you, right ?”, Emmet grins at me, “I’ve seen you naked. That’s basically a seal of honesty, right there. After all, if I never told anyone about your near-concave chest, your…”
I cough pointedly, and he changes the topic, “The point is, I would never mock you”
“You did”, I deadpan, “For a week”
“That was just harmless fun !!”, he shoots me a wry grin, “Jade, tell him we’re right”
“He is”, Jade nods vehemently, “We would never tease you about something as serious as that”
“It’s strange, though”, Emmet muses, as he presses some buttons on the glass dome, releasing a hatch door with a pneumatic hiss, “Last time I checked, Glaxxon didn’t much care about your powerset, as much as they cared about your marketability. Wonder what changed ?”
“Did you look presentable when you gave the exam ?”, Jade looks over to me
“No, I showed up in sweatpants and a T-shirt”, I drawl sardonically, “Of course, I looked presentable. What do you think I am – brain-dead ?”
“Strange”, Emmet hummed as he returned with a large lump of something red tucked in his arms, “Maybe it’s something to do with your father being an alcoholic and all ? And since it would be a dick move to tell a kid that they’re rejecting him cause of his dad, they just jumped at the easiest excuse ?”
“Maybe”, I say, rising and walking over to the console as he unceremoniously dumps the newborn hero costume onto it, “I can’t help but feel like there’s something more, though”
“You can ask them yourself, I guess”, Emmet grinned at me, “After you become famous as a cape”
“Come off it, Emmet”, I scoff, spreading out the wrinkled scarlet costume to examine it, “Barely any indie capes unassociated with gangs or agencies actually become famous. I’ll probably just end up as cannon fodder”
“Have more faith in yourself”, Jade patted my arm reassuringly, “We do”
“How sappy”, I drone, even as my cheeks warm and tingle at her words. Hastily turning my head to hide my blush, I turn my attention back onto the costume, which had been spread-out before me
The costume – the bodysuit, at least- was a dull red color – dark enough to avoid reflecting the light, but bright enough to not be a pure-black. In fact, I note as I touch and stretch the fabric, it seemed to be the exact shade of deoxygenated blood. It’s durable, I observe, as I shift it around. Hard as Kevlar. No doubt it could deflect knife wounds, maybe even small-rounds fire, though I was unwilling to put that particular theory to test just yet
The armored parts, in direct contrast, were a glossy, dark, black – composed into several rounded, convex armor plates that overlapped each other like scales, positioned strategically over my spine, chest and groin. co*cking my head to one side, I run a finger over one of the plates, finding it completely flat – machine-smoothed and polished
“The cloth is dragline spider silk. Darwin’s Bark. Five times as strong as Kevlar, freshly imported”, Emmet called from behind me, his voice tinged with a hint of smug pride, “Expensive stuff, so don’t damage it too much”, his finger traces the edges of one of the rounded armor-plates, “Carbon fiber plating. Hard, yet flexible. Military-grade sh*t”
“And then”, he walks over to the dome, and extracts a round, domed structure from it, “there’s this”. He plops it down onto the table, and it takes me a few seconds to decipher what, exactly, I am looking at
The helmet is the same dull red as the bodysuit, though it looked more solid and stocky than the spider-silk cloth, and trace lines of black were interspersed amongst the crimson-dyed threads that made up its surface – augmented with carbon fiber.
Two more convex armor plates were positioned directly above my cheeks, curving and tapering into razor-sharp points, just before my mouth, resembling a spider’s mandibles. Above, the lenses of the helmet were a dull, dirty blackish-red, looking almost opaque
I stare at it for a second, before raising a trembling finger to point at it, “Did you just give up on the idea of me being a hero or something ?”, I ask, a twinge incredulously
“Eh, heroes are for chumps”, Emmet grins back, before picking up the helmet, cradling it as a mother would cradle her child, “The lenses are made of PVC- didn’t wanna have exposed lava-glass or actual glass near your eyes, in case a villain shatters them, though I did seal a layer of lava-glass into the lenses with a layer of silicon. The rest of the helmet is pretty self-explanatory – spider-silk augmented with carbon fiber”
“The appearance isn’t”, I remark as I saunter over to the costume piece, though I can’t help the involuntary smile that tugs at my lips as I look upon it after imagining it for so many years, “Seriously though, thanks”
“What are friends for ?”, Emmet punches me playfully in the shoulder, “Just remember- you owe me one”
“Watch out for Glaxxon on the streets by the way”, Jade warns in a low tone, “They may seem toothless on the surface, but what they lack in open offense, they more than make up for in terms of ruthlessness”
“That goes for all the Agencies, Jade”, Emmet corrects, “None of them like competition, and they’re not above ordering hits on rookie heroes to get them out of the game. Just…”, he falters for a second, before reaching over to squeeze my shoulder supportively, “… be careful, okay ?”
“Hey”, I try at a reassuring grin, “I’m always careful”
“Okay, that’s just a bald-faced lie, bitch”
“f*ck off, Jade”
Chapter 5
Chapter Text
It was near-evening when I entered the Inlands, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the near-immediate drop in the quality of my surroundings, as the mansions and villas of the Goodies gave way to the plywood-and-drywall houses of the Slums, before finally turning into what looked more like a bombed-out city – which it was, now that I thought about it
On either side of me stretched endless rows of empty, featureless stone buildings, some scorched or cracked from Bolter’s devastation, but mostly intact. These apartments had once served as the residential quarters of the men who worked at the factories that had once populated the Inlands.
Now, with the former inhabitants vaporized or simply evacuated, they served as the perfect shelters for even the most destitute, which was why the streets were mostly empty, save for the occasional unconscious druggie, crack whor* looking for her next fix, or gang member patrolling the streets
I stalled as I entered the Inlands, the dense fog wrapping around me like the tentacles of some great beast. Reaching down, I raise my wrists to my face, and release the catch on one of the mechanisms I had had Emmet add. The cloth over my radial veins unzips with a sharp, electric noise, revealing the pale skin beneath. Bracing myself, I activate the secondary mechanism
With a pneumatic hiss, twin hydraulic-powered blades positioned on the inside of my costume press deep into the flesh of my wrists, releasing twin spouts of blood. I wince at the sting of pain the injuries send rattling through my nerves, and react quickly, forcing the blood back into the wound, seconds before two more blades sink into the wound, before sharply pulling downwards, widening the wound, and sending wild signals of agony directly into my medulla
Trust me when I say this – there’s no better way to learn fine control over your powers than to have to use them while in absolute agony
I stifle a yell of pain, before turning back to the Inlands and drawing in a sharp breath. Okay. Let’s do this.
As I walk, I note the absolute darkness that gripped the region in an iron vice. Most of the buildings had been cut off from the power grid, and so no lights were on anywhere. That might go to explain why I started so sharply on seeing a spot of orange light a few feet ahead of me, drawing against a side of a building to hide
The spot of orange light – the burning end of a cigarette- moves, and I spot several shadowy faces lurking around it. One of them looks up and gestures towards a nearby derelict apartment, just as the door opens, letting out several more of them into the street
They were all wearing black, open-fronted coats and hooded jackets, most going shirtless underneath, revealing tanned skin inked all over with sprawling tattoos – of clocks and eagles and ravens. Most of them bore an inked-in teardrop at a corner of their eye – some bore it on both.
However, what caught my eyes were their sheer swagger, along with the covert “EFS” they each bore on some exposed part of their skin. They were the kings of this region. The Emperors. The EFS. I swallow nervously, before my eyes return to the gate, as the crowd parts to let the man out
My breath catches in my throat as I catch sight of Starlight, completely shirtless, despite the chill in the air. He was small, especially beside his subordinates, but he was, without so much as a shadow of a doubt, their leader, bearing a great, intricate cross tattooed over his heart, an ornate metal mask covering his features
Other than the cross, he bore no other tattoos, for the rest of his body was absolutely littered with scarring – from all manner of weaponry – guns, knives, swords. I could swear that I spotted a Lichtenberg figure dancing across his lightly-muscled back
“Starlight”, his name was. The feared king of the EFS, who had gone toe-to-toe with entire teams of hired heroes and had not only kept himself out of jail, but had killed several of them. Down in the Slums, we called him the Cape-killer.
No one knew his face, which was rare among gang leaders, only the ornate mask he always wore, composed of slatted metal plates, curved and hammered into the vague shape of a wolf’s snout, twisted into a horrific snarl, exposing his thin lips and pale skin within its maw
No one knew much about him, actually, save for one thing. The guy was fast. Super-speed was an uncommon power, but the guy had somehow gotten his hands on it. He could move faster than lightning, as evidenced by his crushing defeat of Electrode.
More, he was a combined Thinker-Recipient class, which meant that he had a mind on par with the greatest minds of history, if not cleverer, able to envision and create technology decades ahead of its time
Put together, it really wasn’t that surprising that the guy was the leader of a gang as feared as the EFS. He could be taken down – Nyctos had done it before – but he wouldn’t stay down for long. His super-speed accelerated everything, after all. Including his healing factor, letting him heal injuries that should take hours in milliseconds
He was speaking lowly to his men, in a soft, yet firm voice. I couldn’t make out the words – he appeared to talking in Chinese- but it sounded like he was passing on instructions. One of his men drew what looked like a cleaver from their belt. Another pulled out a gun
His voice rises, and I hear him switch into heavily-accented English as he spoke, anger clear in his voice, “How many witnesses ?”
I decide to move to a better vantage point, ascending the building I was hiding behind via a fire escape that ran all along it’s outside, till I reach the roof, and, positioning myself on the outer lip, lie in wait
One of the gang members – the teenager I had seen at the Banks- looks suitably chastised as he says something in low, trembling voice – something that makes Starlight start in anger, raising one gloved hand, before slapping his underling hard across the face, something that makes a spout of blood fly from the teenager’s lips as he collapses onto the gravel-coated ground
“You fool !!”, Starlight thunders, “Soldaty already despise us for reasons I…”, he grimaces derisively, “… cannot fathom. You just handed them the perfect excuse !! Do you want a gang war ?!”
“I-I’m sorry… I…”, is all the trembling man manages to get out before Starlight kicks him hard in the stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs
“I should offer King your head as recompense”, he grumbles, “Be grateful that I do not”
“My Lord”, another man steps out of the shadows, bowing lowly to him, before switching into accented Chinese, and murmuring a few things that sounded an awful lot like flattery
“Do not dirty my mother-language with your tongue, Kierev”, Starlight interrupts coldly, and the man’s jaws snap shut with a loud click, “Though you are right in saying that this boy’s”, he spits the word out like poison, leveling a harsh glare at the fallen, bloodied teenage, “idiocy is your responsibility”, he waves one hand to the rest of his gang, “Take him away, and give him his punishment”
Kierev’s eyes widen as two heavy-set gang members step out from the crowd and grab him by the arms, and his sputtered protests and pleas fall on deaf ears as he is dragged away into one of the many derelict buildings that lined the street – no doubt to be tortured, if not worse
“Now, boy”, Starlight reaches over to take a cigarette from his minion’s hand, roughly enough to nearly rip his hand off as he did so. The gang member winced, but didn’t dare to let out so much as a word of complaint. Starlight kneels beside the boy, placing the cigarette between his own lips, and placing his face scarily close to the teenager’s, the lit end of the cigarette mere inches from the minion’s eye
“You ever had a cigarette pressed into your eye, son ?”, the gang leader spoke calmly around the burning cigarette. At the teenager’s terrified shake of the head, he laughed a grim, humorless laugh, “I have. It ain’t fun.”
He bobs his head for a few seconds, as though his body were being racked with imaginary laughter or tears, before reaching up to pull out the cigarette, and pressing the lit end hard into the young man’s neck. The man howled in pain, thrashing around in his boss’ grip, but Starlight, a cape, was far stronger, able to effortlessly pin him down, the fire still pressed into his skin
A few moments pass, and Starlight spits derisively off to the side, rising to his feet and tossing away the now-extinguished cigarette. He levels a severe gaze at the prone boy, before raising his eyes and raking them around the street, “And that”, he emphasizes, “is why none of you will ever disobey my orders again. Capische ?”. He turns back to the kid, leaning in to whisper some heated words in the boy’s ear.
I wasn’t sure what exactly he said, but, when the leader rose to his feet again, the boy was a pale, shaking mess. I pitied him somewhat.
His head snaps back suddenly, and his expression behind his mask contorts into one of intense concentration, before he hisses something in Chinese, and a ripple of alertness expands through his men, their hands falling to the steel-grey handles of the guns holstered in their waistbands
The cape turns, and his head rises, his eyes, a startlingly bright electric-blue, raking across the rooftops, until they settle exactly where I stand. I hold my breath. It was dark. Extremely so. There was no way he could see me right ?
I take a step back, and accidentally step onto a piece of gravel. The resulting crack rings out into the silence, yet theoretically, not loud enough to attract any attention
But Starlight’s eyes focus on me like I had fired a gunshot into the air. Resignation clogs my throat, and I resist the urge to sigh. Enhanced hearing. One of the bastard’s superpowers was superhuman hearing. And he had just heard me
“Little cape”, he calls out, his accented voice layered with the thick gloating of a man who knows he has already won, “Come out. Don’t be afraid. Mean me no harm, and I mean you no harm”
For a moment, I contemplate simply making a run for it, before the memory of Starlight’s speed stays my feet. This guy had outrun cars and bikes and blasts of lightning. What hope did I, of all people, have of escaping him ?
Sighing slightly, my heart hammering against my chest, I come out, my hands raised to show him I mean no harm.
He jerks back slightly as his eyes trace across the gaping wounds on my wrists, and the blades holding them open, but if he is confused, he makes no mention of it, simply coming nearer, each step sounding louder than the last, like an executioner’s axe grinding against the whetstone
“Greetings, little one”, he speaks, suddenly the very image of politeness, as though I had not witnessed him ruthlessly torturing one of his subordinates mere moments ago, “What brings you round these parts ? What agency are you with ?”
“What does it matter ?”, I retort bravely, raising my chin high in defiance, even as my body quails in fear on meeting his piercing eyes, “I’m…”
“It matters”, he mocks my slow, fearful tone, “because we have a deal with the AZN – they don’t touch us, we don’t touch them. The MXN – we trade with them, so they wouldn’t send you after us”
“Trade what ?”
He eyes me like you would a particularly slow five-year-old, “Take a guess, my little airhead. Drugs, obviously. Anyways, you aren’t Glaxxon stuff – so who’re you with ?”
I try not to take offense at that last jab, and fail, “What do you mean, I’m not Glaxxon stuff ?”
“If you were a Glaxxon hero, the conglomerate would have been plastering your image onto everything they could months before you started working the streets. Now, don’t distract me”, his voice takes on a dangerous edge, “Who. Are. You. With ?”
“No one”, I release a heavy breath, “I’m indie”
“Indie ??”, he questions incredulously, “So, a dead man walking then, is it ? You won’t survive, my friend. Not the villains, and certainly not the heroes”
“I will”, I say, a little forcefully, looking up to meet his deadly gaze, “and I’ll win, too”
“Oh ?”, he co*cks his head to one side, his tone colored with amusem*nt, “I like your style, kid. You remind me of me, when I was your age”
“Do I ?”, I grimace lightly, and blurt out, before I can stop myself, “That doesn’t sound like a compliment”
“It’s not”, the gang leader’s smile falls, revealing his lips growing thin and grim. What I can see of his face looks carved from iron, “It’s competition. Anyways”, his eyes flicker to the open wounds on my wrists, “Who are you supposed to be ? Suicide Man ?”
“I…”, I falter for a second, floundering for a name, “I…um…. don’t… something blood-related. Haven’t picked one yet”
“Haven’t, eh ?”, the man grins a sharp-angled grin, as deadly and sinister as a knife-blade, “What’s your power-set ? Hormone-manipulation ? Biokinesis ?”
“Something like that”, I stammer out, before deciding to simply show him what I meant. I close my eyes, and trace along the lines of my veins till I find the gaping wound in my left radial vein. Mentally grabbing hold of my blood, I force it to funnel upwards in a spinning motion, forming a small spire of solid-liquid blood directly above my wound
For a few seconds, I hold it, till the strain and the nerves become too much, and overwhelm the power, as the blood falls back into the wound with a dull plop. I open my eyes to find Starlight looking genuinely shocked
His mouth opens for a second, before closing, as if deciding against saying anything. His eyes flickered strangely through the eye-slits of his mask, before he appeared to regain control over his vocal chords, “Sanguinokinesis, huh ? Neat”, his voice is low, strained, almost painful to hear as he speaks, “Interesting, too”
He turns back to his gang, “Change of plans, boys. We’re going back to base. I have… some things I need to discuss with Empyrea and Daemon”
I start at the names. Empyrea and Daemon were the other two cape members of the gang, both equally feared among the masses for their destructive abilities. Known as the right and left arms of Starlight, they served as his personal advisors and bodyguards, fiercely loyal to him and only him, almost to the point of cultish devotion.
Not much else was known about them, save for the fact that one had some form of macropyrokinesis, and the other had super-strength. But it was known that if Starlight was seen speaking to one or more of them, every civilian area near their meeting place was to be immediately evacuated, because, as history told, that usually preceded something immensely destructive
So for him to have something to discuss with those two…..
I swallow hard, dragging Starlight’s attention back onto me, now that his men had all but departed. He turns to gaze at me, and I catch a hint of something new gleaming in his eyes – a kind of edge. His eyes dance over to a nearby shadow, and his brow furrows. His lips parting, he speaks, “I’ll see you around, boy”, his voice is low, “and, for the record, a word of advice. Trust no one. Especially not them”
I was about to ask who “them” were, before the man simply disappeared into a shimmer of light and a cloud of dust, leaving me behind, standing alone and confused, in an empty, dark street. In the distance, I see a streak of black flash across the city – that must be him, I think. Looks like I was right to stay put. If he had caught hold of me while running at those speeds, there was no doubt in my mind that he would have torn my arm clean off
Why had he run so fast ? That seemed strange to me. Surely, if he was simply relocating back to his base, he had no reason to run, right ?
“Why did he run ?”, I muse out loud, only to start as I sense someone behind me, my blood freezing as a leather-gloved hand landed on my shoulder with a solid thud
“Because he saw me”, a deep, baritone voice sounds from behind, tight around the edges and sharp as a knife, “I think we need to talk, son”
My heart hammers in my chest as the older man spins me around. He’s far taller than me, dressed in what looks like hard leather body-armour, dyed a deep black, with silver highlights outlining the hard lines of his body. A sharp-angled silver, V-shaped visor covers his eyes and nose, giving him the vague appearance of a hawk. Only the lower half of his face is exposed, revealing a grey-black beard trimmed to trace the edges of his sharp-cut jaw.
There’s nothing emblazoned across his chest. No bright colors. No flashy lights. No goofy quips. This wasn’t a superhero. This was a ruthless soldier, employed under the name Glaxxon
In one hand he carries a great, six-foot-tall lance-like weapon, tipped with a wicked-sharp spear, which hums with power, even held in a resting pose. I knew him. How could I not ? Second-in-command of the Society, and one of the few Glaxxon heroes actually worth fearing.
Sunstreak, the Flaming Death. A pyrokinetic – well, no, not exactly. More of a solar-kinetic, really, since he didn’t so much create and manipulate fire as he did pure solar mass – plasma mimicking the intense heat and temperatures of the sun.
I stare at him for a second, and feel my heart climb up my throat at the sight of him. He balls one hand into a fist, and I panic as a glowing aura starts collecting around it, very much resembling a coronal mass ejection.
It was strange, the amount of fear this man – officially weaker than Maximan – brought out in me, as though I were looking straight into the cool, silver, emotionless face of Death himself. That was the way the Glaxxon corporation ran, after all.
One hero played the “face” of the company, handling the marketing and merchandising, while the other, usually stronger, played it’s “heel”, noted down as weaker than the face in almost all documents, while actually being stronger, usually by several magnitudes
I panic, and, much to my shame, immediately blurt out, “Wait… wait !! I’ll tell you everything !!”
The power building in Sunstreak’s fists immediately dies down, and the man stills, his face lowered, as though his eyes – his fiery, blood-scarlet eyes- were fixed on me from inside that opaque mask
“Very well, then”, he says, as though he didn’t really believe me, “You’re a new face. Who’re you with ? The EFS ?”
“What ??”, I sputter. He thought I was a villain ??., “No !!”
“And your voice isn’t Russian enough to be Soldaty”, he mused out loud, before stilling again, going rigid, as though someone had stuffed a metal rod up his back, “Your power…. Sanguinokinesis. I saw it. Too powerful to be associated with the red-shirt, low-class villains. Then…. oh god, don’t tell me those psychos – the f*cking Nine From Hell- have started recruiting kids ?”
“Psychos ?”
“What else would you call slaughtering an entire city in four hours ?”, he asked rhetorically, ignoring the swirling storm of questions building in my head, “Dragged out the process quite a bit too, the sick bastards”
My lips part, and a flood of question settles down on my tongue. What psychos ? Did Glaxxon cover this up ? Why did we never know of this ? But I only dare to ask one question, “Why did… why did Starlight react like that ? On seeing my powers ?”
He looks up from where he’d been kneeling, lost in thought, “Beats me”, he shrugged, “Some of the higher-ups were whispering about a sanguinokinetic the other day, but I don’t have a high enough clearance to know that. I think Maximan might be the only one who does, but he’s a teacher’s pet. Won’t rat on them no matter what I say”
I gape at the man, but before I can respond, he turns to me, his jaw tight with confusion and latent rage, “Who are you with ? The Nine From Hell ? The Hellfire Gang ? The f*cking Deaths ?”, his jaw snapped shut, and he goes pale with fear, before leaning in close, and whispering, “Are you ? Are you with the Deaths ?”
“What the hell are you talking about ?”, I finally explode, “First of all, why do you think I’m a villain in the first place ?!!”
“Come off it, kid”, he scoffs, “Costume like that, with powers like that, and it’s a fair guess. Add to that the fact that villains outnumber heroes almost two to one, and that you were acting all buddy-buddy with the Cape Killer a second ago ? Yeah, I think you’re a villain”
“Well, I think you’re wrong !!”, I shoot back, “Who the hell even are half the people you mentioned, anyways ?”
“That’s classified information”, his face immediately shutters, “And you’re what ? Sixteen ? Of course you weren’t taught about them yet – the curriculum doesn’t cover them. Might traumatize you if it did”
“I’m seventeen”, I grumble, “and I’ve never heard anyone mention them, even offhandedly. Who –“
“Forget about them”, the hero interrupted sharply, “If you don’t know about them, then it’s for the best. And considering I’m still standing here, in one piece, I think it’s safe to say you aren’t among the Deaths- unless those beasts got very intelligent very quickly”
“What ?”
“I said, forget about them”, Sunstreak chides dangerously, rising to his full stature, and slamming the hilt of his staff against the ground, prompting it to whir to life, as metal slats rise and slide away near the top, revealing the barrel of a grappling-gun, “In the interest of looking out for the youth, I’ll give you a piece of friendly advice. Go home, kid. Or sign up with an Agency – Indie work is hard, and it’s dangerous. Too dangerous for someone as young as you”
“I can handle it !!”, I protest, and I’m almost shocked at how whiny my voice sounds as it emerges
“No”, the older man said grimly, with the air of someone who’d seen Hell and returned, “You can’t. Ever seen an actual villain in action ? Not the low-class, local folk, but the real supervillains ? Take your buddy Starlight back there for instance – I once saw him run clean through a man. Shredded him in an instant, despite the fifty pounds of body armor the poor bastard was wearing”
I gape at the information, and Sunstreak takes this as his cue to continue, “No ? What about bombs ? Ever come face-to-face with one of Boutade’s bombs ? I have. I saw it liquefy at least a hundred people. You know what the sick freak did after that stunt ? She stood on a nearby bombed-out roof, and laughed. The psychopath laughed. She’s one of the Hellfire Gang. They level city blocks for fun. The first group I mentioned – the Nine ? They level cities. The Deaths ? They level countries. Trust me kid – you aren’t cut out for this stuff. No one is”
With that, a grappling hook emerged from the barrel, flying off into the darkness. I make to ask him one last question, but he’s already gone by the time my lips part to so much as make a sound. Another few seconds pass, and I hear the thrum of a motorcycle, presumably carrying him off to the Glaxxon headquarters.
Sighing, I turn to leave, a heavy burden settling in my heart as I moved. My first day as a hero was, unequivocally, an absolute failure. I’d let Starlight and his gang go, and I’d looked so much like a villain that Sunstreak had nearly fried me on sight
Well, it could have gone worse. At least he didn’t actually fry me on sight. I sigh again, and walk dejectedly back to the Slums, holding onto those words like a security blanket – it could have gone worse
Chapter 6
Chapter Text
“We don’t know how long they’d been there before they attacked”, the young woman cried into the news mic. Her thickly accented voice blaring out into the still silence of the grimy, decrepit living room of the Harrison household, “All we know as that when they attacked, they did so with precision… and sadism”
The news broadcast cut out to birds-eye shots of a devastated city, buried almost completely under rubble, small tines of flame poking out where they could find air, like weeds. In the distance, a great, multi-colored dome lay cracked and broken, as though split open by some overwhelming force – the topmost dome of St Basil’s Cathedral. In the background, a low, business-like voice read out off a script, “Two million dead. As many as one million injured, with many not expected to survive. That, is the horrifying aftermath of their encounter with the residents of Moscow. The ones the survivors of Moscow refer to only as Khuzhe D’yavolov, though we know them better, as the Nine From Hell”
“This supervillain group made their existence known only a few years ago, with an equally devastating attack on the South American city of Tijuana, leaving fifty-thousand dead in their wake – a particularly devastating case, given it was only a few decades after the Hellfire Gang’s own attack on Tijuana. At the time, we considered this devastating. Now, we know that, to them, this number is paltry”
“The attack began with a long-range EMP pulse, powerful enough not just to short out every electronic in a thousand miles of it’s source, but to outright blow them up. That was when we here at SUPER news lost contact with our Moscovian branch”. The newscaster’s voice is heavy, yet emotionless – the voice of someone used to reading out appallingly large death tolls on international television
“Moments later, a scream rang out, described by survivors as “primal” and “violent”. This scream is believed to have been produced by the villainess known only as the Faceless One, one of the Nine, whose powers grant her the ability to control inorganic matter with simple screaming. Spikes erupted from the pavements, spearing anyone unlucky enough to be standing on them at the time – and that was when the attack fully began”
“We have no information on the attack”, the voice read out, before dead silence took over the air, each word resounding independently like the strikes of a hammer driving a nail into the wood of a coffin, “There are no survivors who were close enough to the epicenter of the attack to be able to report on it”
“Those who were have, invariably,…”, the newscaster hesitated, “broken beyond repair, speaking only in gibberish, occasionally mentioning something related to what they term as “The Hanged King”, and the “Devil’s own son”. All inevitably perished hours later. They are believed to have been poisoned with a potent synthetic neurotoxin, left alive, in agony, purposefully by the Nine… perhaps to send a message”
“Well”, she grimaced, “I think I speak for us all when I say this, but “Message Received””, the newscaster turned back to her page, “The Russian government, in response, has elected to impose martial law upon-“
The grimy screen of the television flickered off, cutting off the news broadcast mid-sentence. Jim Harrison lounged lazily upon his couch- the one that stank of cigarettes and carbon ash, amidst his pile of drained beer cans and bottles, even as his eyes flickered over to the front door, squinting with worry with each minute that passed
God damn it, where was that boy ?
It was three in the morning, and his son hadn’t so much as shown up in the neighborhood, much less returned. What had happened ?
Had he finally decided to cut ties with his drunkard of a father and ran away ? No, he was too doggedly loyal for something like that. Had he gone out to party ? No, his wastrel of a son was too boring for that, too
The EFS had been spotted near the Slums recently, about the same time James had gone out. Jim caught himself mid-swig, his breath catching hard at the thought.
Jim Harrison was a terrible father. This he knew. A wastrel. A drunkard and an addict. Someone who just sat on his ass all day and blew the government-provided cheques he got, while his seventeen-year old son was forced to run around, cleaning up his messes.
But he was still a father, goddamnit. And the thought of picking up his phone to a police officer or nurse informing him that they had found his son’s body made his stomach curdle like rancid milk
Jim ran one hand over the top of his head, through the thin strands of ratty brown hair that barely covered the mottled skin of his scalp.
Tonight was the first night in a long while that he hadn’t gone out to drink, he realized with a jolt. Been too busy worrying about his son, and his sobriety, at the time, hadn’t helped. Even the residual effects of nearly all the alcohol he had stored in the fridge wasn’t enough to ward off the looming dread.
Was this how normal fathers felt ? He didn’t know. There was a lot he didn’t know. Mary would’ve known. She would know what to do in a situation like this – be it call the authorities or go out and hunt for James herself, safety be damned
Once again, he felt the dull itch to call his wife – for help, advice, something. But she was gone. Had been for a while too. Didn’t stop the dull ache in his chest when he thought of her though. Her and thes damned villains that had killed her
What had he told James ? That Alex had been born in the back of a drug-runner’s truck down in Mexico. That he had left of his own volition. All true, technically speaking
The boy didn’t need to know that the truck belonged to MXN Hero Agency, escorting the survivors of what had become known as the Tijuana Incident to safer regions near Mexico City proper. The boy didn’t need to know that Alex hadn’t been born so much as extracted from the bloody body of his dead mother – or at least, what remained of her after the Hellfire Gang finished with her
And most of all, he didn’t need to know that Alex had left, not because he hated his father, but because his mere presence caused his father mortal agony, every second the older man laid eyes on him.
On his stature, tall and commanding. On his hair, flaxen gold-brown. And most of all, on his soft brown eyes. Eyes that had once laid with Jim in his bed and whispered him to sleep.
Eyes that Afarit had scorched out of her head, right in front of his screaming self
Eyes he had seen lower in sorrow as he shouted them out of the house.
Sometimes, Jim was afraid that he was becoming like his father – a heavyset man, near-always drunk, quick to anger, completely unable to hold his tongue once a thought entered his mind. Other times, he was sure he was
He tried to be better. He failed
He wondered if James would turn out like him, one day
He bit back a wince at the memory, and shook his head, as though to dislodge any stray thoughts. With shaky fingers, he dialed a number. The blonde one – one of James’ friends. Closest friend, actually. If anyone would know where he went, he would
For a moment, the dial tone played, before Emmet picked up – quickly, too quickly to be a coincidence
“Hello”, the boy’s wary voice filtered out through the phone’s tiny speakers, “James ?”
“It’s his dad”
“Oh”, the boy said, before his voice took on a note of fear, “James isn’t back yet ?”
“No”, a sense of creeping fear started to fill Jim’s heart, “Any idea where he could have gone ?”
“I…yeah…some, yeah”, the boy confessed in a low tone, “Check the news. Is there anything about any..um… supervillain…”
“Supervillain activity ? No. Just an attack up in Moscow”, Jim felt a rush of anger fill him suddenly, giving his words a rough, jagged tone, “Where the f*ck is he, Dean ?”
“He..uh… he should be fine”, the boy reasoned, though it sounded like more of a reassurance to himself than anything, “He..um… I…I gotta go”
“Oh no you don’t !! Don’t you dare flake on me, you little-“
“Sorry, working on something in my Dad’s workshop !! Can’t talk right now. Bye !!”, came the frantic response, almost drowned out by the distinct whirring of machinery and the banging of hammers
Before Jim could so much as let out a noise of protest, the line went dead with a definitive beep. Jim growled slightly in a mild rage, melded with a kind of budding fear, as he rose from his couch, and returned to pacing about his bedroom
It wasn’t like James to disappear for so long. The boy was many things, and punctual was chief amongst them. For him, of all people, to simply disappear without so much as a note or a text ? To leave the house for three f*cking hours without his phone ? It was…. disconcerting, to say the least
He was just about to go out and hunt for the boy himself, his own life be damned, when the slightest of vibrations informed him of the back door opening, as the relatively warm air of the house’s interior escaped out into the night. With a whoosh, the door shut again
Relief crept up Jim’s throat, tightening around it like a vice, as he rose unsteadily from the living room couch and staggered towards the door to the entrance of the house, a small, closet-sized room that connected to the basem*nt, the stairs, the back door, the and the living room, like an airlock in a space station.
Truth be told, Jim wasn’t entirely sure why it existed, but as the acrid stench of fresh blood hit his nose, he had never been more grateful that it did. The boy was injured. Injured enough to bleed, and quite heavily, if his nose wasn’t lying to him
He staggered back slightly, as the faint sound of the basem*nt door opening reached him, and then the rhythmic creaking of the stairs. The smell of James’ blood washed over everything like a flood of sewage, tainting everything with it’s acrid, coppery smell.
Jim didn’t dare to leave the living room and actually come face-to-face with his son. It would give reality to his fears, the sight of his son’s injuries. Abject fear crept up his throat as he contemplated how bad they might be, for the smell of them to be this pungent.
Fear became anger – at James, for not telling him where he was going, for making him worry, at whoever had hurt James, for nearly taking away his only child, after he had already lost his wife and elder son – the latter to his own cold, hateful self. And then anger melted into shame and self-recrimination.
Why would James tell him where he was going ? It’s not like he ever showed interest in the boy’s well-being. In fact, he had done pretty much the opposite – sticking to him like a hungry leech, feeding well off his inherent generosity and kind nature. Like a parasite.
Jim lurched back to his couch, as the faint sounds of the basem*nt door opening and closing again reached him, followed by the creaking noises of the steps up to James’ room. Jim decided against following him up there. It would only end in inevitable conflict – the way most conversations between seemed to end nowadays
Instead, he simply closed his eyes, ignoring the burning guilt and shame, and forced himself to drift off to sleep, content in the fact that however injured James may be, at least he was still alive. At least he was still breathing and conscious enough to walk up to his room.
That was enough, to his mind
Mary would have killed him for thinking like that. She loved everyone. She would have followed James upstairs, even though he wasn’t her son, and questioned him about the injuries
It’s what her got her killed, after all
His eyes drifted back open. He couldn’t sleep. He decides to do what he always did when he felt the deep ache in his bones, that had been there for a good decade – he went to the bar to get wasted
Chapter 7
Chapter Text
I wake to the droning noise of the radio. Reaching over to my alarm clock, I turn it around. 7:00 am. Saturday. I heave a sigh of relief as I wearily move my aching limps off my bed. Thank God. I don’t think I would have been able to deal with school today, especially not after last night
That was when I sat in a warm, wet spot. For a moment, I’m afraid that I peed the bed, before I remember that I haven’t done that since I was five
I look down to see my bed speckled with spots of crimson red, with a particularly large pool puddling around where I had been lying. I look down to note that my wrist wounds were open. And had not been bandaged yet
I had grown so used to my powers simply keeping the blood inside my body that I forgot to actually ensured that it stayed in there. As a result, I forgot to bandage my wounds before I went to sleep, my powers naturally deactivated and boom. Red tsunami.
I sigh, contemplating wringing out the sheets and just putting the blood back where it belonged, before deciding against it. I was a sanguinokinetic, not immune to disease. Still, this was going to be an absolute bitch to explain
Sighing, I move over to my “closet”, which was actually a small, low-to-the-ground, dark wood cabinet, which creaked loud enough to wake the dead every time a drawer was slid open, and extracted a small roll of white bandages
Focusing on my wound again, I forced my blood into the shape of small tendrils of scarlet, gleaming sanguine, which grabbed hold of the edges of my wounds like tiny hands, before slowly, painfully, drawing the edges together, till they are almost touching
Satisfied, I draw out a length of bandage, and swiftly wrap it around my wrists, the cool, rough cloth itchy and uncomfortable against my tender skin. I change into sweatpants and a very-long-sleeved shirt that had once belonged to Alex, with sleeves that stretched way past my hands to hang loosely from the ends, and a chest that hung baggily off my torso
It kind of felt like I was wearing a potato-sack, but it was worth it to avoid the uncomfortable questions my blood-soaked bandages would surely generate.
I needed to find out more about the gangs and villains of the world, I decided. I knew the heavy hitters, of course – the ones with the most territory – Soldaty, EFS, and even some of the smaller ones I had heard being name-dropped by local authorities – Wiseyes, the Gamemasters – the ones no one really took seriously.
But clearly, I didn’t know enough. None of the names Sunstreak had mentioned yesterday had so much as rung a bell in my head, and I was fairly sure I knew why.
None of them were based in East London. Operated out of it, ruled huge chunks of it, but weren’t based in it. No, they were something far greater than just our tiny corner of the world. Something far stronger
I needed more information. I needed to know more about this world I had just started to foray into. I needed to learn more, before my lack of knowledge got me killed, or worse.
I sneak a glance at the stack of books standing at the foot of my bed, before deciding against it. They wouldn’t help. Autobiographies were almost always colored by the writer’s own personal biases. They wouldn’t provide me with accurate information.
To someone like, say, Heir- the rumored head of the Glaxxon Corporation, and among the strongest capes in the world – an enemy like Starlight would be paltry. Beneath his attention. This was a man who had battled gods and monsters – what was one villain when compared to that ?
But I would be mulched, should I ever cross blades with Starlight. This I knew, instinctively, though I hadn’t so much as angered him yet. There was something about him that let me know that he was far stronger than I, though he was nothing to a powerhouse like Heir.
No, autobiographies were out of the question. The Parahumans wiki, maintained by the Hero Agencies, would have to do – though it was infamously a buggy, incomplete mess- with several of the top villains being outright missing, simply because anyone who survived battle with them was in no state to type – generally speaking, they were in no state to do anything but moan helplessly for a few hours before expiring.
But it was my only choice, and therefore, the one I would have to go with. I sent Emmet a quick text telling him to meet me at the library, and, with a deep sigh, headed to the bathroom to wash my face several times to ward off both the vague feeling of impending slumber, and my splitting migraine.
I look at back at once-white bed, and groan slightly. Right. That was a problem. For a moment, I contemplate leaving the blood there for someone to find, before deciding against it. It would be way too much of a hassle.
Gesturing vaguely towards it, I flick my wrist, and the droplets of crimson blood rise to hover mere inches from the fabric’s surface, like tiny, red planets, or stars, hanging in the stale air of my room. Another flick, and they spin together to form a slightly bigger orb.
I walk over to my window, one hand still outstretched towards the blood-ball hanging over my bed, and unlatch it, sliding it open, before swinging my other arm towards the open window with my full strength, sending the ball sailing out the window. There. It was someone else’s problem now
A few minutes later, I was sitting at the kitchen table, choking down a breakfast of something that barely counted as edible, let alone palatable, when I realized something.
I hadn’t seen my dad since yesterday morning. That was… I would say it was mildly concerning, but I was used to him disappearing for days at a time, usually off on one of his drug-and-drink-fueled rampages. The only problem was that the phone’s answering machine was also disconcertingly empty.
No calls from 999, no calls from the hospital, from any of dad’s drinking buddies, from the f*cking pub. Nothing.
Now that was concerning
I look around for a bit, as though he would just materialize out of thin air if I looked hard enough, before sighing heavily and picking up the phone, dialing a number I hadn’t dialed in months. God, the things I do for family
The phone rings for a good few seconds before a cheery voice picks up. “Hello, Phillips residence. Who is this ?”
I sigh again, my voice reverberating like static down the line, reaching up to massage the bridge of my nose, “Hey Alex. It’s me”
The voice goes quiet for a moment, before returning, noticeably grimmer now, “James ? I haven’t heard from you in ages !! How are you ?”
“Cut the sh*t, Alex”, I retort sharply, “You and I both know we didn’t want this call to happen”
“I’m trying to be courteous here, James”
“We’re Jim Harrison’s sons, Alex. I don’t think either of us have the capacity to be courteous”
“Fair enough”, came Alex’s grave voice, “So what’re you calling me for ?”
“Is Dad there ?”
“Isn’t he at the family home with you ?”
I resist the urge to snort at the words “family home” and continue, “No. At least, I don’t think he is. He didn’t show up this morning”
“Maybe he’s unconscious”, Alex suggests, “Maybe the alcohol finally got the better of him and he’s off dying in a gutter somewhere. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say”
“Yeah but –“, I begin to say, before a questioning voice sounds in the background of Alex’s side of the call, “Alex, I-“
“Sorry, James”, he interrupts my attempts at speaking, his voice tinged with sympathy, “Gotta go. Gotta tend to the Mr., you know ? Hope you find Dad’s body soon. He may have been a terrible father, but he deserves a burial, at least. Maybe in a trash-heap somewhere”
With that, the line goes dead, and I let out another earth-shaking sigh, throwing the phone carelessly onto the table beside it’s stand. I lean back in my chair, staring up at the grimy, stained ceiling for a second
f*ck this
A rush of indignation fills me as I sit there, feeling a bit defeated. Why should I be the one to clean up after my father – to drag him out of whatever dumpster he had gotten himself stuck in ? I didn’t care about the bastard, so why should I be the one to hunt for him ?!
f*ck this !!, I fume, as I angrily pull on my shoes, preparing to leave. f*ck this, and f*ck him !!
Still, as I rise to leave the table, I can’t help but leave out an extra plate of the nigh-inedible breakfast, in case my wastrel of a father somehow did manage to straggle his way back home
As I exit my house, the brisk morning air, heavy with the classic London fog, stings my face as it brushes against with a dull whoosh, like a thousand tiny, sharp ice crystals slicing against my skin. I draw in a deep breath, and walk down the stone pathway across our bedraggled yard, breaking out into an all-out run as I passed the chain-link fence and stepped out onto the stone sidewalks
The streets were brimming with early-morning commute, with men and women heading out of their homes to travel to wherever they worked… or, in particularly depressing cases, wherever they went to drown their sorrows in their addictive drug of choice
I turned and headed in the direction of the public library, built right at the “intersection”, so to speak, of all the regions of East London – for maximum coverage, according to the government. Personally, I thought that they simply didn’t want to pay the money needed to set up three different libraries.
Luckily, since my father’s house was built right at the mouth of the Slums, the building was only a few blocks away
The library was eerily quiet as I entered. Not many people were spending their precious weekend at the library – especially not at the ass-crack of dawn.
The building was built like a palace, all tall ceilings and ornate pillars and statues of the greatest capes of history standing to frame the hallways that divided the major sections of the building. I headed down a hallway to the computer room, where twenty very old computers had been arranged in a sort-of-grid-like pattern.
Thankfully, there was no line, because there were no patrons. At least, not yet
Seating myself at a computer, I decide to start my investigation before Emmet arrived, for the sake of the curiosity currently burning its way through my chest like a hot coal
I power it up, enduring both the agonizingly slow reboot and loading processes, before quickly opening up Google and then the Parahumans wiki
The front page was, as expected, littered with news of cape sightings and major fights, each with bombastic candid shots of the capes in action, underlined with titles so clickbait-y that they put Youtube thumbnails to shame
From there, I open up the wiki in one tab, the foremost repository on cape identities, powers, and alignments, or so they claimed, the black-backgrounded page taking forever to load, inch-by-inch, onto the screen.
The cursor blinked in the search bar, and the first thing I search is one of the names Sunstreak mentioned yesterday
The Nine From Hell
The result I got was short, and a single article rather than the nine I had expected. At the very top of the article, in a blinking black header, stood a cartoon version of Maximan, looking adorably confused, the words “This article is a stub. Please help us expand it” written in blood-red text beside him
I sigh, and scroll down, and nearly have a heart attack
At the very top of the “MEMBERS” subcategory, was an image of a smoke-filled, destroyed landscape, the picture greyed and misted with heavy, ash-filled fog. A figure was standing in the fog, towering over whoever took the picture, the ribbons of grey wreathing around him like strings.
A white, smooth, featureless mask loomed out of the grey blurriness, spattered with crimson blood, and featuring a laughing face, painted on in matte black paint, two crescented eyes and an unnervingly-wide smile. There appeared to be no eye-holes.
Below the mask, two great, scaled hands appeared to be gripping onto a piece of fallen debris, studded with twisted, broken steel beams. Smoke wreathed off them like cloth, but not enough to disguise their form – bulky and massive, covered in spade-like scales, and tipped with knife-sharp claws
A small text box under the image named the monstrous beast as “La Comedienne”, though a series of backslashes told me that it was also known as “The Hanged King”, “The Black Reaper”, and, simply, “Death”
The description of the beast consisted of only one line, and appeared to be taken from an interview. It read as follows : “I saw him take off the mask. He looked like a shark, he's got... lifeless eyes, black eyes, like a doll's eyes. He didn't seem to be livin'... until he…bit you”
Thoroughly spooked, I scroll further down, across acres of blank ad-space, till I come across the second member – known only as “The Faceless One”, and represented by a picture of a blurry, mist-wreathed figure, captured with her mouth wide open. It could be the lighting, or it could be my imagination filling in the gaps, but I could swear that the woman had no facial features other than her mouth, and her mouth was a gaping abyss, with nary a tooth in sight.
Luckily, this one had the cape’s abilities and precautions to be taken upon encountering her listed, though even that effectively amounted to a single line, reading “Can control inorganic matter through her screams. Can and will use it to kill. If ever you cross paths with her, or indeed, any of the Nine – pray to God, cause you’re gonna be meeting him soon… at least, if you’re lucky”
Very ominous
The other seven members were, disappointingly, complete blanks, with neither name nor picture listed, with the only assurance that they existed being the fact that the group was named “Nine” and not “Two”
I sigh, and return to the search bar, this time looking up my city – East London, giving me a wealth of names of supers who operated in or out of the city, at least half of which were new to me. Perhaps because they were too low-class to worry about, though I somehow couldn’t help but doubt that a man named “Deathshrike” could be anything resembling “low-class”
Sighing, I lean back, only to nearly fall off my seat in a blind panic as someone lays their hand across my shoulder. A soft laugh from behind me brings me back to my senses, and I turn to glare directly into the eyes of one Emmet Dean
“Hey, James”, he grinned back, “You seem a bit… on-edge”
“Shut up”, I collapse back down onto my seat, leaning forward to gently massage my forehead as I took a seat beside me, “You showed up”
“Yeah ?”, he frowns, confused, “I mean, you called me”
“Right, right”. Amidst all the hassle of the morning and the information I had just uncovered, skeletal as it may be, that factoid had somehow slipped my mind
“So, how’s our resident superhero ?”, he teased, “How was your first foray into hero-work ?”
“Almost got fried”, I dismissed off-handedly, ignoring Emmet’s shocked sputtering with a faint hint of smugness, “So..um… what now ?”
“What ?”, he looks up, having more-or-less recovered his vocal chords, “What do you mean “what now ?” ?”
“I mean, what now ?”, I shrug, “In case you haven’t noticed, I…uh…have no real aim here. Do I just…what ? Walk the streets every night hoping I come across something ? That’s…pretty stupid”
“We could contact a..”
“If you finish that sentence with “Hero Agency””, I warn, “I will punch you in the face”
Emmet huffed out a quiet laugh, “Fair enough”, he mused, “Good point. There isn’t exactly for you to do, is there ?”
That’s when a beep from the computer screen drags my attention back to the Parahumans wiki. My private messages tab had a blood-red exclamation mark next to it – someone had messaged me.
With trembling fingers, I open it, and, scrolling past several spam-ads from hero agencies trying to recruit aspiring rookies, tap on the newest message
Subject : Re: You
Heard of you from the EFS. Would like to meet
Love
SS
Emmet whistles lowly, “That’s one hell of an acronym. You gonna reply ?”
My fingers hover over the keyboard for a second, the Reply textbox open and ready on-screen.
What ? What was this ? Was this a trick ? A villain trying to draw me into a trap, perhaps ? I couldn’t imagine that to be the case – I hadn’t made much of an impact yesterday, after all. Especially not enough of one to warrant people hunting for my head
Drawing in a sharp breath, I ignore Emmet and type out, using my own account name since, clearly, the other person already knew who I was
Subject: Re: You
Are you with the EFS
I reread it once over, before sending it. The reply comes seconds later, as though the mysterious “SS” had simply been waiting for my message. I can’t tell if I should be happy or scared at the thought
I opened it up
Subject: Re: You
Just a shadow on the wall. Heard you wanted to go indie. Wanted to help
Drawing in another breath, I type out again, my heart stuttering up my throat, Emmet watching on with rapt attention, as though he were observing a particularly interesting game
Subject: Re: You
Meet where ?
The reply came, once again, mere seconds after I send the message, and I take a moment to ponder if the other guy was some kind of psychic, to be able to send out messages this fast. The thought shakes me more than I care to admit, even to myself
Subject : Re: You
Milestone Café. Three pm. Be there.
For a moment, I stare at the screen, before my eyes rise to find the old-style analog clock hung against the chalky-white wall. 2:00 pm
Beside me, Emmet lets out yet another low whistle, “Well, then”, he muses, “Looks like that solves your dilemma, doesn’t it ?”
Chapter 8
Chapter Text
I show up in costume. I didn’t care if it drew looks from the public. I’d rather be safe than inconspicuous
For a moment, I stand before the glass-and-oak door of the Milestone Café- a cozy place, small and conspicuously quiet amidst the hustle-and-bustle of the Banks. Built into the side of a series of tall concrete monoliths, it looked like a slice of the past, plopped down into the future. No doubt that was the aesthetic the architects were going for
I contemplate turning around and leaving, or simply entering without scouting ahead, but it seemed too dangerous. Rejecting an offer from one of the more powerful villains could get you killed for their ego. Similarly, accepting put you in just as much danger, in case they decided to spring a trap on you
Really, the best thing to do would be to simply never get an offer from another cape. Unfortunately, that ship had sailed a while ago
Sighing, I raised my wrist to my eyeline again, and, unzipping the costume yet again, drew out a sliver of bloody bandage, ripping it slightly to release a few drops of the pungent, scarlet fluid, that immediately spatter onto the ground
Readjusting my costume, I focus on the blood, and, with a gentle flick of my hand, send it rolling into the café, through the small gap between the door and the slightly raised floorboards of the establishment.
Now, the thing was, after this, I was as good as blind. I couldn’t see what the blood saw, because blood… well, doesn’t f*cking see.
But I still had a sense of touch. Not a good one, as it effectively amounted to “throw the blood against something and judge its shape based on the displacement of the individual blood cells”, but certainly a sense
I draw the blood back slightly, like a runner trying to build up momentum, before flinging it through the air at full speed, launching it like a tiny red bullet across the shop, till at last it spatters against something smooth – human skin
It is at this point that I realize just how stupendously dumb this idea was, given Milestone Café would almost certainly be bustling with wait-staff and customers completely unrelated to SS. Add to that the fact that I didn’t even know what SS looked like, and I suddenly felt very dumb
Sighing, my cheeks tinged with a red blush, I simply push open the door to the café and head inside, the brisk, coffee-scented air of the interior hitting me like a freight train after the chilly, garbage-scented staleness that was the air this close to the Inlands
The café was mostly empty, which was odd, given how it was the middle of the day, and, theoretically, every bastard and their mother should have been out on their lunch break. Well… mostly empty… save for a booth positioned at the far end of the shop, where a tall, shadowy figure was seated, calmly sipping on a cup of coffee.
His face was sharply-cut, with edges so razor-blade-sharp that I was afraid that just looking at them would cut me. His eyes were cut sharply into almond-shapes too, a sparkling, clear, blue, like the ocean at dawn. In fact, everything about the guy looked sharp, like he was made out of thousands of bristling needles, except his skin, a soft mocha color.
His lips were thin, held perfectly still as he drank, in a way that didn’t give away any of his emotions. He was pretty, too, though not in the manner most people considered pretty. He didn’t look like a supermodel, or the guys I had considered attractive – Leonardo DiCaprio, Timothée Chalamet, Johny Depp. No, he had the beauty of a dead man – a strange, eerie liminality, like the face of a being who was already dead – the cold beauty of a ghost
Shaking away my thoughts, I come closer, and he rises from his seat, gently setting down his cup as he did. That’s when I notice his clothes, which had looked more like a pool of darkness to me from far away. He wore a black leather jacket that hung all the way down to his knees, over a white muscle shirt that highlighted his near-skeletal figure, sneakers, and jeans that hung too loosely on him
He smiles a vulpine smile as I approach, his lips, stained a dull grey-black, curving upwards into a knowing grin. He holds out one hand, his nails painted a startlingly-dark black, and speaks, his voice soft and low, “And he arrives. Your friend isn’t here ?”
“How do you know about Emmet ?”, I question, not taking his hand, my voice holding surprisingly steady despite the fact that he had just kicked my fight-or-flight instincts into high gear. I draw in a shaky breath, and take a seat across from him
“Newest Thinker in town. I’d have to be an idiot not to know about him”
“He’s not a Thinker-class cape”, I shake my head, “He’s not a cape at all. He hasn’t had a trigger.”
“That’s what you think”, SS grins slightly, “and what he thinks. But I know a cape when I see one. Regardless, I digress. It’s good to meet you…. ?”
“Call me Scarlet”, I say firmly, “At least until I know you better, or decide this isn’t some kind of trick”
“Word to the wise, Scarlet ?”, SS’ grin widens, “Maybe don’t tell someone you don’t trust them when you’re in an easily blockable café booth. I’m Shadowbane by the way”
I shrug. It wasn’t like I could have stood. I mean, I could have, but again, he might have taken offense to that, and well… there was a reason everyone avoided insulting villains. They had ways of making you pay
“That your cape name, or did your parents just really, really hate you ?”
Shadowbane lets out a soft laugh, that rings out into the silent shop like the ring of a church bell, “It’s my cape name”, he confirms, “You can call me Serenity. Spring. Serenity Spring – or Santiago Spring, as my parents knew me – though I have to warn you. Call me that, and I’ll tear out your throat”
“Isn’t it dangerous to tell me your real name ? I could kill you”
“You could try”, he acknowledges, raising the cup to his lips for another sip of the midnight-black drink, “You would fail miserably, of course, but you could try, yes”. His voice echoes out, colored with a strange affect- a dangerous edge
“Does that sh*t even taste good ?”, I point at his cup, desperate to change the topic before he actually did tear out my throat, “It looks like the Devil’s piss”
“Tastes like it too”, Serenity grins, “but it’s basically the only thing keeping me awake right now”
“Fair enough”, I grumble, slightly annoyed at the thought of being boring enough to put someone to sleep, “So…”, I scrounge for yet another topic of conversation, “what the f*ck is your username ?”
“My initials”, Serenity groused, and I got the feeling that he had heard this question a thousand times before, “No, I am not a member of the Fourteen – I’m a gay Latino, they’d execute me on sight. Take this sh*t up with my parents”
“Where are they now ?”
“Dead”, he raises his head to look me straight in the eyes, “Well, one of them is. The other one f*cked off back home to Italy the day I was born”
“You’re a gay… Italian…Latino man… who lives in Britain and is also a cape ?”
“Yup”, he thumbs at himself, a sardonic smile adorning his cutting features, “Won the diversity lottery here”
I laugh slightly, before I notice Serenity shifting out the corner of my eye, his eyes falling into the light, glinting like shards of broken crystal. Suddenly, the momentary relief floods out of my body, leaving me tense and on high alert once again
“Oh come on !!”, Serenity complained, “and just when we were starting to get along, too !!”
“I don’t know who you are”, I reason, “It’s only natural for me to be wary”
“Perhaps”, Serenity grins, and his teeth glint ivory-white in the dim light of the café, “but the way I see it, you don’t have much of a choice but to come with me”
“You want to recruit… me ?”, I ask, a little flabbergasted, “but I’m… a newbie. Like, a new newbie. This is the second time I’ve put on this suit… ever”
“For some reason, your powers startled Starlight”, Serenity’s lips curved into a wry smile, his voice resounding with a low, curious pitch, “I think I’d like to know why”
There was only one way he could have known that. “You were there, last night”
“Close, little blood-spot”, Serenity grinned bitingly, “But no dice. I wasn’t there, but… my eyes were”
“Spies ?”
“In a manner of speaking”, Serenity grinned knowingly back at me, before holding up his hand, palm facing upwards, and raising it over the table. For a few seconds, nothing happens, when, all of a sudden, just as I am about to make a snarky remark, darkness starts pooling in the other man’s hand
The dark lines that made up the creases of his palm and fingers started to darken even more, bleeding threads of liquid black like gaping wounds, darkness flowing from them oil. It pools it the hollow of his palm, before slowly, methodically, overflowing over the hypothenar edges of his hand, flowing down onto the table like a curtain of jet-black, and then onto the floor.
I hear cracks as the wood starts to wither where the darkness makes contact with it. Even the stone was cracking slightly under the relentless force of the devouring darkness, disintegrating into the sand and dust from whence it came. I draw in a breath to speak, but, before I can, the darkness starts to rise in spiraling towers, thick and vaguely shaped like a pencil-beveled rectangle.
Two tubes sprout from either side of it, and then a vaguely oval-shaped spheroid on top. The thick, uniform base splits into two tubes. It looks like a man wearing a full body suit, only there was something wrong. The head had no eyeholes, nor earholes, nor vents for air intake, only an oblate spheroid as smooth as an eggshell, with shallow indents where the eyes and mouth ought to be, and a small bump for the nose
I reach out to touch them, but before I so much as extend my arm, they dissolved into wisps of black smoke, and Serenity lets out a small cough of amusem*nt, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you”
I turn to him, my eyes wide, and gesture vaguely towards where the shadow-man… thing, had been standing mere seconds ago, “Those are your eyes ?? You can see through them ??”
“And hear, yes. And speak, if I concentrate enough”, Serenity grins, “Can’t fight through them though, I’m afraid.”
“Why not ?”
He gestures towards the table with one finger, and I follow it’s trajectory to a discolored spot in the wooden grain of the tabletop, darker than the surrounding wood- greener, too. It looked… aged
“Whatever my darkness touches starts to age at an accelerated rate. The rate itself depends on the substance used of course”, Serenity explained nonchalantly, taking another sip of his coffee, “ but generally, organics age much faster than inorganics – and, of course, shadows of death they may be, but they are still shadows. A good blast of light will dissolve them immediately. So…”, he mused, mostly to himself, a small smile quirking his lips upwards, “if I ever face a robot with a flashlight, I’m screwed”
“Why…”, I smack my lips together to wet them slightly, “why are you telling me your weakness ?”
“A show of trust on my part”, Serenity shot me a winning smile, “Is it working ?”
“A show of trust… or someone drawing me into a trap”, I fold my arms defiantly, leaning back against the back of my chair, “I’m not convinced”
In truth, I had already begun to look at his offer in this new light. Someone like him was a powerful enemy to have, even with his light-based weakness – it would be far better to have him as an ally instead, especially in a city as dangerous as this
Adding to the pros side, the guy had shown me his weakness. No way would he let me go alive if I refused now. My lips part, and a million questions come to mind, but I simply ask, “Do I get paid ?”
Serenity flashes me another smile, “Anything you win on our missions”
“Villain missions ?”
Serenity hesitated, “Mission missions. I don’t subscribe to black-and-white ideologies. You in, or not ?”
Well, it wasn’t like I was signing the deal in blood or anything, and in a city like this, it was best to have some people at your back at all times, especially if you were a cape
“I’m in”
Chapter 9
Chapter Text
“Wonderful”, Serenity’s face splits into a mildly-relieved grin, the tension that had been keeping his body stiff as a wooden plank disappearing, “That’s great to hear. You’ll just need to… ah…”, he looks me up and down, “… take off the costume”
“Are you insane ?!”, I demand, looking around in a panic, “This is a public place !!”
He gives me a withering look, before his lips part, “Tell me, do you genuinely think…”, he stresses on the word “think” to emphasize his point, “… that a café of this size would be completely empty at 3 f*cking pm ?? I temporarily had it emptied, dumbass – there’s no one in here other than us”
“Ah”, a furious blush rages across my face, “That… makes sense. Wait, but if there’s no one else in here –“
“I’m the one who got hit with your little blood-bullet there, Red”, Serenity deadpanned, reaching back to wipe his index finger across the back of his neck, before bringing it forward to show off the red smear that now stained it, “Good job getting past my defenses, by the way. Not sure what you intended on doing with that, but nice job.”
I flush an even deeper red, stammering out one word, “E-espionage”
He frowns, and remains completely quiet for a second, before letting out a strangled, “With… blood ?”
“It works, okay ?”
“Sure”, he shrugged, leaning carelessly against the table. For a few seconds, there is an awkward, impenetrable silence, before he gestures impatiently, “Costume. Off”
I start stripping off the suit, with some minor difficulty. The costume was essentially composed of two pieces – the single-piece bodysuit, and the helmet. The armor panels were detachable, of course, and there were a few other pieces that could be removed at will (including the wrist-blades. I didn’t trust myself to not activate them on accident and commit involuntary suicide), but in essence, the entire costume was a singular piece, which made me look rather like a worm as I wriggled my way out of it.
Serenity smirked in amusem*nt at my plight, and I respond with a withering glare, “I’m really plain under this, by the way”, I warn, as I finish taking off my costume, revealing the baggy jeans and T-shirt I had worn underneath, mostly for warmth, as silk… wasn’t really a good insulator by itself, especially not against the icy London air, “So don’t be too disgusted”
“I am well-aware that I look like a half-dead corpse, Scarlet”, Serenity deadpanned, “I can’t exactly judge you on your looks”
“Call me James, by the way”, I say lamely, pulling off my helmet, before immediately trying to smooth my hair back down, “That’s my name”
“Just James, or did your parents give you a last name too ?”
“Just about the only thing they did”, I let out an amused snort, “Harrison. James Harrison”
“Son of Mary Harrison ?”, Serenity hummed quietly. His voice sounded almost… pained, as he spoke. His fingers tapped gently against the top of the table set out before him, tracing out letters – “H”, “F”
“No, that’s my Dad’s ex. Son of Cynthia – at least that’s the name she gave my dad”
“Fling ?”
“Prostitute”, I correct, “Apparently, she robbed him blind after the fact, too. Good for her”
“Mhm”, the other man hummed noncommittally, “So, we’ll move to my group’s base after this, then ?”, he changes the topic, seemingly eager to move away from the topic of my family. I wasn’t complaining. “It’s only a few blocks away, and I get the feeling that my team will want to meet you”
“You have a team ?”, I raise my eyebrows at him, a sinking feeling building in my stomach as I realized what I had just gotten myself into. Allying with a singular person was okay – tons of capes had friends and unofficial allies all over the world. In fact, it was recommended. But joining a team was another thing entirely. It meant rooting yourself to this team – especially since teams generally didn’t like it when their members left, for whatever reason. It meant making their enemies your enemies, and their allies your allies. It was a dangerous game – one that could empower, and depower you in equal measure. And it was not one I wanted to play
He seems to sense my growing panic, because he rushes to do some damage control, “No, no”, he shakes his head, “Apologies, I misspoke. It’s less of a team, and more of a…. ragtag motley crew of random heroes and villains from all across town. The… rejects, so to speak. I call us “The Misaligned”. Rapture prefers to call us “The Losers”. He’s… edgy, that way”
“This Rapture, he’s one of your”, I make mental air quotes, ““team-members” ?”
“Yup”, Serenity shot me a small grin, “and Riptide. And… that’s it, really”, shifting back casually, he eyes me up and down now that I was fully out of costume, his eyes lingering on the blood-soaked bandages around my wrists
He hums again, “Slitting your own wrists to give yourself infinite ammo, huh ?”, one of his eyebrows rise slightly, though whether in silent appreciation or depreciation, I couldn’t tell, “Ingenious, if dangerous. What happens if you forget to hold the blood in the wound ?”
“I bleed out and die, I guess”, I shrug. A bit too mild of a reaction, I know, compared to what I was saying, but I was used to danger. I was an East Londoner, for God’s sake. Every time I went out, I was resigning myself to the possibility of never returning.
“How… blasé of you”, Serenity grinned softly, “A man after my own heart”
With that, he exited the café, with me following only a few steps behind, before making a sharp turn into the Slums. I start as the sights around me become familiar, as we entered the district on whose periphery I had lived basically all my life.
Still, as we moved deeper into the districts, the vaguely-familiar aura of the outermost peripheries started to fade in favor of an environment that looked run-down and abandoned. The buildings were mostly empty, their windows shattered, their walls so coated with graffiti that it was impossible to tell what color they had once been.
Grasses and weeds poked out between the slats of the sidewalk. The road was so pitted with potholes that anyone attempting to drive down this section of road would very likely be immediately launched off it. The facades of the surrounding buildings were desiccated and decayed – consisting of peeling paint, cracking plaster and rusty metal.
Basically, this part of town was what gave the Slums such a bad reputation
We walk past a row of power lines without wires. Weeds had crept up them, and withered around them, leaving rotting, black masses of fetid plant matter hanging off the rusted poles. I stare at them for a second, before turning to shoot Serenity a look. He promptly averts my gaze, though the slight upwards tilt to the corners of his lips told me that he felt absolutely no remorse
“It was an accident”, he explained as we walked, “We were fighting Spitfire – heard of her ? She’s a low-class local bad guy. Spits fire, as the name suggests. Hangs with the local gangs a lot. Mostly the mundane ones, though, so she’s a relative no-namer in the cape world. Anyways, my powers went a little haywire, and well… lets just say that it was fortunate we were fighting her at midnight, with barely any people around”
“She dodged your shadows ??”, I ask as we near our destination – a set of abandoned flats, made of rust-red brick and rusted metal. It was large, stretching nearly half the block, two stories tall. Across the front gate of the building, a large, ebony set of double gates, someone had spray-painted a vast number nine
“Nope”, Serenity corrected with an entirely undue amount of cheer, “Hit her point-blank in the eyes. Instant necrosis. She wears a mask to hide it nowadays, or so I hear. Apparently Ember made her a set of robotic eyes to replace her ruined real ones”
Taking advantage of my temporary stunned silence, Serenity’s eyes run across the building’s façade, lingering slightly on the massive black nine. His forehead furrows slightly at the sight of it, but he doesn’t say anything, simply walking forward to a small door on the side of the building and unlatching it, swinging it open as he did.
The inside of the building is dark and dusty, lit only by the greying light streaming in through the shattered windows along it’s façade. Sheets covered most of the furniture, and what wasn’t covered looked scorched and cracked – probably salvaged from the devastated Inlands. Nobody had been active, or indeed, alive, down here for a long time
“Come on”, Serenity urges me from a set of staircase behind a barred, black, metal door. I headed up after him to the second floor
If the first floor was dead, the second floor looked almost disconcertingly alive, and, perhaps even more shockingly – expensive. The walls were made of the same red brick as the rest of the apartment complex, and there was a low, slanting ceiling overhead, supported with intermittent rafters of oak
The staircase opened up into what I would have called the living room, had it not been big enough to dwarf most houses in the Slums. The room looked expensive too, with a mahogany bookshelf making one of the back walls, and a positively massive TV screen covering up the one directly opposite
Scattered across the floor were unsealed video-game cartridges, half sporting games I didn’t even know existed, let alone had played. In the dead center of the room was a small couch, made of some clearly expensive sh*t, set directly in front of the TV screen. I would have commented on the couch being so close to the screen, but I was fairly certain there was no feasible way to place the couch at a reasonable distance without having it smack-dab in the middle of the neighboring building’s living room.
Across the room from us, the other wall opened up into a long corridor, lined on either side with rooms- the apartments themselves, I imagined. Only three of the rooms seemed to be occupied though, marked with artwork that had been spray-painted onto them
The first one stood at the far end of the corridor, and featured the symbol of a tall, hooded man, done up in pure black spray paint. The second had what looked like a disturbingly realistic patch of burnt skin, and the fourth had the emblem of a classic Grecian trident, done in a dramatic graffiti style
After a few moments of awed staring, I start as Serenity suddenly starts speaking from behind me, gesturing vaguely towards the rooms, “As you can see, we have an issue with…ah… surplus space, here. So, if you ever wanna invite any of your friends over- maybe that blonde Thinker-”
“Not a cape”
“Yeah, whatever”, he waved dismissively, like he didn’t really believe me. The thought irritated me for some reason. “Anyways, if you ever feel like looping someone into our little ragtag team here, feel free to do so.”
“I will”, I say half-heartedly, already moving closer to the doors. There were seven in total, pressed up against each other, each no doubt leading into fairly shabby apartments. Even back in its heyday, the Slums had always been the Slums. No way was this place ever a comfortable place to live.
Still, there was something to be said about basically being handed a free apartment – with none of the maintenance costs of an apartment, even !! I barely resist the urge to squee in delight at the thought. However, judging by the knowing smirk on Serenity’s pale face, my delight was self-evident. Oh well
“I can… stay here ? Really ?”, I ask, scarcely able to believe it, “Like I won’t have to pay rent or anything ?”
“I mean, you do need to pull your weight on missions”, Serenity frowns gently, “I won’t have a deadweight on the team. But no, aside from that, nothing”
I stare at him for a second, before turning back to doors. Him. The doors. Him. The doors
I had a place to stay away from home now. I wouldn’t have to freeload off of Jade’s or Emmet’s generosity when I’m pissed with my father anymore. I didn’t have to deal with my wine-soaken rat of a father anymore.
I feel the corners of my lips twitch up into a small smile, before a thought hits me like a flood of icy water
My father doesn’t know I’m a cape. I can’t stay here – I can’t explain this
My father is a drunk. He can’t manage on his own
He’ll die without me there to help him
A wave of guilt rises up my throat like burning bile. I choke it back down and turn to Serenity, looking, judging by his strange expression, rather like a drowned mouse, “Um… can I like… stay here occasionally instead of full time ? Like sometimes I can-“
“You do realize what “your own flat” means, yes ?”, Serenity interrupts, his face contorted with genuine confusion, “Of course you can do all that. The rooms are yours now. Blow them up or burn them down or paint them acid-green, we don’t care – they’re yours. As long as you don’t make a mess big enough to alert the authorities”
“Define “mess big enough to alert the authorities””
Serenity cracked a small smile, before raising his shoulders into a carefree shrug, “Honestly, I’m not sure. The cops who govern the Slums are so blind that I’m not sure anything less than nuking it from orbit will catch their attention. The heroes, on the other hand…”, he eyes me warningly, “are always out to make a name for themselves- are always on high alert, looking for any excuse to arrest someone and make themselves out to be the heroes. Don’t give them one”
“Roger that, Captain”, I snark, “If they do try to arrest me, I can always just snap their neck, Avatar-style”
“Do… that”, Serenity nodded in agreement, “That’s better than one of us getting arrested”
“Chill there, Frank Castle, that was a joke”, I mutter, before saying, louder now, “Is jail that scary to you ?”
“It’s not about the jail”, Serenity shook his head, “It’s about the reputation – going to jail immediately labels us as villains”
“And… that’s bad ?”
“It’s not profitable”, Serenity smirks slightly, so slightly that I can barely make it out, “A neutral reputations means jobs from both heroes and villains. Double the income of a villain or a hero”
And just as I am about to respond to that amazing line, I hear the sound of wood impacting brick as the door to the loft swings open with the distinct whoosh of the cold air of the outside rushing inside. Serenity straightens up at the noise, his hand almost instinctively reaching up to massage the bridge of his nose
“Stop slamming the door, you f*ckers !!”, he calls back towards the living room, “One of these days, you’re gonna send it straight through the f*cking wall, and I swear to God, you are the ones who’ll be footing the bills !!”
“If that’s all it takes to break the wall, Serenity”, a deep, rich, and slightly muffled voice sounds from behind him, as two figures stride into the living room – presumably the other two members of the Misaligned, “then we should have reinforced that wall long ago”
I turn to see the man who had spoken.
He was slightly shorter than Serenity, is the first thing I notice- stockier, too- and dressed entirely in black, in motorcycle leathers and a motorcycle hemet. The full-face visor was tinted a deep black, making it impossible to make out the features of the man.
He reached out his hand towards me, and I took it, only to nearly collapse forward as he shakes it vigorously, nearly knocking me off my feet
“I’m Rapture. Rapture Jove. Cape name Spark. You are… ?”
“James. James Harrison. Cape name.. uh…”. sh*t. In all the hassle, I had completely forgotten to come up with an actual name, “….um…”
“Don’t have one yet, huh ?”, he co*cked his head to one side, his voice tinted with amusem*nt, “Fine, then. James it is”
“Yeah…”, I say, a little awkwardly, “That’s one hell of a name, by the way”
“Yeah”, Rapture said in a sly tone, “Rapture as in the whole “light from Heaven, savior of souls” schtick and Jove as in the God of lightning. My parents were… very into lightning. Well, at least, my mom was”
“Your dad ?”
“Dead”, he said matter-of-factly, “Before I was born, actually”
“I just can’t stop putting my foot in my mouth, can I ?”, I huff out a small, self-deprecating laugh
“No worries. I’m over it. Would’ve pissed on the bastard’s grave myself if I knew where it was”, he grinned at me through the visor, “Though I have to give him this – he must’ve had, like, precognition or something, because he predicted my powers to a T in my name. A+ foreshadowing”
“What are your powers ?”
“Tempestokinesis, or, well…”, he mused, “electrokinesis, I suppose. Can’t really control storms as much as electricity – there is, in fact, a difference, I assure you”
“Alright, that’s enough exposition, Rapture- stop hogging the new guy”, a softer voice said from behind him, as a second man stepped forward, a good foot taller than both Serenity and Rapture, his back held ramrod-straight, black, feathery hair falling about his triangular face. Light blue eyes peered out at me over a small smile as he held his hand out to me, “Name’s Riptide Beaker. Cape name Poseidon”
He was pretty, I supposed, but not in a way that made me think he was handsome. His voice was lightly accented – something European, Greek maybe ? His skin was so pale that it was almost paper-white.
He was dressed in casual jeans and a blue T-shirt that exposed his pale, unblemished arms, thickened with a light layer of muscle. A light shadow of a beard dusted the lower half of his face – barely stubble.
“You’re a guy too ?”, I turned to Serenity half-jokingly, my lips curling upwards into a small, amused, slightly nervous, smirk, “This team’s quite the sausage fest, isn’t it ?”
“Not a sausage fest, exactly”, Riptide shot me an insouciant grin, leaning in conspiratorially, “I don’t have one, after all”
“You don’t…”, I stare at him, gobsmacked, for a second, before my eyes lower to his crotch, and I say, in a low, horrified pitch, “Castration ?”
“Nope”, Serenity snorted, “Never had one to begin with”
Riptide must have taken pity on my lost expression then, because he ruffled one hand through my hair like a fond older brother, and explained, “Ever heard of trans men, boy ?”
“Oh”, I say, a little dumbly, “Yeah… uh… that makes sense. So, uh…”, I say, a little desperate to change the topic away from my self-perceived faux pas, “what are your powers ?”
“Hydrokinesis. Pretty standard sh*t, I know”, Riptide rolls his eyes, reaching out to noogie Rapture, “Nothing compared to Mr. Super Hacker here, or…”, he nods towards the team leader, “Death Incarnate over there”
“Just so you know, it actually takes prolonged contact with my shadows to kill someone”, Serenity smirked at me, “Less than at least five seconds of exposure will simply result in horrific scarring without the mercy of death”
“That is… absolutely horrifying”, I say, “Thank God you’re on our side….”, I squint at him, “You are on our side, right ?”
“I’m your f*cking boss. I am “our side””
Chapter 10
Chapter Text
After the introductions are complete, a fairly awkward silence falls over the group, as we try to silently deliberate on what to do next, till Rapture casually strolls over to the couch and plops down into it.
“By the way, you have holes in your wrists, blood boy”, he calls back distractedly, as he fumbles for the TV remote, “May wanna get that checked out”
“Yeah ? And how am I supposed to explain them ?”, I challenge, as I walk over to the couch too, leaning against it, a few centimeters away from his helmeted head, “Suicide attempt ?”
“Not the worst of plans”, he turns to look at me, and I just know that he’s grinning under there, “I like it”
“And attract more attention to myself ? No thanks”
Rapture’s about to retort with yet another witty remark, when Serenity reaches over and bats him across his metal head, prompting an irritated groan from the electrokinetic, “What ?”
“Take off your f*cking helmet, Rapture”, Serenity rolled his eyes, “Not much of an introduction if one person just never reveals their face, is it ?”
“But…”, Rapture starts to protest, before falling silent at the look on Serenity’s face, “Fine”, he groans, reaching up to grasp the edges of his helmet, and slowly lifting it up and over his head
The first thing I see of his face is the gnarled burn that covers a decent chunk of it, red and raw and glistening with exposed muscle and blackened skin. It passes clean through one of his eyes, clouding the brilliant yellow iris with a dull milky white. The other eye is unscathed, untouched by whatever fire had destroyed one half of his face, shining a brilliant acid-yellow color, like burning propane – like a chunk of the scarring fire had found it’s home in his face, even after ruining one half of it
His hair is long and thready, hanging to the nape of his neck before being abruptly cut short, as though shorn off with a sharp blade. I am reminded of the soldiers who sometimes visited the local bar to drink away their traumas – with their hair shorn short and their faces cut sharply.
Rapture’s face is sharp-cut, too, clearly defined with hard edges and smooth facets, like the surface of a crystal. Ignoring the scar, I turn my attention to the other parts of his face. He was good-looking too- they all were – but there was something strange about the edges of his face. He looked like a war-torn soldier – all hard lines and no give. Maybe they all looked like that, but Rapture’s scar made it especially obvious on him
He has light chocolate skin, and a tattoo, stretched around his neck, like the collar of a dog. It reads “Veritas diem aperit”- Time reveals the truth. A little ways below that, emblazoned on what I could see of his collarbone within his slightly open collar, was a pair of angel wings, with a phrase in the center, “Fluctuat nec mergitur”- tossed by the waves, but does not sink
For a moment I stare at him, and that’s when I notice the nervousness that saturated his features, looking odd and alien upon his hard, sharp face. He was afraid, I realize, afraid of what I would say about him – about his scar.
A rush of sympathy rushes up to clog my throat. God knows I had felt that way more than enough, what with my whor* of a mother and drunk of a father. Maybe not to the level he obviously had, but still – I could sympathize with his jitteriness
“Cool scar”, I say, being sure to keep my voice as carefully blank as I possibly could, “but…”, I frown slightly, “There are plenty of healer capes out there – several of whom are capable of healing without scar formation. Why…”
I hear Serenity let out a soft hiss of breath behind me as he shifts a little, “Trauma-dump time”, he mutters in a sing-song voice
“Because”, he begins, with the resigned air of someone who had answered this question a hundred times before, “The fire that gave me this scar killed my mother. I got it trying to save her. I saw her body, afterward. She had no scars – just burnt, desiccated flesh. This scar”, he gestures towards his face, “proves that I lived. It proves, that I was strong enough to survive. And, most of all, it’s a suture – tying me to the past- never letting me forget. Never letting me, even once, forgive my bastard of a father”
“Forgive ?”
“When my mom died, she was standing”, he said coolly, too coolly in fact – like he’d already grown used to speaking on his mother’s death – or, more likely, like he was trying to hide his pain under the armor of nonchalance. It made sense. London was brutal – weakness meant death here, and crying over your dead mom ? That was basically the same as putting up a neon sign reading “FREE FOOD HERE”
“She didn’t try to run, the bitch. Didn’t so much as scream. The only thing she said was “your father will rescue us. He’ll come”. Guess what ?”, he shot me a biting, humorless grin, “He didn’t”
“Because… he was dead”
“Yeah”
“But…”, I squint at him, confused, “That makes no sense. How can you blame him for not coming ? He was..”
I’m interrupted by the feel of Riptide’s hand closing around my shoulder, “Grief doesn’t always make sense, James. Neither do humans. We just… pretend to understand each other, and ourselves. It’s just how we live. We make do”
“And isn’t that just the sum essence of East London”, snarked Serenity, taking a seat beside Rapture just as the other boy finally managed to pull out the remote from between the sofa cushions, “We make do. Sure, we may have sh*t in our water and half our buildings destroyed, but we make do”
“Fair enough, I guess”, I say, leaning over the back of the couch once again, “So… now what ?”
“Now ? We hang out for a bit, I guess”, Rapture said, turning the TV on, and nearly blinding me in the process, “Order some pizza, maybe ?”
“Rapture, if I have to eat another pizza, I think I will physically mutate into one”, Riptide snarked, “Something else, please, before I throttle you”
“Ooh, kinky”, Rapture smirked, “Alright. How about…”, he faltered, before turning to look helplessly at Serenity, who simply sighed
“Some days I think y’all would just starve to death if I wasn’t there”, he rolled his eyes, “Hand over that remote. If I choose the food, I choose the entertainment”
Rapture sighed and handed over the remote, and for a moment, the scene is awash in the glow of steady normalcy – like a normal friend group, hanging out together, having fun. And then my eyes catch on the small coffee table set out in front of the sofa, as something glints on it
The dark gunmetal of a handgun, placed on top of the table, like it was just a knick-knack – like a paperweight. In fact, I was fairly certain it was being used as a paperweight – I could see the white edges of document papers under there
I draw in a sharp breath at the sight, before releasing it in a low, rattling breath. I wasn’t quite sure why I was so surprised – they were anti-heroes, basically villains. It was only expected that they would carry weaponry on them at all times, especially in a city as deadly as ours.
It was just – when I thought “gun user”, I imagined hardened criminals – with tattoos and grim faces and hard jaws and… now that I thought about it, they looked like that, too. I stare at it for a few seconds longer, unable to tear my eyes away from its steel grey glint
There were five notches marked along the barrel – a kill count ? People who had been shot using this gun ? People who had been shot by… them ?
My attention is so captured by the gun, that I barely catch Serenity speaking to me, “… the phone’s in the kitchen”
“What ?”
“I said”, Serenity raised his eyebrows at me, giving me a scrutinizing look, “If you want to call your Dad, the phone’s in the kitchen”
“No, it’s… it’s fine”, I try at a smile, though from the look on Serenity’s face, it comes off as more of a grimace, “He doesn’t give a f*ck where I am. I’m only his son when he wants something – booze, drugs, sh*t like that”
Rapture lets out a barking laugh at that, and Riptide turns to smile a tired, sympathetic smile at me, mouthing “I know how you feel” silently towards me. It makes me feel better, somewhat
“Still”, Serenity presses, “Surely, there’s someone you want to talk to”
“Oh, wait”, a thought strikes me, “Emmet. sh*t.”
“The blonde boy ?”
“That’s the one. f*ck, I haven’t told him where I am. He probably thinks you killed me”
“Well, we can’t have that”, Serenity shifted back against the couch cushions, tilting his head back to look me in the eye, “Call him. See if he wants to come over”
“For the last time, he’s not a cape !!”, I call back, even as I push away from the couch and head towards the kitchen, all the way across the loft. Behind me, I hear a soft huff of air from Serenity – like an incredulous laugh, the kind that sent shivers down my spine
Brushing off the feeling, I find the phone, dialing Emmet
“Hey, my man !!”, I call jovially as I hear the phone being picked up
“James ? Thank God you’re alright !!”, Emmet’s slightly-panicked voice sounded over the phone. I feel a brief flash of regret for making him worry. “Where are you ?”
“Gravely injured, dying in a gutter”, I deadpan, before panicking and rescinding my statement as I hear Emmet produce the kind of sound that made me think he may be dying, a bit, “No, no, I’m joking, I’m joking. I’m with the guy”
“From the wiki ?”
“That’s the one”, I grin, even though he wouldn’t be able to see my face, “He’s quite nice actually”
“He’s quite…”, a sharp intake of breath, “did you have sex ??”
“I feel like there’s been a grave miscommunication here”, I deadpan again, before my face involuntarily cracks back into a grin, “NO !! Of course not”
“Oh”, a pause, before the line crackles again, “Is he ugly ?”
“No, I just don’t f*ck every man I see, Emmet”
“Hmm…”, he says, and I feel a hot flush of embarrassment ratchet throughout my body like a brush-fire, “Alright then, what’s he like ?”
“Cool, I guess ? Mysterious”
“A good guy ?”
I resist the urge to laugh, “An East Londoner”
“So that’s a no then”, Emmet snarks, his voice tinged with a concealed laugh, “You’re okay ?”
“Yup”
“Really ? Alright, then”, he says in a low voice, before his voice lilts slightly with excitement, “By the way, I need you to come over tomorrow”
“To your house ?”
“Yup.”, I could practically hear him grinning ear-to-ear, “I’ve got something to show you”
“What ?”
“Let’s just say that you won’t be patrolling the streets alone anymore”
Before I can respond, the line goes dead, no doubt for dramatic effect. I stare at the silent phone for a few minutes, before turning to look at Serenity, who was currently sitting on the far end of the couch to the other two, who were practically cuddling on the other end.
He turns to shoot me a sly grin
I sigh gently, and move to join them in the living room, basking in the temporary reprieve from the cares and worries of the world. A light glow of happiness surrounds them, and they look genuinely comfortable with each other – in a way I had never seen before
I look back at them, and the myself. I spent a whole year trying to get Emmet’s attention. Two for Jade. Never had someone accepted me so… so readily. With their whole heart. Letting me in without so much as a word of complaint
I reach up and touch my cheeks, and I find them straining. I’m smiling, I realize, I’m smiling without knowing it. That’s new
Was this how people felt all the time ? Happy ? Accepted ? Without having to grovel and beg for it ?
I look back, and the joy in the living room feels almost religious. I walk forward to join it
Perhaps that taste of normalcy, that taste of acceptance, is why the sight of my father made me so angry the next morning
Chapter 11
Chapter Text
Sunday morning, I found my father curled up on his bed, sound asleep. I look at him for a moment, as though expecting him to disappear. A strange emotion burns in my chest – like relief, melded with a hot anger. How dare he – how dare he make me feel relieved to see him alive
I sigh and reach forward to shake him awake, leading to a muffled groan and him rolling over in his sleep, till he is facing me. His watery, thin eyes lazily drift open, and I stifle the urge to throttle him
I want to scream at him, to insult him and hurt him. But I hold my tongue. I bite it hard, as though to draw blood. Sometimes I think my powers have less to do with the fact that I desperately needed to cleanse my father’s blood of alcohol, and more to do with all the blood I had ingested – licking the wounds of his neglect, and biting my tongue, just like this
“Dad”, I breathe out, and I know my breathing sounds strained, like a diseased man trying to speak through layers of fluid. I am trying to speak through layers too – though of anger, instead of water, “Where were you – yesterday ?
“I…ah…”, the man said weakly, “the bar. I…ah… fell asleep at the… in my chair”
This was it. I was going to f*cking kill my father
“You have a son”, I say, controlling my temper, “You have a house. You have responsibilities. Or do you want to be buried in a bottle of whiskey, too ?”
“Beer, actually”, he says absent-mindedly, before realizing that perhaps incensing me further was not the correct decision, “Ah… I mean – I’m sorry”
I sigh, and ball my fists together, resting them against my head as I sit down beside him on the bed. He flinches as I sit, as if he expects me to reach out and beat him up. I want to. I don’t
“You know, I hear all the time about how – fathers are brutal and mothers are kind. I wouldn’t know. I had neither.”, he flinches. I don’t relent, “I hear about how “love is bad and toxic and… and how you should never reach for it”. I wouldn’t know – I’ve always had to beg for it. I know you were hurt”, I recalled my father’s past. I didn’t know much about it – an alcoholic father, an abusive mother, “I know you were a child, and you were hurt, and you never… you never let go… of that hurt. I know you had it worse when you were little, but I need you to understand this. I was little once, too.”
I rise unsteadily, leaving my father’s prone, silent body behind me. I felt light – airy, like a great weight had risen off my chest, “I hope you’re happy”, the word “Dad” rotted into nothing on my tongue, “Jim. Come down whenever you’re ready. I’ll leave out breakfast for you”
With that, I leave the room, and move near-slavishly through my daily routine. I knew my father likely didn’t care – no doubt, I would find him at the bar again tonight, too. If anything, I had just handed him another excuse to drink – now he could claim that he was depressed from his son shouting at him.
I sigh as I rise from the table to head outside. My father still hadn’t come down – maybe he was still processing my rant, gobsmacked at the mere idea that his son could ever be right. Maybe he was wallowing in self-pity. Maybe even self-recrimination, though God knows I wasn’t that lucky
Either way, whatever it was, he wasn’t downstairs. I wait a few seconds for him, and, when I don’t hear his footsteps on the creaking stairs, I sigh, and let the door swing shut as I step out into the burning sunlight – f*ck him.
I run towards the Banks, intending to work out my frustration on the journey to Emmet’s house. My pace increases steadily as I approach the water
I slowed down as the sidewalk gave way to the Banks proper, opening up to the mercantile district. My lungs burnt like I had inhaled acid, but I simply leaned over and sucked in a good few breaths to clear them out
“Hey”, a familiar voice said from above my head, and I nearly back into someone’s path as Serenity’s shadow falls over my body. I look up, staring directly into his broad smile
“Didn’t expect to see you here”, he says softly, as I notice what exactly he was wearing. A jean-jacket, open at the front to reveal a light brown turtleneck underneath. His jeans were clean and new, and his boots looked polished. Apparently he only busted out the goth chic for first meetings
In one hand he held a paper cup of coffee, and in the other, he was carrying a paper bag. I was impressed. He looked like he belonged to the Banks, like he had spent his whole life here, shopping at the high-end districts and eating only the finest food, even though I knew he actually belonged to a much poorer “class” of people – my class.
“Hey”, I said, “Didn’t expect to see you here, either. What are you doing here ?”
He stares at me for a second, “The Misaligned work out of the Slums, remember ? I live here”
“Oh”. Now I felt dumb, “So do I”
He stares at me silently for a second, “You seem frustrated”, he observes quietly, “Is something the matter ?”
I say nothing, simply biting my lip and looking down. It wasn’t his cross to bear – not his problem to face. No, the honor of that fell to me, as it always had
Serenity doesn’t press any further, fortunately, “When someone is crying, of course, the noble thing to do is to comfort them. But if someone is trying to hide their tears, it may also be noble to pretend you do not notice them.”, he quotes, a soft smile decorating his face, “Lemony Snicket said that once. He was right. You want me to accompany you to… wherever you’re going ?”
“I…”, I couldn’t think of a reason to refuse, “Yeah. Sure”
“I got croissants”, he grinned at me, “You want one ? Donuts too, if you’re a barbarian like that. Unfortunately, I’ve got only one coffee, though we could probably share that too, with some finagling”
“I’ve seen how you take your coffee”, I snark, “I think I’ll die if that hell-juice comes anywhere near my lips”
He huffs out a small laugh, and, fishing out a sugar-dusted croissant from the depths off his bag, holds it out to me like a peace offering – like someone trying to feed a wild animal. I huff in annoyance at the idea, but reach out to take it anyways
I bite into it, and nearly moan in delight. It had been a while since I had had “real” bread – that being any bread other than the molded plastic that was usually the last thing on the shelves and one of the few things we could afford. It tasted kind of like how I imagined dreams and clouds would taste
“I hope you didn’t just cum from eating a croissant”, Serenity remarked, “because that’s a whole new level of weird”
“Shut up”, I say heatlessly, sucking the sugar off my fingers like I was a toddler, before I notice the logo on the bag, “Isn’t that shop, like, crazy expensive ?”
“We rake in around five grand per job. Split four ways that’s nearly thirteen hundred pounds. Every job”, he raises one eyebrow at me, almost smugly, “We can afford it”
“Okay, now you’re just showing off”, I punch him playfully on the shoulder, eliciting a small laugh from the older man, “Who’s paying you that much, anyways ?”
“No one. We just don’t tend to take anything below the most lucrative jobs”
“The most lucrative jobs being the ones that bring you five grand per job ?”
“The most lucrative ones we get offered tend to be in that price range, yeah”, he nods, “Good money”
“Offered by who ?”
“Lots of people want anti-heroes. People who want jobs done that are too dirty for the heroes to touch, but who also don’t want to taint their reputation by associating with a villain. It’s a remunerative business. Like I said – good money”
“Too dirty for the heroes to touch ? You’re kidding me, right ?”, I can’t help but let out a startled bark of incredulous laughter, “The MXN has their heroes running drugs. The AZN has theirs aiding in Yakuza jobs”
“That’s different”, Serenity waves one hand dismissively, “That’s the Agency being corrupt and having their contracts engage in illicit activities. An employer exploiting their employees. But, if you’ll notice – no one hires heroes to do illicit sh*t. No, that’s what anti-heroes and villains are for”
“Nice”, I nod slowly, “Well, at least I won’t have to take a job at the Harrods down the street or something. That’s good”
“I had a job as a cashier once”, Serenity commiserates with a grin, as we start walking again, “Had to quit after I nearly caved a customer’s face in”
“I get it. I worked part-time at a Debenhams once, and I think I got PTSD from it”, I grin at him, “Nice suit, by the way. Very fashionable”
“I’m gay, James. It’s practically a requirement that I be fashionable”, he gives me an insouciant, crooked grin, the kind that was true and bright, elastic and amiable, “By the way”, he reaches into one of his pockets, fumbling a bit, “I had a gift I wanted to give you later today, but I might as well do it now”, he pulls out a balled fist, and extends his hand
I put my hand under his, and a small key drops into it, a short iron chain looped through it.
“Keys to the base”, he says, “It’s your base now, too. Come by anytime, whenever you want. Use the TV, the kitchen, the bathroom…”, he considers for a second, “… maybe not the upstairs toilet, though. That thing is fragile”
“Thank you”, I said, just as I feel something sappier bubbling up my throat. I quickly shove it down. Nope. None of that. I wasn’t gonna be sappy and sweet anywhere other than the safety of my own mind
“No need to thank me”, he grins again, glancing and faint, “You’ll be here tomorrow morning ?”
“Ah… I’m not sure. I generally have school on Mondays”, I consider, “I’ll probably come by this afternoon, though”
“Good”, he nods, before frowning, “School ? Really ? You’re raking in a grand a month and you’re still going to school ?”
“You’re not ?”
“Nope”, he shakes his head, “I… well…. Anyways, Rapture dropped out. Riptide completed his two years early – his mother was a real slaver of a woman. So… no, not really ? Anything we need to know we can easily get from online courses”
“Huh”, I stare at him, “I… might consider that. Not yet, though – it’ll be too hard to explain”.
Remembering something, I look down at my watch, “Oh, wait, tomorrow’s a holiday. Yeah, I’ll be here tomorrow morning”
“That’s good”, he smiles, “I’ll be here too. I visit the café round the corner every morning – can’t function without my morning coffee, you know ?”
“You sound like a middle-aged mom”, I snark, grinning at Serenity’s indignant sputtering, “Is that café really that good ? I might need to visit it with you some time.”
“Some time soon, I hope?”, he grins brightly, “I’d love that”
“I would too”, I mutter quietly, though, judging by the smile he gives me, unfortunately loud enough for him to hear, “So”, I speak up a little, resolutely ignoring his grin, “What do you… do all day ? Like – surely, you don’t spend all your time watching TV, right ?”
“We plan for missions”, he says, kicking a small stone in his path, sending it skipping a few feet ahead, “Spar a bit, if we have the will for it. Read. Try our best to keep Rapture out of the kitchen before he kills us all with his incendiary attempts at cooking”
For a moment, there is a silence
“How do you…”, I give voice to a question that had been bubbling in my chest for a while, “… cope with it, by the way ?”
“With what ?”
“Killing. Robbing. Whatever it is you do”
“Well…hm…Look at it this way”, he grins at me, “For years, we’ve been f*cked over by the world – the elite and the powerful. All we’re doing is f*cking them back”
“All we’re doing is what ?”
“f*cking them up back”, he rolls his eyes, “Get your mind out of the gutter”
“Yeah, I guess”, I shrug, “but what if you get hired to… I don’t know… rough up a few beggars, or something ?”
“We don’t”
“What ?”
“We don’t”, he shot me a glancing grin, “We only get hired as last resorts – to deal with annoying rivals or irritating family members. Not to rough up the poor – they have enforcers for that. The rich may have money to burn, but they don’t have quite so much of it so as to hire us to deal with what they view as pests. That would be like using a nuke to kill a rat.”
“Still- feels wrong”, I grumble heatlessly as we round the bend and head down the street that led to Emmet’s house, “Anyways, moving on – have you ever been to the Goodies before ?”
He stares at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, “The…what ?”
“The Goodies”, I gesture towards them as I speak, so directly in front of us, “The good side of town – where we’re going”
“The…”, he curls his upper lip in what looks like a kind of horrified disgust, “Goodies. That’s what you call that district. Goodies. Hey quick question – what on Earth did the English language do to you to deserve this level of linguistic butchery?”
“It’s just what we call it, okay ?”, I shoot him a small, sharp grin, “Anyways, ever been here before ?”
“Most of our clients are from here”, he remarks as we approach Emmet’s house, “Well, here and the Banks. People who live in the Slums and the Inlands generally can’t afford our services”
“How much does it cost to hire us ?”
“Depends on how much of a dick you are, really”, Serenity shot me a mischievous, “Or how hot I find you”
I stifle a small laugh as I reach Emmet’s front door. I found myself wondering if I should knock or just enter. Fortunately, fate decided for me, as the door swung open to reveal a beaming Emmet
“You came !!”, he said, rushing forward to hug me, before his eyes fall on Serenity, who lazily lifts one hand in greeting, “and brought some eye candy with you, I see”
“You’re not too hard on the eyes yourself, Blondie”, Serenity drawled in a low tone, “I’m Serenity – the guy from the wiki. Nice to meet you”
“Same”, Emmet reached out to take Serenity’s hand, “Has James told you why I called him over ?”
“Little difficult to do that”, I intervened in a drawl, “when I don’t know myself”
“Oh”, he shot me a sheepish grin, “Well, you see. I was thinking about what you said two days ago – about me maybe being a cape. Anyways, long story short – we got it checked out and guess what ? My Virtus Labor’s mature – more, it’s active. Apparently, I had been unconsciously using my powers for a few years now”
“I would say that’s surprising”, I say, grinning slightly, “but no way were you that smart without some kind of Thinker-class ability. Advanced cognition, I assume ?”
“Yup”, he nods, “and the ability to “see things that are hidden from me”, according to the report”
“Really ?”, I co*ck my head to one side, “So wait, can you tell me the lottery numbers for next week ? I could really use some money right now”
“No, he can’t”, Serenity answers in place of Emmet, “Cape powers tend to defer to exact wording a lot. He means he can see things that are hidden from him – as in literally, hidden from him. If someone is intentionally trying to hide a piece of information from him, he’ll know it, but if they’re not ? Like, say, whatever organization manages the lottery numbers ? he can’t do anything. Correct ?”
Emmet nods, “You sound like you have experience with the world of capes.”, he mused, “Do you ?”
“In a manner of speaking”
I let out a small noise of indignation as I realize something, “So that’s why you always win at cards against me !!”, I turn to mock-glare at him, “Cheater”
“Sucks to suck, bitch”, he stuck out his tongue at me, before opening the door wider, “Anyways, come in. I’ve got something to show you”
To Serenity’s credit, his expression barely changes as he regards the interior of the Dean’s positively palatial house. Looks like he hadn’t been lying when he told me he had been to the Goodies before.
As Emmet is leading us up the stairs, he turns to look at me, his brow furrowing in concern, “You seem a little distressed, James. You doing okay ?”
“Dad stuff. You know how it is”
“He…uh…”, Emmet’s eyes flick over to Serenity, slightly panicked. Serenity simply raised an eyebrow at us
“It’s fine. I’m fine with him knowing”
Emmet sighs deeply, “He out drinking again ?”
“Yup”, I nod, resolutely ignoring the vaguely sympathetic look I spot Serenity giving me out the corner of my eye, “Put his foot in his mouth when he was talking to me, too. Then again, he does that all the time anyways”
“Damn”, Emmet commiserated, “It’s times like these that I feel relatively lucky to have a Dad that never ends up hurting my feelings”
“Emmet, the reason your dad never hurts your feelings while talking to you is because he never f*cking talks to you. I’d say you have it pretty bad too. Now shut up. Bitch”
“Love you too, James”, he rolled his eyes, his tone of voice making it clear that he wasn’t really hurt, walking over to the door of the workshop and opening it
The inside of the workshop was exactly as I remembered – glass column and all. Out the corner of my eye, I see Serenity purse his lips to stop himself from giggling as his eyes run across the room. I can’t help but agree with his assessment. Rich people were WILD
“Nice place”, he says, fighting off a laugh, “Very Doctor Who chic”
“I think Dad based it off the TARDIS actually”, Emmet deadpans as he walks towards the console, pulling something black and lumpy out from a hidden alcove beneath it, “I…um… am not sure how he watched Doctor Who without getting the anti-capitalist message, but he managed to, somehow”
“Rich people are famous for not knowing the subjective truth if it chopped their head off with a guillotine,”, Serenity snarked, “so I’m not too surprised”
I turn to add yet another snarky remark to the conversation, before my words disappear into the black hole of awe as Emmet shakes open the black package, revealing his costume
It resembles dark black body armor, almost, except not quite. It was too flexible to be body armor, hanging loosely in Emmet’s grip. I wondered if it, too, had been woven out of spider silk, or if Emmet was playing with fire by going for the weaker (and cheaper) simple latex.
It looks scaled, I notice. With silver spade-shaped, overlapping armor plates marking out the areas that would no doubt house Emmet’s vitals – going down his spine like the hackles of a lion, encircling his neck and throat like a necklace. Other than that, the costume bore minimal decoration, other than a simple, silver, wing-shaped insignia on the right breast.
The reason the costume looked so lumpy was because it had been wrapped around three utility items that Emmet, as a Thinker, would no doubt need. It wasn’t uncommon for Thinker-class heroes to arm themselves with so-called “mundane” weapons before they went off into combat.
Unlike other classes, such as the Recipient, Doer and Shifter classes, Thinkers – especially sole Thinkers like Emmet, tended to be extremely weak in the physical department.
Well, I think as I eye Emmet’s hard body and extremely well-defined set of abs, average, in this case. Human-level
Still no match for, say, Deathshrike, a Doer-class cape with the ability to summon hordes of insects with a single scream. Clairvoyance wouldn’t help you when you were being eaten alive by a horde of mosquitoes, but a gun might shut him up before he could let out a sound
The items were what looked like a slightly extended cat’s-eye mask, the edges curled and sharpened to resemble scimitars, the eyes covered with tinted-yellow lenses that made them look almost reptilian. A second mask was fit under the cat’s eye mask, ornate and metallic, carved to resemble the snarling maw of a reptile, long, prehensile tongue and all.
Beside them were two sets of weapons – first, a set of gauntlets that appeared to be essentially gloves suspended inside a cuboidal metallic frame. Looking closer, I discovered small, sharp claws tipping the fingers of the gloves, and small, high-power pistons concealed within the edges of the cuboid. Miniature Pile-driver gauntlets, made to augment Emmet’s punches. I whistle lowly, impressed. He could easily crack bone with this
Set beside that is a simple gun. I stare at it for a second, before Serenity strides over, grabbing it off the costume and weighing it in one hand, testing the grip, the… the whatever you test on a gun. Point is, he fiddled with it for a while, before handing it back to Emmet, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips
“That mechanism is delivering excessive gunpowder into the cartridges. I assume that was intentional ?”
Emmet nodded smugly, a hint of pride to his voice as he spoke, “The gunpowder gets delivered, additional mechanisms in the gun stop it from blowing up the gun while still inside it. It gets fired, and…”
“Boom”, Serenity muttered, “Explosive bullet. Ingenious, if extremely dangerous”
“Eh”, Emmet shrugged, “I’m a Thinker, aren’t I ? My whole shtick is being smart. I think I’m smart enough to handle this”
“Have you come up with a name yet ?”, I ask him distractedly, still admiring his costume, “Cause judging by the sheer amount of motifs in this costume, I think you have”
“It’s a hang-up between Dragon and Komodo”, Emmet shot me a wry grin, “Dragon is so cliché, though. Komodo sounds cooler, but also makes no sense”
“And Dragon does ???”
“Dragons are known to be psychic”, Emmet says stubbornly, pouting slightly, “and precognizant”
I stare at him for a second. “My apologies”, I deadpan, “I wasn’t aware that I was talking to the premier expert on dragons in all Britain. Please, explain to me the intricate biology of this fictional creature”
“Shut up”, he said, with a chuckle and a tone of voice that made his lack of offense clear, “Anyways. I think I’ll go with Dragon”
“I think you might have to”, Serenity interjects, “Komodo dragons don’t have teeth, and that”, he nods towards the mask, “absolutely does”
“I don’t think the average citizen gives a flying f*ck about that, Serenity”
“Yeah, yeah”, he waved one hand dismissively, before rounding on Emmet, his eyes glinted terrifyingly bright, “By the way, are you associated with an Agency yet ?”
“No… not yet”, Emmet shifted uncomfortably, “Are you offering me a job ?”
“That advanced cognition’s in full effect, huh ?”, Serenity grinned, “Yes, I am”
“Serenity”, I interjected sharply, “Don’t rope him into this, too”
“Why not ?”, he said simply, “I’m his best shot. Flexible enough to not taint his reputation, while also paying well. So, Emmet, would you like to join us ?”
“Flexible…”, Emmet considered, “You’re criminals, aren’t you ?”
“Anti-heroes”, Serenity corrected with a pasted-on grin, “We prefer the term anti-heroes”
“Do I get paid ?”
“Plenty”, Serenity said mildly, “It’ll also piss off your dad a lot”
“I’m in”
“Glad to hear it”, Serenity shot him a brilliant smile, “Let’s head back to base right now, unless…”, he levels a stare at me, “… there’s something… else you want to… say, James?”
“Wha-”, I stammer, “That fast ?!! That took like, five seconds !!”, I turn to give Emmet an incredulous look, “Be more paranoid, for f*ck’s sake !!”
“I am”, Emmet corrected, “I’m just also more pragmatic. Serenity’s right – a group of anti-heroes is really my best shot. Heroes get restricted and immured by the regulations of their agencies all the time, villains get hunted and arrested nigh-always, and indies get constantly f*cked over. Not exactly much to consider”, he shrugged
“He’s not wrong”, Serenity shrugged, his voice tinged with smugness, “We’re his best shot. Yours, too. So…”, he claps his hands together, “let’s head out then”
Chapter 12
Chapter Text
The journey back to the base was fairly ordinary, marked only by the occasional scream in the distance, and the starved barks of the starving stray dogs that often gathered round here, looking for a scrap to eat.
To Emmet’s credit, he didn’t even flinch as one of them – a hound with fur that may have once been gold, but was now so dirtied and streaked with blood that it more resembled a dull black – runs straight up to him. Out the corner of my eye, I spot Serenity eyeing him with approval – it wasn’t often that a rich kid from the upper districts knew how to behave in the more downtrodden ones
As we draw closer to the abandoned apartment complex, a look of consternation flashes over Emmet’s face, “Do I need to learn how to fight ?”
“It…”, Serenity raised his eyebrows, “… would be preferred, yes”
“Emmet, your gauntlets can break bone with a single punch.”, I remind him, “At that point, I think you can just brute-force your way through any opponent”
“Yeah but I still can’t dodge – and they need to be close for me to punch them”
I raise my eyebrows, and point at Emmet’s belt where he had not-so-subtly holstered his modified firearm, “Gun, bitch. That’s what a gun is for”
“I don’t have firearm training, either”
“Neither do I”, Serenity interjects, “But last week, I blew a hole through the head of a Soldaty mook from fifty feet away. All you need is good hand-eye coordination – and your Thinker powers should handle that for you”
“Why were you fighting Soldaty ?”, I look at him strangely, “I thought you didn’t want to be involved with the criminal underworld”
“I never said that”, Serenity corrected, “and I owed Tai Xuan a favor, anyways”
“Who ?”
“You might know him better as Starlight”, he smirks slightly, “The boss of the EFS ? Sworn enemy to Soldaty ?”
“Tai Xuan”, I muse, “It’s a… unique name”
“He chose it himself. Didn’t have parents to do it for him, after all”, Serenity shrugged, “It means “Great Void”, though he claims that he took it from the Tàixuánjīng, the “Canon of Supreme Mystery”. It sounds like something he would do – the dramatic f*cker”
“Great Void ?”, Emmet snorts, “Sounds more like a cape name than anything else”
“Funnily enough, he used to go by “Void” before he ascended to his current status of gang leader. He changed his name to make himself more… approachable”
“He failed”
“Yup”, Serenity grinned, popping the ‘p’, “I used to know him then, back when he was a simple gang member working the streets under the name Void. There’s a reason I never joined EFS – I didn’t want to cross his ambitions. If there’s one thing Starlight is, it’s intimidating – oh, and ruthless, of course”
“What gang did you join ?”, Emmet asked, prompting a strange reaction from Serenity, as his face pales into an ashen-grey color, his lips pursing and curling back, as if horrified by some memory. His eyes took on a glazed, far-away quality, and he remained silent for a few awkward seconds, that seemed to stretch for hours
“You were in a gang ?”, I ask – I hadn’t known that. The thought made me feel, insanely, betrayed, even though Serenity had no reason whatsoever to tell me about his past. After all, I hadn’t told him about mine
“Yup”, Serenity straightened, “They were pretty violent. I left a few years in”
His words were careful, cautiously chosen to give absolutely no information while also not outright lying – Emmet’s powers would have told him exactly what Serenity was hiding if he had. Whatever this secret gang in Serenity’s past was – it was a topic I didn’t want to so much as approach, let alone broach
“Alright, then”, I nod before Emmet can reply, hastily changing the topic as we arrive at the complex, “Oh, look, we’re here !!”
Serenity’s eyes flick over to me, and I see something flower in their aquamarine depths, like a silver spider-web, stretched over his irises. He smiles, and blinks, and when his eyes reopen, the cobwebs are gone. “Thanks”, he mouths vaguely in my direction, and I cannot help but grin
The massive nine that had once decorated the front of the complex was gone – someone must have scrubbed it off – and had instead been replaced with what looked like two curving lines of black, connected at the edges – the empty outline of an eye. In the middle, nine white dots had been arranged against the red brick- vaguely forming an eight-dot circle, with one dot smack-dab in the centre.
Emmet’s eyes linger on it for a moment, but, unable to figure out what it means, he dismisses, and moves to join us near the entrance to the base.
“Nice place you got here”, he deadpans, “Very rustic”
“Can’t exactly have a mansion in the Slums, rich boy”, Serenity snarks, seemingly recovered from his trance, “Not only would that set off alarm bells for both the heroes and the police, but that’s basically telling every villain in a thousand-mile radius that you’re weak”
“So the interior is fancy ?”
“Yes”, Serenity nods, before frowning, “Well, fancier. We still don’t have a ceiling, and the toilet is still unusable”
“You should really get that fixed”, I interject
He gives me the kind of look a teacher gives her least responsive student, “Why yes”, he drawls sardonically, “Let me just call up an architect and have them reinforce the crumbling architecture of this complex without explaining why we don’t just move out. No red flags there at all”
“I mean, technically speaking, you don’t really need discretion”, Emmet reasons, “Your business isn’t illegal – not officially, at least”
“Every Hero Agency in a thousand miles is baying for the blood of anti-heroes, Emmet”, Serenity informs with a casual air – too casual for his words, “We’re taking away their business, after all”
“And I just joined a group of them”, Emmet heaves a sigh, “Wonderful”
“Officially, they won’t be able to harm you”, Serenity tries to cheer him up, “As long as you don’t blab to anyone about the location of the base, they won’t hurt you – they won’t want to risk their reputations by hurting a potential innocent. Bombing the base, on the other hand ?”, he shrugs, “Well, we all saw what the AZN did to the Inlands”
“Officially, that was an accident”
“Officially”, Serenity rolled his eyes, “Bolter was not only never punished, but actively rewarded. That’s not how you deal with an “accident””
“Fair enough”, Emmet grimaces as we reach the Misaligned’s loft, his eyes blowing wide as he catches sight of the furnished interior.
A smug grin stretches across Serenity’s face, “Pretty cool, huh ?”
For a few seconds, Emmet remains silent, “Wouldn’t it have been safer to build this on the ground floor ?”, he points out
“And have druggies and couples constantly break in to f*ck or use ?”, Rapture’s voice breaks into the silence, as he strolls over, “No thanks”
He stills a little as he reaches us, his acid-yellow eyes tracking up and down Emmet’s body, like a farmer examining one of his prized cattle-animals, “Not bad.”, he whistles appreciatively, “New recruit ?”
“Yup”, Serenity says cheerily, “Two for the price of one !!”
“Class ?”
“Thinker”
“Oh”, Rapture grimaces, “That’s… not as useful as I would have hoped”
“Strategy is imperative too, Rapture”, Riptide tiredly corrected, walking up to us, “You can’t just brute-force your way through everything”
“Oh yeah ? Watch me, bitch”
“No thank you”, he rolled his eyes, before turning to nod in Serenity’s direction, “New job came in while you were off on your coffee run”
“Oh ? Status ?”
“High-risk”, Riptide grimaced, “High reward”
“What’s the job ?”, Rapture piped up, turning to look in Riptide’s direction, his eyes glinting eagerly
“Raid. Soldaty warehouse. High-ranking Soldaty warehouse. In fact”, he grimaced, “there’s a good chance we might encounter King himself, leaving aside any super-powered muscle he may have hired”
“That sounds…”, Serenity trailed off, turning to levy an uncertain look in our direction, “What’s the pay ?”
“Double whatever we manage to get away with, as long as we recover something King is holding at the heart of the building”
“Sounds like this object is priceless”, Serenity mused, “Why shouldn’t we just take it and run ?”
“Simple”, Riptide closed his eyes, as if warding off a headache, “The job came from none other than Glaxxon.”
For a moment, there’s a moment of silence, before Serenity broke it with a sharp intake of breath, “This Glaxxon… they’re the same Glaxxon as the… uh… Hero Agency ?”
“Yup”
“How’d they contact you ?”, Rapture questioned
“My mom worked for them, when I was young”
“I thought you went no-contact with her, like, years back ?”, Serenity’s brow furrows as he levels a look at Riptide
“Still have her number though”, Riptide grimaced, “Dunno why – maybe I imagined that she would apologize one day”
“What is this… thing ?”
“A cape suit, suspended inside a suitcase”, Riptide informed, “According to Glaxxon, it used to belong to one among the Nine”
“The Nine From Hell ?”, Serenity’s lips twitched into a grin, as if he found something amusing, “They plan to outfit one of their heroes in a suit taken from the Nine ? They’ll obliterate them”
“I don’t know about that”, Rapture pointed out, “Glaxxon’s a pretty big conglomerate. They probably have millions of capes as reinforcement”
“The Nine attack fast and hard. Glaxxon won’t have time to assemble the capes already active, let alone call in additional ones”
“Either way, it’s none of our business”, Riptide interjected, “Whether Glaxxon lives or dies has nothing to do with us. The point is – do we take the job ?”
“I don’t know”, Serenity frowned, “I mean, for the newbies, it..”
“Sounds like a wonderful rite of passage”, Rapture interrupts, “Come on, imagine the sheer amount of money we could make off of this !!”
“What if we make none ?”, Serenity points out, “King’s a clever man. What if he simply has no money in there ?”
“They said that if the monetary total was below twenty thou they would give us enough money to make up the difference”, Riptide revealed with a small grin, “Managed to wheedle them up to twenty-three thou”
“So we’ll each walk away with nearly six grand”, Serenity considered, “Not a bad haul, all things considered. We’ll have to pay for transport, equipment, everything ?”
“Naturally”, Riptide sighed, “I managed to get them to pay for transport, but it seemed like they were unwilling to pay a bunch of anti-heroes any more than the bare minimum”
“Did they say anything about the suit ?”, Serenity pondered, his jaw unusually taut as he spoke, “Who it would go to, color, anything ?”
“Something about a hero named Shadow – intangibility or some sh*t”, Riptide waved dismissively, “I think the suit’s black, based on the name alone”
Serenity nodded slowly, his lips lowering into a tight grimace, before he looks up, “I know who that suit belonged to”
“Who ?”
“A member of the Nine named the Ebony Prince”, Serenity’s grimace deepens at the name, “A terror to behold, who could devastate entire cities with a flick of his fingers. He left the Nine a while back”
“Wait, the Nine aren’t actually nine people ?”, I interrupt, and he starts at my voice, looking around for its source, till his eyes fall on me
“No”, he shakes his head, “A few died, a few left, but the Nine absolutely have less than nine members. It’s just that they’re so shrouded in mystery that no one knows exactly how many members they have, and so they just keep calling them the Nine”
“This… Ebony Prince”, Emmet said, his brow furrowed, “He won’t come after us for stealing his suit, will he ?”
“Us ? No”, Serenity shakes his head, before his lips twitch slightly, as though itching to curve into a grin, “Glaxxon ? Well… I think he retired from villain work, but the rest of the Nine are gonna kick Glaxxon’s ass”
For a moment, everyone looks around awkwardly, trying to gauge the general reactions to the job, before Serenity speaks up, “King is a favored member of the gang leaders of Britain. We can’t kill him. Not without repercussions”
“So… incapacitate only, then ?”
“Yes”, Serenity’s jaw went taut as he considered the stone floor of the loft, “His lieutenant – the big guy. Wasn’t he accused of rape a few weeks back ? That violates the rules”
“Rules ?”, I question, looking around for an answer. Thankfully, Riptide takes pity on me
“The unwritten societal rules of this city – can’t release the true names of capes, can’t rape or molest others, can’t hurt the families of capes… all that jazz. Breaking them puts a kill marker on you, courtesy of the highest-ranked gangs and capes in East London – meaning anyone can kill you with complete impunity.”
Riptide hmm-ed for a moment, “I see what you mean, and we could put a kill marker on King by accusing him of “aiding and abetting a known Rule-breaker”… were it not for the fact that he f*cking killed said lieutenant”
“Oh”, Serenity falls into a slightly-embarrassed silence, “My knowledge appears to be… out of date”
“A little bit, yeah”
“Wait”, Emmet called out, “wouldn’t the gangs be on our ass even if he did have a kill marker on him ? His gang, at least ?”
“Nope”, Rapture shook his head, “Avenging someone killed under the kill marker puts a kill marker on you too. That rule’s there to prevent an endless cycle of vengeance, as most of them are. As of now, they have… mostly… worked. I mean, the really high-power capes mostly act with impunity, given they can just ignore the kill marker, but anyone below them tends to take care to not break the rules”
“I mean, most of the rules get constantly broken”, Riptide drawled, “It’s just that perpetrators don’t tend to last too long after breaking them either”
“There’s that one rule that no one has broken”, Rapture pointed, “The one about the Deaths. No in-fighting in the event of an attack by one of the Deaths”
“That’s because the Deaths aren’t coming back, Rapture”, Riptide scoffed, even as Serenity froze at the word “Deaths”, his eyes widening in silent fear, “I mean come on –it’s been decades since they last attacked. No way are they returning !!”
“Don’t speak in absolutes, Riptide”, Serenity warned, his voice uncharacteristically grave, “Even if the Deaths aren’t coming back. In any case”, he seemed just a bit too eager to move away from this topic of discussion, “this conversation is meaningless. We need to plan for the raid”
I open my mouth, a question already hovering at my lips, only to shut them moments later, as Serenity levels a severe glare in my direction, before speaking, “Let’s not get distracted”
“What’s the location ?”, Rapture questioned, his jaw tightening slightly as his expression grew graver, “Slums ?”
“Inlands”, Riptide informed, “Heart of it. Iron gates, Sealed vents. Whole things a f*ckin’ fortress. This is gonna be the robbery of a lifetime”
“Yeah ?”, Rapture grimaced, “It better have the rewards of a lifetime too”
“Armored trucks constantly enter and exit the facility, hauling huge stacks of cash and stolen loot – Thinker tech, mostly, though word of mouth says that there are several pounds of diamonds and other such valuables concealed in there, too”, Riptide informed coolly, “There’s more than six grand in it for us, I promise you”
I look around, feeling a kind of nervous fear build at the base of my heart. Beside me, Emmet shifted uncomfortably, no doubt feeling the same emotion. This was our first job ever, and we were supposed to take on a gang as fearsome as the Soldaty ?
It seemed impossible, but then again… I didn’t exactly disagree with the gang – six grand was… well, it was more money than I had ever seen, let along had.
As my heart and brain engage in heated battle over this mission, the rest of the Misaligned, save for Emmet, started preparations.
Riptide, who was obviously the strategist of the bunch, outlined a bunch of general information about the warehouse that housed the Soldaty safehouse. Held in the middle of a wasteland, with the decaying urban sprawl of the Inlands cleared out around it for miles. It would be a challenge even approaching the base, let alone entering it
“There are entrances near the top and bottom floors that have minimal protection”, Serenity interjected as that problem came up, “I’ll contact Xuan – he can provide us with EFS gang members to throw at Soldaty – to draw away the few guards who’ll be there, leaving it defenseless”
“We’ll have to split the reward between six people ?”, Rapture said, in a despairing tone of voice, prompting a soft laugh from Riptide
“No”, Serenity corrected, “He owes me a favor. This one’s free”
With that, the discussions continued, in a uniquely heated fashion. No one appeared to be genuinely in charge, even though Serenity was ostensibly their leader. One person would make a suggestion, and the other two would work together to find a way to shoot him down. If they found one, the proposition was brutally rejected. If not, the plan was adjusted accordingly
It was funny – in a standard gang, Serenity was the one who would have come up with the plan, with the rest being expected to obey or die. The tip of the spear. This… this appeared to be a different beast entirely, with three powerhouses instead of one, like some kind of socialist trident. However, as the plan rapidly unfolded before my eyes, I couldn’t help but admit – it may have been unique, but it sure as hell was effective
“There’s just one problem”, Rapture pointed out as they wrapped up the plan, “We know how to get in, and how to get out. But once we get in…”
“We don’t have the clue what the interior of the warehouse is like”, Riptide grimaced, “It’s the best we can do. No plan survives first contact, anyways, so it’s not like it makes much of a difference”
“What about the enemies we’ll meet inside the warehouse ?”, I pointed out, “Do we know anything about them ?”
“Them specifically ?”, Serenity said, “No. But we can make a reasonable guess, based on the surrounding infrastructure and gangs – as well as the allies of the Soldaty”
“Alright then”, Rapture pointed out, “For the benefit of the rookies – let’s hear ‘em”
“Well, first off, we have Chameleon. A deranged Shifter-class local serial killer, with a particular affinity for eyes, and the unnerving ability to shape-shift into any person he chooses – except for the voice and the eyes, so keep an eye out for those”, Serenity nods towards the others, who nod back, “Already has a kill marker placed on him for the murder of Sunstreak’s child, so feel free to murder him… or call in Sunstreak – I’m sure he’ll be glad to kill him for you”
“Why would King risk allying with him, then ?”
“He’s King’s nephew, that’s why”, Serenity said in a faint tone, “and sought asylum with him to escape the kill marker”
“So we can…”, Rapture begins, before Serenity eyes him warningly
“No. We can’t”, Serenity says, “Officially, there’s no relation between King and Chameleon – nothing on the books means no evidence, and no evidence means no kill marker”
“Is he super-strong too ?”, I ask. It wasn’t a bad guess – super-strength was an extremely common power, be it direct strength enhancement or indirect ability to keep fighting. And if a monster like the Chameleon received super-strength…
“Not precisely”, Serenity clicked his tongue, “He just doesn’t give a sh*t about however many injuries he takes. He’ll punch so hard that his bones snap like twigs, and muscles tear and joints mangle, and just… keep going, till his injuries overwhelm him, or he gets taken down. Best bet ? Keep him occupied – he loves a fight, and he can’t multitask. Keeping him fighting means stopping him from shifting”
“Thank god a power that useful got given to the most rattled dumbass this side of the Atlantic Ocean”, Rapture muttered, prompting a small grin of agreement from Serenity
Serenity held up two fingers, tapping the knuckle of the second, “Two. Reflection. A f*cking menace. If they draw their arm, or any extremities, back, run for the hills.”
“That’s the one with the speed, right ?”, Riptide interjected
“Close”, Serenity sighed, “They move fast, it’s true, but they can’t actually hit people. The weird thing about their power is that the farther they get from other, human presences, the faster they move. Good for escaping – not much else, especially given that if a person stands right beside them, they can barely move at all”
“Easy prey, then”
Serenity doesn’t reply, simply sighing again, “That brings us to their actual power – what we call “water echo”. For any body part moved, whether it be voluntary or involuntary, water will appear to fill the space in the air where the extremity just was, maintaining the speed and direction of the area that created it. For example, if he stands fifty feet away from someone, and aims a super-sped-up kick in their direction, but stops it at the last moment ? The water produced from the motion will keep moving at the same deadly speed. Hydrokinetics cannot manipulate this water, for some reason, until it hits an object, so our best bet is to simply chase them down till we’re close enough that they stall to a halt”
“And why would he ally himself with someone like King ?”, Emmet questions
“Simple. Asylum”, Serenity grimaces, “Reflection’s non-binary. And, regrettably, like a lot of young minorities on the streets, they get targeted. A lot. Neo-nazis like the Final Fourteen, Mormons like the Eyes of God, Catholics like the Apotheosis – there’s a lot of groups out there more than willing to wet their blades with the blood of a young minority. It is…understandable, if sad. Try not to hurt them too badly”
“Noted”
Serenity continued, “Third up. Dazer. We need to start moving through the list quick, so this’ll be short. She can stun you with a look, or with her voice, if you can hear it – knock you into a temporary trance, like you just got clobbered over the head. Also invincible. Kinda, sorta. It scales with distance, so someone attacking from far away is going to fail, but someone right next to her can tear through her like paper. Pretty easy to beat- just overwhelm her. Thing is, she can also make you susceptible to suggestion with her voice, like a Siren, and her power scales with distance too, being more effective up close, which explains her rapid rise to her current rank as a soldier of the Soldaty
Fourth, but certainly not least, we have Spitfire”
Rapture groans, and Riptide lets out a series of curse words, “That hellhound bitch ?”
“Yup”, Serenity grimaced, “She’s convinced herself that I’m her nemesis- her dark opposite, her rival. Goes after me every chance she gets. Then I scarred her for life, and actually did make her my nemesis. Oops. Be wary around her, her flames are hot, and she’s scarily good with them – she may be low-class, but that’s more out of a sense of lone-wolf pride, and less a lack of capability”
“Why would she be with King ?”
“Honestly, I don’t know”, Serenity shrugged, “She might not be, but she was last seen speaking to two Soldaty mooks, after which she outright disappeared, so chances are that…”
“She is”, Rapture nodded, “Well, whoop-de-do”
“You know who’s definitely going to be there, though ?”, Serenity said, “King himself. The big boss. Known as the head of the Soldaty Korolya, and the titular… well… king, of the gang. Known for being pragmatic and ruthless. Self-possessed, with an OCD streak a mile wide. Calculated. Controlled. And one hell of a rat bastard”
“What are his powers ?”
“No one knows – at least, not firsthand. According to one of his lower-ranked mooks, he’s a ferrokinetic. Can produce iron out of practically any inorganic surface – in the form of blades, bludgeons, beams, you name it. Additionally, he can impart velocity to it – any velocity- meaning he can launch blades at you at twice the speed of light. Plus, he has the ability to control his own metallic constructs. Not a fun guy to fight”, Serenity grimaced again
“Additionally, his powers are very finely-honed thanks to his OCD, letting him create massive, intricate structures – including, reportedly, a full replica of Tinkerer’s armor in approximately twenty seconds, which is just insane.”, Serenity drew in a deep breath, “Best plan ? Keep moving. He has to calculate the trajectory of his shots before making them – and he can’t do that if you’re constantly on the move”
“Third question- this is like, deeply illicit, right ?”, I interject, looking around at the others, “Like, highly illegal – even if it doesn’t break the unwritten rules ?”
“Why ?”, Serenity turned to look at me, his lips curling up into a small smirk, his eyes glinting strangely, “You wanna be the perfect hero or something ? Even Glaxxon breaks laws”
“Bitch, the first question I asked after being offered a place here was “How much money””, I snorted, “I couldn’t care less about the legality of the situation. I just want to be assured that I won’t get arrested for this”
“Have no fear”, Riptide assured amusedly, “Our clients usually offer us full legal protection from any crime we commit on their jobs, and Glaxxon is no different. You’ll be fine… probably”
“That’s a lot of maybes”, I point out
“You don’t have to come”, Rapture replied, “If you’re having second thoughts”
“No, I’ll come”, I say sharply, “The only currency worth using in East London is fear… and what better way to gather that than raid the King himself ? If I lose my nerve now…”
“If we lose our nerve now”, Emmet interjects, “then we’ll never get it back. We need to do this – for our own sake, if nothing else”
Serenity smiled a grim, thin-lipped smile, “Attaboys”
Chapter 13
Chapter Text
Her eyes blinked, as they roved across the wide, dark window that made up one of the walls of Glaxxon Headquarter’s top floors. Beyond it raged a storm, a near opaque curtain of rain blocking all visuals as to the cityscape behind it. Behind her stood a long, ebony meeting table, and several, very-irate officials – some capes, some not
Path to salvation, her power chimed in her mind, like a disembodied voice whispering in her ears, Step one – Enrage the Nine. It had been saying that for a while now, and it had taken two days for her to accept its words.
Unfortunately, “my destiny-scrying ability told me so” is not suitable justification for angering a cult of city-destroyers. At least not in the eyes of Glaxxon’s Board of Directors
“I am speaking to you, woman !!”, a rather portly, red-faced man shouted – Glenn Maxwell, head of the PR department of Glaxxon International – a rather useless fellow, having only obtained his position through his connections
Lady Masque didn’t respond as she turned her eyes- dark and grey as the storm outside, though not nearly as forgiving – towards the official, simply co*cking her head to one side, and awaiting instructions. She did not have to wait long. Path to Convincing, her power chimed again, Remind him of your identity
“Do not speak to me like that again, Maxwell”, she said, in a voice that resounded through the room like a crack of thunder, slow and steady as an approaching storm, “Or have you forgotten who exactly, you are speaking to ? Lady Monroe Masque – founder of this great organization. Leading scientist of the PR&D. The woman, who pays your bills”, she sat down at the head of the table, lounging carelessly, her legs thrown to one side, “The woman who gives you power. The woman”, her voice lowered into a deep, threatening baritone, “who knows where your families live”
“None of us doubt your talents, Miss Masque”, a deeper, more self-possessed voice spoke up, her eyes snapping to the speaker instantly. It was Heir – one of her most successful creations, and, according to her powers, pivotal to the grand tapestry that was the past, future and present of the world, “We simply wish to know the reasons behind your actions”
A few seconds pass. Path to Victory. What actions ?
“What actions ?”
“Engaging with the… criminal organization known as the Misaligned”, Heir spoke up, rising from his seat as he did, his skintight golden costume glinting in the dim lighting of the meeting room, his square jaw and lean, muscular physique cast sharply in the shadows, “and ordering actions that have the potential to anger the organization known as”, he draws in a sharp breath, steadying his trembling voice, “the Nine From Hell”
Another few seconds. Path to Victory. It is necessary
“It is necessary”
The room explodes into whispers and protests. Rolling her eyes, Masque leans back against her chair, ignoring the words of these fools who dared to call themselves her equals, when they weren’t fit to do so much as lick the dirt of the soles of her shoes
Path to Victory, her power chimes, Speak up – say “The Deaths are coming”
A grip of fear tightens around her heart at that, but ignoring it – perhaps hoping that the power was simply providing her with a suitable bluff, she spoke up, “The Deaths are coming”
The room goes silent. For a moment, there is nothing, till Heir’s steady voice speaks up, a note of fear interlacing his words, “Are you… are you certain ?”
Path to Victory. I have seen it
“I have seen it”
This was ridiculous. She – who had once dallied with gods and demons, who had once faced off against the Hopekiller herself – she of all people shouldn’t have to deal with this meaningless drivel. The founding of Glaxxon… the corporatization of capes, the encouraging of gangs, and yet, as her powers informed her, it was all necessary – all part of a grand scheme
Path to Victory, her powers chimed in her head, her back still turned to the Board, Move right by ten centimeters
Without even a moment of hesitation, she did as commanded, and, as soon as she did so, a gunshot rang out, the dark window before her cracking as it gained a new, approximately 22 mm wide hole dead in the center, where her head had been mere seconds ago.
Smirking, she reclined carelessly in her chair, ignoring the sounds of struggle behind her as her guards escorted the assailant away. That made it the second time this week that someone had tried to kill her – and it was Monday.
She sighed slightly, shifting in her seat. Heavy hangs the head that wears the crown, indeed
Path to Victory. Gloat
“When will you people learn”, she spoke in a low, smug drawl, “that you cannot kill me ? No matter what you do, I’ll survive. I’m not going anywhere – but you might be, if you don’t listen to me”
“And you are positive that following your commands will aid us in…”, Phantom, another one of her contracted heroes – one of the few who had fought against the Herokiller and lived. Poor guy. “…in… defeating the… the…”, he seemed unable to even speak the names of the monstrous creatures who had taken away almost his entire team, “…them ?”
Path to Victory. I am
“I am”
“And the Nine ?”
Path to Victory. A necessary evil
“A necessary evil”
“Necessary ?”, Glenn exploded again, “How can it be necessary to put London – our own city, our goddamn home, in the line of fire of a mad, deranged cult who, only two days ago, almost destroyed Moscow !! f*cking Moscow !!”
Their fear was justified, Masque understood. Calling the Nine fearsome was like calling the ocean mildly damp. Quite possibly the only good thing about them was that their leader's obsessions limited the total amount of damage they did while making it easy to point them at targets that had longer ranged, more expansive goals. The amount of damage they inflicted, while dramatic and public, was less than what they would have done as individuals, especially when you considered how many individuals that La Commedienne had gathered under his wings or killed might have one day formed their own large gangs. It also helped keep the concept of "beyond the pale" alive, giving even villains a model to not live down to.
You just had to look at parts of Africa, Latin America and Asia to see what happened when that went away.
Was this true ? Masque hoped so. Could she simply be delusional and trying to convince herself that it was a good thing the Nine were borderline invincible ? Absolutely
After all, she had played more than a small part in their creation. Inhis creation. A mother never really forgot her son
Path to Victory. We can survive the Nine. We cannot survive the Deaths
“We can survive the Nine. We cannot survive the Deaths”
Glenn makes to protest, but Phantom speaks up, his green, haunted eyes fixed on the grain of the wooden table-top, “She’s right. I saw…”, his voice trembled, “I saw those monsters firsthand. I fought those monsters firsthand. I heard Rationality – the f*cking Hopekiller herself !! – I heard her scream. Nearly had my head exploded too. She”, he gestures to Masque, “got me out of there before mine could. The others… weren’t so lucky”
“Indeed”, Heir’s baritone echoes out over the gathering, “I fought the Herokiller once, and let me tell you this – if the Nine had even a fraction of the Sadism’s powers, all the world would be aflame. The Nine are powerful, yes – and seem to have grown in power over the last few decades, but they are nothing before the Deaths. Nothing before the Apocalypse”
“The death count in towns hit by the Nine is actually markedly higher than that in towns hit by the Deaths”, Maxwell protested, somewhat foolishly
Masque prepared to respond, but Heir spoke for her, “It’s easier to see and predict the Deaths coming than the Nine, so evacuations become more feasible. But make no mistake. The Deaths are worse, in numbers, in power, but most people see them as… natural disasters. Impersonal. The Nine are different. Neighborhoods and towns they hit tend to have high death tolls over the following weeks and months, not due to any physical danger—but the fact that there tends to be a substantial increase in the suicide rate in those regions.
Masque nodded approvingly at him. Not bad for an experiment
“And what of Shadow ?”, a new voice joins in – Red Run, the last of the Triad that headed Glaxxon’s list of top capes, “The newbie”, she sighs, “What happens when he gets targeted by the Nine for wearing one of their former suits – for trusting us ?”
Path to Victory, her power chimes, He dies
“He dies”
“That’s it ?”, Red Run says, gritting her teeth, and, for some unfathomable reason, her voice becomes strained with anger, “He dies ? He came to us because he f*cking trusted us, and you want us to betray that trust ?”
Path to Victory. What’s the matter, Red Run ? You’ve done it before, haven’t you ?
“What’s the matter, Red Run ? You’ve done it before, haven’t you ?”
The cape’s face pales dramatically at Masque’s words, “How did you…”, she begins, before trailing off, breathing shallowly, “You… I… you”, her face twists in anger as she rises from the table, “You know nothing about him !! About us !!”. And with that, she stormed out
Hm… interesting. Masque would have to look into that later
“You must understand, my lady”, Heir says, a little nervously, “He doesn’t just die if the Nine catch him – he dies in horrific agony. That… it’s…”
Path to Victory. Kill him yourself, then, before the Nine get him
Masque frowned. No, that word seemed too cruel, “Euthanize him yourself, then, before the Nine get him”
“That…”, Heir began, “…I…”, he drew in a deep breath, “As you wish, my Lady”
Phantom spoke up next, rising as he deep, drawing his great grey cloak against his black armor as he spoke, his glassy, featureless mask rising, the acid-green searchlights that were his eyes fixing themselves on the seated Lady, “Are you certain this will work ?”
Path to Victory. If it doesn’t, you won’t have to worry about it. East London is the heart of this scheme
She studiously repeated Path’s words, only to be met with a chorus of disapproving whispers and outcries
A suited man rises to his feet, his watery blue eyes mildly terrified as they focused in on Lady Masque, “My lady, I… East London has over two million people !!”
Path to Victory. The world has seven billion. It only stands to reason that I prioritize it over this city, no matter how connected you all feel to it
She repeated the words, and, after a few moments of silence, was preparing to leave when a scoff shattered the fragile tension that permeated the meeting chamber. She rolled her eyes as Glenn Maxwell rounded on her
“Surely the Deaths can’t be that dangerous ?!”, he demanded, ignoring Heir’s and Phantom’s severe glares as he did, “Surely not enough to warrant risking the lives of two million people ?”
Path to Victory. Tell that to Japan
“Tell that to Japan”, she said, striding over to the door as the room fell into a stunned silence. She grinned internally at the sight – none of them could argue with that, after all.
“An entire island”, she reached out to slowly pull open the door to the chamber, speaking as instructed by the Path, “of over a hundred million people, sunk in five hours, courtesy of the Devourer. Now, tell me, Glenn, can the Nine do that ?”
A beat of silence, followed by several more
“That’s what I thought”, she cracked a rare, wry grin, before silently slipping out the door, quick as a shadow, calling out behind her as she did, “Proceed with the plan”
Chapter 14
Chapter Text
“I’ll be there. Yes. Yes. No. What the f*ck do you mean, King’s got an army ?”, I saw a light in the living room window as I approached my house walking up the silent sidewalk, late in the evening. I roll my eyes. Damn, my dad’s home, “What ? Oh, a literal army. Military-grade ??”
I open the front door and, studiously ignoring my dad’s distinctive pattern of breathing from the other room, walk up the stairs in front of me. I guess I would be going hungry today, because I did not relish the idea of having to tell my dad where I had been for the past… I peer at the clock… five hours
“Yes, Military-grade ?? Jesus Christ”, I speak incredulously into the disposable cell phone’s tiny microphone, struggling to get my door open.
Serenity had handed me four identical, disposable cell phones before I had left the Misaligned’s base – for communication, he had said, though now that I was listening to him speak, there was something about his voice – something low and rhythmic about it, mesmerizing, that only really came out over the phone. Whatever it was, it made him sound like how I imagined a supermodel would, and I wasn’t complaining
“No, not Jesus Christ”, Serenity’s voice filtered in over the tinny speakers attached to the ridiculously cheap phone, “King – even if his men do consider him a Messiah”
“I genuinely can’t tell if that was a terrible attempt at a joke or you just being unable to hear me”
“It was a joke”, he said, and I can practically hear him pouting over the line, “though King’s men do, in fact, see him as a Messianic figure. A savior, of sorts”
“Yes, Serenity, I know what messianic means”, I roll my eyes, flopping down onto my bed, grinning as Serenity’s chuckle filters out of the phone speakers like a comfort blanket being melted down into sound waves and played directly into my ears
I’d spent the rest of the afternoon, and part of the evening, with the Misaligned after we had finished planning for the raid. We had hammered out the finer details of the raid and then I had asked Serenity for a telescoping baton, twenty-one inches long when fully extended, offering more heft than my fists alone, and a small combat knife, acting as both a last-case alternative to my baton, and as a quick way of drawing blood to call on my powers. According to him, I would have them by tomorrow
The rest of the day, we had mostly avoided the topic of the raid, instead burning up our nervous energy by helping in clearing out and re-furnishing mine and Emmet’s room. They were pretty bare-bones for now – an extendable clothes rack, a dresser, an air mattress because I refused to sleep on a bed that looked half-decayed and a small dresser, a battery-powered reading lamp perched on top. Not as sleek as, perhaps, the quarters offered by, say, Glaxxon, but serviceable, and comfortable enough. They would do – well, for me. I still wasn’t sure what Emmet thought of them – he didn’t really say anything on seeing them
After that, the rest of the group cleared out the living room and set up some movies for us to watch to kill time, while Serenity came up to us and handed us two cards, preloaded with forty grand, immediately frying my brains – I had never even seen that much money before, let alone had it !! Emmet, of course, barely reacted to the money, being born in the lap of luxury and all.
“For supplies”, he’d said, “Don’t spend it too frivolously. Better yet, don’t spend it at all”
After hearing our (or at least, my) hastily-spoken, wide-eyed sounds of agreement, Serenity simply sighed and waved us over to the couch, where we collapsed for the rest of the evening, watching some movies Rapture had apparently dug out of an abandoned lab. I was fairly certain that they were almost certainly some kind of Thinker-created memetic agent, because I remembered quite literally nothing about them – but hey !! No lasting harm, no foul – the most essential law in a world with parahumans
Fact – all I remembered was the intense feeling of crushing disappointment, so I probably didn’t miss much
I was just preparing to drift off to sleep when a knock on my bedroom door snaps me fully awake again. Dragging myself off my bed, I trudge over to it, gently pushing it open, only to nearly close it again as I see my father’s haggard face behind it
“Wait”, he says, blocking the door with one sandaled foot, “We need to talk”
“God, why now ?!”, I groan, flopping down onto my bed, “I was having a good night !!”
“I…”, he trailed off, seemingly unsure of what to say. I sighed again
“Pro tip ?”, I snark bitingly, “Next time you’re delivering a speech to one of your neglected spawn, practice”
“Do you hate me ?”, he asks bluntly, sounding like he had aged ten years since I had seen him last, “Genuinely, do you hate me ?”
“Who does not hate the one to blame for their existence, even if only a little ?”, I ask rhetorically, “You… since when do you care, anyways ? I’ll keep paying your bills, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just… ignore me alright ? No need to fake empathy, no need to fake affection, no need to bother each other about things neither of us care about. Alright ?”
“Faking it ?”, he sounds genuinely distraught, for some unfathomable reason, “I’m not.. I do love you !!”
A laugh bubbles up my throat, bitter and cynical, “Do you want me to list for you the number of times you failed to be a father to me, your motherless child ? Because I can - it would take hours. Hell, the whole reason we’re only having this conversation now is because you failed to so much as look in my direction before now !! You love, yes. You love yourself”
“I never hurt you !!”, he protests, his voice shaking slightly as he speaks, “I never hit you”
“Not all wounds are physical”, I say bluntly, deriving satisfaction from my father’s full-body flinch at my words, “Are you having an epiphany ?”, I mock, “Because it’s too late. The damage is done. And if you get better now…”, I sigh, “then tell me where to put my anger. If not in you. Who must I blame for what has been done to me ? Your father ? God ?”
“I don’t know”, he admits, “I never meant to hurt you. Surely you must see that”
He looks hurt. Injured. I can’t help but muffle a snort at that. Truly, the art of jabbing knives is hereditary.
This hurt me too. Fingering the puckered edges of a wound always did. But left alone to fester, the wound can become nothing but fatal.
“Tell me…”, I say, a little curiously, “Did you ever really love me ? Or did you simply “raise” me, however little you did, out of duty – because I was in your home, and under your roof ?”
He is silent
A thick rage clouds my throat, “What did you expect, when you came to confront me here tonight ? That I’d cave in ? That we’d all gather round a bonfire, hand-in-hand, and sing f*cking Kumbaya ? But I’m your son, remember ? Your wretched mirror – I am all you could have been, and you are all I might be. And I inherited your anger. Now get out”
“James, I…”
“I said. Get. Out”, I pointed to the door, holding back the tides of my rage, “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me – that this was your first time on Earth, too. Maybe you didn’t even know you were hurting me. But I was hurt regardless. And I’ll carry that with me forever, because of you. I am the shape you molded me into. Filth teaching filth. There – that’s your answer. Now get the f*ck out”
With that, he leaves, shambling awkwardly to my door and slipping out quietly, with barely so much as a look back, and I collapse onto my bed, feeling tears start to prick the corners of my eyes
I tried to hold back my tears – first law of East London, never show weakness
They come anyway, soft as rain, saltwater stinging like needle-pricks against my chilled skin
Boys don’t cry
I do not even know for what it is I cry – myself ? My father ? What I could have had, what I could have been ? The love I deserved ? The love I never got ? I must confess – I do not know
I have always tried to be silent – I feel the need to apologize to all who must bear my presence. For the inconvenience I have caused to them by the mere act of existing.
I enter a room and sit down alone so that no one has to suffer the act of sitting with me. I make myself easy to swallow, easy to digest
And I still fail
Perhaps that was why I had latched onto the Misaligned like a leech that refused to let go, a barnacle on a shoreline rock. Perhaps that was why I turned a blind eye to everything about them – from the cold, pragmatic outlooks they held on life, to their clearly dark grey alignment
Their violence, their crimes.
I didn’t care about them
I didn’t who they hurt
As long as they wanted me there. The same went for Emmet and Jade
And now that they did – that they proved they did by the mere acts of tolerating my words and presence – I was lost. I had no idea what to do. So I did the only thing I could
I turned over, pressed my head into the pillow, and went to sleep
I could deal with this tomorrow
Chapter 15
Chapter Text
“Think of it as a game”, Riptide said, “Or a show. Entertainment for the masses”
A downpour of rain thrummed against the outside of the van we were sitting in, drowning out the noise of the traffic around us, and muting our views of the cityscape, making the view through the van windows look eerily similar to Serenity’s roiling, fluid darkness.
I stare down at my red-gloved hands. Ahead, Riptide is in his costume, too – one that looks fairly homemade, save for the silver coronet shining around his black curls, and the blue full-face mask ,made of metal and shaped into the vague image of a snarling animal. He had shown me that the inside had been packed with foam shaped to the contours of his face, with his mouth left free, letting him talk freely
The rest of his costume, a stark contrast to the intricately-crafted mask, on the other hand, mostly just consisted of a black women’s trench-coat, buttoned up in front, the white cloth of his binder just barely visible beyond the lining. Over it, I saw criss-crossing lines of metal wire – the mesh shirt he had been wearing under his coat, strong enough to ward off knife-attacks and small-caliber bullets, but anything bigger would easily punch through
Below, he wore what looked like simple black leggings, tucked into knee-high boots
The whole outfit appeared to be made to accentuate his build, molded to the shape of his body – lean and lightly muscled, more like a gymnast or a dancer than a bodybuilder – to aid in keeping him in aerodynamic and fast, I assumed
We were trapped in a traffic deadlock, one bad enough that Riptide had straight-up parked the van, though the thrum below our seats informed me that the engines were still running. This was, of course, a good thing, since it gave us more time to plan. Theoretically. In praxis, we had already finished most of the planning, and were simply waiting to put it into action
I would have been glad for the silence, too, on any other day, were it not for the fact that I was trying to staunchly ignore last night’s incident, mostly because I was a coward who didn’t want to deal with it, despite promising myself that I would
To keep my mind away from it, and to quell some of my own fears, I had asked him if we would be unmasked, should the time ever come that we get arrested, and I’d apparently stumbled across an extremely philosophical topic because that had set him off on a long tangent – a very long tangent
“I mean, think about it”, he said, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, “Grown adults running around in tights, making up nicknames ? It’s a child’s fantasy – or more accurately, it’s their fantasy. They get their thrills off, running around playing hero or villain or whatever – blow off steam, and all that jazz. Maybe some are doing it for a grander purpose – people like King, or Starlight – but at the end of the day, the majority aren’t.”
He nods slowly as he speaks, “Then you have the ones who take it too seriously – the crazies. The ones who are f*cked in the head – who you wouldn’t want to cross, with or without powers. People like, say, the Hellfire Gang, who, while violent and deadly, can mostly be dealt with”
I nod
“And then you have the beasts of apocalypse – the real monsters, who barely qualify as human anymore – the Nine From Hell, the Spider. Doctor Pain.”
“Right”
“But most of us ? We’re the first group – just people having fun, playing full-contact cops-and-robbers with superpowers. We don’t want to hurt people, the way the Hellfire Gang or the Nine do. Nor do we have a direct goal – like the EFS or the Soldaty. We just… do sh*t. And people root for us – like you would for a local sports team. There’s tons of merchandizing– even of the more popular villains. I own a Deathshrike action figure myself !!”’
“You what ?”
“Listen, the man’s hot, okay”, he rolled his eyes, “Anyways, the point is – it would be ridiculous to send people like us – who do relatively little harm, with minimal damage – other than theft, of course – to the f*cking Clostern. The way I see it, us capes add a little spice to life in this city – thereby raising revenue from tourism and merchandise.
It’s almost in their best interest to keep us active. Makes things more interesting, keeps the attention of the greater populace – no one wants to read a Batman comic where the Joker’s been sentenced to the electric chair, or a Superman comic where he just zaps every villain into oblivion”
“I…”, I blink slightly, a little confused, before letting out a resigned sight, “Alright. Fair enough”
“That’s why people like say…”, he waves one hand, “those video-game freaks down in Central, don’t get sent straight to hellholes like the Clostern or the Kochlea after their trials. Instead, they get a regular cell, and inevitably break out, restarting the cat-and-mouse chase all over again. Makes things more fun”
I nod distractedly, finger the sharp edge of the knife Serenity had handed me. God knows where it came from, but it looked like a master Thinker’s craftsmanship. Sporting a thin-edged six-inch blade, engraved liberally with a winding pattern that resembled blood vessels, and possessing a blue, textured handle, indented on each side for grip.
It was sharp, I muse, as I nearly draw blood by just running the pad of my thumb along the edge of the blade, Good
“Revealing our identities would be counter-intuitive to that”, Ripide was still talking, “I mean – the biggest proof of my theory is that so many small-time gangs are still active. After all, look at what happens to a person with a kill-marker. They get taken down in seconds flat, as bitter enemies call truces and villains and heroes band together to take the f*cker down. Now that’s efficiency. Efficiency that they don’t display against small-timers like us, because they don’t want to. It would hurt us both, for no real reward”
I look up at him, “Serenity could probably take on the lower Glaxxon ranks by himself with his power”, I drawl, “He’s anything but a small-timer”
“He could”, Riptide acknowledges, “But he hasn’t, has he ? Despite the fact that it would bring him immense street cred – because he knows, as well as I do, that that would move his rankings in the eyes of the PR&D – from someone to be easily forgiven and put back on the streets, to a threat on par with the Hellfire Gang. It would mean Clostern, or Kochlea. Basically, it would be bad”
Traffic started again, and so Riptide put the car into the gear and slowly started to drive it forward, turning down the sharp, unkempt and dirty road that led into the Inlands, each bump and ditch in the surface of the barely-maintained road translating to sharp jerks and moves that nearly send me flying out of my seat
For a moment, I muse on what Riptide had said, before a term came to my mind – a term I had looked into this morning. The Deaths
“If Clostern and Kochlea – the Hell of Parahumans”, I muse out loud, “If they’re so bad, why don’t they just put the Deaths in there, then ? Why worry about them attacking every time ? Just throw ‘em in there and you can keep an eye on them, easy”
“You’ve read up on them ?”, he asks curiously, turning back to level a baleful stare at me
“I have”, I nod back. It wasn’t a lie – I had, even though I had been practically nursed on their stories. Every child had – warnings and nightmare tales about their attacks and the consequences thereof. Still, there were enough years between then and now that most people felt confident dismissing their raw strength as superstition, something made up – a myth. I wasn’t so sure
Still, I couldn’t help but feel like the descriptions of the apocalyptic creatures and their powers seemed a bit too fanciful – too variable and yet simultaneously, too similar , almost like they were describing multiple iterations of one creature, while reading about their individual power-sets felt more like reading about fifteen completely individual capes – each one of them possessing terrifyingly strong powers.
“Clearly not enough, then”, Riptide stifled a derisive snort, “Putting the Deaths into one of the high-power PR&D facilities would be like putting God in a birdcage. Unfeasible. Ridiculous to even think about. After all, according to popular myth, the high-power facilities were created from pieces of the Deaths”
“Really ?”
“No”, he said simply, “No one can even get close enough to see them, and you think we can take pieces from them ? Absolutely not. The point is – we can’t contain the Deaths. It simply can’t be done. And we can’t win against them. Like a natural disaster, you don’t overcome them, or defeat them – you simply survive them”
“So… how come we aren’t dead yet, then ?”
He shrugs, “No one knows. The Deaths just… stop attacking after about a day or so. That’s their M.O., I guess. Show up, cause widespread devastation, and then just disappear – thankfully, they haven’t shown up in, like, ten years, though. But, that’s beside the point”, he turned to look me in the eye, and I could just feel his concerned gaze, even through his mask, “You just brought up the Deaths entirely out of the blue, in the middle of a reassuring conversation. You’re being morbid. What’s going on ?”
I stared out the window at the greying, debilitated buildings of the Inlands. There were some drug-dealers out and about, a few of their victims stumbling around in a substance-fueled haze behind them.
What should I say ?
Should I say anything ? Would it be a good decision ?
Would they hate me if I did ? Would they consider me weak ?
“Nothing”, I decide, after a moment of deliberation, “It’s nothing”
Riptide stares wordlessly back, his eyes narrowing skeptically, his brow furrowing with concern, before throwing up his arms helplessly and turning back to the road, “If you say so”
“Really”, I insist, “I’m fine”
“Mhm, whatever, my man”, I could hear him rolling his eyes under his mask, as he abruptly stops the car, “If I were a licensed therapist, I wouldn’t be here, so it’s not like I could have helped you anyways. Now, look to our left”
I sigh, as I turn to obey his instruction, before swallowing hard – half out of plain nervousness, half out of pure fear
It towered over me, around twenty feet away, vast and exigent, even through the perpetual grey smog of the Inlands, and the nearly-opaque curtain of rain. A vast stone fixture, at least six storeys tall, with metal crenelations on the roof and balconies, the ends twisted to form a fence of wicked-sharp iron spikes.
There were stone gargoyles on either side of the main entryway, and iron grilles on the windows, like a medieval castle. The front entrance was wide and foreboding, standing at the end of a rough stone pathway, lined on either side with two rows of spikes jutting fiercely from the dark earth. As I look closer, I realize, with no small jolt of terror, that each spike appeared to have what looked eerily like a human skull mounted atop it.
I swallow again and retract back into my seat. The warehouse of the Soldaty. A virtual fortress
“That looks…”
“Virtually impregnable ?”, Riptide smirks back at me, pulling out what looked like a small, matchbox-sized box out of his pocket, sliding open a small compartment to reveal rows of paper tubes – cigarettes. Producing a lighter, he pulls up his mask slightly, lights one and sticks it between his lips, “That would be because it is”
“Then how are we going to…”, I trail off again, a sudden rush of nerves assailing my body – forget the threat of being unmasked if we get caught, judging by the menacing façade of their base, I’d be lucky if the Soldaty left my face intact !!
“We’re going to circle around the block”, he gestured towards a nearby side-alley, starting the car as he did so, “and meet Serenity in what used to be an employee parking lot for a nearby restaurant. After that”, he co*cks his head, and shoots me an insouciant grin, “we wait for the fighting to begin”
“The fighting ?”
“Weren’t you paying attention to the plan ?”, he grinned, as he pointed to a line of sleek, polished black cars that appeared to turning onto the street we were on, quickly approaching our location, “The EFS. Well, to be more precise, the most disposable members of the EFS. Sent here by their boss to serve as a distraction as we break into the warehouse through the backdoor”
“So they’re…”, I stutter slightly as I speak, “So, it’s a suicide mission, then ?”
“Eh”, Riptide shrugged, “Sooner or later, they would have been killed anyways. Useless gang members seldom last longer than a few years. At least this way their deaths will have meant something”
“And what is that something ?”
“I’m f*cked if I know”, he snorted, “but I’m sure that a poet could give you a ten-page long poem about it”
“A poet could give me a ten-page long poem about a dead bug”
Riptide let out a sharp bark of laughter, nearly dropping his cigarette, “True enough”, his voice grew grimmer as the parking lot drew into sight, and, extinguishing his cigarette, he pulled his mask back into place, “Come on, let’s go”
Chapter 16
Chapter Text
As we approached the lot, I reach up to adjust my mask, drawing it more securely against my face – the last thing I need was it slipping off in front of the Soldaty goons. As we enter the parking lot, yet another, identical black van pulled up behind us, parking halfway down the alley, blocking anyone else from coming through
I open the car door and hop out into the freezing rain, watching as Riptide did the same. A few feet behind us, the doors of the other car opened, too letting out Rapture, Serenity and Emmet.
Rapture was wearing what looked like a black full-body costume, completely skintight, with interlocking panels of glossy dark armour giving him protection where they could without inhibiting movement. Over his face, he wore a blank, faceless mask, a smooth expanse of darkness, that I knew from experience was actually a modified one-way mirror – he could see through it on his end, but it looked completely opaque on ours. He flexes his hand gently, revealing electrode pads placed against the pads of his own fingers. Glowing lines hidden below some of the armor plates let me know of canisters of reserve energy that he could draw out at any times – a more powerful version of a battery, created specifically to aid electrokinetics like him, courtesy of the Tinkerer’s lab
Moving on, my eyes flick to Serenity, only to immediately lose him. He was standing a few feet behind Emmet and Rapture, dressed in what looked like a long, flowing black linen robe, pieces of silver armor glinting from under it whenever he moved. His mask, on the other hand, looked positively terrifying, composed of several metal slats slotted together in a vague, distorted approximation of a human face, all of them spray-painted black, save for the lenses over his eyes, which glinted a brilliant silver
He was using his powers at a low degree all over his body, letting the decaying darkness slowly soak into the costume – linen took decades to decay, so I suppose he was relying on it to not just rot off him – making him look like a living shadow as he moved, the harsh edges of his mask giving him the impression of a broken, torn human face hanging in the middle of a cloud of vaguely-human-shaped darkness, which was just… an image I would no doubt revisit in my nightmares. Serenity was good at many things, and fear was one of them
“Let’s move. The EFS may have bought us time, but it isn’t much”, his voice echoes with a strange affect, as though the darkness around him were sucking the life out of his words. He sounded how I imagined a zombie would sound, were a zombie able to talk, “Poseidon, freeze the gates shut”, he falters for a moment, “except the back gate. Scarlet, with me”
As we approach the van the other three had come in, I draw back a little to shoot Rapture an appraising look, “It’s pouring rain”, I point out, “And you have live electricity strapped to your back. How are you not getting electrocuted right now ?”
He co*cks his head at me, like he was heavily judging my IQ level, “Scarlet”, his voice emerges in a drone-like buzz, yet still tinged with a bit of mockery, “Do you know what an electrokinetic is ?”
“I…”, my cheeks flame a brilliant red under my mask, and I am grateful that it covers my entire face, “Shut up”, I grouse, turning back to Serenity, who is waiting for me by the van door, his silhouette entirely unidentifiable from behind, looking like a mound of darkness. Kind of like No-face from Spirited Away, now that I thought about it. It would make a great Halloween costume
In front of him stood Emmet, in full Dragon regalia, his eyes fixed on me through his cat’s eye-mask, his eyelids painted a dark black to blend it with the fabric. He walks towards me, and his armor plates clank against each other as he moves, almost sounding like a great lizard shifting – a dragon
“Hey, you okay ?”, he asks softly as he approaches me. Behind him, Serenity was busying himself with pulling out gear from the back of the van – a seemingly never-ending amount of it, ranging from high-power tasers to full on sawed-off shotguns.
“Hey”, Dragon draws my attention back to him, “What’d your Dad say, last night ?”
“I…”, I stammer, caught off guard, “I never told you that I spoke to my dad last night”
“My specialty is seeing things that other people would prefer I’d rather not, remember ?”, he shot me a small grin through his mask, “and unlike, say, Serenity – you aren’t adept at hiding your mental state”
“I…”, I sigh again, “Just some bullsh*t about how he never wanted to hurt me – or maybe about how he “loved me” – don’t really remember”
“Liar”
“Shut up”, I press on, wrapping up quickly, “Anyways, we shouted at each other – I said some things that, looking back, were pretty hurtful. Stuff happened, like it always does. Now”, I hastily change the topic, “should we actually get on with the act of raiding one of the most secure places in East London, or would you prefer that the Soldaty catch us talking here ?”
“Shut up”, he laughed heatlessly, punching me lightly in the shoulder, “Alright, let’s go”
“Stop talking”, Serenity’s hollow voice sounded from behind us, “Soldaty is one of the Nine Jewels of London – among the largest gangs of the f*cking country. If we’re raiding them, we’re going to need to be focused”
“Won’t the other members of the Jewels attack us back, then ?”, I turn to look Serenity straight in his distorted mask, “If we raid one of them ?”
“No. The Jewels aren’t an organization. Not really. More just a group of like-minded gangs who’ve formed a truce amongst each other. There’s a certain strength check people must pass to join them. And by losing to us…”
“Soldaty fails that check”, I whisper, realization dawning at last
“Correct. The other eight Jewels will turn on them like rabid dogs, tearing them apart and dividing up their territories. I don’t think we have much to worry about in terms of retaliation. It’s just that we can’t kill King”
“Why not ? Why’s King so protected ?”, I ask, as Riptide stood still before the main gate, his arms extended on either side of him, palms facing outwards – no doubt following Serenity’s orders
“He’s associated with the Fangs – a former member, actually”, Serenity explained, “Another gang, one that bases itself in West London. If we kill him, they’ll come after us… and from what I’ve heard, the Fangs aren’t just called that for no reason – they’re as savage as animals, and twice as brutal. King, being as calm and composed as he is, was an outlier amongst them”
“Is that why he left ?”
“Why don’t you ask him that yourself ?”, Serenity asked, as cracks rang out across the complex, every door freezing shut save for the one before us, “The raid’s begun”
A scream sounds from within, and the noises of gunfire, and then of armored boots running away from us, as the contracted members of the EFS got to work distracting the guards in charge of protecting the back door.
I proceed towards the door, unsheathing my knife and drawing it across my wrist to release a red line of blood as I do, intent on simply cracking the door open with my sanguinokinesis, when I spot Serenity shaking his head, lifting up a balled fist. They’re still here
A few more screams, and the thunderous cracks of gunfire later, and Serenity finally opened his hands, splaying his fingers to signal the all-clear. Nodding, I gesture slightly, and a thin trickle of blood escapes from the newly-made wound on my arm, hanging in the air for a moment, before sharpening and stabbing into the thick steel of the door, sinking a good half-millimetre in
A few seconds pass, and I order the blood to expand behind the door, spreading to fill the inside of the steel, worming it’s way through hidden cracks and capillaries in the cold steel. I pause for a second, waiting for it to fill completely, before raising my arm, fist balled, and bringing it down hard.
With a burst of noise, the blood in the door flash-froze into a tendrilous sheet of scarlet ice, expanding as it did
There is a moment’s silence, and then the door explodes with an ear-shattering bang. Behind me, a startled Serenity lets out a resigned sigh, “So much for subtlety”
Rapture lets out a low snort, as the noise of gunfire gets louder – no doubt the EFS men had just redoubled their efforts to keep the Soldaty busy, considering the stunt we had just pulled. I feel a twinge of guilt as yells and the sickening noise made by metal piercing flesh filled the warehouse.
Shaking away the feeling, I follow the rest of the gang into the building, making our way into the back hallways of the base’s ground floor, ever-watchful for the sounds of approaching footsteps. Serenity led the pack, while I brought up the rear
I would have said the clock had started running down the moment we entered the building, but I was fairly certain we had smashed the clock to smithereens the second we decided to attack someone as meticulous as King, so there was really no point to concerning ourselves with things like that.
For a few seconds, we walk in silence, before the hairs on the back of my neck start to prick up, as though they were anticipating a storm
Something was watching us
I turn to sweep my eyes around the room, and, I the strobing light of gunfire, I spot a dark figure illuminated against the wall. The figure shifts slightly as my eyes fall on it, it’s head rising to reveal two points of light – eyes in the dark, utterly devoid of iris, the pupil deformed into a strange, amorphous shape
I draw in a sharp breath, but, before I can speak, Serenity notices it too, and reacts almost instinctively, his hand flashing out, followed by a veritable wave of darkness. Moving deftly, the figure dodges the sheet of black, and my very first cape battle began
Rapture reacts next, sending an arcing bolt of electricity towards the figure, who barely manages to dodge it, though it appears to singe it’s shoulder, as evidenced by the sharp, grating yelp of pain the figure lets out
I don’t notice it, though, for I am too busy staring at the other cape’s face… which appeared to be a nearly perfect replica of my own. Slowly, Chameleon dropped into our line of sight, smiling at me with my mouth, two bloody daggers clutched in his scar-toughened hands
“Greetings, Misaligned”, he hisses, his voice ringing out like nails on a chalkboard, as he lazily flipped the knives in this hands, “I’ve heard much about you”
“Yeah ?”, Serenity says, undaunted, stepping forward to look the shapeshifter in the eye, “You must know me, then ?”
“I do”
“Then you know why it is that we’ve never been caught, I suppose ?”, Serenity boasted, before his voice dropped an octave, falling into a calm, deadly silence, “Have a care, Chameleon. For your life, if nothing else”
“I heard of what you did to poor, little Spitfire”, the villain mocked, the corners of his lips curling into a sad*stic grin, one that looked completely alien on my face, “You rotted away her face !!”, he recounted gleefully, “I’ve never seen something so… something so…”, his eyes grew dreamy, almost lustful, “beautiful. Exposed muscle and dripping blood. Skin blackening and curling and rotting.”, he almost moans as he speaks, and Emmet lets out a small noise of disgust beside me
Serenity, on the other hand, seems completely unaffected, as though someone getting their rocks off to a decaying face was a perfectly normal thing to listen to, “I’m glad you liked it”, he said, his tone carefully blank, “because it’s what’s going to happen to you – that is, if you don’t let us go right now”
“No can do, I’m afraid”, the serial killer said in a sing-song tone, “Uncle wouldn’t be pleased if I did”
“No, I trust that King wouldn’t”, Serenity acknowledged, “He would, presumably, be even more displeased at having to scrape the rotting remains of your body off his walls”
“Oh, he wouldn’t do that, you silly billy !!”, Chameleon lets out a high-pitched laugh, disconcerting in how utterly devoid of malice it was – a child’s laugh, “He doesn’t care enough for that, after all. Any ways, I love your face, Serenity”, his voice became low, disturbingly lustful, “I love the way your skin curves around your muscles – I wonder if it’ll do the same around mine ?”
For a moment, there is silence, before a series of disturbing cracks ring out across the quiet hall, and Chameleon lowers his face back into the light, this time sporting Serenity’s visage, accompanied with a creepy, alien smile, that looked, disturbingly, right at home on Serenity’s features
“You have the face of a killer, you know ?”, Chameleon said softly, and I can tell that he is being sincere as he speaks, “All sharp edges and bright eyes. It’s…”, he shudders, “beautiful”
“I’m glad you like it”, Serenity said mildly, “Now, do you want me to talk ?”
He stepped forward, not waiting for an answer, “The way I see it, Chameleon, you don’t have much of a choice, here. You’re a glass cannon – or, more appropriately, a glass slingshot. You can shapeshift into people – useful when you’re killing kids, not so much when you’re in a fight. You can fight, and you can fight all the live-long day, but unlike us, there’s nothing stopping your body from tearing and failing, and after that ?”
He co*cks his head to one side, and I can feel the sinister aura of his mocking grin, even though his mask, “Well, there’s nothing stopping us from dragging you out and leaving you for the dogs. You have a kill marker, remember ? And that makes you an outlaw – literally, outside the law. Anyone can do anything to you. Rape, torture, murder, whatever. Now… what do you say to that ?”
“You think I’m scared of that, Serenity ?”, Chameleon breathes heavily, as if he were trying to contain his excitement, “God, I love it !! Do it !! You’ll only be rewarding me”
“Right”, Serenity says softly, mockingly, “I forgot how much of a sadomasoch*stic bitch you were. My mistake. Alright, then, I guess. Negotiations are over – my team’s going to enjoy turning you into cherry juice, you kid-killing bastard”
Chameleon shot us a wide, unsettling grin, licking his lips with a quick flick of his tongue as he did, “Bring it on”
Riptide is the first to react, balling his hand into a fist and punching upward. Almost instantly, droplets of water appeared on the ground, and the temperature dropped by several degrees – condensation.
With a sweep of his hand, the droplets each lengthened and froze into a sharp, needlelike blade, before launching themselves at the killer, who simply dodged them with a shrieking laugh, one that transformed into a hiss of pain as a water blade caught him across the shoulder, drawing out a spatter of crimson blood
“They screamed too, you know !!”, he taunted, leaping to latch onto another wall, using his daggers to support his body weight, “When they died. God, it sounded like music from the greatest maestros of Britain – that’s how beautiful it was !! They begged too !! Screamed and cried !! Beautiful !!”, he let out a cackling, crazed laugh, “Beautiful !!”
Taking advantage of the momentary lull in conflict as everyone, including Serenity, who had, up to now, seemed utterly unfazed, reacted viscerally to that, I reached out and pulled hard, drawing on the blood that had stained the wall after Riptide’s attack, and shaping it into a whip-like length of barbed rope, before whipping it towards the stationary serial killer like a lasso, one end wrapping around his left ankle and pulling him away from the wall
The man let out a cry of pain as the barbs sank into his leg, and, as my rope dissolved into droplets of blood, letting him fall unceremoniously onto the ground, he reached down to clutch at his now profusely bleeding ankle, before letting out a hissing laugh, “Oh, beautiful. Beautiful !! Such a gruesome power !! I love it”, he smiled an unnerving grin at me, before struggling to rise to his feet
A brilliant white streak of branching light knocked him to the ground again, as Rapture approached him steadily, his hand held out before him, finger-pad electrodes smoking slightly from the discharge they had just emitted. “You know, you’re quite dumb, aren’t you ?”, Rapture mocked, “Your power is suited for subterfuge and psychological torment, and what do you do ? Attack us head-on”
“Why would I hide ?”, Chameleon wheezed out, clutching at his scorched chest, visibly burnt and torn through the ragged white shirt he wore, red lines of blood seeping out of cracks in his flesh, “Why on Earth”, he let out a warbling, high-pitched laughter, even as his chest cracked further, red lines – Lichtenberg figures- starting to branch out from the central burn, “would I deny myself a fight ?”. Another bark of insane laughter followed that statement, like a full stop. His head tilts back, his eerie eyes falling on Serenity. His smile drops, “The Nine say hello”
Serenity jerks back slightly, as though overcome with visceral disgust – or utter shock, before hissing silently, “What did you say ?”
Chameleon doesn’t reply, simply let out a screech of mad laughter that’s abruptly cut off as Serenity draws back his leg and kicks him hard across the face, making him spit out a mouthful of blood and some broken teeth, “I said”, he says forcefully, reaching down to grab Chameleon by the collar, “what did you just say ? Talk !!”
Chameleon grins widely at Serenity, displaying his bloodstained teeth, seemingly unfazed at the rough treatment, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me”, he sang in a slow, broken voice, “Make me”
Serenity draws back his hand and backhands his hard across the face – his own face – the armored knuckles of his costume digging small grooves into the marked man’s flesh, knocking him to the ground again. He let out another mad, hissing laugh
Serenity growls in frustration, drawing up one booted foot and stomping hard on the fallen man’s face, breaking his nose with a sickening crack. Emmet looks away from the gruesome sight, but I keep staring as Serenity’s foot lifts, revealing the man’s face, still grinning wildly, a mad glint in his misshapen eyes
Serenity is about to speak again, when a flare of brilliant orange flame nearly hits him in the face, making him stumble back, as Chameleon seizes the opportunity to escape, slipping into the shadows again, disappearing from view
Rapture yelps and scrambles away from the licking flames, his movements speaking of utter terror – oh right, burn trauma
Another figure emerges from where the flames had come, their dissipating light revealing her body, dressed in metal, almost armor-like costume, consisting of interlinking armor plates over a body suit, like Rapture’s, though her’s seemed stockier, more solid- heavier. Over her face, she wore a blank white metal mask, shaped and forged to resemble a human face, possessing a mouth-hole and two eye-holes, through which two spots of red were visible – robotic eyes. I draw in a sharp breath, and so does she, letting out another gout of flame as she exhales, one Serenity scrambles to avoid. Spitfire
“It’s been a while, Spitfire”, Serenity calls out, “How are things ?”
“I don’t know, Shadowbane”, Spitfire replies, co*cking her head to one side, her mask – or perhaps the respirator strapped to her neck, visible now that she had moved – distorting her words into a robotic, monotone hiss, “How do you think they are ? After you disfigured me for life, and all”
“Ah, that”, Serenity stumbled back a little as he tried to get away from Spitfire’s burning scarlet eyes, “To be fair, I did apologize. And referred you to Ember, don’t forget about that !!”
“How noble of you, to grant me back my sight after slowly, painfully, taking it away”, Spitfire hissed, small sparks of fire dancing out her mouth with every word, “I want to see you burn, Shadowbane. I want you to be as disfigured as me – and lucky for me, you’ve decided to wear an outfit composed of linen”
“It was an accident, Spitfire, and well…”, Serenity nodded towards Riptide, “I won’t actually be fighting you. You see, there’s a reason I work with a team”
“What ?”, was all the fire-breathing cape managed to get out before a wall of water slammed into her, courtesy of Riptide, “POSEIDON !!”, she shrieked, “You bastard !!”
“Sorry, Spitfire”, Riptide shrugged, before drawing the water in again, freezing them into a wall of icy spears, “Though if it’s any consolation, I’ll try to make it as painless as I can”
Spitfire lets out a piercing scream, accompanied by a veritable wall of fire flowing out the mouth-hole of her mask, nearly reaching Riptide before he flicks his fingers, and a tidal wave of water washes over her, dousing the flames
“BURN !!”, she yells, before blowing, hard, as a spiraling tornado of fire appeared before her, just as Riptide launched his spears, making them melt before they could get within ten feet of her, and then, as the fiery twister continued to spin, evaporate into steam.
Riptide groans, “God, did you really have to pick up some new tricks ?”, he sighs, before calling up more water, “Whatever – let’s make this quick”
Spitfire screamed again, this time letting out a spreading, licking sheet of fire, that nearly washes over us before Riptide manages to block it in the nick of time, calling up a wall of water of water to combat it.
I hear a whistle cut through the air, and move almost instinctively, drawing up the blood that still stained the floor, and, forming it into a sort of pseudo-armor plate, thrusting it over Riptide’s abdomen, just as a spill of silver flies through his water and gets stuck in it, inches away from his unprotected abdomen
Riptide, to his credit, barely flinches at how close the knife had been to his skin, simply shrugging his shoulders, and freezing the water with a series of crackling noises, as tendrils of ice worked their way up the wall, till Spitfire was backed into a corner by it.
Taking advantage of the lull in combat, Riptide leaps back, away from the wall, just as trickles of water start to drip down it. I see flashes of burning orange light through it, as Spitfire tried her best to break it down. One really hard breath later, she succeeded, with the wall exploding into a pool of warm water, littered with shards of quickly-melting ice.
Behind it stood Spitfire, smoke rising from her nostrils and mouth, throat glowing red as a flame built up, throwing her veins into sharp contrast. The line that was her mouth-hole was now essentially a line of glowing light, like a pool of molten metal, as a truly earthshaking flame built in her body
Or at least it would have, had Rapture not reacted quickly, sprinting forward to send out an arc of lightning that hit her square on the chest, knocking her off her feet, and the breath from her lungs. killing the flame before it could be released. With a growl of frustration, she clambered back onto her feet, resolutely ignoring her smoking chest burn.
Flicking her wrists, she produces two hidden knives, identical to the one that had nearly impaled Riptide, “You’re gonna burn, boys”
“Oh yeah ?”, Riptide mocked, calling up yet another tide of water – I was impressed at his sheet stamina, “If you’re gonna threaten us, could you at least be original about it ? You’ve used “burn” like four times now”
“Oh ? Then how about this”, despite her monotone voice, I could hear a tinge of sadism to her words, “I will end you and everything you love”
“Bit better”, Riptide snarked back, flicking his wrist to create spinning spears of water, before whipping it in her directions. A few seconds later, the spear flies towards Spitfire, missing her by the skin of her teeth, as she leaps out of the way in time
“SHADOWBANE !!”, she screeches, her monotone voice crackling as the speakers nearly give out at the intensity of her voice, “You little prick !! I know an accident when I see one, and you f*ckING AIMED for my goddamn face !!”
Rapture seems taken aback by this, “Is that true ?”, he turned to question Serenity in the middle of dodging Spitfire’s blazing streams of fiery breath, “Did you aim to hurt her ?”
“Does it f*cking matter, Rapture ?”, Serenity said, his voice scarily cold, “Don’t be myopic. The past is in the past- look towards the future”. So saying, he curled his fingers together, smoky darkness gathering in the pit of his hand, forming a glossy, ebony ball of decay
Hefting it over his shoulder, he lobbed it towards the still-attacking Spitfire, who stopped to regard with a look of absolute terror, before it exploded directly over her, showering her with shreds of Serenity’s decaying darkness
She lets out a horrific scream, one that seems to echo off our ribcages, her hands rising to protect her face, already damaged once from a similar attack, from the shower of black. I watch in silent horror as a shred flickered against her stomach, the iron quickly rusting and falling to crumbs of iron oxide, exposing a belly white with scars and burns
Letting out a howl of anger, Spitfire aimed and threw one of her blades directly at Serenity’s face. Barely flinching, he simply held up his hand, palm upwards, and lifted it, a wall of smoky darkness rising from the earth as he did.
The blade enters the wall on one side, and a shower of rust-red… well, rust, emerges from the other, harmlessly pattering against Serenity’s mask, barely so much as leaving a scratch, “I think”, he says, his voice deadly soft, “that you have forgotten who, exactly, I am. Should I show you ?”
Spitfire screams out another spout of fire, one Serenity douses with a gulp of darkness – a decent chunk of it dissolves into nothing as the firelight makes contact with it, but he produced enough of it to make the momentary loss meaningless, “Everything fades”, he says calmly, still moving towards the enraged cape, “Everything has it’s time. Every fire is eventually…”, he reaches down to grab her chin, his darkness lingering over her mask, ready to force its way in, “…extinguished”
“Serenity. Stop”, Riptide commanded, and Serenity’s head snapped to him, “Let her go”
“But…”
“Show some mercy. Consider it compensation for what happened to her face”, Riptide stepped forward, “Let her go”
“Ugh, fine”, Serenity dropped her face, the darkness withdrawing into himself, just as quickly as it had exploded outwards. Spitfire let out a shuddering gasp, before throwing out one hand, jabbing one of her knives towards Serenity, barely missing him as he casually strolls back over to us
Spitfire gasps out a series of curse words, and Serenity stills for a second, as though listening to her, before his head snaps to one side, his silver eyes boring into a darkened corner, “You’re not slick, kid”, he says, slowly, “You’ve got a lot to learn about concealing your presence, especially in my shadows”
A few seconds pass, before a figure emerges from the shadows – tall and skinny, dressed in what looks to be plain white spandex, glossy silver armor plates covering the tip of the spine, the throat, and joints, but leaving everything else exposed – built for speed, not defense. Their head is covered in a white helmet, their face hidden by a tinted black visor, carved to resemble a human face. All in all, a fairly standard outfit
He lowers himself into a combat pose, but they cannot hide the tremor in their limbs as they wait – they’re nervous. Serenity speaks again, his voice carrying a note of mockery, “What’s the matter, kid ? Scared ? Is that why you didn’t try to rescue Spitfire ?”, he leans back, as though in silent derision, “It’s understandable. You should be scared. Think carefully, Reflection. Do you really want to die like this ? To us, in a filthy bunker in the middle of a slum ? Really ?”
Riptide winces slightly at Serenity’s harsh tone, stepping forward to address the newcomer, “Listen, Reflection”, he says soothingly, “We don’t want to hurt you. You don’t have to fight for King. We can help you. Just… surrender”
The other cape co*cks their head to one side, as though considering Riptide’s proposal. A few beats of silence pass, before their voice crackles out like a defective speaker, harsh, grating, and undeniably mistrusting “Liar”
With that, they disappear in a blur of motion, and all we hear is a whoosh and the noise of Serenity wordlessly stepping to one side as a blade of water cuts through where he had been standing mere seconds ago, slicing a deep groove into the concrete floor
Riptide groans, “You little f*cker !!”
“sh*t, they’re good. I shouldn’t have underestimated them”, Serenity growls hastily, dodging a spear of water that appears out of nowhere, “Too scared to confront us, but good”. All around us, I spot what look to be lines hanging in the middle of the air, as the walls distort – the light literally refracting through Reflection’s body as he ran fast enough to be rendered essentially invisible
“f*ck !!”, Rapture cries as a water-blade grazes his shoulder, leaving a bleeding line, already cauterized by the extreme heat of the water, “Someone catch up to them !! Slow them the f*ck down !!”
“You’re the one who controls lightning, dipsh*t !!”, Serenity growled, sending a wave of darkness barreling towards the still-speeding Reflection, missing them by a long shot, “You hit them !! Knock them back a little !! Buy us some – Ouch !!”. With a whoosh, another blade of water sliced through his shin, leaving a bleeding wound. Serenity instinctively leant down to grab at him, before his eyes catch on something – the trickle of crimson blood flowing from the gash. The water hadn’t been moving fast enough to cauterize the injury, letting the blood flow freely
He turns to me, “James !! Riptide !! Attack together !! Pincer !! Pinc-“, he cut himself off as he leapt out of the way of yet another blast of water, one that was moving fast enough to crack the metal wall behind him, letting in a streak of sunlight, “f*ck”
“On it”, Riptide barked out, slowing just long enough to grab hold of the water that was now soaking the sodden floor from Reflection’s attacks, flicking his wrists to send tendrils of ice cracking through the earth, right in front of Reflection. For a moment, the speedster slows down to avoid stepping on the frozen ground, and I take the opportunity to attack, pulling blood from Serenity’s leg wound, drawing a hissing wince from him in the process, and launching it at them in the form of needle-sharp tines of frozen blood, so sharp and small that they were basically invisible
Most of them miss them, as the speedster takes off the second they hear the blood freezing, but one of them catches them across the left calf, burrowing deep into their flesh, drawing blood – blood that dripped onto the ground… and left a trail. I grin at the sight. Jackpot
A screech behind us alerts us to the awakening Spitfire, a moment before a stream of red fire barely misses Serenity’s head. sh*t.
For a moment, we look frantically from one cape to the other, confused and more than a little angry, before we’re interrupted by yet another blast of fire, accompanied by a blade of superheated water, both narrowly missing Riptide, who deftly dodges them, before immediately moving over to Spitfire, intent on taking her out
He manages to hit her across the face with a crack of water, knocking her head to one side. Unfortunately, a blade of water catches him across the back before he can follow up, knocking him to the ground, and giving Spitfire time to recover
Rearing up, the pyrokinetic snarls through her now cracked mask, the region around her mouth broken and shattered open to reveal her blackened, frozen flesh, and the gaping maw of her mouth. A red glow builds in the pit of her throat, as she prepares to incinerate Riptide
All of a sudden we hear a bang, and then a cry of pain, as Spitfire collapses, a thin line of smoke rising from her left thigh. Screeching, she tries to get back up, but a piston-powered fist appears out of nowhere, catching her about the head with a blow powerful enough to shatter stone, knocking her out.
Emmet pants heavily, a smoking gun clutched in one hand, the other drawing back from the unconscious Spitfire, “I see why you call her a hellhound bitch now”
“Huh”, Serenity remarks, “Nicely done, Emmet”
Before Emmet can respond to the praise, another blast of water nearly takes his head off, as Reflection lets out a piercing cry, “SPITFIRE !! NO !!”
“sh*t”, Riptide remarked, “They liked her, didn’t they ? God, this just made our job ten times more difficult”
“Still”, Serenity insists, his eyes fixed on the trail of blood behind the speedster, “Do not aim to kill. Understand ?”
“Yeah, yeah”, Riptide rolls his eyes, “I got it, I got it”
A blade of water slides past my face, nearly hitting Emmet, who appeared to be looking at the bullet he had shot into Spitfire’s thigh with some degree of confusion. It rips straight through the metal wall behind him, leaving a ragged gash in the iron, letting in a stream of golden sunlight
I swallow hard, “Their attacks are getting stronger. They’re growing volatile – more dangerous”
“Attack them !!”, Rapture cries, before Serenity holds up one hand, looking directly into my face, eye to silver-lensed eye, “No. Impede. All it’ll take is one lucky hit, and we can slow them down enough to approach them… and once we approach them, the game’s up. They can’t move”
“But how do we do that ?”, Riptide asks, just as my eyes catch on something. Blood, dripping from their split calf. Blood, leaving a trail behind them. Blood, that was still connected to their calf
Holding out my hand, I focus on his blood, nearly vomiting from the vertigo their speed gives me, “Like this, Rapture”. Balling my hand into a fist, I pull hard, and all the blood on the ground freezes. The red ice runs along the trail like the shortening wick of a bomb, till at last it reaches their entry wound, at which point I redouble my efforts, flash-freezing the blood, both the amount outside their body… and inside it.
A flower of ice bursts to life inside their body, splitting veins, tearing muscle and bruising nerves. With a short, sharp cry of pain, the blur on the walls disappeared, and Reflection appeared out of nowhere, rolling across the ground, still being carried forward by their own inertia, till at last they slam hard into the metal wall, and fall back, seemingly unconscious
Slowly, carefully, we approach them, till we are standing over them. Kneeling over them, Riptide slaps them lightly across the face to wake them up, “Hey kid”, he says softly, “You awake ?”
“You…”, the cape’s eyes snapped open, as they struggled to move, even as their powers limited their frantic thrashing to a near-glacial pace, now that we were standing right beside them, “…you… you hurt my sister !!”
“Your sister ?”, Serenity asks in a low voice, “You mean Spitfire ?”
“Yeah”, they respond, “You… she’s injured because of you !! Dis… disfigured !!”
“Is that why you chose to fight against us ?”, Riptide asks gently, “Because she told you that we hurt her on purpose ?”
“Didn’t you ?”
“We don’t know”, Rapture shrugs, “but regardless, it was wrong of her to drag you into our madness. No real sister would do something like that”
“You take that back !!”, Reflection shouted, “She’s the greatest big sister ever !! She… she…”
“She accepted you for who you are, didn’t she ?”, Serenity inferred quietly, his voice unreadable, “Didn’t bully you the way the other members of the Soldaty did. Didn’t hurt you”
Reflection remained quiet, but Serenity apparently took this as a silent “yes”. He sighs, massaging his forehead through his mask, “Tell you what, we’re not going to have you two arrested. Or even hurt”
“Liar”
“No. Really”, Serenity reaches up to pull off his mask, looking down at the fallen cape with eyes full to the brim with sympathy, “I get it. It’s hard to trust, after being hurt for so…”, he draws in a shuddering breath, “… so long. It’s like a wound that never heals. But still, you gotta bandage it”, he smiles painfully down at Reflection, “and move forward… because you owe it to yourself.”
“You know nothing about me”
Riptide nods in assent, “Try us. I bet I can tell you everything about you. You’re scared.Of course you are – why wouldn’t you be? You’re just a kid. You shouldn’t have to deal with this !! You feel like people misunderstand you, and you’re sick to death of all the sh*t, aren’t you ? Tired, of having to figure out everything by yourself. You just want a little help, for once, instead of always having to do it alone”
I wince, Riptide’s words striking a chord in my heart just as much as they did in Reflection’s. The kid and I were more similar than either of us had thought, indeed.
Considering that fact, I mutter softly, for their ears alone, “You want someone to look at you, and see the person you hide inside, don’t you ?”. I didn’t need an answer. I already knew. Their life was a reflection of my own, after all – though exponentially crueler and tougher, by the order of several magnitudes
Rapture steps forward now, kneeling by the Reflection’s head, “We can help you. If you let us”
“Why would you help me ?”, Reflection says in a small voice – a voice that sounds even younger than me, “Why would you… No one except big sister has…”
“Because we know what it’s like”, Rapture says quietly, “To be hated for something beyond our control. To be judged. We are the Misaligned for a reason, after all”
“You could join us, if you so wish ?”, Serenity offers, “We’ll always have our gates open for people like you”
“No”, Reflection says, after a moment of thought, “No”
“Okay”, Serenity offers a reassuring grin, rising to his feet, “Okay. We’re gonna be tying up your big sister – for her own sake, and you…”
“No !!”, Reflection says in a panicked tone, “No !! No chains !!”
“God, what did they do to them ?”, Rapture mutters in a low, horrified tone, mirroring the horror I see on Emmet’s face, and the one that starts to well in my chest.
Even Riptide grinds his teeth together in concealed disgust, and I notice Serenity’s jaw growing taut with hidden rage, even as he smiles softly at the kid, “Okay. But you have to promise us that you won’t try to run. Okay ? You’ll have whatever you want – a comfortable bed, food, water. As long as you stay put. Can you do that for me ?”
“Y-yeah”, they whisper, and God they sound so young, “Yeah, I can do that”
“Good”, Serenity gestures to Riptide, who goes to work creating chains of ice to bind Spitfire to the floor of the warehouse, as I rise to follow Serenity, who immediately walks over to a dark corner, pulling out a phone as he does
“Hey, Xuan”, he speaks in a low tone, “Yeah, the infiltration was a success. Sorry about your men, by the way”
For a few seconds, he keeps the phone held to his ear, as though listening to Starlight speak, “Yeah”, he says after a while, “I’ve… um… neutralized Spitfire and Reflection, and… uh… I may have two new recruits for the… for the EFS”
A burst of static tells me that Starlight had just reacted with shock, or perhaps incredulity at the idea, and Serenity responds in a calm, soothing tone, “What else did you want me to do with them ? Kill them ? I can’t do that !! I might be heartless, but not even I can look a traumatized child in the face and kill them”
A few more beats of silence, “Well, you see, they’re very attached to Spitfire, so she has to live, too”
A few more seconds, and Serenity says in a low, pleading tone, “Please ? You owe me this, at least”
Serenity listens to Starlight for a few seconds more, before a wide grin cracks across his face, “Thanks, Xuan !! I owe you one !!”. With that, he puts down the phone, and turns to me, sounding genuinely relieved- perhaps inordinately so, considering he had never met this kid before, “Starlight’s agreed to take them in. They’re with the EFS now – no one’s going to hurt them. Not ever again”
I can’t help but smile back, “That’s great news. Are you gonna tell them ?”
“Yup”, he grins, “You should probably go check up on your friend there in the meantime. He seemed to be having some problems with his bullets”. With that, he turns to walk over to the now-sitting Reflection, who was quietly looking downwards, their eyes fixed on the dented metal floor
“What if one of the other two capes attack us while you’re talking to them ?”, I call out after him, receiving an incredulous look in response
“That’s not how stuff like this works”, he scoffs back as he walks over to the speedster, “King and Dazer are almost certainly waiting for us in one of the inner areas. They’ll want to minimize the margin of error, and the best way to do that is to stay in a place they control fully – such as the inner rooms. For now, at least, we’re safe from attack”
I nod, before strolling over to Emmet, who was still eyeing the bullet he had extracted from Spitfire’s thigh with confusion, “You…uh… okay ? You seem to be… very invested in that bullet”
“It was supposed to explode”, he mutters, “Did I get the gunpowder percentage wrong ? But wait… no..”, he pulls out his gun and fires a quick shot into the earth, a small plume of explosive fire appearing where the bullet strikes the ground.
He sighs exasperatedly as he realizes something, “That bitch”, he throws the bloodied bullet at the ground, where it ricochets slightly with a sharp ping, before settling down
“What ?”
“She suppressed the explosion with her powers !!”, he gestures expressively towards the now-discarded bullet, “The cartridge is used up but half the gunpowder in there didn’t even f*cking ignite !!”
“She can do that ?”, I kneel down beside him, looking at the bullet, “I thought her powers were limited to breathing fire ?”
“Clearly not”, he shoots me a humorless grin, “Because only a full pyrokinetic could have stopped the gunpowder in that bullet from igniting”
“Have you considered nitroglycerin ?”, Riptide looked up from where he was finishing the final touches on Spitfire’s chains – silvery, blue chains of rock-solid ice that wound around her arms, legs and neck, keeping her safely pinned to the ground. A similar gag had been wound around her mouth, which had been pointed upwards, rendering her unable to escape without external aid – and while Reflection loved their sister, I was fairly sure they weren’t dumb enough to pass up security and comfort – for the both of them, no less – for her sake
He rises to his chain, wiping the water on his hands off on his leggings, “Or ammonium nitrate. They explode on shock, so pyrokinetics wouldn’t be able to suppress the ignition – because there would be none. Sure, it’d be riskier than gunpowder, but hey !!”, he gives us a mischievous grin, “what’s life without a bit of risk, eh ?”
“I’ll consider it”, Emmet nods, “though perhaps pressurized air is better – or maybe simply heating the bullet”
“No, there are dynakinetics out there – they can just draw out the heat in the bullet, though you might be on to something with the pressurized air”
“Hm…”, Emmet groaned, before yelping and leaping away as Spitfire shifted, her eyes fluttering open. Riptide hurries to remove her gag the second it becomes clear that she seemed too dazed to keep fighting
“You…”, she seemed too weak to effectively shout and threaten, even as she pulls herself up onto her elbows “… you bastards… let me… let me go. Let them go”
“Them ?”
“Ari. Let them go”
“Ari ?”, Emmet turns to look at Riptide, who nods in understanding, “That must be Reflection’s real name”
“It’s fine, Spitfire”, I say in a consoling manner, being careful to keep all limbs far away from her body, lest she go rabid and try to bite it off or something, “They’re fine”
“I saw you… the blood. The trail of blood. I saw…”
“That was a… momentary necessity”, Riptide says smoothly, “They’re fine now. See ?”
Her head shifts over to where Serenity was busy softly whispering to the young cape, sitting by their side, knees clutched to his chest. I spot her shoulders relaxing at the sight, as a soft sigh of relief escapes her lips
“I… that bastard… what is he doing with them ?”, she demands, though with nowhere near the amount of venom I had anticipated, “Keep him… away”
“It’s fine. He…uh… he is, in fact, the one to suggest keeping your sibling safe”, I rush to reassure her, “If he is… your sibling, that is”
“Does it matter ?”, she groans in pain, “We, who are alone in this world, must find comfort in each other. They are my sibling, even if it isn’t in the… traditional sense”
“I see”, Emmet smiles, “They’re safe now. The EFS is coming to pick you up. They’ll take it from here”
“To arrest us ?”
I shake my head, “To recruit you – protect you. You don’t need to fight anymore”
“And, for the record”, Riptide winced as he spoke, his voice layered with contrition “I truly am sorry about your face. I think Serenity is, too – otherwise he would have started attacking a lot sooner. So… sorry”
For a moment, Spitfire is silent, “I don’t forgive you”, she says at last, “But… for Ari’s sake, if nothing else… I think I can come to a…. compromise with you. So what do you say ? Truce ?”
Riptide smiles as Spitfire loses the strength needed to hold herself up and collapses, “Truce”
“Good”, Spitfire says, the scarred and frostbitten corners of her lips curling upwards into a smile, before it fades, and she lets out a prolonged groan of pain, “God”, she turned to Emmet, “you hit like a f*cking truck”
“Sorry”, he grimaced apologetically
“There’s also a bullet wound in my thigh”
“Yeah”, he scratches his head sheepishly, “Sorry about that, too”
“Speaking of that”, I interject, “How did you suppress the explosion of the… well, the explosive bullet ?”
“Oh, so that’s what the gunpowder was there for. Makes sense, I guess.”, she nodded, before her head snaps to Emmet, her eyes widening in realization, “You were gonna blow my f*cking leg off ??”
“To be entirely fair, you were trying to kill us”
“Still !!”
“Anyways”, I gently press, “Moving on, how did you stop it from exploding ?”
“I extinguished the flame”
“And… how ?”
“My powers let me control any fire inside my body – that is, any fire that exists with the boundaries of my form are fully within my control – including ones inside metal capsules in my thigh”
“You…”, Riptide simply stares at her for a moment, “Why the f*ck did you take the name Spitfire, then ??”
“Misdirection”, her lips stretch into a mischievous grin, “Clearly, it worked”
Chapter 17
Chapter Text
After a few seconds of conversation, we had finally managed to convince Spitfire that we genuinely meant no harm – if only for Ari’s sake – and that it would be best for her to simply lie down and surrender quietly… also for Ari’s sake.
Sighing, Riptide and I move over to Serenity, who appeared to be surveying the door that led out of the room, having already done his part in comforting and helping Ari, who had apparently fallen asleep – thank God
“I’ve never seen him act like that before”, Riptide confides in me, his voice pitched low, for my ears alone
“The way he acted towards Spitfire, or the way he acted towards Ari ?”
Riptide’s lips part, as if ready to respond, before a look of confusion flashes over his face, as he turns to look at me, a small smirk pulling at his lips, “Ari ?”
I wince. I had started to refer to them as Ari in my head – I wasn’t entirely sure when the shift had happened. But it felt wrong to refer to them as Reflection – too cold, too impersonal. They weren’t a cape – well, they were… but they were a kid first, and it felt wrong to ignore that
I blush slightly under his intense scrutiny, “Shut up”, I grouse, “They… it… I mean, they’re a kid, you know ?”
Smooth as sandpaper, James
“James, they nearly beheaded Emmet with a single move”, Riptide pointed out amusedly, “They’re definitely among the most powerful capes of East London. You know that, right ? Not many people would have been able to cut through a metal wall like it was made of butter”
“True… but… still”, I shrug, “Anyways, what do you mean ?”
“The way he acted towards Reflection”, Riptide shook his head slightly, “I’ve never seen him be so… so… I don’t know – nurturing, I guess ? The way he acted towards Spitfire is generally the norm for him – that’s why no one was surprised at Spitfire accusing him of intentionally disfiguring her – well, no one except for Rapture, and even he accepted it fast”
“Maybe it’s because Ari’s a kid ?”, I suggest, “Maybe he feels sorry for them ?”
“He doesn’t”, Riptide shakes his head, “Or if he does, it’s not because they’re a kid. Serenity is many things, and ruthless is one of them. Attack him, and he’ll eviscerate you – except now, Ari attacked him, and he… he helped them ? It makes no sense”
I remain quiet for a moment, feeling sharply out-of-place here – I knew sh*t all about these people, I realize. Other than Rapture, who had spilled his guts to me on essentially my first day, the rest had kept their tongues sealed shut. I had no place in this discussion
“Maybe it’s…”, he muses, “He has scars. Serenity. He doesn’t let me see them – sleeps with the room darkened enough that you can just barely catch a hint of the pale scar tissue scoring the skin of his naked back and chest – but they’re there. I… could it be ?”
“You think he went through something similar to Ari ?”
“It’s possible”, Riptide acknowledges, “Because one thing I noticed – those aren’t battle-scars. Serenity has almost never sustained battle scars, and if he has, they aren’t those marks. They’re too uniform, too precise – too… deliberate”
“What’s too deliberate ?”, a voice asks from behind us, as I feel Serenity’s hot breath lapping at my ear. His piercing blue eyes appear just beside my own, staring holes into Riptide. “Darling”, he says, his voice layered with faux-sweetness, “I hope you aren’t… gossiping, about me ?”
“No…”, Riptide shakes his head hastily, “No, not at all !!”
“I see”, Serenity smiles humorlessly, before replacing his mask and reactivating his powers, once more becoming the vaguely human-shaped cloud of darkness that was Shadowbane, “In any case”, his voice echoes wrongly, affected by his powers, “We need to get going. We have like twenty minutes before King calls in additional help”
“Like… more capes ?”
“Like private militias, dumbass”, Serenity replied sharply, “Unless you want to be looking down the business end of around a hundred-odd machine guns, I suggest we get a move on”
With that, we were off. We move through more darkened hallways, passing around a dozen rooms – each time stopping to check if they really were empty, with Serenity usually just raising his hand to plunge them into darkness and then listening closely for the sounds of screams as someone’s flesh decayed.
Luckily, we heard none – looks like most of the Soldaty members had either fled when the EFS showed up, or had moved to the front of the warehouse to fight them, leaving the back rooms empty
Serenity was on point, watching for danger up ahead, while Riptide used his hydrokinetic abilities to act as a living motion detector, bringing along a low tide of water on either side of him as he moved, reporting any ripples produced in the watery mass – though generally the motions tended to belong to simple critters – bugs or rats
That meant I was the one in charge of watching out behind us, glancing back every so often to ensure that no one was preparing an ambush for us
When we reach the center of the office without finding anyone, I am so relieved that I nearly forget the next stage of the plan – or the warning Serenity had given me. Clearly, he doesn’t, because he frowns at the sight
“This is wrong”, he muttered, even as he gently pushed open the door to the central office, “Where are King and Dazer ? They should be here – did they get taken out ?”
“No, our luck isn’t good enough for that”, Rapture remarked, “They might be waiting for us inside the vault”, he says, raising one finger to point at the vault door that was carved into the metal wall of the office, resembling a classic carton bank vault to an almost cartoonish degree – giant code wheel and all.
Riptide nods solemnly, before sending in some of his water to check, forcing it into the vault through the slits in the door where the door met the door-frame – too small for any living creature to pass through, but not completely watertight. A few seconds later, he shakes his head, “There’s nothing alive in there”
Serenity frowns, “Any tripwires ? Traps ?”
“None that I can sense”
“Weird”, Serenity pondered for a moment, before shaking his head abruptly, “Whatever. If King and Dazer aren’t here, they’re likely waiting to ambush us a little further along. Every moment wasted is a moment they can spend perfecting their traps – whatever they may be. Come on”
“Who’s going to open the vault door ?”, I question, just as Emmet steps forward, his eyes fixed on the stainless steel wheel jutted out of it
He took hold of the wheel and spun it to the right, before stopping it. “3”, he muttered, before spinning it the other way, stopping it faster this time. “2”. Right again, this time for much longer. “6”
He repeated the process – going right and then left and then right again, muttering numbers every time – for around five more spins, though it feels more like a hundred. At last, we hear the sounds of something heavy shifting inside the door, and then the shunk of metal sliding against metal as the locks opened
The four of us hauled the door open, revealing the dark vault within. Even from here, the smell of crisp, fresh paper assailed my nose, and I could swear that my eyes turned to into dollar signs, like some kind of cartoon character. Money
“Don’t touch the money”, Serenity warns us, as though he had read my mind, “There’s too much of it, and it’s too heavy for us to carry, even with the”, he grunts slightly as he pulls out four trash-bag-sized canvas bags out from… somewhere, “bags we brought. Focus only on the most valuable things in there – diamonds, platinum, weapons. Oh, and the suitcase, of course”
With that said, we headed into the vault, Emmet standing back to watch out for any threats. The vault was stainless steel from top to bottom, the walls studded with rows of neat shelves, stacked to the brim with valuables – neatly banded bundles of bills, small golden boxes, bags that seemed to be full-to-bursting with jewels and gold.
And right in the center, on a featureless, raised pedestal, lay a glossy black suitcase – and inside, presumably, lay the suit of the Ebony Prince. Serenity swallows hard as his eyes fall on it, just as noises of battle erupt outside, before suddenly going quiet
Serenity reacts with a sigh, before turning to Riptide, “Riptide ?”
“Yes ?”
“Next time I suggest something as dumb as placing the one non-fighter in the group on watch duty, knock me the f*ck out, okay ?”
Riptide grinned grimly, moving to stand by the door, gently pushing it open, “You got it, boss”
Behind it stand two figures. One dressed in an elaborately worked set of medieval-esque armor, consisting of thousands of interconnected iron plates, connected with thin lines of iron or steel, topped with a crown of sharp-looking points. Over his face, he wore what looked to be a knightly-helm, two glowing gold eyes peering out of the thin visor
Beside him stands a young, feminine figure, dressed in bulky black spandex, clearly concealing armor plates within, a simple domino mask covering her eyes, the fabric stretching down her face like teardrops to fully conceal her identity. One arm was held at the bulky belt she wore around her waist – fingers no doubt wrapped around the handle of a gun. The other was wrapped around Emmet’s neck, as he struggled to break free
“Greetings, Misaligned”, King said coldly, his voice suave and affable, somehow sounding like an amiable greeting and a threat at the same time, “I was… unaware that we had a meeting today”
I shift forward, one hand held out, ready to leap to rescue Emmet, before Dazer hisses and tightens her grip around his neck, making him choke slightly. “Don’t try anything funny with me, boy”, she hisses, brandishing a steel-grey handgun towards me, “One wrong step, and your friend gets it”
“Now, now, Dazer”, King said, holding up one gauntleted hand, “Let’s not be too hasty here. After all, where would we be if we exterminated every rat… that managed to crawl in here. Well, I would be fine”, his voice dripped with condescension as he spoke, “…you would be dead”
Dazer flinched slightly, before loosening her grip round my friend’s throat, much to my relief, “Yes, boss”, she says quietly, sounding suitably chastised, almost bullied
King nods towards us, “My apologies for my colleague’s… misbehavior. However, collateral is required. We have to be sure, you see, that you aren’t here to harm us, despite you breaking into my safe”
“We can explain”, Serenity says, his voice strained beyond belief, “Let’s not be too hasty here. We can explain, I swear”
“Please do”
“You see…”, he seems almost nervous as he speaks, “This suitcase…”, he points to it, “Do you know what it contains ?”
King looks unimpressed, despite his facial features being almost fully masked, “A highly valuable super-suit, or so I am told ?”
“More than just that”, Serenity replies, “It’s a suit taken from the Nine”
King stills at Serenity’s words, before swiftly grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the vault with a loud bang, moving so fast that I barely see him do so before Serenity is already pinned to the vault door
He hisses, his tone somehow still managing to be affable, “Are you sure ?!”
“Positive”, Serenity replies, miraculously still calm, “As long as it remains in here, you’re in danger. Should the Nine ever find out that you have it…”
“They’ll come for me”, King finishes grimly, moving away and letting Serenity drop limply onto the floor, “and you’re certain of this ? Because if I find out you’re lying, I swear to God –“
“I swear”, Serenity interjects, rubbing slightly at where King’s armored knuckles had pressed into his throat, “It belonged to the Ebony Prince. Someone wants it”
“Someone ?”, King co*cks his head to one side, “Who would be foolish enough to…”
“Glaxxon”, Serenity nods, pulling off his mask to let in some air, a small smile stretching at his lips, “Glaxxon wants it”
“Glaxxon ?”, King questions, his voice carrying a note of consideration, “So, say I hand this over to you…”
“It’ll be gone from your vaults, and in Glaxxon’s”, Serenity nods quickly, “The Nine won’t have any reason to go after you”
“If that’s the case –“
“They’re lying my lord !!”, Dazer cries, moving as though to attack us, before collapsing with a cry of agony. Looking down, I jerk back in horror as I notice what had happened – dagger-like blades of iron, thin and sharp, had ripped out of the floor and straight through the tops of her feet, impaling them clean through
“Never interrupt me again, Dazer”, King said, turning to look his lieutenant in the eye, as though daring her to try to use her powers on him. His voice was completely calm, like he was talking about the weather, yet still somehow managed to carry the notes of a threat, “Do you think that I am such a fool that I cannot identify a lie when I hear it ? They are not lying”
He gestures dismissively with one gauntlet, and the blades slowly retract back into the ground with a horrendously loud metallic grinding noise, till they are completely gone, leaving behind only the bloody gashes on Dazer’s feet to show that they had ever been there, “You are dismissed. I will call on you if I require your services again. Now get out”
Nodding slightly, Dazer rises, stumbling as she tries to walk away on her injured feet, biting her lip to avoid letting out a cry of pain. I wince at the sight – she was clearly in pain, after all. Still, somehow she managed to hobble her way out of the room, leaving behind a very confused Emmet, King, and the rest of us
“Now that we are free of interruptions and impediments”, King said, his voice smooth and amiable, like he hadn’t just grievously injured his own subordinate, “How about you and me talk for a bit ?”
Serenity nods slightly, rising to his full stature, holding out one hand for King to shake, “Of course. Lead the way”
Chapter 18
Chapter Text
Making our way through the facility behind King, we pass by several limping and wounded Soldaty, lined up on either side of the hallways, pressed against the columns that studded the walls. I wince at the sight of them, and the realization that their injuries and casualties had been pretty much meaningless, but King doesn’t even seem to see them, brusquely moving past them till we reach an ebony door – the door to his office
The room behind it is positively Spartan, built solely with pragmatism in mind. A small desk and a small, prison-style metal chair were practically the only pieces of furniture in the room, and they, too, had been stripped of even the slightest hint of an unnecessary embellishment, and remade to serve only the one purpose for which they had been created.
The table’s once-beautifully-carved wooden legs had been destroyed by thin columns of steel that had penetrated cleanly through them to reinforce them, popping out of the tabletop like four tiny nails – one for each leg. The table-top itself wasn’t faring much better either – with most of the wood having been replaced ,or perhaps inlaid to the point of exposure, with a thick steel plate, unadorned and plain.
A small laptop sat on it, a sandwich in a paper wrapping to it’s right, and an array of papers spread over the desk to it’s left, each one crammed full of words written in extremely-small type
The chair looked completely unused, as though it had only just been made a few hours ago. Knowing King’s particular power-set, I wasn’t too sure that he hadn’t
The only piece of real decoration in the room had been hung on the wall behind King’s desk, intricately shaped from iron columns and plates – the symbol of a crown placed over two crossed spears. The symbol of Soldaty
Basically, it looked like what it was – a temporary office, being used solely for the time being. After all, I was fairly certain King was only in this warehouse because he knew people would go after the suitcase. I doubted he actually stayed here for longer than a week or two at a stretch – it seemed too bare for something like that
“Welcome”, King said, gesturing towards the floor in front of the desk to summon five identical metal chairs to his own, metal columns rising out of the floor and twisting to form the pieces of furniture with metallic groans and squeals, before moving behind it to seat himself on the original, facing all five of us, “Please, sit down”
With some level of apprehension, we obeyed his orders, sitting down on the chairs, and facing him. I look around – Emmet looked apprehensive, and I knew that I felt scared, but the rest of the Misaligned seemed completely at home. I guess this was just the sort of thing you got used to, having been in the cape world for as long as they had
“So”, King began slowly, softly, “You want me to give up my suit, because… you believe that it has a connection to the Nine… and just to clarify here, you mean the Nine From Hell, yes ?”
“I know it belonged to the Nine”, Serenity says sharply, “I’ve seen it on the Ebony Prince”
“And if we keep the suit, the Nine will attack us”
“Correct”
“Hmm”, King mused thoughtfully, reaching up to rub at the index finger of his left hand, as though twisting an imaginary ring, “There’s only one real option, then”
“You have to give it to us”
A blade shot out of the wall behind King, narrowly missing Serenity’s head and embedding itself into the wall behind him. “Let me make one thing clear, leader of the Misaligned”, King warned coolly, “I don’t have to do anything. I don’t take orders, especially not in my own f*cking territory”
“Of course”, Serenity lowered his head hastily, adopting a contrite expression, “My apologies”
“In any case”, King said calmly, like the sky before a thunderstorm, “Like I was saying. Glaxxon or Soldaty – the Nine will attack East London, no matter who has the suit. Correct ?”
“That… does seem to be the case, yes”
King nods grimly, “We need to call a folkmoot. It’s the only option. We need to be prepared”
Serenity draws in a sharp breath. A folkmoot – a meeting between all the different capes of a particular region – in this case, East London – be they villain or hero or neither. Used extremely sparingly, and could be called together by only the strongest capes of the land. If King was suggesting it…
“We’re f*cked”, Rapture mutters
King chuckled humorlessly, “What part of “The Nine are coming to the town” made you think that we were ever not f*cked ?”
“When and where ?”, Riptide takes over, turning to look King in the face, eye to glowing golden eye, “How long from now ?”
“Houndshead Café. It stands at the dead-center of the city, the intersection point of all the territories of every gang. True neutrality”, he strokes the chin of his helmet thoughtfully, “As for when… I would say now, but it takes time to gather all the varying capes together. Two days from now”
“Got it”, Serenity nodded sharply, “Will you be informing Glaxxon ?”
King stills for a second, before reluctantly biting out, through clearly-gritted teeth, “I suppose it would be unfair not to. I will”
“And the suit ?”
“I’ll hand it over to you”, King replies, and I let out a sigh of relief, “I’m not going to have the Nine target us anymore than they would someone else. Let them target Glaxxon instead – at least they deserve it”
“What about the consequences of this raid ? Will the Fangs end up sticking their noses into this mess ?”, Serenity asked warningly
“Astute, aren’t you ?”, King spoke with some degree of approval, “Let’s put it off for now. The folkmoot is in effect, and with it, the truce that is an innate part of the tradition. We’ll meet again to discuss it after the meeting”
“Understood”, Serenity replies, before wincing, “This… ah… folkmoot… It includes the Final Fourteen ?”
“It… does, yes”, King inclines his head to one side, “Do not fear. You have it on my honor that they will not harm you – or any other minority there, for that matter. Unity is paramount in situations as dire as this. Any sign of bigotry and they’re getting thrown to the Nine. They might even slow them down a bit”
“Doubt it”, Riptide snorts, “They’re pretty weak – well, except for a few members”
“What about the Deathbringers ?”, Riptide asked, “Mad cultist bastards that they are”
“Mad cultist bastards who are… for better or for worse… still part of East London – mostly part of Central, mind you. But they have factions here”, King replied, “They’ll be there too – who knows ? Maybe they’ll call up one of their gods to defeat the Nine”
“And then sink East London themselves, huh ?”, Serenity grinned slightly, “or rather, the entirety of Europe”
“We’ll ask for specific representatives from the more… volatile factions”, King explained, gesturing vaguely, “the grayest Glaxxon heroes, the least fanatical Final Fourteen Nazis, and… um… I don’t know – Baal is pretty moderate from the Deathbringers, I suppose ?”
“Didn’t he burn down a village last week ?”
“Still better than his brothers, though”, King grimaced, “Well, that puts that faction into perspective, doesn’t it ?”
“Houndshead, then ?”, Serenity confirmed, “See you there”
Chapter 19
Chapter Text
I wasn’t quite sure what to make of Serenity yet. Sure, he seemed nice enough, especially with how he had helped Reflection. But he seemed strange, especially with the whip-quick switch in personality he had displayed back at the warehouse, almost killing Spitfire one moment, and helping Reflection the next
After the raid, everyone was a little too tired to talk, though, so I decided not to bring the topic up just yet. We handed over the suitcase over to Glaxxon, and received a decent chunk of change in return. Twenty-three thousand – though unfortunately we weren’t able to steal anything else from King’s warehouse, given how closely the cape leader had watched us as we departed. Starlight had been a little miffed at that, but two new recruits for the EFS – two powerful new recruits – had apparently been enough to appease him
After that, we returned back home, to our very own base. It was only when I entered the familiar loft that I realized just how tired I was, collapsing against Serenity’s body near-instantly, as though I was boneless. I feel him stiffen slightly at my touch, before relaxing into it, and I can’t help but smile slightly as I drift off to sleep
I wake up on the couch, my head resting on Riptide’s arm. Loud noises and vibrant colors informed me of a movie playing on the TV screen. Rapture and Serenity were arguing about something while Riptide watched, egging them on. Emmet was grinning softly from a little ways down the couch. No one was costumed anymore
The haze clears slightly from my mind, and I start to focus on the movie again, laughing slightly at one of the jokes. Still, I keep my head resting on Riptide’s arm, and he doesn’t seem to mind too much. Serenity rises to get some snacks, and I spot him puttering about the kitchen out the corner of my eye. He seems happy, a smile tugging at his lips. Riptide’s head is turned in his direction, and the expression in his eyes was one I could only describe as “lovesick”
Still, I rise unsteadily off the couch, and make my way down the loft to the kitchen, where Serenity was standing by the counter, trying to get a bag of… something… open. He looks up and smiles sweetly as he notices me, “Oh, hey”, he calls, raising one hand in a sort of pseudo-wave, “How are you ? You seemed pretty out of it, so we took off your costume for you. Luckily you were wearing clothes underneath”
“I… thanks”, I nod slightly, “Thanks ? What’re you opening ?”
“Pizza rolls”, Serenity grinned in my direction, before once again trying and failing to get the bag open, “Though they’re probably pizza popsicles now, given how long they’ve been in the fridge”
“Pizza rolls ?”, I question, “Woah, didn’t really peg you the type to eat those”
“Do I look like a fitness nut to you or something ?”, Serenity asked, before letting out a small yelp and nearly dropping the bag as a crack of thunder sounds outside, startling him. I can’t help but laugh slightly at the sight. Looking up, Serenity laughs too
“Shut up”, he grouses playfully, reaching over to ruffle my hair slightly. He’s smiling. I am too. The noise of the movie filters into the kitchen, soft and muted, from far-away. In the other room, the rest of the Misaligned are talking too, occasionally interrupted by a burst of laughter.
I can’t help but brush a few of my fingers through his hair. I want this moment to last. I want us to laugh and smile forever, the noise of the rain outside, the sounds of a movie in the other room
“Hey, do you ever wonder if your life has meaning ?”, I ask him, a few seconds later, as he’s readying the pizza rolls – by which I mean trying to crack open the rock-hard rolls to thaw them a little before putting them in the microwave, lest they explode or something
“I do”, he confirms, somewhat distractedly, engaged with trying to work out how to operate the buttons on the microwave, “It does”
“How can you be sure, though ?”, I question, “Like, how do you know ?”
“I know my life has meaning because –“, he stopped for a moment, turning to look at me, and continues, almost shyly, “because I’m a good friend. Because I care about my friends, and I’d like to think that they care about me”
“Nothing else ? Not the width of your territory, or the strength of the Misaligned or – “
“Nope”, he shakes his head, “Nothing else. I don’t need that sh*t. Not anymore. Just you guys”
A few seconds of silence pass, as he loads up the microwave, before he turns to me, mimicking dusting off his hands, a smile spreading across his face, “My turn”, his smile falters a bit, “Do you think I’m a good person ?”
I stare at him. The question seems stupid to me, mind-numbingly so. “Of course you are !! Was that ever even in question ?”
“Heh”, he laughs softly, a genuine smile stretching the corners of his lips to the side, “Thanks, James”
“Why would you doubt that ?”
“I…”, he begins, before swallowing thickly, “I… since the beginning, I’ve been “bad”. Inherently so. Born out of infidelity, to a Conservative family. Quiet. Shy.”, he draws in a sharp breath, “Gay. It’s… I’ve never… No one’s ever told me I was good before. Or even human”
“Oh, is that why…”, I stop the words before they could leave my mouth. That was one part of Serenity’s life I didn’t want to pry into, and judging by the grateful smile he gives me at my silence, he was thankful for it.
“The first time I figured out what I was”, I wasn’t sure if he meant his powers or his sexuality, but I really didn’t want to interrupt him, “was when I discovered two corpses floating in the town river. Suicide victims. Male. 15 years each. Hand-in-hand.”
Oh
“Powers or…”
“Both”, Serenity nodded grimly, his eyes closing, “I think the realization that everyone I loved wanted me dead set the stage for my trigger, and that, in turn, gave me my powers. The trigger itself – well, that was… worse. It affected my psyche too – made me more abrasive than the pushover I had been before it. More argumentative”
I wince harshly, and he smiles humorlessly in response, his eyes fixed on the window, and the stormy landscape outside, as if lost in remembrance
“One thing led to another. I argued with my parents. They reacted harshly. Truth came out about…”, he gestured to himself with one hand, “… everything. And… well…”, a wide, artificial grin suddenly cracked across his face, “Anyways !! That was depressing, wasn’t it ? Let’s not dwell on that”
“But…”
“I said”, his smile grows more strained, “Let’s not dwell on that”
I nod slightly, respecting his decision, “Sure”
For a few seconds, we dwell in a simple, companionable silence, before he speaks again.
“I… I had a friend, once, you know ? Well, I still do… but he… he was the first person to ever care about me”, he continues, his smile growing more wistful and less artificial, “We loved each other- I like to believe that I love him still, but he…”
He looks away slightly, his eyes gleaming with self-recrimination, “He saved me back then. From my family, and myself. He gave me purpose… and I… left him”
“Why ?”, I question him, “You must have had a reason”
“He was growing… unstable. Destructive, both towards himself and others. I… couldn’t bear to see him like that, and so… But when we were together – in those halcyon days”, his lips quirk up into a soft smile, “how we ran together though, through endless fields, under a nightless sun. It was beautiful”
“Sounds like you… wanted to help him, but he didn’t want to help himself”, I assure him, “It’s not your fault”
“Still, I love him. Will always love him”, he bites out, a little bitterly, “He was cruel and rageful, and violent, and yes, destructive… but he was my friend. I still remember him – the way he was before, before the rage took him. Grass stains and secret smiles. But that man is gone. The world is cold, and my greatest friend – my first love- is five years away”
“You have us now, don’t you ?”, I bump my shoulder against his, and he looks up to gaze at me, a smile upon his face
“I do… and you’re great, don’t get me wrong !! The best things that ever happened to me”, he smiles softly, “but sometimes, I still think, that if he came to me – wearing that rogueish grin he wore all those years ago, and offered to take me away with him, I think, despite everything, I would accept. He’s my weakness. My open wound”
“That’s good”, I smile softly at him, “Open wounds are good. They prove that you’re still human. And you are – still human. Without his heel, Achilles was a monster. Just like that, your wound anchors you. Makes you human”
“You’ve said “makes you human” like, three times in as many minutes”
“I’m not good at motivational speeches, okay ?”, I roll my eyes, “It’s the thought that counts !!”
Serenity makes to respond, before the beeping of the microwave cuts him off, “Alright there, Jamie Mcdonald”, he smirks, “Go back to the couch. I can’t handle the rolls and you at the same time”
“You take that back”, I gasp in mock-offense, walking over to the living room, “I’m a treasure to be around, okay ?”
As I round the corner into the living room, I realize that I hadn’t even so much as thought about the upcoming folkmoot. And, as I catch sight of the Misaligned huddled up together on the couch, talking and laughing amidst each other, the movie now winding down to the final minutes, the scent of freshly-made pizza rolls filling the air, I decide – I can put it off a little longer, if it meant living in the moment like this
Chapter 20
Chapter Text
The place was nondescript. A small hole-in-the-wall business in the midst of a long row of hole-in-the-wall business. Utterly inconspicuous, and completely neutral ground – perfect for a meeting of villains – and, presumably, three heroes – one for each Hero Agency operating out of East London
The two days had passed in a flash – I had, of course, elected to not go to school for said two days, much to Jade’s concern. It’s not like I would have been able to focus on schoolwork, anyways – or like anyone really cared if I bolstered my education in topics as inane as hero history in the face of potential city-wide devastation
Now the day of the folkmoot had come, and Serenity had called us together at our base early in the morning, providing the details of the old pub, and the general overview of the capes we could expect to encounter here. After that, at 12 sharp, we came down to the intersecting point, where the Goodies met the Inlands and the Slums, and where stood, peeling and decrepit, the Houndshead “café” though it resembled a pub more than anything
It was run-down and dilapidated, an old, cracked sign out front reading “OUDSEAD CAF”, half the letters having apparently either been broken or peeled off. There was a drawing of a dick in the middle of the ‘O’. There were iron bars on the filthy windows, and the paint outside was peeling.
The brick beneath appeared to be positively coated with a dry, crimson substance, making it almost look like the rust from the bars had bled across the entire façade of the institution. I turn away, and try very hard to not think of what that might be
We step inside, and the smell of old cigarette ash assails my nostrils. Houndshead was… not a good place – dim, dingy and depressing, with an aura of death that outclassed even Serenity’s decay-inducing darkness. The floorboards were a dark black, the same color as the curtains. Overhead, bare, burnt lightbulbs hung from exposed wires – that looked, concerningly, seconds away from tearing – casting the room in a dim, yellow glow
Around ten ashtrays have been arranged on the stained-grey counter, each one full to the brim.
As I watch, a sullen-looking teenage boy with a lit cigarette between his lips walks out of the back room carrying another one, plopping it down onto the counter. He makes to remove the cigarette between his lips, before he glances at us. He looks at us for a few seconds, as though frozen, before simply picking up the ashtray and heading back into the back room, completely unwilling to deal with us
We walk over to where a bunch of tables had been pulled together, chairs arrayed around them, taking a few seats at one far end, Serenity seating himself at the head – or perhaps the tail ? I was never quite sure with these things – of the table
A few seconds pass, and an equally dour young woman with ratty brown hair and a wrinkled server’s uniform that was almost certainly not up to HSE standards walks out the back room, plopping down a pad of paper and a pen onto the counter and staring at us.
Serenity strolls over to the pad, and pulling out a pen, writes down something, before handing it back to her. To her credit, she barely flinches at the sight of a towering human-shaped smoke-cloud of darkness handing her a notepad, simply taking it and the pen back from Serenity and hurrying off towards the kitchens
Shrugging slightly, he returns, saying, almost boredly, “I offered a milk coffee for you all. Caffeinated. Hope that’s okay”
“Wait, that was ordering ?”, I ask, “Is she deaf ?”
“No – it’s just that there are too many capes with sound, or voice-based powers to risk listening to any of them speak”, he seems to smirk, beneath the mask, “It’s clever, really”
“What if she overhears us ?”, Riptide asks grimly, “Isn’t that a problem ?”
“No, not really”, Serenity shakes his head, “She has earbuds in. She can’t hear sh*t”
“Wait, but when I asked…”, I interject indignantly
“You asked if she was deaf. She isn’t deaf – she just can’t hear”
“And the other guy ?”
“Well…”, the noise of a door slamming in the distance reaches us, followed by hurried, fading footsteps, “… he just… ran away. So, I doubt we have to worry about him”
A few minutes later, the first of the guests began to arrive within mere seconds of each other, just as the server brought us our drinks, before quickly hurrying back into the back room with a quiet eep
King came through first, flanked on either side by two heavy-set men, with features like bulldogs, drooping jowls and all. He was wearing the same set of armor we had seen him in two days ago, and the two guards on either side of him – named Gonchaya and Volk – were dressed in sets of Viking-esque armor, all heavy furs and bare skin. Had to admit, they were good choices when it came to guards – each one could transform into different forms of carbon, ranging from carbon gas, all the way to diamond
Behind him entered Geryon, one of his lieutenants, followed by several others. He looked… strange, like a mix between a sixty-year-old man and a sixteen-year-old boy, his skin somehow simultaneously as smooth as porcelain one moment and scored with wrinkles the next. He was dressed in a dark black costume without any markings, a Roman-style helm covering his head, a purple-black glass visor hanging over his unnatural face, just barely concealing his eyes – utterly devoid of pupil or iris - cataracted, and yet clearly able to see. The costume didn’t cover his knuckles, letting them breathe in all their gruesome glory – three purple-red pustules blossoming on alternate knuckles, adding up to a total of six. According to reports, each pustule held a poisonous gas – one Geryon could release at will by simply popping the swelling, breaking the skin and releasing the toxin within.
There are no reports as to what, exactly, this poison does – no one has survived long enough to report it. I swallow at the sight of him, as his pupil-less eyes lock onto mine, and his thin lips curve into a small grin.
Behind him enter the other members of Soldaty – Fogwolf, Dazer, wincing with every step, Nighthound. They didn’t even consist of every cape in King’s team. His infamy as a member of the Nine Jewels had led to practically every cape in Europe flocking to him, making him the East Londoner with the most raw cape muscle at his beck and call
King sat down at the other end of the table, his group taking the seats flanking him, Geryon and Dazer sitting closest to him. Leaning back, he folded his arm, and crossed his legs, one leg over the other, settling down to watch the meeting
Moments after him entered Starlight, followed closely behind by two men dressed in flowing red garbs – Empyrea and Daemon. Shooting King a look, he took a seat at the table, both of his companions doing the same
Deathshrike was next, a man dressed in what was essentially just military apparel, the only remotely cape-like thing about his outfit being the insect shell mask he wore, made to resemble the “features” of a fly’s head, composed of thousands of interlocking, shed carapaces. I shudder at the sight. Creepy
“Deathshrike”, Serenity leaned over to whisper to me, “Leads a military cartel. Noted drug runner – all types, opium, meth, cocaine. Has deep ties with both the MXN and the AZN, along with a torrid history with King – as a rival Russian gang leader. Upside is that unlike King, he’s basically the only parahuman in his organization”
I nod, turning to ask more, before silencing myself as others start streaming into the room
The first in is Plasma, a twenty-something woman, built like a bodybuilder, dressed in what looks like a silvery-red set of classic superhero armor, a red, blank mask covering his face, letting her black, tangled, matted locks of hair run free to lie over her shoulders. She was a mercenary – an extremely efficient one, with a crew that did anything short of murdering innocents, provided they got paid enough
Her main power was like a mix between King’s and mine – a sort of prototype sanguinokinesis, the ability to control the iron in blood – lowering the levels of it to kill someone through haemoglobin deficiency, or, in particularly gruesome cases, forming it into sharp objects inside the other person… with predictable outcomes
Behind her is Arrest, her lieutenant a man in a dark green bodysuit, his eyes covered with a simple cat’s eye mask. His power, however, was among the most versatile – the ability to stop and accelerate objects with a single touch. This could, of course, be as simple as touching a bullet to freeze it in mid-air, or as complex as freezing a bullet, and tapping it to fire it back in the opposite direction, only faster. Basically, it was a powerhouse in the right hands – and, unfortunately, Arrest’s hands very much were the right hands
After that, I start to lose track of the capes who were by now streaming into the room, each taking a seat at the meeting table, and waiting in silence for the folkmoot to begin. No one asks for a reason for their presence, or makes a scene – they all know the gravity of a folkmoot being called. It’s not something done lightly
A man enters, dressed in pure white, and the room goes silent. He is dressed like a monk, a shawl-like sheet of white wool wrapped around his shoulders, draping over his entire form. His head is covered by a white pointed hood, and a featureless golden mask covers his face. The entire room seems to draw in a sharp breath at the sight of him. Baal – first heir of the Deathbringers
Silently, he takes a seat near the middle of the table, and almost immediately, the people around him start to move away, finding other seats, or simply giving up and going to sit at a booth
Next, three people enter. First is a cape dressed in ruby-red armor, with gold highlights. His face is covered with a draconic mask, leaving his piercing black eyes and long locks of ebony hair exposed. A coiling dragon is carved onto his chestplate, inlaid in gold. Dragonclaw, premier hero of the AZN agency
Behind him enters an inconspicuous man, dressed simply in a white skintight bodysuit with black highlights, his face covered with a featureless helm, lacking any and all eyeholes, earholes or vents for intake, leaving only a head as white and smooth as an eggshell, with gentle depressions for “eyes” and a small bump for a nose. Snow, a cryokinetic hero from the MXN Agency
Finally, a figure strides in. I wasn’t sure who I expected Glaxxon to send – Maximan, perhaps ? Or maybe some actual muscle, like Sunstreak ? Maybe even Heir, since the Nine were a global threat ? What I hadn’t anticipated was… her
Tall and as lithe as a panther, dressed in a dark cloak that extended all the way to her ankles, her features hidden by the white Venetian carnival mask she wore, intricately carved and studded with shimmering gems.
I draw in a sharp breath at the sight of her, as every other inhabitant of the room. She doesn’t acknowledge us, simply moving over to sit by Baal. She doesn’t need to. Lady Masque, rumored head of the Glaxxon Corporation – a near-myth, believed by many to simply not exist. For her to show herself – it really put into perspective just how grave the matter was – and we had been thrown straight in the midst of it, during my first week, no less !! It was almost too unfair
Regardless, our attention is torn away from her presence by the appearance of a new group of capes. It was like a wave of distaste washed over those present at the sight of them. Even Masque seemed to jerk back in disgust.
I had heard about these guys, but had never seen a photo of them – they were nowhere near high-profile enough to have their pictures in anything resembling a reputable magazine – Screech, Shriek and… I stifle a small laugh at his name… Nitwit. The Druggies, as the rest of the city knew them as. Living proofs that capes could be drug addicts – and drop-dead ugly
The leader, Nitwit, wore a stained, dirty white mask that covered the top of his face, so filthy that it looked like it had once been a used diaper. Below it, his skin – a greyish red-white, pockmarked with acne, with teeth that resembled shelled pistachios and lips so chapped that he could break skin with a kiss – not that anyone in their right minds would willingly let themselves be kissed by him
Everyone shot him a look of disgust – even the four members of the Final Fourteen present, despite him being technically their idea of a perfect man, given his bloodshot blue eyes and ratty blond hair.
I hide a small grin – you knew things were bad when a bunch of Neo-nazis looked at a blonde white man like that
He stepped up to the table and reached for a chair. Before he could touch it, though, King’s leg shot out and kicked the chair hard, sending it toppling onto it’s side
“Hey !!”, he says, in a voice nasally from years of hard drugs, twin bloodstreams dripping from his nose, accompanied by a healthy dose of snot, “What gives, bitch ?”
“Sit in a booth”, King and Starlight say near-simultaneously, before turning to shoot each other a knowing look.
“I...”, the junkie has the gall to look offended, “I deserve to sit here !! We own territory !!”
“You own a scrap of wasteland off the side of the Thames coastline – too barren for crops, too loose for buildings. A dumpster, literally”, Serenity corrected, “A piece of land no one wants, where you sit all day, snorting drugs, making drugs and selling them to kids. You hold nothing”
“We have earned the right to sit here. I have single-handedly broken several gangs”, Plasma speaks up, her voice echoing threateningly, “He”, she nods towards King, “has formed one of the fastest growing cape organizations in history.
Arrest nods, chiming in, “Even Baal is a member of the Deathbringers – who, whatever you believe of them, are terrifyingly powerful. Serenity and his crew, despite being newcomers, have shown powers that far outstrip your measly, drug-weakened ones”
“That’s why we’re here. What, exactly, have you done to deserve a seat ?”, she finishes, “Other than waste your days away eating sh*t and snorting co*ke, that is. Oh, and selling drugs to kids, of course”
“We don’t sell to kids !!”, Nitwit protests, “We sell to – “
“Sit at a booth”, Rapture speaks, in a low, threatening tone, “before I teach you what it feels like to have your blood boil in your veins”
“Or drown on dry land”, Riptide supplements
“You…”, Nitwit looks around, and, seemingly realizing just how out-of-his-depth he was, storms off to take a seat at a booth, his teammates having already taken a seat there, apparently having realized where the conversation was going the moment it began
“Well, wasn’t that fun”, a dry voice commented sardonically from one of the seats, as Zihuang, the leader of the Sǐwáng Bóláo – a hulking man dressed in a costume that approximated something like a blend of riot gear and a martial arts uniform - shifted slightly in his seat, his thin lips curling upwards into a small smile as his eyes land on Starlight
“Xuan”, he greets, “It’s been a while, brother”
“You are not my brother”, Starlight responds coldly, “We are simply… men in the same line of work. More, we are rivals”
“Our roots lie in the same soil”, Zihuang says, taking a sip from a flask one of his men had apparently produced out of nowhere, “We are brothers”
“Very nice”, Deathshrike interrupted, his voice thick and grating, layered with a heavy Russian accent, “but if we all start to splinter off into country-based groups, someone is going to die, because I am not working with this”, he thumbs at King, who rolls his eyes, “Жопа of a man”
“Don’t flatter yourself”, King snorted, “I don’t particularly want to work with you either. Unfortunately, our circ*mstances have made it… necessary”
“Circ*mstances”, Serenity interjects, “of which I hope, you are all aware”
“We got the message”, Plasma says, her voice grim, “It makes no sense – The Nine are coming ? Why ? Why now ?”
Beside her, Arrest leaned forward, “I am to understand that you have come into possession of a suit taken from them, yes ? Why not simply return the goddamn suit ? Or send it away ? It’s a ticking time-bomb. If the Nine find out you have it…”
“I don’t have it”
“What ?”, Deathshrike, who had been reclining carelessly against the back of his chair, snaps up to full posture, “What ?! You… lost it ?”
“Who has it now ?”, Zihuang interjects, “Who would be foolish enough to claim a suit that used to belong to the Nine ?”
“For that, I suspect you will have to turn to our dear Lady Masque, Plasma”, King’s piercing golden gaze fell on the seated woman, who doesn’t so much as flinch under his scrutiny, “and why, exactly, she wants the suit of the Ebony Prince – badly enough to order a raid on my warehouse”
For a moment, there is silence, before the room rises in an uproar, each individual cape demanding answers from the woman, from King, from everyone. Some of them seemed to believe that the meeting was a hoax – that they had been invited into a trap under false pretenses. Some of the weaker ones looked like they were seconds away from pissing their pants at the idea of having to confront the Nine
“SILENCE !!”, King commands, his voice echoing out over the cries of the other attendees, their voices quietening near-instantly at the sound. Beside him, Geryon rises, his fingers poised to press down onto the poison-gas pustules on his knuckles at even the slightest hint of impudence.
King smiled grimly into the now-silent room- though it seemed more like a grimace- before his eyes snap to Masque, who was still sitting at the table, her expression concealed by the mask, her eyes – a dark, stormy grey, utterly unreadable, “Well, my lady ? What gives ? Do you know how dangerous the Nine are ? Why would you risk their presence here ?”
A few moments of silence, before Lady Masque straightens up, her piercing eyes locking onto King’s own, forcing him to look away from her gaze, as terrible as a gorgon’s
“That information”, her voice is just like the rest of her – beautiful on the surface, but struck through with notes of terrible, grating sharpness, “is classified. It is not your business”
“If it brings the Nine to us”, Starlight insists, “It becomes our business. You have made it our business”
“It will all become clear in time”, Masque reiterates, “East London is hardy. We will survive the Nine”
“We shouldn’t have to, though !!”, someone says. For a moment, everything is silent, before I realize that I was the one who had spoken. I clear my throat and rise to my feet, trying not to whimper as Masque’s gorgon-gaze locks onto me, “Why would we need to survive the Nine ? We’re fine as is”
“That’s what you think”, she responds, her voice calm and collected, like the darkening sky before a thunderstorm, “Sometimes, to gain one thing, you must let go of the other”
“What are you talking about, woman ?”, Plasma demands, “Speak English, for f*ck’s sake !!”
“Yeah ?”, her tone carries a note of condescension, “You think the Nine are the end-all-be-all of superpowered threats ? Have you ever heard the psionic scream of the Hopekiller ? No ? What about felt the magmatic heat of the Devourer, or the blade-sharp force-fields of the Heartbreaker ? There are worse things than the Nine out there”
“The Deaths are dormant”, Riptide replies sharply, “The Nine are very much not, given the attack on Moscow a few days ago”
“Why was the suit even with you in the first place ?”, Deathshrike questions King, eyeing him suspiciously
“I had it brought it from Moscow”, King seems to realize something, slumping over slightly, “Oh, so that’s why Moscow got hit by the Nine”
“Yeah, and now we’re about to get hit, too”, Plasma grimaced, “This is bad”
“Are you suggesting that the Deaths are about to return ?”, Serenity turns to Masque, his voice careful, cautious, “Soon ?”
“Yes”
“And do you have any proof of this claim ?”, Riptide asks
“No”
“Wonderful !!”, he throws up his hands and reclines against the back of his chair, “We’re getting f*cked for the sake of a rumor”
“Enough”, King holds up one hand, effectively dragging the attention of the table back to him, “Enough. What has been done cannot be undone. The dominos are falling. Might as well prepare instead of wasting time arguing with someone who has clearly already made up her mind”
“What do you know of the Nine ?”, Starlight speaks up, his eyes sweeping across the people present, “What are you prepared for ? Because trust me, whatever it is you think you’re ready for, the Nine are worse”
“We know there are well, nine of them”, Plasma begins, making to speak further before Starlight interrupts her
“Incorrect. There were closer to seven members, last time we checked – the Ebony Prince left, Starblaze disappeared into the ether. That doesn’t make the other members any less terrifying, though . Worst of them all is La Commedienne, the kingpin, the one who masterminded the creation of the Nine – killing off the previous boss in the process”
“The previous boss ?”, someone questions from a few feet ahead of us
“Doctor Pain. Head of the Syndicate – basically a “prototype” of the Nine. Excellent torturer. Cape ability allowed to manipulate pain – to exacerbate or lessen it at will. Terrifying power, but it didn’t really help her when La Commedienne tore her in half on live television”
“Gruesome”, Serenity commented, seeming entirely unfazed by that piece of information, a reaction he shared with Lady Masque
“Nothing compared to the others. Next up, we have the Faceless One. You know her – she’s basically the “face” of the Nine. The only member on which we have anything resembling concrete data. Doer-class, who can manipulate inorganic matter by screaming. Hits hard, hits fast, and doesn’t leave leftovers when she kills – either eating them or… disposing of them in… other ways. Other than that, we know jack sh*t”
“La Comedienne is a female term”, Deathshrike interjects, “Are the Nine led by a woman ?”
“The Nine are led by a monster”, Riptide retorts, “Forget woman or man, I’m not even sure if they’re human, given the sheer depth of atrocity to which they are clearly willing to sink”
“They’re not that bad”, Serenity protests, seemingly on-instinct. For a moment, there is silence, as literally every face in the room turns to look at Serenity, clearly shocked. Even Masque looked disconcerted at Serenity’s words
“Listen”, Serenity says hastily, trying to cover his tracks, “He’s… I mean… they’re not that bad. You know that sex-trafficking ring down in France ? I heard they helped break it up – even rescued a few victims”
“And you know this… how ?”, King raises one eyebrow at him, “For that matter, how, exactly, do you know that La Comedienne is a “he” ?”
“I… I didn’t”, Serenity seems, for once, caught off-guard – I guess he hadn’t expected anyone to catch onto his little slip-up, “It was an accident – I meant “they””
Masque speaks up before King could respond to that counter, “This is meaningless. You’re here to prepare for the attack, not to squabble amongst yourselves, yes ? Then why are you wasting time with the latter ?”
“You stay out of this”, Starlight snarled in her direction, “You’re the reason we have to prepare at all !!”
“Suit yourselves”, Masque shrugs, carelessly leaning against one of her armrests, “I just thought I would inform you – they’re here”
“Wha-“, is all Plasma manages to get out before an ear-screeching scream shatters the air, sounding somehow simultaneously faraway and right next to us. Almost instantly, spikes of varying sizes start protruding from the stone walls of the pub, and screams start to rent the air. A wave of spines passes over the costumes of anyone who had had the misfortune of incorporating metal into their clothing
Instantly, the assembled capes rise to their feet, just as a burning car launches through the wall and onto the table, breaking it instantly. Through the car-sized hole in the wall, and the hazy, thick fog of smoke, we spot something in the distance. Six somethings. Black finger-sized silhouettes, shadowed against the sun – and rapidly drawing closer
“f*ck”, someone says
I couldn’t agree more
Chapter 21
Chapter Text
“Gentlemen”, an oily, sweet voice says from the door of the pub, the kind of voice that only mass-murderers and serial killers could manage. It’s deep, rich, smooth – and everything about it should be appealing, but put together, it sounds more like a ringing alarm bell.
Footsteps sound from the door. No one dares to look at the newcomer
“And gentlewomen, of course”, La Comedienne tacks on, and I see Serenity flinch at his voice out the corner of my eye, “Well, this is a surprise. All my favorite people, assembled in one room. Isn’t this fun ?”. A small chuckle follows the last statement, as he draws closer. It sounds like shattered glass, or perhaps, a shattered mind
“La Comedienne”, King says, and I cannot help but notice that he sounds scared, “Hello”
“It’s been so long since I was last in East London. I can’t believe it !!”, the madman laughs slightly. He’s close enough that I can feel his breath on the back of my neck now, making my hair stand on end. It stinks of blood and rotting flesh, “I came here a mere decade ago, you know ? Of course, the Nine were truly the nine back then, before two of us betrayed us”
The last two words are spoken in a threatening growl, and Serenity flinches harshly at the sound of them. He has gone pale, and his limbs are trembling slightly – I’ve never seen him this scared before. Before I can comprehend it, though, La Comedienne is already talking again, “We were hired for a job by a group called the Hounds – great group. Powerful. Of course, we did it”
Plasma, braver than I, or indeed, most people here, spoke up, “I’ve never heard of the Hounds before”
“That’s because we wiped them out before leaving the city”, I can hear the sad*stic smile in the killer’s voice, “We don’t take orders from anyone. But oh, their screams as we tortured them !! Beautiful, I tell you !! Absolutely magnificent !!”
Shriek – one of the Druggies – speaks up from her booth. “You f*cking psycho”, I hear her mutter, before a whistle informs me of a sharp object being thrown. Seconds later, I hear the distinctive noise of ripping flesh, followed by the noise of a body slumping over in her seat
“Anyone scream and I’ll kill them too”, Comedienne informs us cheerily, before strolling over to the Misaligned’s end of the table
A small chuckle sounds from across the table, and my eyes rise to find Baal leaning forward on his elbows, looking genuinely amused by Comedienne’s slaughter of Shriek
“Comedienne”, Serenity speaks up, and I hear Comedienne’s voice go completely silent, “Why are you here ? Isn’t it in the Nine’s nature to wait at least a week or so before attacking ?”
“Oh, this isn’t an attack”, Comedienne’s voice gains a tinge of bite at Serenity’s words, “Just a bit of a friendly visit, is all”
“Is that so ?”, Serenity replied, his voice unusually steady for someone who was talking to a man who had obliterated entire cities, “Then explain this, please”. I don’t need to look at him to know he was gesturing to the wreckage in the middle of the café, and the gaping, ragged hole in it’s wall
“Oh, you know how subordinates are”, Comedienne said casually, like they had shoplifted a few pens and not thrown a car at us, “So rowdy. So violent. We all need our little indulgences, I suppose”
“Is that so ?”, Serenity’s voice grows cold and hard, “Tell me, Comedienne – why are you in this form ? This isn’t your attack state”
“You know of the attack state ?”, Comedienne seems genuinely taken-aback, before a low chuckle builds in his throat, “Oh…”, he says, as though realizing something, “It’s you”
“It’s me”, Serenity challenges, “Now, answer the f*cking question”
“Like I said – we’re not here to fight. Well… not yet, at least. This ?”, a black-gloved hand sweeps into my vision, crusted with dried crimson fluid, borderline skeletal, “It’s just a bit of fun”
“Also”, his voice drops an octave, “You have something that belongs to me”
“To you ?”, Serenity questions, “It belongs to the Ebony Prince”
“And who does the Prince belong to, my dear ?”, there is a hint of sad*stic enjoyment in the Nine leader’s voice, as though he were hinting at something deeper than his words
“To himself”, Serenity’s voice, in sharp contrast, is as cold as ice, and as hard as steel
“Yes, he made that quite clear when he left”, Comedienne sounds almost… bitter as he speaks, “But my, oh my, how wonderful we were together. How we ran together !! We were like gods”, he hisses, “and then he left”
“Gods ? You were devils”, Serenity says, his voice coated in disgust, “No wonder he left”
“And yet”, Comedienne’s voice is sickly-sweet, a personal whisper, “He loved it, didn’t he ? The feel of blood between his fingers. Entire cities burning below his feet. Rising ever-so high into the heavens. The intoxicating touch of godhood”
Serenity is quiet for a long moment, “Why are you here ?”
“Well, we were here for a bit of fun”, Comedienne said, his voice pitched low, “Well, at least, originally, we were. But we appear to have… reconnected with an old acquaintance”
“He won’t return”
“And yet”, Comedienne grins, “He isn’t rejecting me outright, is he ? How difficult it must be, to have once been a god amongst men, and to resign yourself to dwelling – to life – in this pathetic, filthy sh*thole. How utterly demeaning. And yet he cannot escape himself – he can hide from me… but not from his own mind. To one raised in a slaughterhouse, the scent of blood is akin to that of roses, and that of roses akin to filth”
Serenity is silent again
Comedienne presses on without waiting for a reply, “We might’ve been gods, had he stayed. How sad those words are – “might’ve been”. But I can fix this. If he comes with me, I can make him a god again. I make him great again. All this pain you see around you – of people who hurt and are hurting – he can eradicate it all. If only he comes with me”
“Eradicate it”, Serenity lets out a ragged chuckle, “How ? By hurting them more before life can do it itself ?”
“It would be a mercy”, Comedienne said, “Wouldn’t it ? And how beautiful would it be, to hurt and kill those who hurt you”, he shifts slightly, “How many scars do you bear, Serenity ?”
Serenity remains quiet for a few seconds more, but Comedienne, unhindered, proceeds as if Serenity had given him an exact number, “Exactly. I want to talk to you for a bit… Serenity”
“Let them go”, Serenity clicks his tongue against his teeth, nodding slightly, before raising his chin defiantly, staring Comedienne down, “Let them go, and leave East London alone, and I’ll consider it”
“Very well”, I can hear the reluctance in the killer’s voice at the thought of simply letting go of prey, “but East London… I can’t do that. It would be unfair to the cities I’ve already broken. But…”, he muses, “I suppose I can stand to leave it be for… say… seven days ? But then it falls. Deal ?”
“Deal”
For a few seconds, a strained silence falls over the table, before I hear the rustling of cloth, as Comedienne turns to face the capes
“Well ?”, his oily voice sounds again, “What are you waiting for ? Get out !!”
With that, we rise to leave, Riptide casting a longing look at Serenity, only to avert his gaze as Comedienne no doubt sends a venomous gaze his way. I, for my part, don’t even dare turn to face the mass-murderer, simply keeping my eyes fixed forward as I move
The two remain silent as the capes start moving out, jostling each other as they each tried to shove their way to the front of the line, desperate to be the first to leave. Only the members of Soldaty, the EFS, and the Misaligned lingered near the end, and soon, even we began to leave,
But as I move to the door, the final few capes filtering out before me, I could swear I hear Comedienne whisper to Serenity, his voice low, almost broken, “They’re good subordinates – great ones, in fact. But I don’t want subordinates. I want my friend back”
But then I exit the pub before I can hear Serenity’s response, and nearly run straight into the back of a cape, who was steadily retreating back into the pub, his limbs trembling under his costume.
Outside, everything is destroyed, the roads pockmarked with craters large enough to swallow entire people, and the buildings being consumed with licking tongues of flame. Great spikes protrude from practically every surface, extending high into the sky, some topped with still-thrashing human corpses, pierced clean through their bodies.
Four figures stand before us, of varying heights – the rest of the Nine must be off elsewhere, presumably wreaking mayhem. But I could tell, without a doubt, that even if our raw strength put together surpassed these four, the sheer fear they inspired would no doubt make us sitting ducks to them
Standing to the far left is a middle-aged woman in an opera singer’s dress, her face covered with a plain, featureless beige mask, a small hole left for her mouth. The mask looks almost organic, and I can see her lips through the hole, mottled with scar tissue and struck through with long, white, scarred-over cuts. Twin series of dot-shaped scars along the top and bottom of her lips let me know that they had once been sown together. I draw in a sharp breath – the Faceless One
Beside her stands a hulking behemoth of a cape, standing on all fours, supporting himself on his knuckles and toes, like a gorilla. And he was shaped like a hairless gorilla too, body rippling with muscle, covered with a strange ivory sheen, hard, and yet malleable, like the chitin exoskeleton of an insect. Every one of his fingers and toes is tipped with six-inch claws, and he seems to possess no eyes, just a shallow, black depression, shaped crudely into the form of a spiral, over a gaping maw, lined with fangs that dripped with frothy saliva, and a tongue that the beast let hang free
Beside him is a tall, thin man, dressed in a tuxedo-style tailcoat and a white shirt underneath, spattered with crimson blood. In one hand he held a silver-tipped cane, and over his face, he wore a positively gruesome metal mask, shaped like the face of a spider, mandibles and all
Beside him stood a young girl, about six or seven years younger than me, dressed in what looked like a doll’s outfit. Her golden hair was carefully curled into ringlets, and she wouldn’t look too out-of-place amongst a Barbie line-up, were it not for the fact that the rest of her was filthy and encrusted with dried blood. A wide grin adorns her doll-like face and in one hand she holds a massive, over-sized meat cleaver, crusted with dried blood, shreds of meat hanging off the bladed edge
King steps forward, “Your boss has chosen to let us live. As for the city, he has given us a week. Call off your attack.”
The tall, thin man looks us over through the eight eyes of his spider mask, before declaring, “They are not lying”
“Boss is so merciful”, the doll-girl grins, her voice saturated with a fawning devotion, lightly accented in French, “Isn’t he, Spinner ? Isn’t he ?”, she reaches over to poke the thin man on the shoulder
“Ah… yes of course, Butcher”, Spinner nodded sharply, “but why would…he… hmm…”
“His orders are not for us to question, Spinner”, the Faceless One retorts sharply, her voice echoing out with a strange affect – sweet and grating in equal measure, loud and quiet, fast and slow, “but to obey. If he has decided they shall live for another week, they shall”
“Hey”, a voice says from a few feet ahead of me. Butcher had apparently skipped out to right before us, and was now staring right at us, an unsettling grin adorning her face, “Wanna see my toys ?”
Without waiting for an answer, she skips back to her spot, and waves at something, before turning back to us, and squirming with excitement, the child-like gesture looking out-of-pace on her filthy, bloody form. She wore a stained apron, too large for her body, pockets full of gleaming surgical tools
A shadow falls over the group, and I hear Riptide stifle a scream as his eyes fall on it. A bulbous, brutish form lumbers up behind Butcher. It was horrific, sized like a mountain, and covered in bulging, bleeding pustules.
It’s “face”, if you could even call it that, was badly scarred, to the point that it could barely be recognized as human. One of it’s eyes had been removed, replaced with something reptilian – a snake’s eye, barely fitting in the human-sized socket
It’s jaw had been stretched forward, held in place with staples and pins, and additional teeth and gums- a whole new jaw’s worth- had been stapled on to the pre-existing ones to fill up the creature’s maw. Drool leaked from it’s open jaws like a faucet in loops and spirals, and a tumorous growth appeared to bulge out of the thing’s midsection, framed between two rows of exposed, jutting ribs – except that the top of the growth was clearly a human face, and the ribs were far too many for one person.
I look closer, and instantly wish I hadn’t. The tumor’s face was moving – it’s lower “jaw” working open and closed like a fish gasping for air. That thing was alive – worse, it was sapient
I resist the urge to vomit
“I call him Blobface !!”, the young girl informed us cheerily, “He used to be my dad, once !! And my mom !! They loved each other more than me – so I made their bond stronger than ever !! Isn’t it sweet ?”
Behind me, Emmet loses it, fully leaning over and vomiting onto the cracked, devastated pavement. If Butcher notices, she doesn’t comment on it. Still, I wasn’t going to be the one to anger her by vomiting at the sight of her “toy”
“And we thought Chameleon was bad”, Riptide murmurs beside me, “This monster makes him pale in comparison. At least he didn’t do… this”
“It’s… very nice, Butcher”, Plasma chokes out, clearly holding back her disgust
“Butcher”, Spinner turns to her, looking for all the world like a disapproving mother, “What have I told you about being overeager in front of guests ?”, he chides, like she was a child guilty of displaying her dolls to disinterested guests, and not the humanoid abomination behind her
“Don’t do it”, Butcher pouted like a chastised child, “But he’s so cool, though !!”, her eyes, unbelievably, start to fill with tears.
“He is cool”, Spinner consoles her, and I kind of feel like I’ve just been thrust into the kind of alternate universe where nothing made sense anymore, where murdering and mutilating your own f*cking parents was no big deal, “but not everyone wants to see him, and you have to respect him. Now, if you’re a good girl, we can stop for some fun on our way home”
“Ooh, ooh, promise ?”, the girl cried as the four thankfully turned away and walked off towards the Inlands, the gorilla-thing lumbering behind them, “Can we destroy Barcelona this time ? Or maybe America ?”
“Something small, Butcher”, the Faceless One chastises, like she was asking for ice cream and not to destroy an entire city, “Maybe a province in China or something”
With that, luckily they rounded the bend, disappearing from view, and I didn’t have to listen to whatever Butcher would say in response, which would no doubt make my brain dissociate from my body, because nothing made sense anymore
I gape at where they had been for a few seconds, my jaws opening and closing like a fish, unbelieving that people like them could actually exist, and I stay there for a good long while, till all the other capes had left
After that, Riptide tugs at my arm, and I let him lead me back to our base, barely able to comprehend anything because of how hazy and lost I felt. One thing I understood though, was that Serenity hadn’t returned, and without him, the loft felt cold and empty
Still, we sleep there, all four of us, huddled up together on the couch, not daring to turn on the TV, or to return to our own homes – partly out of fear of what we may find, and partly out of a hidden hope that if we remained here, Serenity might return
Chapter 22
Chapter Text
The next morning I wake up feeling like sh*t, lying alone on the couch, the others having evidently gotten up before me. Beside me, the TV was on, showing news footage of the devastated city. Luckily, the Nine hadn’t managed to get too far inland before Comedienne called the attack off, and so the Goodies and the Slums were untouched – meaning Emmet’s, Jade’s and my families were pretty much safe.
Yesterday had been a holiday, and so it was highly probable that none of my friends at school had gotten in the Nine’s line of fire either. Unfortunately, two things had very much happened – the Banks were almost completely devastated, breaking the strongholds of several gangs and sending them either on the run or the rise, and Glaxxon’s headquarters had been attacked, the subterranean force-field generators disassembled – apparently before the Nine even showed up, for some reason – and the vaults penetrated. Huge quantities of weaponry had been stolen, up to and including the Ebony Prince’s suit
All this, of course, meant that both the Crown and the government had taken notice, installing a low-level quarantine on all of London, and a rock-solid, particularly stringent one, specifically on East London. Nothing came in, nothing went out, and we were expected to somehow grow our own food or just f*cking starve
Basically, they were setting out to finish what the Nine had started, in the name of healing what the Nine had done. Amazing. Positively flawless. This was why no one had faith in the government anymore.
A wall flashes onscreen, a wall that may have once been part of a church, but now stood by itself, broken down and vandalized by the Nine. Smeared across it, in black-red blood, were the words “The Nine will bring you freedom. Look back and be condemned”
Another camera showed great black letters scrawled onto a piece of broken-down concrete, “I LOVE YOU AS THE KNIFE LOVES THE GOUGE AND THE FIST THE BROKEN BONE. DIE DIE DIE”
Yet another camera showed great cracked, scorched letters, burnt into the very earth : “ONLY THE NINE AND THE DEATHS MATCH YOUR GOD IN WANTON CRUELTY AND MALICE. BE LIKE GOD. DESTROY”.
Worst part is, I wasn’t even sure if the Nine were the ones who had written the final message
And on and on it went – messages, threats, ramblings scratched and carved onto nearly every surface in the city. It seems, that in the five or so hours I had been asleep, that the news of the Nine’s attack had spread, and the cityfolk had responded by going batsh*t insane
Everything was drowning in chaos. The so-called “unwritten rules” were all but dead and gone. Bodies littered the streets – several of them slain after the Nine’s attack came to an end. People were being dragged out into the streets – villains who had, by one means or another, had their identities exposed following the collapse of the city
After all, several of the highest-powered gangs were based along the Banks, which had been well and truly wrecked by the Nine. Soldaty, the EFS and a few stragglers were essentially the only ones left with any real power.
All this to say, there was no one to uphold the unwritten rules anymore.
We were f*cked
Groaning slightly, I rise stumblingly from the couch, my feet clacking against the stone floors of the loft, before the sounds of conversation from the kitchen reach my ears. Not too strange – the rest must’ve woken up before me.
Rising fully from the couch, I elect not to enter the kitchen – I really, really didn’t want to talk about what had happened yesterday, and move over to the fridge – to do what, I wasn’t sure. I’ll figure it out when I get there, I suppose
It was in this sleepy haze that I catch sight of two figures sitting carelessly on armchairs that had been pulled out beside the couch – presumably watching me sleep.
Yelping, I stumble back, my eyes rising to meet theirs. The first pair of eyes my eyes meet are Emmet’s emerald-green, before my eyes sweep to the right, and I feel my blood freeze as I meet the undeniable stormy grey of Lady Masque’s piercing gaze
“First”, she speaks, as though replying to me, “your father is safe at a government-sponsored safehouse, outside of East London. Second – no you cannot meet him”
“Y-you”, I try my best to sound threatening, though, judging from the still-masked woman’s condescending co*ck of the head, I fail miserably, “What are you doing here ?”
“I believe”, the woman’s voice echoes out like a crack of thunder in the still, silence of the… living room, I suppose ?, “I owe you an apology”
“You… did you know that Comedienne wanted Serenity ?”, I demand, a rage welling up in my chest at the thought, all fear and surprise forgotten, “You f*cking –“
“Peace”, she raises one hand in a gesture of truce, backing away slightly, much to my sordid satisfaction, “I… well, not exactly knew… but… yes, for all intents and purposes, I was… aware… that the Slaughterhouse Lord wanted your friend. Although I did rather expect him to attack the poor cape we planned to give your friend’s costume to. Strange how destiny works, isn’t it ?”
“And you let him attend the folkmoot anyways – let him stay there, even, knowing what would happen ?”, I ask furiously, ignoring her last statement. Emmet flinches slightly at my harsh tone, even though my words are not directed at him. The one my words are directed at, infuriatingly, remains completely unfazed
“I did not let him do anything”, Masque replies coldly, straightening up in her seat, her eyes rising to coolly meet mine, “It is not my place to give him orders. He does not – nor, indeed, ever has – work under my command”
“You could have informed him !!”, I reply. I wasn’t quite sure what she meant by “I knew”, but I was sure of this – she had some form of precog ability, some way of knowing what was going to happen… and she simply chose to let it happen anyways
“I could have”, she acknowledged with a small shrug, “and then what ? He goes home… and London falls – completely, this time, with no Serenity to bargain with Comedienne for seven days of relief. I understand your grief, all of you, but I must think on a bigger scale than one man”
“Then why the f*ck did you demand the suit to begin with ?”, I say lowly, my voice arctic cold and sharp as a knife, “If you knew the Nine would come in response – if you knew this would happen, why did you let it f*cking happen ?!”
“Because the alternative was far worse”, Masque replied coolly, rising from her seat, “Like I said, unlike you, I do not have the privilege of short-sightedness, or the luxury of outrage. I must always think of the bigger picture first, and only then can I consider the finer details”
“Worse ? London’s days are numbered !!”, I snarl at her, “Serenity is gone – to only God knows where !! How could things be worse ?”
“Simple. Europe could have fallen instead of London, had I not done what I did”, Masque replied distractedly, calmly examining her short-cut nails, “Bigger picture, boy”
“Europe, fall ? How could that…”, I co*ck my head to one side, confused, “How is that even possible ?”
“The same way Japan fell”, Masque called back, turning and sweeping her way into the kitchen, where, presumably, the rest of the Misaligned were, along with whoever had escorted her here, “When you’re done throwing your little tantrum, feel free to join us here”
My lips part, already forming a comeback, before the enormity of her statement hit me. There was no person alive who didn’t know what had happened to Japan. It was the stuff of nightmares – the kind of sh*t parents whispered to children to keep them from misbehaving – Be good, or the Devourer will pay you a visit
The morning of December 2nd, 1984, a rumbling had been reported deep below the city of Hakodate, and unrest in the waves of the Sea of Japan. These, of course, had been written off as the signs of an oncoming tsunami, and the inhabitants of the coastline cities had been herded into safehouses to bunker down and wait out the disaster
What followed… was not a tsunami
There are no reports of the disaster itself – very few who were close enough to view it survived… and those who did, refused to speak, before, almost simultaneously, taking their own lives in extremely gruesome ways.
What we do know is that a second sun flared to life above the city that day, burning a brilliant acid-green, and sparking with tendrils of lightning. The ocean waves split, and a towering form emerged – though according to some eye-witnesses, the creature looked like it was emerging from the cracked and broken roof of one of the bunkers
Then – nothing.
Nothing
We know nothing, after that. Every close-quarters account of the destruction was found on notebooks dredged up months after what became known as the Hakodate Incident – or the Devastation of Japan. Nearly half the island was sunk, cracking off the other half and drowning in the waves of the Pacific Ocean, forming the great, steep Cliffs of Akita and Iwate – half of the two provinces having survived the onslaught, remaining perched atop the still afloat southern half of the island, while the northern half sank completely
Even further North, the island of Hokkaido was just completely gone – shattered into fragments, according to forensic reports of the area, and scattered across the roiling waves
It happened over the course of five hours – five hours that are now completely lost to history, as practically every human living between the cities of f*ckushima and Akita got utterly wiped out – to the point that not ever a scrap was left of them.
The few survivors of the incident, namely those far enough from Hakodate that they received nothing more than the barest tremors of the creature’s attack, spoke of groundbreaking earthquakes and gale-force winds moving fast enough to rip the skin clean off an adult man. A heat hot enough to melt the stone ground into magma. The skies were dark with lightning and storm, and it rained enough over the next few days that several new rivers and lakes came into being
Basically, the creature’s attack broke Japan in under six hours. Utterly destroyed them, leaving the island irreconcilable with its previous condition, with the landscape having been molded – as though the hand of some terrible god had molded the entire island like a piece of Play-doh, with no care as to the lives of those on it.
Evacuations had been disrupted for fear that the terrible conditions – and the monster in the waves – would result in the boats literally killing the inhabitants of the city, leaving them all on the island, left to suffer the wrath of the beast, as he broke their home
In fact, he had literally broken it – clean in half, with the resulting cliff-face being so jagged that rumors began spreading about the creature responsible having literally bitten off the northern half of the country, a fact that was verifiably false, and yet, resulted in the beast being named The Devourer, and, for good measure, the Heartbreaker – in tribute to those slain at its terrible hand – a sum total of eight million dead, with millions more left destitute and homeless.
Politically, Japan had yet to recover, with them losing their status as a world power, and still heavily depending on international aid, nearly three decades after the incident
For years after that, it was believed there was only one – there was no way devastation like that could be wrought multiple times, right ? It wouldn’t be fair, after all
And that was how we learned the cruel truth- that the world wasn’t fair in the slightest
Nearly five years later, the psychic beast Rationality attacked Africa, nearly demolishing the nations of Morocco, Kenya and Ghana with her series of psychic attacks – ranging from powerful psionic screams that simply made your head explode if you got too close, to what the PR&D nicknamed the “agents of Rationality” – people infected with Rationality’s “psyche”, driven mad by her and convinced that the only way to save themselves was to kill everyone around them.
The attack lasted three hours, killing nearly five million people, and rendering as many as nine million homeless
Those closest to the epicenter described her as a monster of storm and darkness, and ashen death – like a living, many-winged, many-eyed storm cloud
We nicknamed her the Hopekiller, for shattering our hopes that there was ever a God watching over us, and classified the two of them as “Beasts”, hoping, against all hope, that she was the final one
Of course, we were wrong, because like the Hopekiller proved, there was no God
Sadism’s attack was smaller in scale, targeting only the peninsular nation of India – but no less horrifying than her counterparts’ attacks. Notably, she was the only one of the Deaths who seemed to take pleasure in her work, periodically letting out screeching barks of mocking laughter as she attacked – with the most insidious tool of the human creation – emotion.
Agony-inducing fields stretching for miles and miles. Shockwaves of such pure emotion that they drove anyone caught in them to insanity. Blasts of hatred and vitriol so pure that they basically created instant psychopaths
And, most notably of all – she seemed to target heroes above all else, leaving the subcontinent – of course, devastated by her attack – but also completely devoid of Hero Agencies, and of heroes, which, as any disaster relief organization can tell you, is a terrible place to be in after a disaster as large as this.
Crime rates skyrocketed, as did the numbers of murderers and psychos in that region, with Sadism’s attack having successfully driven several people to acts of unimaginable cruelty.
India just barely managed to hold themselves together, teetering constantly on the brink of collapse. Even now, decades later, the ratio of villains to heroes in the South Asian region is far higher than anywhere else in the world
Out of all the Deaths, Sadism is by far the most feared
A creature described only as a pulsating mass of red, bloody flesh and tendrils, that wielded that level of power – had the intelligence needed to use that power effectively – and who appeared to be actively malicious ? It was no wonder people were terrified of her
For her actions, she was given the title “Herokiller”, with the groups’ collective title being upgraded from the “Beasts” to the “Deaths” – Rationality, the Death of Heart; Sadism, the Death of the Mind; and Devourer, the Death of the Body.
And then we hunkered down and prayed that that would never happen again
And now I was being told that that was the fate London had narrowly avoided ? Complete obliteration at the grasping claws of some incomprehensible beast ?
“She has to be lying”, I decide, after a moment of thought, turning to Emmet for reassurance, “Right ? I mean, even if we were going to be attacked, how would she know ?”
“I don’t know”, he shrugged, sounding genuinely lost, even though he looked nowhere near as surprised as I felt. Benefits of advanced cognition, I supposed. “I… the deaths tolls”, he mused, “They always did seem a bit odd to me ?”
“Odd ?”, I stare at him for a second, “How so ?”
“Well, they’re a bit… low, aren’t they ?”
“Low ? Eight million is low ?”, I gape at him, “What the f*ck are you on, Emmet ? Eight million people died !!”
“Out of 124 million”, Emmet responded, holding up his hands as if to say – hey, I’m just the messenger -, “Doesn’t that seem a bit… off to you ?”
“So… what are you suggesting ? That Masque personally ensured that the death toll would be as low as possible ?”, I scoff, “Please. Like she would do that”
“Hmm…”, he mused for a second, before looking up, and trying at a small smile, “Well… I mean – we could always just… ask her. As long as you promise not to freak out, because she kind of looked like she wanted to eviscerate you when you started being rude to her”
“My friend just got kidnapped by a band of mass-murderers !!”, I demand incredulously, “I think I have the right to be a bit rude !! How do you know, anyways ?”
Giving me a look, he reached and tapped his temple twice, “Advanced cognition, remember ? And I somehow don’t think she sees it that way”
“Well, of course she doesn’t”, I grouse, “She’s not human”
“Whatever”, he rolls his eyes, “Come on, let’s go – I’m getting kinda curious”
Sighing, I rolled my eyes, and let myself be dragged off into the kitchen, only to stop in my tracks as I come face-to-face with a very familiar face, sitting at the table with the rest of the Misaligned and Lady Masque.
Beside me, Emmet looks nearly as stunned as I feel, so clearly he had no idea about this either
I stare at her for a second, before blurting out her name, without even thinking
“JADE ??”
Chapter 23
Summary:
Sorry for the delay (╥﹏╥) I nearly died this weekend so...
Chapter Text
“Yes, very good”, Masque commented dryly from where she was sitting – that was, at one end of the table, with both remaining members of the Misaligned crowded round the other end with Jade – environmental storytelling at its finest, “Your facial recognition skills are intact, at least. Now we just need to work on tact. Have you ever heard of waiting for someone else to finish talking before… talking ?”
“I…”, I shoot her a death glare, one she, of course, ignored, before turning back to Jade and saying, hopefully not too unkindly, “What are you doing here ?”
“I…”, she looks to be on the verge of tears, “I… she brought me here”, she pointed to Masque, who simply responded with a little wave, not moving her arm, just her hand. I sigh
“Of course she did”, Emmet snarked from beside me, turning to give her a death glare identical to mine, “Keep her out of this”
“No can do, I’m afraid”, Masque responded dismissively, her eyes locking onto mine through her mask, making me feel seen… and not in a good way, more in a “getting caught naked outside” way, “You see, your little friend here triggered yesterday”
“What ?”, I blurt out, before my eyes snap to Jade, “You’re a cape now, too ?”
“What does that have to do with anything ?”, Emmet, once again the only one among the three of us remaining even remotely cool, demands, “So she’s a cape – so what ?”
“So ?”, Masque shrugged, “I mean – I could send her back, if you want – to be hounded by the press, by the agencies… by the criminals who now basically run the Banks. Seems a tad cruel to me”
“No”, I relent, “Let her stay. I…”
“It’s fine”, Masque co*cks her head in a ridiculously demeaning manner, “I accept your… honest and sincere apology”
This bitch. My lips part, ready to give her a piece of my mind, before snapping shut as I suddenly remember the sheer amount of power she wielded, “O-of course”
“Wow, she’s really making you her bitch, huh ?”, Jade whistles lowly from a few feet ahead of me, tears apparently long-forgotten
“I heard that, Ms. Turner”, Masque comments, and I can practically sense her smirk, even as it lies hidden behind her porcelain mask, “I have higher standards than that, I assure you”
I hear Emmet stifle a small snort at that, and level a fierce glare at him, before rolling my eyes, trying at a cool, unaffected demeanor, “Whatever”, I drawl, “So, what’re you here for ? And don’t give me that bullsh*t about wanting to apologize – I know you’re lying”
“Very good”, she says, in a sardonic drawl, “You have more than two brain cells, then. I’m here because I was told to be here”
“… what ?”
“My cape abilities, as some of you may have already guessed…”, she rises from her place at the table, before spinning around and leaning carelessly against the back of her chair, “… are Thinker-class. Precog level, to be more precise”
“So you foretold this ?”, Riptide says, in a voice that let me know he had, in fact, been crying, which just slapped me in the face with a wave of reality. Our friend was missing, maybe dead, maybe worse. Now was not the time for petty arguments
“Close. My power is called “Path to Victory”. It gives me… for lack of a better term… a list of steps to follow, to fulfil my… your… destiny, I suppose.”
“And it told you to come here ?”, Rapture questions, his body pressed up against Riptide, as though he were clinging to him to obtain some modicum warmth in a freezing winter, “and to…”, his jaw goes taut, “… bring the Nine here ?”
“Yes”, she confirms, “It did”
“Did it ever tell you…”, Riptide speaks up, “… if this “destiny” is good or bad ?”
“Good or bad are relative terms”, to Masque’s credit, she looks at Riptide with genuine pity in her eyes, “There is no “good destiny” or “bad destiny”, there is simply… “destiny”. It must be, not because it is the best outcome, but because it is the only outcome”
“Did…”, Emmet begins, his head rising to meet Masque’s gaze unflinchingly, “did your power tell you why Serenity was so important ? Or we, for that matter ?”
Masque nodded slowly, before sighing, “Yes… it did”, she spoke reluctantly, every word torn from her lips, “Not why Serenity was so important to Comedienne, but he…”, she gestures to me, “…he’s a sanguinokinetic”
“And ?”
“And sanguinokinetism is not… a normal cape power”
“So, it’s rare”, I shrug, “So what ?”
“You misunderstand me”, she turns to me grimly, “It’s not rare. It doesn’t exist. In all the years of capes existing – not one has displayed sanguinokinetic abilities… except for you”
“There’s a first time for everything”
“Not this”, she shakes her head, “The rest… I can’t tell you”
“What ?”, I lean towards her, “What ? But you…”
“Your power just told you not to tell us, didn’t it ?”, Emmet deduced, sighing heavily
“Yes”, Masque turns to look at him, her eyes glinting almost approvingly, “it did”
“So the… the attacks made by the Deaths on Japan, Africa, India…”, I question, “You…”
“Helped lower the casualty amount, yes”, she nods brusquely, “Although, judging by the devastation wrought by Rationality and Sadism, the Devastation of Japan was an unprecedented level of destruction – wrought by a being in no control of his powers – and therefore, I was… unfortunately… unable to lower the casualty count below eight million”
“What if it happens again ?”, Emmet asks, his voice deep with thought, “What if the Devourer attacks London, this time ?”
“It won’t”, Masque assures us, “And even if it does, whatever we face likely won’t even begin to approach the Hakodate Incident. Now, if we could kindly move away from the purely hypothetical to the pressing now… ?”
“Oh, yeah”, Emmet nodded, a little abashedly, “Of course”
“Now”, Masque nodded brusquely, “Are you all aware that the folkmoot has been called together once more ?”
“Again ??”, Emmet cried, “A mere day after the disaster that was the last one ? What are they – gluttons for punishment ??”
Masque shrugged, “Well, it had to happen anyways – now that the scales of power have shifted so drastically, with several gangs just outright obliterated”
“Which gangs ?”, Riptide questioned, his brow furrowed in concern. It was understandable – the Misaligned had very few gangs we could count on as allies. If we lost even them, then powerful capes or not, we were dead
“Have no fear”, Masque seems to understand Riptide’s concerns, “The EFS and Soldaty are more-or-less safe, since their seats of power lie in the Slums and the Inlands respectively. Plasma’s gang survived mostly unscathed, too, because, as a mercenary group, they never had a seat of power. On the other hand, the more mercantile gangs have been outright uprooted – Deathshrike’s militia, for instance, has been all but wiped out”
Rapture winced harshly, “Poor guy. Did anyone… benefit, from the attack ?”
“Yes. The…”, Masque drew in a sharp, disgusted breath, “The Druggies’ territory… has… expanded considerably to fill the vacuum of power left behind in the Nine’s wake”
“Damn scavenging bastards”, Riptide hissed, “I suppose they’re going to be all smug about this too, aren’t they ?”
“You suppose correctly”, Masque confirmed in a resigned tone, “Thankfully, Soldaty, the EFS and Plasma’s gang are still more than powerful enough to keep them in check, as are, of course, you lot”
“We’re powerful ? Since when ?”
“Since the EFS and Soldaty proclaimed you to be under their protection”
I stare at her for a second, trying to gauge if she was joking, “…what ?”, I sputter, after a good long while, “Wha- why would they do that ?”
“King is many things, but dishonorable is not one of them”, Masque informed us gleefully, “and Starlight is loyal to almost a fault. Serenity bargained for their life – I believe they think they owe you a debt”
For a good few seconds, we just stare at her in silent disbelief, before she finally speaks up, “Nothing left to say ? Good”, she rises from her seat, eyeing us through the dark eyeholes of her ornate mask “The folkmoot is taking place online, over an encrypted network – with foreign capes flooding the city to aid in clean-up, there are no more discreet, quiet places left to meet at, after all. It starts in an hour. Your newfound power should give you a voice in it, too. Get ready”
The meeting took place online, as Masque had informed us, with Riptide – the de-facto leader of the Misaligned in the event of Serenity’s absence- being the only one sitting before it, acting as both our face and our mouth.
The laptop was, of course, graciously provided. Evidently, every organization kept stockpiles of spare electronics on the far edges of their territory – mostly because the Faceless One’s scream didn’t just affect stone, and most electronics tended to be pretty messed-up after an encounter with her. Luckily, we were far enough that our TV remained functional. Unluckily, we didn’t have a laptop at all
Well, every organization save for us, clearly
To his left, we sat in a line, brimming with nerves, while Masque lounges in her own chair off to his right, one leg hanging carelessly off to the side – I suppose that when you have precognitive abilities, concerns and worries become a thing of the past
After a few seconds, windows start to pop into being onscreen – the faces of all the heads of the major gangs, this time looking a lot more bedraggled than they had back at the Houndshead – after all, they had just lived through what many people would consider a worst-case scenario
King is the first to speak, his voice crackling out through the tinny speakers of the laptop, yet somehow still carrying a note of steel, “I see everyone is present. That is… good”
“This is, of course, not ideal”, Starlight’s voice rang out next, colder than before – a king asserting his dominance following the near-collapse of his kingdom, “Online forums can easily be hacked – and there is no such thing as truly, completely encrypted”
“Would you prefer that we hold the meeting in the middle of a radioactive ruin, Starlight ?”, Plasma spoke up, “Because there are very few places left that can be used to hold a physical meeting right now. We aren’t exactly flush with choices, here”
“Regardless…”, King hastened the meeting along, before seemingly realizing, co*cking his head to one side, “Will the Druggies not be joining us today ? I was under the impression that they had declared themselves a power”
“Damn scum-sucking sewer rats”, Starlight growled deep in his throat, reclining back into his chair, “They need to know their place”
“And they do”, Zihuang spoke up, for the first time in the meeting. This close up, I couldn’t help but notice the giant crack that ran across the wall behind him, or the scars and scratches that covered practically every inch of his exposed skin, forming pale patterns, deep indents and pale marks where deep lacerations must have been only five hours ago.
I wince at the sight – the Siwong Bolao were based on the Banks – it was a borderline miracle that they had survived at all, and, judging from the devastation that spread out like a tapestry behind Zihuang, they had still been hit hard. In fact, I suspected that it was only thanks to Zihuang’s own accelerated healing that he was still alive to talk to us today
“Oh ?”, Starlight leans back, his piercing eyes rising to, no doubt, Zihuang’s face on his screen, “How so ?”
“I took back the territory they stole”, Zihuang informed us, a small smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, under his metallic half-mask, “I doubt they’ll recover from the Siwong’s attack any time soon”
“What a reign !!”, King crows gleefully, “Five hours of sovereignty, before being unceremoniously deposed. Well done, Zihuang”
The Siwong Bolao leader bows slightly, “I try”, he smirks
Masque clears her throat softly, before turning to Riptide, lifting her mask just enough to reveal her lips – painted a brilliant ruby red, and the skin of her chin – pale as the porcelain mask that covered her face. She mouthed only three words, “Repeat after me”
Riptide nodded, scrambling to straighten himself up as his eyes fell on her. Smirking, she mouthed two words – something that made Riptide lose his composure for a moment, his eyes widening slightly, before he nodded hastily and turned back to the screen
“Coming back onto track”, he interrupted, his voice carrying a faint air of confidence, “I have a plan to deal with the Nine”
The meeting goes silent, for one second, two… three. Just as I’m wondering if Masque had finally dropped us into a pit we couldn’t escape, King speaks up, his voice grim, “Deal with them ? How so ?”
Riptide draws in a sharp breath, before continuing, “You see, I believe that I know where they are right now – their… seat of power, so to speak”
“You…”, King goes quiet, as if struck silent by our sheer audacity, “… you… want to find the Nine ? Do you understand how dangerous they are, boy ?”
“It’s necessary”, Riptide insists, “We need to delay them – or maybe even turn them off East London. We can’t take them, especially not with a mere seven days to prepare”
“Are you proposing…”, Starlight speaks faintly, as though disbelieving of the words emerging from his own mouth, “… that you – your team – are going to enter the lion’s maw? To keep them busy while we… gather up our resources for… well, either an evacuation or a… a counterattack ?”
“Yes”
“In case you haven’t noticed”, Zihuang drawled, “There’s a quarantine. One upheld quite stringently by the government”
Riptide looks over to Masque again, before turning back to the computer, “Like hell it is”, he scoffed, “You and I know both know that the government is too fangless to police anything above a certain level of strength. And…”, he paused for a moment, “I have reason to believe that everyone currently in attendance far surpasses that level”
“This is madness”, King muses, “but… you’re not wrong. Someone needs to hold them off”
“And who better to do it than us ?”, Riptide manages a wry smile, “Right ?”
“I will provide you with a… a transport”, King nods after a few moments of silence, “but no men. I won’t have my soldiers dying to the gnashing jaws of those monsters”
“Understood”, Riptide nodded sharply, a smile tugging at his lips, “Thank you”
“God help you”, Starlight commented before Riptide disconnected, “or the Devil – since that’s who you’re paying a visit to”
With that, Riptide disconnected, the screen going dark as he heaved a sigh of relief. There was no point in sticking around after getting what we wanted – it would merely add more variables to an already volatile mixture
“Nicely done, Riptide”, Rapture grinned from beside me, reaching over to pat him on the back, “You’re good at… proposing suicide missions”
“Thanks, I guess”, Riptide sighed again, before his eyes rose to meet Masque’s, “So… can you ? Tell us where the Nine are ?”
Masque looked down at him, pulling her mask back into place, before nodding sharply, “I can”
Chapter 24
Chapter Text
A few hours later, we found ourselves walking down the familiar path to the now extremely unfamiliar Banks. Where there had once been trendy shops and high-class restaurants, were now broken husks of buildings, smoking and looking like they had been hit with a nuke.
Most of them looked crumpled inwards, but at least looked eerily like it had exploded outwards, shattering debris and glass all over the stone walkways of the Banks.
I knew that attacks from the Nine tended to cause a huge surge of triggers – the cape population of Russia had grown exponentially in the last four days alone for that reason, after all. I also knew that Comedienne was apparently extremely bitter that the Nine were technically no longer “nine”, having been reduced to a mere seven capes. There was an easy answer to be reached here, but considering the exploded building had once been a kindergarten, I wasn’t sure I wanted to reach it
I look over, beyond the shattered buildings, and flinch at what I see. A huge walls of glass was rising from the fence that overlooked the Thames, curling inwards, into itself near the top, and curving near the bottom, like a great tidal wave of crystal. Looking closely, I could see that the glass appeared to be dyed a deep crimson, and looking even closer, I could spot scraps of… things trapped inside the shimmering solid – scraps of clothing… a dog’s leash. A watch, still wrapped around a dismembered hand…
Shuddering, I look away, just as we arrive at our destination – the very edge of London city, where the Thames widened considerably, preparing to meld with the North Sea, a few feet behind the Nore – or at least, where the Nore used to be, since it appeared to be… gone now. Well, that was a bit distressing, wasn’t it ? The idea that the Nine could just up and erase landmarks that had been there for ages
Regardless, we arrive there, at a small break in the fence that separated the frothing waters of the Thames from the land, where the pavement opened up into a small railed staircase, leading down to a wooden boardwalk-esque platform that seemed to wind along the Thames.
Directly before us, a small aquatic craft was waiting – a black, metallic corvette-like vehicle, only sleeker, with a shiny tinted-black glass half-dome covering her nose and front, the back covered by an equally shiny metal dome. All over the craft, I notice small hatches built into the framework – small, cut-out squares that no-doubt folded into the vehicle to expose turrets and cannons. Right on the side, where the metal framework met the glass bow of the ship, she bore a white sigil – the mark of Soldaty
A tall, young man stands before, dressed in what looks strikingly-similar to a more streamlined version of classic riot gear, a shiny gas mask covering his face. I raise my eyebrows at the sight – for all of King’s talk about not sending us men, he did, in the end, even if said man was only the driver of the craft
Despite his armor, the man didn’t hold himself like someone who’d seen combat, merely driven people to and from it – his armor was loosely tied, and his posture was too casual. Basically, he wore his armor like a last resort, like King, afraid of what the Nine might do to even bystanders, ordered him to wear it
No doubt the man had also received orders to skedaddle at the first sign of true danger.
“Huh”, Jade commented, sounding a bit shell-shocked. Oh right, she’s never seen this level of wealth, devastation or power before. The last two days must have just been a constant series of neck-breaking whiplashes for her. I wince slightly, reaching over to pat her on the shoulder, as Emmet does the same.
“How’s the school ?”, Emmet leans over to whisper to her, trying to ground her, anchor her to the now. He was always the most emotionally intelligent amongst us
“Blown up”
f*ck. I wince again, and Emmet’s eyes close slightly, as if trying to decide between coming up with yet another question or asking the question clearly on his mind, “Did…um.. anyone die ?”
Looks like he chose the latter
“I… I don’t know”
“What about Emily Madison ?”, I speak up, before wincing as Emmet turns to stare at me. “What ?”, I demand indignantly, “I have a terrible memory. You know this ”
“Didn’t she get shredded ?”, Jade speaks up, and thankfully, was starting to sound… well… normal again
“Well, her back did”, Emmet replied, smirking slightly, “Her dad sued the farmer who owned the shredder. And… um…”, his lips snapped shut. I stare at him dumbly for a moment, before remembering that the courthouse was on the Banks too. sh*t, the two of them must’ve gotten killed in the attack, too
“Ran out of money !!”, I quietly pat myself on the back for that save, “Before the case could be resolved. All their finances – poof”
“Because the bank got blown up ?”, Jade asks quietly, and I mentally face-palm
“Because the Madisons weren’t that rich to begin with”, Emmet corrects
“Why aren’t the other gangs here ?”, Riptide grouses from a few feet ahead of us, as we finally catch up with the others, “Shouldn’t they want to attack the Nine, too ?”
“I told you, Riptide”, Rapture sighs, “No one wants to risk it – the Nine are simply too powerful to attack head-on”
“Then why the hell are we doing it ?”
“Because, first of all, the Nine have one of our own… and plus, we’re batsh*t insane”
“Good to see you all finally developed some self-awareness”, Masque commented, rushing past a sputtering Rapture to talk to the driver of the modified corvette in a low, hushed tone
Falling back, Riptide turned to eye us critically, looking us up and down. I’m not entirely certain what he’s looking for, but whatever it is, Jade seems to lack it completely. He grimaces, “Greenhorn, huh ?”
“Yeah”, Jade nodded, and Riptide’s grimace deepens, as he turns to exchange some quick words with Rapture, who nods back. Riptide turns back to Jade, “I think you should stay back”
“What ?! Why ? I have powers now !!”
“We’re going up against the Nine From Hell, little girl”, Rapture spoke up coldly, “City-destroyers. Madmen. This isn’t a child’s game – we can’t afford to have rookies here”
“I can-“, Jade sputters indignantly, looking offended, “I can help !! Let me help !”
I exchange a knowing look with Emmet over her shoulder, before leaning down to whisper in her ear, “Hey, someone needs to stay back anyways, to manage things back home. The city’s been thrown into turmoil – someone needs to hold our place in it, right ? You’ll be doing a very important job”
“But –“, Jade turns to look at me, before her eye seems to catch on something, and absolute horror glints in the depths of her eyes .
I look over and wince as I notice it – a smear of red running up the sole standing wall of a dilapidated building, littered with small lumps of fresh meat and scraps of red cloth, like someone had slammed a person into the wall and dragged him upwards, hard enough to pulverize him.
She turns a bit green at the sight, and speaks up, in a low, quiet voice, “On second thoughts, I think I’ll stay back”
“Good”, Emmet nods briskly, “You know your way back, yeah ?”
“Y-yeah”, she nods reluctantly, as she turns to walk back up the stairs leading down to the boardwalk, her steps echoing out into the unnatural silence like gunshots. At the very top, she turns back, shooting us a longing look, “You will be back soon, right ?”, she asks, “and in one piece ??”
Emmet and I exchange another look, before Emmet turns to her, “We’ll try”
“You better”
With that, she was gone, disappearing off towards the relative safety and normalcy of the Slums, her footsteps slowly fading into silence. I turn back to the gruesome display that had dissuaded Jade from trying to help us, and an almost unconscious grimace pulls my lips
“We’re greenhorns, too, aren’t we ?”, Emmet leaned in to whisper in my ear, “Why are we doing this ?”
“Because Serenity was… is our friend”, I retort, before heaving a great sigh, “Although we’re probably all going to die in the process”
“Are you planning to stay back or something ?!”, Masque called back towards us, a sneer etched across her face – for someone wearing a Victorian mask, she sure could be expressive when she wanted to be, “Get a move on !!”
Rolling our eyes, we filed into the open doorway of the marine craft, before noticing that Masque appeared to be… lingering
“Aren’t you coming with us ?”, Emmet turned to her. She co*cked her head at the sound of his voice, lifting her mask to show off her lips curling upwards into a small half-smile
“Oh please”, she scoffed, “I’m a Thinker-class. I’d get slaughtered in seconds”
“I’m a Thinker-class, too”
“Yes, but”, she pursed her lips, “you’re also insane”. Raising her hand, she waved us a quick goodbye, “Alright, bye now !! Have fun !!”
Sighing, Emmet turned to enter the craft, turning to me in the airlock entryway as the curved door slid shut behind us with a pneumatic hiss, “I’m not sure what I expected”, he muttered as the engines turned on with a low hum
With a splash, the boat began moving through the water, down into the North Sea, as we entered the main room of the vehicle – a small, cramped, metallic space, populated with three couches set at right angles, a table between them.
Riptide was seated on one, Rapture beside him. a laptop folded open in front of them. Rapture looks up as we approach, shooting us a small smile, before it shrinks into a reluctant frown, “She’s not coming ?”
“Nope”, Emmet slung his leg over the couch and sank down into it, as I take a seat beside him, “Because she’s a Thinker, apparently”
“That’s actually pretty concerning”, Riptide pointed out, “She’s a precog – if she considers it too dangerous to go…”
“Well, we can’t exactly turn around now, can we ?”, I grimace, “Just… try not to think about it”
“Easier said than done”, Rapture muttered, before whistling sharply, turning the laptop screen around to let us have a look at what he was looking at, “Well, Masque followed through – that must be where the Nine’s main base is”
It was a map of the world, fairly standard, all things considered – a bit more detailed than normal, but I assumed that was because it was one of those fancy zoomy-map thingies, where you could zoom in to take a closer look. I had seen one of those when I had visited the Glaxxon headquarters on a class trip, though that had been a full 3d render of the globe, fed with constant live footage.
It takes me a moment to notice it, but when I do, I draw in a sharp breath. The isle of Japan – well, half an isle now, as was evident by the jagged, torn lower half of Honshu Island, floating aimlessly in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, it’s top part having been ripped clean off.
The provinces – well, remaining provinces – were named, along with major cities within. And there, bordering Tokyo, sandwiched between the regions of Kanagawa and Saitama – both practically ghost towns now, with most of the inhabitants of Japan having fled the country for fear of another attack - was a blinking red dot, right over the now-destroyed coast of Japan, over the…
“What sector is that ?”, I ask, almost immediately getting an answer from Emmet, because of course I did.
“Minato”, he informed me mildly, “the harbor of Tokyo”
“The city with the…”, I gesture vaguely, “The… Z-flag ?”
He stares at me for a second, before sighing, “Yeah, that’s right – though it’s… not a city. It’s also the region least affected by the Devourer’s attack”
“So it has inhabitants ?”, Rapture grimaces, “That’s… concerning”
“More importantly, it has facilities – a rudimentary governmental system, shops.... Technically speaking, Tokyo still has the Imperial Palace”
“They still use that ?”
“No, the Emperor is dead and no one bothered to replace him, but… well… they still have it. Not sure why”
“I am”, Riptide nodded vaguely at nothing, “People like having a figure-head to crowd around. Something to assure them that – no matter how bad things get – some things never change. I suspect that to the inhabitants of Tokyo, it doesn’t really matter if the palace is empty. All that matters is that it’s there”
“Considering the Nine just moved in downtown”, Rapture pointed out, “I’m not sure if there are any “inhabitants of Tokyo” left”
“Fair enough”, Riptide’s grimace deepened, “Still – that’s our goal, I guess. Someone go up front and hand this to the… captain ? What’s the driver of a boat called ?”
“Helmsman”, Rapture said, reclining back into the couch, “and no need – Masque probably already told him. That’s probably what she was whispering to him”
“Why the f*ck was she whispering ?”
“Because it’s Masque”, Rapture deadpanned, “Since when does anything she does make sense ?”
“She’s also a precog”, Emmet pointed out, “There’s probably more to her actions than she’s letting on – and there’s no way that’s all she told him. It’s just that”, he frowns, “something’s stopping me from looking at her secrets”
“The Monroe effect”, Rapture nodded slightly, “It stops Thinker-classes from affecting other Thinker-classes. Basically, two Thinkers going up against each other essentially always turns into a bare-knuckle brawl”
“Unless it’s Hercules”, Riptide glanced up at us for a second, “He uses his cognitive abilities to augment his own strength – don’t ask me how that works, I have no idea. A fight against him is essentially the same as a fight against a super-strong Recipient-class”
“Oh”, Emmet murmurs faintly, and I can practically hear the nib of his mind’s pen squeaking as he mentally jots that down, “Is he with the Nine ?”
“No. Hellfire Gang”, Riptide stretched slightly, stifling a yawn, “Depending on who you ask, that’s either better or worse”
“What ? How could the Hellfire Gang be worse than the Nine ?”, I turn to him incredulously, “Did you not see the sheer amount of devastation the Nine wrought in… what ? Five minutes ?”
“Yeah, but here’s the thing. The Nine don’t attack places frequently – at least not as frequently as the Hellfire Gang do. This ? This was an anomaly – we had something they wanted, and they came after us to get it. The Hellfire, on the other hand ? Well… have you ever heard of the Newfoundland Blast Wave ?”
“In passing”
“Yeah, that was them”, Rapture grinned humorlessly, “They single-handedly flattened the Great Northern Plateau of Newfoundland with a chain of absolutely earth-shattering attacks – over the course of a mere five days. That part of the island is still uninhabited”
“Basically”, Riptide breaks in, “They might not do much damage per attack... but they attack a lot. Also, they tend to repeat themselves a lot, so towns and cities attacked by them tend to be deserted shortly after, because if you’ve survived one attack by them, it’s basically guaranteed that they’re coming back to finish you off”
“Still”, I insist, unconvinced, “The Nine are way worse”
“Oh, absolutely”, Rapture shrugged, “But it’s like the difference between… say… a nuke landing on your city and the guy down the street shanking you for your coin. You’re scared of one a lot more than the other, because it’s much more likely”
“Rapture, I live in the Slums of East London”, I deadpan, “To me, a guy shanking me is just an unlucky day”
Rapture snorts, “Fair enough. Okay, the difference between Cthulhu rising and squashing you to a pulp or a nuke falling on your city, then”
“Which one of those is more destructive ?”
He gives me a scathing look, before speaking in a flat one, “Figure it out, dipsh*t”
“What about the Horrors ?”, Riptide said languidly, looking up briefly from his laptop, “They’re pretty terrifying, aren’t they ?”
“They’re urban myths”, Rapture retorted, “Plus, even if they are real, they’re not a group – they’re a classification for people with powers that make them… well, creepy as f*ck”
“Like ?”
“Well, there’s Something – he’s the most famous of them all”, Riptide counted off, “Discovered in an abandoned school in downtown Kyoto, 1946. Showed up a few times after the Hakodate Incident too, according to reports – seems like he feeds on the despair generated by calamities. According to descriptions, her form fluctuates to match the current social clime – resembling a humanoid version the mushroom cloud generated by a nuclear bomb in 1946 and the… assumed appearance of the Devourer… after the Hakodate Incident ”
“There’s Slit-Mouth”, Rapture said, “I think she’s scarier – three-faced woman with a Glasgow grin a mile wide, who shows up in random locations and offers her victims deals”
“That doesn’t sound that scary”, I interject
“The deals are rigged”, he explained, “You’ll always come away the loser – usually missing a body part or two. Sometimes she just outright decides to kill you”
“Pretty creepy”, Emmet remarked, “Very Lovecraftian”
“Don’t worry”, Rapture shrugged, stretching his limbs a little, “They’re probably just myths. It’s a bit difficult to believe that no one’s managed to take pictures of them, after seeing them”, he performed some air-quotes, “so many times”
“Some people say they’re residual effects left over from Sadism’s attack on India, which…”, Riptide frowns slightly, pursing his lips, “just…uh… doesn’t make sense. They’ve mostly been sighted in Japan, China, Korea – some times in India, yeah, but mostly outside it. So yeah, unfortunately, probably fake”
“Unfortunately ??”, I ask incredulously, “Thank God they’re fake !! I don’t want to have to deal with three sets of incomprehensible horrors !!”
“The Nine are pretty comprehensible”, Emmet interjected, “Just… terrifying to think about”
“Anyways, the thing is – we only need to worry about three things right now”, Rapture held up three fingers to illustrate his point, “The Nine, the Deathbringers, and the Hellfire Gang. So it’s kind of pointless to talk about other things”
“The Deathbringers ?”, Riptide questioned, “The Hellfire Gang I can get – they haven’t attacked anywhere in a while and everyone is starting to get a bit nervous… but the Deathbringers ?”
“Yup – those bastards might be delusional madmen obsessed with the Deaths, but they’re also insidious… and very clever”, Rapture grimaced, “East London is a wreck right now. Even if the Nine didn’t destroy it completely, they still broke a huge portion of the infrastructure. The people want – no, they need – an idol to crowd around right now… and we aren’t the only ones to have realized that”
“You think the Deathbringers are going to make a power play soon”
“Yup”, Rapture heaved a great sigh, “Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do about it right now, so… just forget I said anything”
“Wait, why the Deathbringers ?”, Emmet speaks up, “Surely, some of the other gangs would be more likely to make a move for the throne ? Soldaty, the EFS… even Plasma’s Crew ?”
“Simple”, Riptide’s lips twist into a small scowl, “The Deathbringers are cruel and cultish. They’re cunning and insidious, and… most importantly, they’re fanatical. Unlike the Soldaty or EFS, whose goals begin and end with the shine of a coin, they’re fueled by their belief in something… greater than humanity. The beliefs that the Deaths are gods. And they’ll do anything to spread said belief”
“Including”, Rapture picked up where Riptide trailed off, “taking over a wrecked city and indoctrinating the traumatized inhabitants therein.”
“I attended one of their sermons once”, Riptide winced, “That man – their heir, Baal, the Golden Goat. He’s got eyes like fireballs, and a voice like thunder. It’s no surprise that the Deathbringers are so widespread, if all their preachers are as eloquent as him”
“What’s his cape ability ?”, Emmet asks, Rapture responding with a small, careless shrug
“No one knows”, he replies, “Or at least, no one’s survived to tell the tale”
“So the Deathbringers – I’ve heard of them in passing… but are they like… villains ? What’s their deal ?”
“They’re a cult. In the most literal sense”, Riptide’s scowl deepened, “Nothing they do is illegal, per se, some deeds even seeming heroic when taken at face value – to the point that some individuals even consider them heroes. But make no mistake – they’re villains.”
Sighing slightly, he leaned back against his couch as he continued, “Bigotry is common against them, especially the lower ranks – hom*ophobia, wide-spectrum racism, prejudice against Abominations – that’s the class of capes whose powers cause bodily deformities. But none of the big media outlets ever report on that”
“Because they have excellent PR”, Rapture continued, “They have branches dedicated solely to present an attractive face to the media and the government – the Bristol and Central London branches are the most involved in that – you might have heard of them – the Winged Angel Charity and the Church of the Three Saviors ?”
“Those are cults ?”
“The fronts for a cult, yes”, Rapture nodded grimly, “There’s not much else to say about them- at least, not much else that’s known about them. They’re a cult – brainwashing, abduction, isolation and all, living far removed from most civilization – though they do remain careful to limit their more visible crimes to petty larceny and thievery, lest law enforcement catch a whiff of their more… unsavory deeds. Of course, even those crimes are usually far removed from their actual name. Other than that, we know… pretty much jack sh*t”
Emmet swallows, “They sound…”, he seems a little lost for words. Riptide shoots him a sympathetic look
“I know”, he nods, “Don’t worry about that right now, though. Chances are high that the Nine will kill us long before they become so much as a blip on our radar”
“Gee”, Emmet commented, a bit faintly, “That sure makes me feel better”
Chapter 25
Chapter Text
The golden-masked man gazed calmly into the depths of his equally golden drink. Around him, the noises of general humanity resounded, as the pub’s business hours wrapped up.
The patrons rose and left, jostling each other, talking and laughing, and yet he didn’t move- sitting as still as a statue. His woolen cloak – marker of his faith, fell about his shoulders like a snowdrift, somehow still pristine despite dragging on the filthy bar floor. He made no move to pick it up, or to rise to leave.
“Hey, fella”, the barman walked over to his table, speaking in his sternest voice, “Time’s up. You gotta go”
“Do me a favor”, Baal spoke in a dull monotone, his voice layered with rhythmic, intoxicating power, “Go to the backroom, and slit your throat open, yeah ?”
“What ? What are you-”, the man sputtered, before his words cut off, his body going as stiff as a statue as the Deathbringer heir’s power took hold. With slow, unwilling steps, the man walked back to his counter, smashing a glass bottle on the wooden bar’s edge, the glass shards tumbling down the front like a shower of tinsel
A door opened, a door slammed, and a squelching noise informed Baal that the task had been carried out. He barely flinched as the resounding thud of the man’s body collapsing onto the dusty backroom floor reached him, merely reaching over and playing with his untouched drink – sticking a finger into the golden fluid and stirring it, watching the liquid follow his finger like a silvery tornado
“Now, now, Baal”, a female voice sounded behind him, making him snap back to attention. His eyes snapped around to meet with a pair of cold blue ones. The tall, shadowy woman made her way across the bar floor, her power making her flicker gently in the young man’s vision – appearing duplicated, triplicated. One moment she was standing at the other end of the bar and the next she was right beside him, the way she had always been – towering over him, an insurmountable monument to the might of the Deaths, “What have I told you about playing with your powers ?”
Baal flinched, like he was a child again, “M-my apologies, High Lady… I…”
Smack
The slap knocked his head to one side. The cool air hit his face, his mask somehow removed before he could even react. A red handprint blossomed like a rose against the pale skin of his right cheek
“I mean…”, he tried again, flinching as Mama raised her hand to take his drink, sipping from it, “… My apologies, Mama”
“Don’t stammer again, boy”, Mama warned in a cold tone, draining his – no, hers… everything was hers- glass in one gulp. She co*cked her head – strangely, under her ability. One moment, her head was held straight, perpendicular to her shoulder-blades – the next, it was at a 45 degree angle to them. She touched the glass and the liquid refilled itself – this time, a pale pink color. She raised it to her lips again, “We are the salvation of this world. We are the spear of glory – the harbingers of the Deaths – boy, look me in the eyes when I AM SPEAKING !!”, she roared, grabbing him by his long, black hair – she used to help him brush the knots out of them once. Now they just grew filthy and matted – and dragging his head up to force him to meet her piercing eyes
An agonizing headache ripped through his head at the sight, and for a moment Baal was senseless – blind, deaf, mute. When he came to, he found himself choking out an apology – making sure to not stammer this time
“Good”, she scoffed, letting go of his hair, releasing him from his power. Groaning, she shifted against the table – and the table-top shifted too, transforming from a dull, stained oak, to a polished, shiny mahogany. She brushes her hair from her eyes, and it immediately transforms into a high-tied ponytail, “Do you know my powers, boy ?”
“No, Mama”
“I see the vast expanse of the universe – the universes – and I influence them. Swapping objects between them with a touch”, she said – she wasn’t boasting, she spoke coldly, as if stating a mere fact, “This table here ? It used to belong to a rich noble on Earth-Giml. Now it’s here and he has to make do with a stained, oaken bar table.”
“That’s…”, Baal swallowed hard, “… very nice, Mama”
Smack
Another slap, this time knocking his head to the other side. Baal drew in a shuddering breath, shrinking into himself, the way he always used to when he was younger, “Don’t get smart with me, boy”, Mama threatened, before reaching up and touching her lips, a cigarette appearing in between her fingers, “What I am trying to tell you, boy, is that I have seen that you have to go to East London”
“Mama ?”, he looked up, before his eyes immediately fell, scared – it was not his place to question, only to obey, “Yes, Mama”
“You may ask me why I am not choosing a more…”, her lips curled up into a disdainful sneer, “… capable heir”
“Yes, Mama ?”
“It is because… as foolish as you are”, he flinched at that, before forcing himself to grow still under her baleful gaze, “… they are more so than you”, her voice grew soft for a moment, “Isn’t that right, my little angel ?”
“Yes…”, he looked up longingly, “Yes, Mama”
“Don’t be so arrogant, Baal”, Mama said, her voice cold and stony again, “You will go to East London. You will bring in more members for the Deathbringers” – not a request, an order, “The Church will be managed by Paimon in the meantime”
“Paimon ?”, Baal sputtered, “That fool doesn’t know the slightest thing about –“
Mama reached up to encircle one hand around his throat, her thumb pressing into his trachea. She smiled unsettlingly wide – the kind of smile she always wore before beating Baal’s siblings, “Never take that tone with me again, young man. Understand ?”
“Yes…”, he choked out through her iron grip, letting out a long sigh as she let him go, returning to her seat, “Yes”, he reached up to rub at his sore throat, “Yes, Mama”
“I remember when you were a child, my little one”, her voice dropped an octave, becoming soothing once more, “I remember when you, still suckling at my breast, looked up at me with eyes that flashed. My little diamond. Blessed child. Cursed child. One in a million. It was then, that I knew, that you were destined for great things – to be a queen bee, amongst the drones of the hive”
Baal kept his eyes low, fixed on the table, not daring to exult in the praise he was being given – if it even was praise, “Yes, Mama”
“Baal, do you know what happens to a queen bee who can no longer perform her duties?”
He remained silent, but she didn’t particularly seem to care, “They’re replaced . Destroyed by their own hive in order to make room for a better one. Is that what you want, Baal? For us to replace you? I don’t want to… but you’re forcing my hand”
“No !!”, the words ripped their way out his throat before he could stop them, and he looked up, his golden eyes meeting his mother’s victorious blue, “No… Mama no… I’ll be good, I promise”
“Of course, my little Baal”, his mother’s lips twisted into an almost-derisive smile, “Of course you will”
With that, she rose to leave, her long, black dress flaring out behind her like the hood of a cobra. A few steps forward, and she turns to him, her gaze severe as it falls on him, almost burning his flesh, “Do not disappoint me”
“Of course, Mama”
With a small scoff, she marched away, her head held high, disappearing into the shadowy corners of the small-town bar.
“Well, isn’t that interesting”, a sneering voice spoke from the other corner, sending ripples through Baal’s head. He drew in a soft, shuddering breath as his oldest brother broke away from the wall, approaching him – a cold, dark silhouette, “Mama seems to consider you… special”
Baal drew in a sharp breath – he had no reason to fear his brother, and so he layered his voice with his Mesmer, though he still didn’t look up to perceive his sibling, “Well, I am. How many capes have triggered at the age of five, Asmodai ?”
“You little brat”, his brother hissed, slamming his hands down onto the table. Baal hastily looked away to avoid catching sight of them and falling victim to his brother’s power, “Do you know who I am ? The leader of the Winged Angels sect. What are you managing, huh ? Some random hickey church ?”
He looked away from his brother completely then, recalling what his mother had told him – look at him, and he will be all that you see, and he will see through you. Touch him and he can feel through you. Speak of him, and he will know where you are. Think of him too deeply, and he will infect your very thoughts
There was a reason the rest of his siblings called Asmodai the “Cancer of the Mind”, after all
“The Church of the Three Saviors is one of the main proponents of the holy religion of the Deaths”, Baal scoffed, “What have the Angels done ? Other than roughing up the occasional gay man as he exits a bar, sloshed out of his mind ? You don’t even do that much anymore, do you ? Only when Heir is miles away from our city”
“You little…”, Asmodai shuddered slightly as he cut himself off – Mama didn’t approve of violence amongst her children, “Baal”, he said again, in a more civil tone, reaching down to grip his younger brother’s jaw and wrench his head upwards. Luckily, he managed to close his eyes in time, though he couldn’t help but marvel at his brother’s costume – not the acolyte-esque monk’s garb he wore, and not Mama’s black dress.
It was brutish, built for a fight, with armor that resembled rhino hide, studded and trimmed with quite a number of wickedly barbed blades. All in all, it suited his name – a demon, brought up from Hell
“Yes, brother ?”, Baal said, keeping his voice steady. His tongue flickered out to lick at the tattoos that decorated his lips – small horned fangs alternatingly rising up or stabbing downward from the thin line of his mouth, like a crocodile’s fangs. A tic he’d had since he was a kid.
“Do you understand the golden egg we’ve just been handed ? A city, fresh from devastation – everyone will be racing for it. I’ve heard rumors that the Fangs are already beginning to stir over in West London. The Hellfire Gang are circling the city like roaming vultures, too. Do not mess this up”
“You don’t give me orders”, Baal sneered, “Mama has already relayed this to me – I obey her, not you”
Asmodai responded with a restrained growl, before reaching up to grab Baal’s scalp, smashing his brother’s face into the mahogany top of the table, “You’re cunning, little brother”, Asmodai growled, “but you need to know when to shut. The f*ck. Up”
Baal reared back up slightly, a smile pulling at his lips, despite the blood streaming from his nose, “Mama’s going to get you for that”, he laughed deliriously, “You’ll regret… that”
I could kill you so easily, he thought, tell you to slit your throat. Send my acolytes after you. Tell one of your men to bomb you or stab you in the back. I can make it painful or painless. I can make you suffer
But a single name stayed his tongue
Mama
Her violent beatings. Begging for a reprieve. Her screaming voice. Pain pain pain
He drew in another shaky breath, before gritting his pearly white teeth, as he felt his brother grab him by the hair again, dragging him fully upright again – a firework of pain going off in the young man’s scalp as he did.
He really should get that cut
A flash of pain crossed his mind, and he hastily shook his head to dislodge the incorrect thought
Mama would be angry
His face smashed into the table again, before his brother rose from the table, his armored feet clacking metallically against the wooden floor. Without a word, Asmodai left the bar, leaving his brother breathing heavily into a puddling pool of his own blood, till he finally managed to wrench himself upright, a ball of fury growing in his chest
He looked around wildly, stilling as his eyes come across a young woman standing pale and frozen in the corner – the barman’s wife. sh*t
“How much did you see ?”, Baal asked coldly, before snapping his fingers together, without waiting for an answer, making the woman freeze in place as her eyes met Baal’s, “You know what ? Forget it. Go bash your head open against the backroom door. Make it look a suicide… somehow”
With a groan of discomfort, Baal rose from his seat, picking up his mask, and reaching up to try to stem the blood streaming from his almost-certainly broken nose. As we trudged wearily towards the doorway, he heard the rhythmic, distinct noises of someone repeatedly bashing their head into a doorframe, and smiled slightly. Well, at least there were still a few things he could control
And with that, Baal was gone, leaving behind an empty bar, and two rapidly-cooling, festering corpses
Chapter 26
Chapter Text
Emily sat before the TV, the chipped, faded remote clutched in her hands, her eyes fixed on the screen before her, some nondescript cartoon playing on it. She hadn’t taken her eyes off it since her parents had sat her down in front of it, going off to investigate the noises she had been hearing in the front lawn
It had been two hours since then, and they hadn’t returned
Out the corner of her eye, she spotted the door to her bedroom creak slightly open, an inky darkness lying beyond it. A pause, and then a single eye peered in through the crack, watery and silver. A finger reached out, crooked, calling for her. A sweet, melodious voice rang out into the air
“Come out, little one”, the voice hammered at the doors to her head, almost seeming like it was grabbing her by the arms and dragging her towards the slightly-ajar door, the way her parents always used to when she slept in too late, “Come out”
She rose, trembling slightly, to her feet, approaching the eye and the finger. The second she got close, though, the body parts disappeared, leaving the now familiar sight of the hall beyond her bedroom door
There was a red balloon standing in the middle of it, right at the top of the stairs leading down to the first floor, weighed down with a plastic baggie full of something dark and dry. Pushing the door open slightly, she approached it – ignoring the pungent, coppery scent that filled the air outside. Reaching down she grabbed it, lifting it with a little effort – she had always loved balloons, after all
For a moment, she just stared at the baggie, its contents visible through the translucent plastic – black dirt, and long, white... somethings. Emily was sure she had seen them before – in x-rays, in hospital rooms. A pause, and the word came to her – bones. Human bones
A rustling noise from further down the stairs dragged her attention towards it – and the blue balloon swaying on the tenth step, weighed down with another bag of bones and soil. Grabbing it, she tucked its string in the same hand she was using to hold the red balloon
A creaking noise made her lift her eyes to her bedroom door, watching as it slowly, meticulously, drew shut. Finally, something resembling dread started to well up in her heart, her child-mind finally starting to comprehend what, exactly, was happening here – where, exactly, her parents had gone
Out of the shadows behind her, emerged fingers, long and curling, trailing along the skin of her upper arm, stinging her tender flesh where they touched. Letting out a sharp yelp, she spun around, only to come face-to-face with...nothing. Just an empty staircase.
It reminded her of a poem her mother used to love. As she travelled further down the stairs, her mind replayed the lines
Yesterday upon the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there
At the base of the staircase stood another balloon – black, this time. This one was strange, though – the plastic bag weighing it down streaked with fresh, trickling streaks of dark red. Lifting it up, she noticed that the bag was different – there was no soil in it. It was filled to the brim with strands of dark black hair, their ends spattered with blood, shreds of flesh still hanging off them.
Her mother had black hair
She was starting to get a very, very bad feeling about this
Out the corner of her eyes, she spotted lights – the kitchen lights were on. Mommy wouldn’t like that. She moved over to it, intent on shutting them off – her brain narrowing her focus onto this simple task, if only for the sake of preserving her sanity
She paused as she reached the entrance to the kitchen. Something dark and red was spreading across the tiles, pooling in the grooves, viscous and thick. Ahead of her, a foot scraped across the floor, shoeless and sockless, pale white, the color of milk. Its nails were at least an inch long, thin, ending at a sharp point. Its bony ankle was splattered with blood, while a thin piece of intestine sat between the toes.
And then it stepped behind the kitchen island, disappearing from view, fast enough that Emily could almost pretend that it was a figment of her imagination. Except the pungent smell that filled the house was stronger than ever, and now a face was poking its way out from behind the island
It was... something Emily had never seen before, more scar than flesh – ragged tears slicing across its pale skin. For some reasons, the details seemed to blur as she focused on its more delicate features, her eyes unfocusing whenever they drew too close to it. A purple tinge filled the air as the figure unfolded itself from behind the island
It seemed to tower over her, dark and blurry in the purple air, red eyes staring out at her over a smile that seemed just a touch too wide to be human. A long, thin limb extended out from it, a clawed finger curling once, twice.
She stepped forward, and the smile widened, before the dark, thin lips parted to reveal a mouth brimming with fangs, “Emily”, the voice was oily, and seemed to echo impossibly in the small space of the kitchen, “Emily”
He paused for a moment, “Emily, would you like to see a magic trick ?”, his voice dissolved into breathy, pained-sounding giggles, like his voice was being ripped free of his lips with significant effort and pain, “Emily. Emily”
She paused. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes trailed to the plastic-wrapped figure lying against the kitchen cabinets behind the figure, the plastic stained a deep, dark red, the face – or what remained of it – clearly visible
It was her mother. Was her mother. Half of her face could still be seen. The right side of her face had been shredded. It was like she had been in a fight with a dog. Through the plastic, Emily thought she could see her shoulder – the muscles visible, torn and bloody. Her hair – the hair she had always been so proud of – had been torn out, leaving behind a bare scalp streaked with bleeding, tiny cuts
She swayed slightly where her corpse had been propped up against the cabinets, bits of skin hanging from her shredded cheek swaying back and forth, drizzling blood everywhere
Emily just stared at it for a moment, her brain stuttering to a halt. Only one thought managed to slip through. Oh. Mommy’s going to be angry. She hates cleaning the kitchen. Then it hit her. Mommy wasn’t going to be angry. Mommy wasn’t going to be anything
The figure, however, was. His eyes furrowed slightly, a flare of anger passing through it, “Oh”, he giggled, “You spoiled the surprise. Bad girl. Only bad girls do that”, the clawed hand, still extended, suddenly snapped forward, wrapping around her wrist in a grip tight enough to make her bones creak. It dragged her closer to the man-thing, close enough that she could see the grin, too big, too wide... and brimming with finger-length fangs, “And you know what happens to bad girls, don’t you ?”
Five hours later, the door slammed loudly, the red-and-blue lights of the sirens of PR&D classification armored vans filtering in through the still-curtained windows. Beyond the door, the noises of movement could be heard, before, with an almighty slam, the door came off its hinges, men armored in black filtering into the dark house, the scent of cooling blood filling the air, undetectable to the visored PR&D agents, whose helmets were already filtering ot the sickening scent
They had scarcely walked two steps into the house, when they paused. Something was glistening in front of them, warm and wet and sticky. Their flashlights rose to train their beams at the obstacle, only to fall again a few seconds later, as even the trained, hardened PR&D agents felt nausea churn at their stomachs at the repulsive sight
A girl’s body had been suspended in mid-air, spread-eagle, eyes closed gently with bloodied fingers. Sinews, veins – evidently anything the killer could find that was fibrey inside the body- had been wrapped around her limbs, the other end tied to the blades of the fan high above. Onto her back had been sown wings – made of human limbs, bent and broken to resemble the wing-bones of a bird, their interiors studded with bloodied, snapped-off ribs
The commander of the squad stepped forward, his footsteps sloshing through the pool of red spreading slowly below La Comedienne’s welcome present. He lifted his hand, brushing the tips of his fingers – and the sensors within – across the exposed and bloodied flesh. Silently, he ran a test
It came back as positive. All three of the Sanders family – father, mother, daughter – were currently before him. A family reunion. Together in death. Just the kind of sh*t La Comedienne exulted in
“Well, well, well”, a soft, oily voice sounded from the darkness in front of them, as a very noticeable figure stepped out from the shadows before them, features obscured by the darkness, and blurred by the purple gas that accompanied him – the sensors in the commander’s gloves went crazy trying to analyse it, even as it...somehow...managed to leak past the filters in his mask, smelling sickly sweet and pungent, making his head spin. Some kind of mind-altering agent, “Isn’t this a surprise ?”
The serial killer’s fiery gaze fell on the commander, and he felt his stomach tilt suddenly, bile rising up to burn the lining of his throat. One of his hands lifted to his neck in an instinctive response, letting his gun clatter to the ground. His eyes fell as he bent down to retrieve it – something that sent his stomach into a frenzy – but it was nowhere to be found. Coughing out a few flecks of burning bile, he rose to his feet
“La...Comedienne”, he managed to choke out, through the overpowering feeling of nausea,“You’re under arrest for... misuse of a parahuman ability, and... mass murd...”, his stomach suddenly heaved, and he doubled over, spattering the inside of his visor with vomit
“Am I, now ?”, the mass murderer managed a disarming smile, “I couldn’t imagine why. All I did was... return them to their natural state of being. After all, is it not true that children are angels ?”
“Natural state of being ?”, the PR&D officer beside him demanded indignantly, “This...”, he gestured towards the mutilated display of sinew and flesh hanging before them, “...this isn’t a natural state of being. This is an abomi-“, he collapsed as La Comedienne turned his blazing red eyes on him, his words dissolving into coughs
It started out as a simple clearing of his throat. He loosened his collar, shifted his neck, and his coughs became wetter, harsher by the second.
"Jeffery?" One of the other men said. "What's wrong?"
The coughing soon became gagging. His eyes bulged, and his mouth fell open as he leaned forward, smacking the back of his neck in a vain attempt at dispelling whatever was blocking his air passage. His gun and torch clattered to the floor, forgotten.
Something big slowly pushed its way out of his mouth. It was pale, almost white in colour, and it looked like a deformed rubber ball. But then it uncurled, revealing fingers. A hand was pushing out of his mouth.
Everyone in the room screamed and stumbled back.
The hand kept moving out of Jeffery's mouth. Knuckles, wrist, forearm. At this point Jeffrey collapsed to his knees, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. An elbow followed out of his mouth. A shoulder.
A head emerged, white and blank. His other shoulder pulled out, freeing his arm. Despite an entire torso now sticking out of Jeffery's mouth, his jaw never widened any further. Jeffery was dead now, the commander was sure of it. He stopped making noises a while ago.
The tall man stepped out of Jeffery's mouth, standing up. He took a moment to adjust his suit. This was it. Gaunt. Wan. Faceless. No, not faceless. His face turned to the commander, and shifted sharply – turning into half a broken skull, a dismembered tongue hanging out from underneath. One of the Death’s victims – the one that had caused a week’s worth of therapy sessions for the commander
Something. It was Something. Something of the Horrors
“That’s...”, the commander’s tongue felt thick and unwieldly, spattered with vomit, “That’s.... no... you’re... you’re supposed to be an urban legend. It’s...”
“Commander, I would have expected better from you”, Comedienne chided, stepping out slightly from the shadows, “Don’t you know ? All a legend is is a truth retold. A few facts changed, of course. You see, Something here ? Isn’t a cape. He’s mine. As are all the Horrors. I suppose you could call me the Father of Horrors”, he chuckled darkly at his own “joke”, before abruptly frowning, “Hmm.. no, that’s not good. Whatever”, he gestured towards Something, an impatient tilt of the wrist, “Just do it”
What happened next the commander could only described as an orgy of violence. With both of his hands blocking Sherlock's ears, he could not block his own. First he heard the men screaming at each other to shoot 'it.' Gunfire exploded all around as horrible, wet noises and the smell of bile filled the air. The sound of heavy bodies struck against the floor, the walls, clanging against the ceiling.
The commander could feel the spray of blood splash across his face, somehow devoid of his visor
He had been spared. He didn’t know why, but he had been spared. Then Something turned to him, his head lightly bent, its top brushing against the room's ceiling. He was playing with something in one of his his hands, rattling them in his palm. He turned over his palm and one by one, human teeth tumbled out, stained with blood
His eyes watched the descent of the teeth to the floor and there, slumped against the wall, was one of his officers, her helmets violently ripped off her head. Her jaw was slacked opened, pushed beyond human limitations, devoid of teeth. Her eyes were rolled back in her head and though he knew she was dead (hoped she was dead) her arm twitched
A sharp pain resounded through his right eye, a trail of sticky heat spilling down his cheek, as half his vision went dark. Blood.His hand reached up to touch his eye, but only made contact with empty air. Something tilted his hand again, and an eye dropped down onto the floor, optic nerve neatly severed
He reached for it, but La Comedienne stepped forward before he could grab it, squashing it under his shoe. A blood-stained finger hooked itself on his chin, tilting his head up to force him to meet the serial killer’s piercing gaze. His scarred lips twitched into an unnervingy-wide smile, “Oh, this will be fun”
The commander swallowed hard, as two more hands emerged, seemingly out of the darkness itself, wrapping around his forearms and dragging him forward.
Behind him, the towering figure of Something dissolved into empty air, and all of a sudden, screaming agony rippled through the commander’s body, as four more figures stepped out of the shadows, their eyes glinting in the darkness being the last thing he saw before the sudden shock of pain knocked him unconscious
His body would later be found, two days later, bloated and mutilated, after it washed ashore on the banks of the Thames river. His body had been... for lack of a better word... turned inside-out and exsanguinated, his heart and stomach cut out.
A ragged, crude 9 had been carved into the exposed flesh of his forearm, leading to the perpetrators of the slaughter being assigned the name “the Nine”
Funnily enough, his wounds appeared to be the only wounds inflicted by the actual murderers – who, as suggested by evidence, appeared to be led by the formerly-independent and notoriously camera-shy killer La Comedienne. Every other injury there appeared self-inflicted or caused by some kind of friendly fire, leading many to theorize that the Nine had an emotion manipulator in their midst
There was no evidence, of course, but the sheer fear garnered by that idea after Sadism’s horrifyingly destructive attack on India led to people renaming them to the “Nine From Hell”
And, in the years that followed, they would prove just how fitting that name was
Chapter 27
Chapter Text
It was nearly a day later that we draw near the wrecked coast of Japan, barely holding on through the gale-force hurricane winds and eight-foot waves that seemed commonplace here after the Devourer’s assault.
The coast was thick with… something – they looked almost like tall spikes of congealed blood, stabbing into the sky like swords and spears. An air of desolation hung over the place – something terrible had happened here, and I wasn’t sure what was affecting it more – the Devourer’s attack, or the Nine’s forced colonization of Minato.
The air is eerily silent as we draw close to the biting beach, as, with a pneumatic hiss, the vehicle locks onto the desolated docks with thin, spindly legs of metal. The door opens, letting in the thick stench of drying blood and rotting meat that seems to permeate the area.
Riptide is the first at the gateway, and he freezes as he steps out into it, like a deer freezing under the brilliant headlights of a car, a prey freezing under the scrutiny of a predator. I empathized – I felt like we were being watched too. It was difficult not to, given the wide open nature of what had once been a thriving dock area
With a shuddering breath, he stepped out onto the destroyed stone dock, with us following shortly behind.
For a moment, we walked in silence down the cracked, shattered sidewalks of Minato, coated with debris and shattered glass. The sky overhead roiled and rumbled, a dark greyish-black – as though anticipating a storm, even though it likely wasn’t going to rain for a while.
In the distance, I could see small groups of stragglers – people who hadn’t had enough money to leave Japan, but had survived the Devourer’s onslaught, going about their day – huddling together in the bowels of the dilapidated buildings lining the street, lighting small campfires and gathering around them for warmth. The sight made my heart hurt for them, a little bit
Only a little, though, because I was bit preoccupied with worrying for my own safety, given the dark shape looming a few feet ahead. A twisted facsimile of a mansion, built from the wreckage of what may have once been a temple – with paint peeling away from the once vibrant stone walls, and several sections of the buildings having just collapsed inward
We couldn’t see into the building, though, despite the gaping holes in its exterior – because huge, glistening walls of fleshy red stretched between the cracks in the house’s exterior, patching up holes and occasionally opening up into entire wings, all made of the same disconcertingly organic material.
We draw to a complete halt, and I swallow hard, as we stare up at the distorted amalgamation of organic and inorganic, shaped vaguely into a twisted mockery of a base. One the ground before the mansions door, the earth was charred and cracked, stained with great splotches of dried, rusty crimson.
The Nine’s base was just like them , I couldn’t help but think, as I look up at it, Something that shouldn’t exist, whose very existence was an affront to nature and the natural order of things
A few feet ahead, I feel the air vibrate as Riptide draws in a shaky breath, before setting off again, moving towards the house. After a few moments of hesitation, the rest of us go after him, albeit extremely reluctantly
Suddenly the pneumatic hiss of vents opening rings through the silent air, and Riptide’s hands rise to cover his nose and mouth, as a veritable tsunami of sickly purple gas starts to flood towards, produced from some unseen source
We reach up to do the same, but it’s too late – my lungs burn as traces of the incapacitating agent seeps up into my nostrils and through my sinuses. The others fall around, practically in sequence, as I try my level best to control my own blood flow – to keep the knockout agent from spreading too much, too fast. It doesn’t do much, but it does buy me a few extra seconds of consciousness
My bloodshot eyes rise from the earth, as my knees collapse out from under me, sending me reeling to the ground.
There in the distance, nearly hidden by the opaque fog bleeding from vents in his arms, like blood from open wounds, stands a black silhouette – Spinner, Comedienne’s man. We were wrong – we hadn’t been sneaking up on the Nine like we had intended. They had been hunting us
“Well, well, well”, a silky voice purred from behind me, as I heard footsteps sound directly beside my left ear. I try to lift my head to look him in the eyes, but whatever knockout agent Spinner was pumping into the air kept me paralyzed and low to the ground.
But I knew who he was – how could I not ? That voice was the voice of nightmares. The voice, not of a man who didn’t consider other people’s emotions, but of one who knew damn well that other people had hearts, and took a sick sad*stic joy in breaking them into pieces
La Comedienne crouches down beside me, the silken cloth of his clothes brushing against the shell of my ear, crusted and rough with dried blood, “Nicely done, Spinner. Take them downstairs”
“Of course, my Lord”, the silhouette of Spinner lowered himself into a sharp bow, “Should I tell Butcher ?... or perhaps the Marauder…”
“No”, I felt Comedienne rise to his feet behind me as my mind slowly drifted into unconsciousness, “I wish to speak with them… alone. None of you will touch them”
And with that ominous statement, my mind blanked completely, drifting into a void of pure darkness, as I fell unconscious
A few hours later I wake up, disoriented and woozy, to the grim sight of a bloodstained dungeon. The room itself was small, cubical and barren, composed of rough-cut, dark stones placed haphazardly together. It was dark, lit only by a few fiery torches, held in sconces embedded into the stony walls – but it was bright enough to see what were clearly the most important features of the room
Great tides of crusted darkish brown coated the walls – and from the coppery stench that pervaded the air, it was pretty obvious what, exactly, they were.
The floor was covered with them, too – sticking to my shoes as I tried to move my feet, only to find them restrained – manacled together and fastened to the floor with the aid of small rings embedded into the ground, through which the dark chains holding my legs together wound, traveling up to my arms, ending in two more identical manacles, fastened securely around my wrists, the whole contraptions held up by two more chains that looped through half-rings embedded into the wrist-manacles and more rings embedded into the walls on either side of me
I instantly grow still, trying my best to keep my feet securely on the ground, and to not move my arms at all - if I tried to move my arms, my legs would move off the ground, and I didn’t have anywhere near enough faith in my arms’ strength to be sure that they wouldn’t just snap like twigs the second they had to support my entire body weight. Thus reassured, I look up, blinking away the sweat that clung to my eyelashes – side effects of whatever knockout gas Spinner had dosed us with
The first thing I notice is that there was only one door into the room – an old, splintered wooden door, that may have once been white – but now was more a pinkish-red than anything. The second thing I notice is that other than the chains, the room seemed to have no security whatsoever – no guards, no cameras, nothing.
The third thing I notice is why that is.
Directly in front of us sat a high-backed metal chair. It is dark with dried blood-spray. Two locked half-rings were attached to the legs – meant for restraining ankles, and a vertical bar passed over the front of the chair, intended to hold the victim’s chest in place. A slightly larger half-ring jutted out of the top rail of the torture device, clearly intended to hold the neck in place, and two leather straps attached to the arms were made with the intention of restraining wrists.
A small iron bar juts up from the top rail, and a weird assortment of devices hang from it – small, thin poles and needles and heating coils and pliers. I didn’t even want to think about what those could be used for
I swallow hard as my eyes fall on it. There was no denying what it was – a torture device… and we had just been captured by the man who owned it
“Oh hello !!”, A cheery voice spoke from the doorway to the room, as the creaking, old door swings open to let in a tall, thin – too thin to be called lithe. No, he was skeletal – figure.
His face was thin and pointed – made up almost entirely of sharp edges, so sharp that they looked like they could draw blood if you so much as brushed against them. He had a beard – thin and small, more of a goatee, really, trimmed to have a serrated edge. His hair was slicked back and styled with gel. He looked almost attractive – were it not for the horrific scarring that ran down one half of his face – consisting of thousands of small slits in his skin- splitting it open along straight edges, releasing oozing rivulets of blood, clearly done to maximize pain, judging by the locations of the cuts – one appearing to cut straight into the hollow of his eye socket, another going through the soft cartilage of the bridge of his nose. They reminded me of the scars I had seen on torture victims, and they gave him a decidedly alien look – warping his facial structure to make it asymmetrical, uncanny.
“I see our guests are awake”, La Comedienne smiled an almost-gentle smile, his thin lips curving upwards, even as his light blue eyes glinted with a cruelty I could scarcely comprehend. He walks over to the torture chair, seating himself down on it – one leg crossed over the other, and giving us a quick flash of a smile, “It’s nice to meet you”
“We’ve met”, Riptide’s voice sounds sharply from the few feet to my left – the walls must be essentially the same as cubicle walls, then – designed to keep us from seeing each other, not to actually hold up anything significant
“I am…”, Comedienne says, in a soft, pleasant tone, entirely ignoring Riptide’s remark, “rather pleased to see you here, you know ? The locals are rather… fragile. Easily broken. It’s rather ridiculous how little it takes to kill them… or drive them insane. Capes… on the other hand…”, his lips slipped up into a cruel smile, and a rush of fear ratcheted through my heart
“We’re here for Serenity”, Rapture spoke up, impressively unfazed – though the slight tremor in his voice undercut that near-immediately, “Nothing else”
“Oh, I’m aware”, Comedienne commented, lounging carelessly on the metal contraption, one leg thrown carelessly to one side, his head resting against the sharp metal edge of the chair’s bloodstained back, “Have you ever heard of the “keystone”, my friend ?”
Riptide stayed silent, but that didn’t seem to faze the serial killer, who rises languidly from the chair, pacing about it like a lion patrolling his kill, “It’s an architectural term, you know ? The core of a structure – the one point that keeps the whole thing from folding in on itself like a house of cards. The weak point. I’m good at that – finding those”
He looks back at them, holding out his hands expectantly, “No ?”, he seems almost… disappointed, “Nothing ? What a pity. I was rather looking forward to that speech. Some threatening, some monologuing. Some splitting you in half from forehead to groin – you know, the usual”
“What did you do to Serenity ?”, Riptide questions, with the aggravated air of someone who was seconds away from attempting an attack that would be almost certainly suicidal. I feel him go silent – the kind of anticipatory silence that usually stood before a cape released his powers. Then, a horrified, quiet, gasp
“None of that now”, Comedienne wagged his left index finger at us like a scolding parent, “Your powers won’t work in here”
A chill crawls up my back at his words, and I immediately, near-instinctively try to reach for my abilities. Sure enough, where I had grown used to finding a familiar crackle of power, I found nothing. I look back at him, my face paling in silent horror.
He breaks out into peals of wild, maniacal laughter, his suave demeanor disappearing instantly – like a switch had been turned off in his brain, “Oh, don’t look so horrified !! Butcher hasn’t disabled your Virtus Potentia”, he grins luridly at us, his teeth glinting in the darkness, filed to a snake-fang sharpness, “Only injured your Helvedor. It’s temporary !! Temporary, or, in other words - for the next four hours… you are… entirely defenseless”
All four of us responded with death glares, and a stubborn silence. Comedienne, as infuriatingly unaffected as always, simply responded by sitting back down onto the torture chair, and, reaching down into the belt loosely wrapped around his thin waist, pulling out a small, bloody straight-razor, eyeing it’s edge hungrily, before his eyes snapped back to us, “So !! You’ve come this far… for Serenity ? It’s intriguing, I’ll give you that – how willing you are to kill yourselves for the sake of love. Perhaps those are your keystones – you’re all too loyal. You think it makes you heroic ? It makes you foolish. I’ve killed a thousand of your ilk… and I’ll kill a thousand more, in time.”
We remain silent as he speaks, unsure when he would simply snap and kill us all – or perhaps he already had snapped, and was just leading up to the grand finale… which was, predictably, killing us all. Seeming a bit disappointed at our lack of reaction, the madman leans back in his seat, stroking his chin, as if in deep thought
“Tell me”, he says, and for a second his voice seems… terrifyingly… sane – no mad laugh bubbling in his throat, no sadism. Just two words, “Do you really think that Serenity is injured ? That I, of all people… would hurt him ?”. He sounds genuinely affronted at the idea
“Wouldn’t you ?”, a controlled voice challenged – that must’ve been Riptide
“I wouldn’t”, Comedienne confirmed, reaching up to scratch at his wounds, “Not willingly, in any case. It’s not my fault, really – if a person cuts themselves on shards of broken glass, are the shards to blame ? Or the man ?”
He gestures vaguely, before his finger snapped to his lips as someone opened their mouth speaking, “No !!”, he growled, before his voice dipped back into pleasant suavity, “No talking. Not right now. Serenity is… indisposed, right now. You can’t see him”
I hear the slight chinks of iron colliding with iron as Rapture strained forward, as though to get at the serial killer lounging a few feet ahead of us, “What did you do to him ??”
“Like I said – he isn’t hurt. He also isn’t all right. Well, of course he isn’t”, Comedienne laughs that familiar high-pitched madman’s laugh, dissolving into a choking wheeze near the end, “He’s with me, after all”
For a moment, there is a silence, before Raptures asks, slowly, “With you in… what way, exactly ?”
A grin stretches Comedienne’s lips at the sound, making blood ooze from his facial injuries, “Oh, now he’s asking the proper questions. What way, indeed ? Well, I suppose that depends on him, doesn’t it ?”
“What ?”
“Do you know why you’re still alive, right now ?” Comedienne asked nonchalantly, leaning back into his chair, “It’s because Serenity pleaded for your miserable lives – he saw you coming, and made me promise to spare you – and I never break my promises”
“He gave you the tools you needed to ambush us ?”, that was Riptide, in a low, horrified murmur. Comedienne simply reacts by loudly slapping at the arms of his chair, rather like a toddler throwing a tantrum
“BZZZ”, he imitated the noise of a buzzer, before contorting his face into an exaggerated, mocking pout, “Nope. Wrong answer – I saw you coming hours before he did. Sensed ya”
A creeping dread was starting to pool at the base of my stomach, “Sensed… what, exactly ?”
That infuriating, sad*stic grin reappeared on Comedienne’s features, as he reclined into his chair, “Did Lady Masque tell you that you were the only sanguinokinetic in the world, little blood-spot ?”, I flinch at the nickname – that was Serenity’s name for me. He didn’t have the right to use it
He doesn’t seem to notice, “Well, she wasn’t wrong, per se. You are, indeed, still the only registered sanguinokinetic in the world. Of course”, he flicked his fingers, and strings of congealed blood fly from the weeping tears in his face, attaching themselves to his fingers, like puppet strings, “that’s only the case because no one wanted to acknowledge me…”
The blood-strings disappear into a fine red mist, and Comedienne’s face contorts into something… animalistic, “Well, of course they wouldn’t”, he says in a light, faux-cheery, before his voice dips into a growl, and just keeps going down, “Who would want to acknowledge a monster ? A sad*st ? A goddamn gutter child ?!!”. He spoke the last few words in a roar of anger, turning around and kicking the leg of the torture chair hard enough to cause a concave dent in it, making the whole thing wobble unsteadily.
Looking at it seems to calm him down, as he returns to his suave demeanor, as though his outburst had never happened, “In any case – god Spinner’s going to be pissed that I did that – anyways…”, he looks towards me, “You should be honored that I deigned you worthy of bearing that name - that’s what he always called me, you know ? Little blood-spot”
A chill ran down my spines, as the pieces of the puzzle start falling into place, the jigsaw slowly clicking together – block-by-block, revealing a truth I wasn’t sure I wanted to know
“I had a friend once…”
“I want my friend back”
Before I can stop myself, the words have already slipped free of my lips, “You… Serenity and you… you knew each other – when you were children”
Comedienne doesn’t respond, merely smiling softly, but that is answer enough
“The violent gang he used to run with…”, Emmet gasps softly, as another block of the puzzle clicks into place, “The Nine ?? He was with the Nine ??”
“What ?”, Riptide sputters, before going silent, “Wait… actually… he’s always been more violent than the average hero – or even the average villain. But it always seemed… controlled – restrained. The only time I’ve seen him completely uncontrollable – animalistic, bestial - is when we fought some associate of the Fangs - lower-ranking gangs who stray too far into East London, that sort of thing”
“That would be because the Fangs are a sub-branch of the Syndicate – the, as you may know, kings I ousted to take my throne”, Comedienne explained softly – still saying nothing to affirm or deny our realizations, “They hate us, and we hate them – and they, naturally, hate the ones who helped me oust them… including…”
“The Ebony Prince”, Rapture speaks up after a long stretch of silence, “I’m right, aren’t I ? He was the Ebony Prince”
“Ding ding ding !!”, Comedienne let out a cackling laugh, “Give the man a cookie !! Cor-“, his lips curled up into a small grin, “-rect”
For another second, one that feels like an eternity, there is silence, before Comedienne speaks up again, “He’s not here anymore, by the way”
“He’s…”, my head drops, and I let out a small sigh, though my mind was still a swirling maelstrom of confusion and grim realization, “… not ?”
“Nope – West London. He’s hunting the Fangs”
“Wha – why ?”
“Personally”, Comedienne steps closer, speaking out the side of his mouth, as if whispering to a friend, “I think Butcher creeped him out with her creations – she’s a brilliant girl, but she can be a little… um…. much”
“You can be too”, Riptide mutters, something that Comedienne, thankfully, ignores
“In any case – if you’re looking for him, you might want to start there, instead of… here”, he grins slightly, before his eyes glint with realization, “Wait – also, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll spare London”
“You… will ?” – I wasn’t quite sure who spoke there. I was a bit busy staring at him to try and figure out if he was bluffing or if he genuinely meant it
“Yup”, Comedienne said, popping the ‘P’, “It would be such a waste to destroy it now – especially now that the Deathbringers have started to try and claim territory within it. It would be far too pointless to cut such entertainment short just as it’s starting to get interesting. Spinner will deliver the message tomorrow morning”
“I…”, I draw in a sharp breath, “You’re sparing London… because you’re f*ckin’ bored ??”
“Be grateful I’m sparing London at all”, Comedienne retorted sharply, before his lips twist into an unidentifiable expression. He lowers himself gently deeper into his seat, and for a moment, he looks… human, almost – like the kind of person you would bump into on your way to work. That said something about the banality of evil, I suppose
“So… if he’s in West London… we go to West London, then ?”
“Why are you asking me ?”, Comedienne questioned, seeming genuinely knocked off-balance, “If it were up to me, I would tell you to go jump off a cliff – only Serenity’s goodwill is keeping you alive right now”
“Because you’re the one who has us tied up with our powers neutralized”, Riptide deadpanned, “Quid pro quo, you’re the boss here now”
“Hmm…”, Comedienne smirked arrogantly – looks like stroking his ego had been the right move, “Nice try”, or not, “but I’m clever, and have experience – I know a manipulation when I see one. Nice flattery though”
sh*t
“But”, Comedienne begins, perking up a little, “I’m also an expert storyteller – and personally, I think this story would be too… boring if you went back to East London . Too abrupt if you went to West London to help with the Fangs and then immediately entered East London. The Deathbringers need – nay, deserve – buildup so… I say you go to West London, f*ck the Fangs for a bit, then”, he traces his finger across the arm of the chair, “… Central, where the Church of the Three Saviors stands, currently managed by Paimon and Asmodai of the Deathhbringers – and then, and only then… will you enter East London – to take on Baal and his mother. How does that sound ?”
“Well…”, Emmet hesitates, but bears nowhere near the appropriate amount of heat in his voice – apparently everyone had collectively decided that if Serenity had been friends with this guy, he couldn’t have been too bad. I couldn’t blame them, I guess – I was nowhere near as scared as I had been when the whole thing began, partly because he had kept his word to Serenity and not harmed us, and partly because… well, he really did seem quite charming when he wasn’t ranting and raving like the madman he was – and it took an earthshaking amount of effort to remind myself that this guy was a psychopathic mass-murderer, “… it’s a plan, at least. And that’s more than we have”
“Wonderful”, Comedienne’s silken voice coils around our ears like serpents – as he rises from his seat, brushing some imaginary dust off his suit – I just noticed that he was wearing a full three-piece suit, tailcoat and all – looking the very image of a high-class socialite, “Well, it’s been nice having you here”
His face twists as he looks upon us – as if he were passing through a million different emotions – no. Three different facets of one crystal face – the first the expressions of a refined dignitarian – someone used to concealing their true emotions and wearing expressions that made him seem charming and suave, even playful, in a way. The second set of expressions revealed a mad man – a brute, the scars on his face highlighting his emotional, easily-displaced nature, like an animal in the skin of a human. The last set of expressions, however, were the really terrifying ones
If the second set revealed an animal in human skin, the third revealed an animal, plain and simple, his face contorting bizarrely into fierce snarls that should never adorn a human’s face, revealing fangs that I could half-imagine dripping with blood. And then his expression reverted back into the amiable geniality of the Socialite, smoothly, as if his face had never changed at all
“We’ll see you soon, I believe”, he said smoothly, his face twitching only slightly as his face turned to me, “and you – little red. You… are an interesting person, aren’t you ?”
“What ?”
“So different from me”, his face twitches again, “and yet it’s undeniable that Serenity chose you because you resembled me – at least your powers did”
I lift my chin defiantly, “What makes you think that ?”
“Because that’s what you are”, his voice dripped with jealousy – not the jealousy of a man losing his lover or friend, but that of a dog seeing his owner pet another animal, “A paler imitation of me”, his voice lowers into a growl, “What do you have that – “, he stops himself, drawing in a sharp breath, as the Socialite reasserts control, “My apologies”, he says calmly, “I lost myself for a moment there”
“I’ll be seeing you soon, little blood-“, his lips close before completing the term, as if to say “That’s mine, you can’t have that”, “Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not for a week, or a year, or more… but the Nine are watching now – and mark my words, we will return for you – and, of course, for your precious city”
“What will you do ?”
“You’ll see”, Comedienne smiled softly – and somehow he managed to make that soft curve of his lips look about as menacing as a shark’s grin, “You’ll see, one day”
“Why don’t you join us ?”, that was Emmet, “You’re not a psychopath – at least not completely. You can still be…”, he trails off, I know why – the words “healed” or “fixed” would likely only incite Comedienne’s rage, “… good. You can still be good. Serenity was – is good”
“You see, that’s why he left, the first time round”, Comedienne walked to the doorway, as vents opened in the walls and floor with pneumatic hisses, “because he was good – not as good as you lot, but better than me, in a moral sense, I suppose – he always was the kinder one between the two of us. And I’ll give you the answer I gave him, all those years ago”
He turns to us, and his eyes glint aggressively, brimming with a cold rage, “I’ll never join you”, he says, softly, as the purple gas that once knocked us out starts to flow from the vents, “because your good and evil mean nothing to me. All that exists is entertainment… and boredom. And personally – I’ve had my fill of boredom”
And with that, the incapacitating gas starts to flood the room, and with a bark of laughter, Comedienne turns to leave it. The gas was darker than the one that had knocked us out before – this one must be stronger, made to incapacitate for longer. And it worked too – I could barely keep myself awake for five seconds after the gas reached me, instead falling asleep near-instantly, though I did succumb a few seconds after the others
Chapter 28
Chapter Text
We awaken back on the boat, far away from the ruined coast of Minato, in the depths of the Pacific Ocean. The driver is silent, and absolutely not heading towards the mouth of the Thames, as made evident by the GPS blinking in front of him – no doubt having already received instructions from the Nine to head for West London, not East
Right beside us, visible through the porthole windows of the ship, stood a vast coastline, to which we were sticking as we moved. It was thickly populated with buildings and huts, though I could see entire stretches of empty, unoccupied yellow-grass savannah, littered with tall, weird-looking baobab trees. A few dilapidated buildings stand alone in the stretches of plain – unoccupied and covered with branches and dusty-yellow leaves. Africa.
Rationality’s attack hadn’t damaged the landscape to anywhere near the level Devourer’s had, mostly focusing on the psyche of her victims – and so the grasslands of Africa survived, even as people fled from the regions affected by the Hopekiller, leaving their houses to be reclaimed by nature
Africa was a warrior country – by which I mean that, unlike Europe and America, there were no Agencies in Africa, leaving African capes to fend for themselves, without aid or backup – and, predictably, turn to conquest to have a reliable way to fill their bellies.
The warlords of Africa were famous all over the continent for their near-constant infighting – over territory, over women, over god-knows-what. But one thing was for sure – they were powerful – and thorough. Nearly the entire continent was divided amongst them
In fact, as we sail past the western coast of the continent, I spot a flag hanging from one of the buildings, fluttering gently in the breeze – a black rectangle, marked in the center with a set of bloody-red fangs. The flag of the most powerful warlord of Western Africa – Sanguinius, the Vampire King. More commonly known as Bloodwort, in popular media.
Below the flag, a black mass shifts, and I realize, a little too late, that those were men – soldiers, armed to the teeth, decked out in armor-plated Kevlar, each bearing the fang-mark of Bloodwort against their back. Even from here, I could count at least a hundred.
I swallow hard, and silently thank god that no Londoner had gotten anywhere near as powerful – or perhaps, as desperate- as the African warlords, because Europe would probably have fallen in less than a day if they had
“What are you looking at ?”, Riptide’s voice asks from behind me as he stirs, his voice rough with sleep, “Is that… is that Africa ? How long have we been out ?”
I close my eyes and reach for my powers, finding them crackling at the edge of my consciousness, much to my relief. I turn back to him, “At least four hours”, I inform, “Looks like La Comedienne wanted us off his island”
“Why the f*ck do they call him La Comedienne ?”, Rapture, who had apparently woken up at about the same time as Riptide, groaned groggily from the floor, “Not only is that French – and he is not French – but it’s a f*cking woman’s title !!”
“That’s your most pressing concern right now ?”, Riptide asked him incredulously, “Seriously ? Incredible. So what now ?”
“What now ?”, Emmet said, rising unsteadily to his feet, “We go to West London, that’s what”
“So we’re taking orders from a mass-murderer now ?”
“Do you have any better ideas ?”, Emmet challenged, “Plus, he said Serenity would be in West London, so we should probably head there anyways”
“He could be lying”
“So what, then ?”, Rapture groaned, “Just scan the entire globe for any trace of Serenity ? Because West London is the best lead we have, and I don’t think we’re going to find many others – if there’s one thing Serenity’s good at, it’s covering his tracks”
“I…”, Riptide hesitated, before heaving a great sigh, “…fine”
“Do we know anything about the Fangs ?”, Rapture questioned, staggering over to the main room – and the laptop they had discarded on the table therein. Flipping it open, he starts typing something into the keypad
“We know that they’re based in West London”, Riptide said, regaining his composure as our group trekked over to Rapture, still bent over the laptop, typing away furiously at the keypad, “We know that they are locked in conflict with the Nine. We know that they’re brutal and savage and –“
“How savage ?”, Rapture asked, turning the laptop around to reveal a blurry image of a cape clinging to the side of a building, barely visible through the dusty air of West London.
Still, his silhouette alone informed me that his costume was bristling with thousands of barbed blades, spikes and spines. Below the armor-plates, the costume was a leathery beige, looking frighteningly organic in appearance – like skin.
A necklace of desiccated skulls hung around his throat, and a mask that looked like it had been fashioned out of the upper jaw of the skull of an animal – a wolf, from the snout and the fangs. Two glowing orange eyes gleamed out of the masks eye-sockets, and below the upper maw, I could spot the lower half of the cape’s face, painted with a sticky, crimson fluid – that seemed oddly lumpy in places, concealing the bone-structure of his face, and a mouth that was twisted into a fearsome snarl, displaying teeth that had been filed into sharp fanglike points, similar to La Comedienne’s
Miles below him, near the ground, a creature that was roughly the size of an oil tanker, looking like a mix between a wolf and a bear, it’s head the size of a car. Sinuous yet flexible, the creature was rearing up at the man – though it didn’t seem like the beast wanted to devour him as much as follow him up the building. It was covered in the same bony armor as the man, though supersized – the bones no doubt taken from an elephant or something similar. The head of the creature was uncovered, though guarded with thousands of bristling, scale-like armor plates, forming a tapering snout vaguely reminiscent of a wolf’s maw. Seven solid-black eyes lined one side of his face, no doubt mirrored on the other side – set into the armor plating. Its whole body was oil-spill black, and its mouth bristled with mismatched fangs, a strange, acid-yellow substance pouring from his maw, which gaped to reveal a pitch-black tongue and seven layers of teeth. The ground steamed and smoked where the fluid hit it, being eaten away by the venom. Most unnerving of all were its eight legs, segmented like a spiders, bending up and down in a similar, arachnoid fashion, ending in scimitar-length claws, pitch-black with poison.
A label below named them both – “Lupus, lieutenant of the fangs, clambers up a structure to get at a target, as his fellow gang member, Howler, attacks people on the ground floor, seconds before following him up the building”
For a moment, we simply stare at the horrific image, before Riptide speaks up, “What the actual f*ck is that ?”
For another moment, I remain silent, before a thought strikes me – for a moment, I hesitate, not wanting to vocalize, but doing it anyways, even if only for the sake of playing devil’s advocate, “Should we go after Serenity ? I mean, the Ebony Prince was known for being extreme-“
“I don’t care”, Riptide interrupted offhandedly, not looking up from the laptop, “He’s one of our own – and we don’t turn our backs on one of our own”
“Agreed”, Rapture nodded, “I don’t care if he killed ten people or a thousand – he’s still our Serenity, and we’ll still rescue him”
A small smile pulls at my lips as I shrug, somewhat relieved, “Alright, just checking”.
I then turn back to stare at the image. For a second, I try to imagine King dressed like that – I fail. Maybe that’s why he left. My lips part, to speak, before closing again. Emmet speaks up before I can, “They’ve certainly got… an aesthetic”
“That right there”, Rapture comments, turning the laptop back to himself, no doubt researching, “is Lupus – lieutenant of the Fangs, and known violent maniac – he has a kill marker too, but no one’s managed to cash it in. His power is… largely unknown”, he looks up, shooting us an apologetic grin, “the only thing reported about it is that it’s a Shifter-class ability, and that he can transform into a mass of bone… or perhaps metal, I’m not sure. The point is he can then shape that amorphous blob however he wishes – though he seems to favor the form of a wolf composed of bonelike spines, spikes and hooks”
“So – Shifter-class, that’s… troublesome, but better than a Psychic ability”, Riptide remarked, “and the giant monster below him ?”
“That is…”, Rapture’s eyes went wide, “…Howler. That is Howler. Yup – that is sure… yes.”
“What is it ?”
“Well, you see – that thing is sapient”, he looks up at us, “and it has practically every adaptation under the goddamn sun – it can survive anything, and that is… not an exaggeration. It’s their f*cking strategist ??”
“It’s… what ?”
“Wait, wait, let’s backtrack a little”, Rapture drew in a sharp, shaky breath, “That thing is the Howler – the strategist of the Fangs”
“Did you say – “
“I know what I said. Strategist. That is a human – with, you guessed it, another Shifter-class ability”
“He can transform into that ?”
“Oh no, it’s more complex than that”, Rapture muttered, “You see, his actual Shifter form was once a common grey wolf – with one caveat. Infinite adaptability, combined with incredible regeneration. Mechanically speaking, whenever it takes damage and survives, any part that grows back is altered, if possible, to be more resistant to the damage that hurt it. And… well, you see the result before you”
“And his human form ?”, Emmet questioned
“Completely killable”, Rapture confirmed with a small, relieved sigh, “The trouble, here, is, of course – how the f*ck do we get him to show us his human form ??”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it”, I say, sighing slightly – though not with relief so much as a kind of depressed resignation, “Anything else ?”
“Well, the only other member of the Fangs known to the public is their leader – a man known by… many, many names – Osteos… Butcher… I saw a “Slaughterlord” in there, too. Cruel, ruthless, calculating. Seems like he’s a holdover from the old days of the Syndicate”
“What do we know about him ?”
“Well”, Rapture’s eyes widen as he pulls up another screen, “… he has two sons. Lupus… and…”, he swallows slightly, his lip curling upwards in slight amusem*nt, “… our very own King”
Riptide seems to still slightly at that news, his eyes snapping upward to meet Rapture’s cool gaze, before dropping again, “Doesn’t really help us – King’s managing Soldaty over in East London”, he shrugs, “Doubt we’ll run into him over in West London. Powers ? Does he have many ?”
“Well… yes ? But also no ?”, Rapture shrugged, “He’s never come out publically with his powers, but… as can be inferred from his attacks – he possesses a form of advanced osteokinesis – the ability to manipulate – shape it, grow it, shorten it, sharpen it, you name it. However – he does appear to be limited to only what he can see directly – or his own…”, Rapture swallowed hard, “… material”
“So it’s a form of personal biokinesis, then ?”
“He can affect other people too – he just needs to be able to see their bones – basically, if he cuts you deep enough to expose bone, get the hell away from him. He has incredible fine control over his powers too – comes with experience, I suppose, able to turn shards of bone into ultrafine needles, capable of cuts that would normally require lasers. He can multiply bone at will too – giving him the ability to break some of his own bones and, using that, create walls of bone that can stretch to be – at recorded maximum – twenty feet high and ten feet wide.”
“Holy sh*t”, Emmet whistled, “That’s big. Plus, let me guess – he’s a controlling bastard ?”
A few seconds as Rapture opened up another page, “Yup – according to testimonies by some ex-members of the Fangs – who were then, of course, hunted down and killed by the still-active Fangs – he was extremely particular about fine details, and… while he didn’t seem to give a f*ck about Lupus, he was extremely obsessive over King – who inherited his matter-manipulation abilities”
“Well, I guess we know where he got his OCD from, now.”, Riptide muttered, before raising his voice, “Wouldn’t it hurt ? Breaking his own bones like that ?”
“From all evidence, yes – according to bodily scans, his body absolutely goes through agony every time he uses his powers – he’s just…”, Rapture shrugs, “…extremely resilient, I guess”
“Hm”, I acknowledge, “This is going to be tough, huh ?”
“There are other resistance groups against the Fangs we could contact – in West London itself, no less. The biggest one by far is Vindiction – they don’t have any contacts left out in public, but, well…”, he presented himself with a flourish, “I’m an expert hacker. Want me to get in touch with them ?”
“Yes”, Riptide nodded decisively, “Ask them if they need any help. In the meantime we’ll.. we’ll”, he looked around at us
“Sleep”, I decide, as my exhaustion finally caught up with my body. I yawn, blinking rapidly, “We’ve had a long day”
“Sleep it is, then”
Chapter 29
Chapter Text
The man’s footsteps echoed out into the dark, empty halls of his father’s court.
Alexei Smirnoff, the prince of the Fangs – better known as Lupus - ascended his throne, his footsteps echoing like thunder in the currently-empty hall, and silently seated himself on it – a morbid affair, comprised of bones that flared out behind him in a burst of spines, each tipped with a body part – a tongue for a liar, an eye for a spy, a head for a coward, and a foot for a deserter. The arms of the throne were lined with body parts as well
It was always fun – punishing his men. It meant that he got to add new decorations to his throne. Lupus lounged on his throne in the dark, shadowed hall, awaiting the start of the meeting his father had called.
With a whoosh, the torches that stood burning in sconces that lined the walls on either side of the throne room ignited, as Barrage entered the room, followed by the other Fangs filing in behind him. Lupus eyed him disdainfully, straightening up at the sight of him, his outfit rustling as the barb-studded armor plates jostled each other.
The man was dressed in ruby-red animal hide, his leathery outfit trimmed with midnight-black. Harpoon-like lengths of bone, that curled like fishhooks near the ends, radiated out from his shoulders, elbows and knees, bristling with barbs and serrated edges.
He walked with the confidence of an apex predator. Lupus nearly hissed at the sight – he was the apex predator here !! Lupus and his father !! The royal family – not this interloper of a court official !!
But it was too late to display his resentment towards the man now, for a familiar towering presence was already striding into the room
He wore close-fitting armor that comprised of sheets of layered bone – shaped rather like a knight’s outfit – though it resembled a human skeleton more than anything, the breastplate ribbed and segmented like a ribcage, the plackart studded with small protrusions, rather like a human spine.
Around his shoulders he wore a tattered red cloth – Lupus did hiss at the sight of that. It was his brother’s original outfit – the cape that King always used to wear. He couldn’t understand it – first the man pushes King away, and then, after his son flees his home, wears part of his old costume ? It made no sense, really.
Regardless, the mask was what really brought the whole ensemble together, composed of two pieces that fit together near-exactly – an upper head-piece that looked like a crudely cut piece of bone – rather like Lupus’ original outfit, the prince liked to think – no, console himself with – with two shallow depressions where there should have been eye-holes. Lupus knew from experience that there were vertical slits in those depressions – too thin to see from outside, but enough to grant his father limited visibility. The lower head-piece was fashioned to resemble a skull’s mouth, with a jaw sharp enough to cut glass, and a deep, long depression over his mouth, stretched to resemble a skull’s gaping grin and filled with humanlike teeth – though Lupus knew that they were comprised of bone, not enamel
Osteos strides over to his own throne, right beside his son’s, seating himself within it with his usual subdued elegance. Lupus gritted his teeth as he noticed a small crack in his father’s left pauldron – a small, pinprick-like hole. King had made that, the day he ran away… and his father had never bothered to fix it – and Lupus knew it wasn’t simple laziness, because his father was simply never lazy
He gritted his teeth below his wolf-skull mask, resisting the urge to accost his father before all his men and shout at him about how he was so obsessed with one son, that he had completely forgotten he had another
But he held his tongue – that would be an easy way to get killed, and then who would be the heir ? Probably Barrage, with how close the weasel had gotten to his father’s heart. It was ridiculous – Barrage, a filthy traitor who had helped his brother run away from his responsibilities got more love from his father than he did !! Hilarious!! A f*cking comedy!!
But it was time for the meeting to begin, as Osteos cleared his throat, the noise echoing out into the still hall like a gunshot. Lupus stilled too, straightening up in his seat, dragging his mind away from thoughts of anger and resentment, and towards the meeting
“My subjects”, the lord of the Fangs spoke, his voice rising and lowering in a rhythmic, silky baritone, “I come here with grave news – our bases are being targeted. As you may have guessed – the Nine have attacked us”
“Which one, my Lord ?”, a slithery hiss resounds across the hall as the Howler speaks up – in his human form now, a tall, thin man, his shock of black hair shaved on the sides, dressed in armor that rather resembled what he wore in his lupine form, only shrunken down- Lupus still wasn’t sure if those bony pieces of armor were simple protrusions or actually elephant bone, as rumor suggested. Holes in his ears and nose spoke of old piercings, which had been replaced with new ones – bars and rings of intricately shaped and engraved bone.
The man’s thin lips twitched upwards into a small, sad*stic smile, revealing the sharp-filed fangs of every high-ranking member of the Fangs – apparently a holdover from their parent organization of the Syndicate, though Lupus was too young to know. Every higher-ranked official had his teeth filed into sharp, predatory fangs… everyone except King. Why ? Because he had asked, and of course, his father had listened. Lupus’ jaw went taut at the memory, and he balled his hands into fists, hard enough to draw blood from his palms
Howler was speaking again, his slimy hiss now saturated with the eager longing of a beast itching to be set free, “May I hunt the assailant down, my lord ?”, he licked his lips, “Lick him till his skin tears off ? Pluck out his eyes with the tip of my tongue ?”, he grinned with classic sad*stic malice, “Please, my Lord ?”
“Enough, Howler”, Osteos said, his voice carrying a note of command Lupus couldn’t quite seem to master, “If we do this, we do it the proper way – war. We aren’t cowards, and simple assassination will show the Nine that we’re too weak to take one of them on face-to-face, leading to… well, I imagine an invasion.”
“Let me, Father”, Lupus speaks up, eager to grasp at any chance to gain his father’s favor, “I can – I can destroy him !! Let me take my men and –“
“No, Lupus”, Osteos cuts him down sharply, “Barrage will lead his men out first”, the man bowed at the call of his name, and Lupus resisted the urge to growl, “and then, in the event of his failure, and only then – will you lead your team out”
“But Father, I –“
“I have spoken, Lupus”, Osteos’ voice carried a note of steel, the kind that sent a ripple of fear through his son’s heart, making the young man shrink back into the safety of his throne, “I have already lost one son – I will not lose another. Especially not to the goddamn Nine”
“My Lord !!”, Howler hissed in protest – he was a member of Lupus’ team, and one hell of a fight addict -, “Your son is capable enough to –“
“I decide that, Howler”, Osteos fixes him with a death-glare that was felt even through the man’s bony face-mask, “Not you. And I say that he isn’t – and that even if he was, I wouldn’t send him out first”
Lupus drew in a sharp breath, lowering his head in silent assent, and, trying to ignore the burning anger in his heart, drawing back into his throne, listening quietly to the rest of the meeting – as jobs were given out, for defense and offense, and a plan of attack was charted out
Lupus barely heard it over the sound of his own labored breathing, heavy, exigent and rough with suppressed anger – to the point that he barely noticed as the meeting came to an end, the men filing out of the room, leaving Barrage, Osteos and Lupus as it’s sole inhabitants
For a moment, the two talked quietly as Lupus watched on from his place amidst the bone-spikes of his throne, till Barrage looked up, the man’s orangeish-blue eyes locking onto Lupus’ sunset-orange. He turned to Osteos, and whispered something to the Fangs leader, in a low, soft tone, gesturing once to Lupus, before turning and leaving – the conversation evidently over
Rising from his seat, Lupus made to leave as well, before Osteos cleared his throat ever-so-slightly, “Son”, the man’s commanding tone spoke from a few feet behind him, “I think we need to talk”
Nodding, Lupus sank back into his seat, as Osteos paced the floor of the throne room before him, seemingly lost in thought.
Finally, the man reached up to pull off his mask, revealing his face. With a square jaw and close-cropped grey-black hair, the leader of the Fangs certainly looked the part. His eyes – a bright yellow-orange – shone out from where they sat, set deep into his age-creased face. His lips, a thin, hard line – only slightly marred by the scar that passed through them – were set firmly too, and his jaw was taut, as though he was trying to steel himself for the task of speaking to Lupus. The thought only deepened the young prince’s resentment
“Alexei”, the man said, his voice a deep, resounding baritone, his breath smelling vaguely of roses – Lupus had always wanted a voice like that, “I… understand that… you may feel some resentment towards me for the… decisions”, every word drawn from the man’s lips came slowly, after much struggle, as though each confession was physically paining him, “… I have made, regarding you and…”, and here the man simply gave up, his lips closing around his name – the name that had shattered their once – in Lupus’ eyes, at least – idyllic family
Lupus reacted with a blank look – being careful not to expose any of the myriad emotions raging under his skin – and spoke, carefully, diplomatically, “It is not my place, Father – you are the Lord of the Fangs. I am but a mere –“
“I am your father”, the man said, his face contorted into a pained grimace, as though each word that passed through Lupus’ lips were a new arrow burying itself in his heart, “If it is anyone’s place, it is yours”
Lupus’ jaw went tight, and his eyes rose to find his father’s earnest gaze. His mind fell into the maelstrom, with only one thought remaining even slightly coherent – If this is a test, then forgive me, because I was not made for this kind of test. I will disappoint you once more
Instead, what he actually said was a quiet, “Are you ?”. The words were not thought-out, Lupus realizes as his eyes close in silent self-recrimination, even if they were true. One did not simply challenge a god and expect to live
A few moments of silence pass, and then his eyes open, to find his father still standing before him, silent and still – as if struck dumb by Lupus’ words. At last, a look of consternation passes over his face, deepening the crags and creases of his warrior’s visage, and then more words slip from his lips, “Son…”, he begins, before drawing in a sharp breath, “Have you ever heard of Doctor Pain ?”
Slightly confused by the change in topic, Lupus pursed his lips together, before nodding reluctantly, once, twice.
“She was… an amazing woman – a warrior queen. Great Empress of the Syndicate. Greatest villain in history”, Osteos’ eyes rose to the domed ceiling of the hall, as if trying to look for her soul in Heaven – though from all Lupus had heard of her, it seemed like she would belong more in Hell, “…my mother”
“She was… not abusive”, Osteos assured Lupus, who simply stood stock-still, taking in the information with a stoic demeanor, careful to not let his face so much as flicker into any of the million expressions it wanted to form, “…but she wasn’t loving either. And neither was her father. And perhaps, this sorrow I feel now, was once hers – for having never been prized by her parent, and having never aided her son”
Lupus remained silent, his eyes glinting fiery and bright, even through the flickering firelight of the hall. This was a test. It had to be. There was no way this wasn’t a test- no way he actually felt this way”
But his father was speaking again, and he shook away any distracting thoughts, and turned his ears, once more, to him. Six simple words “What would you ask of me ?”, his father questioned, “What do you desire ? Wealth ? Power ? Men ? I can grant it to you”
Lupus’ eyes closed. So close. His father was so close to understanding his plight, and yet, so far. He drew in a sharp, shuddering breath, before his eyes opened, and he spoke, in a low, quiet voice, “I wish you would forgive me for being your son”
And with that, the prince of the Fangs turned and fled his father’s gaze, his barbed armor rustling and clattering as the plates and spines clacked against each other – as he near-ran out of there, back to the safety… back to the normalcy of his Wolves, where he was in control.
Where his father, still standing in the throne room, an unreadable expression on his face, was but a distant thought
Chapter 30
Chapter Text
The sun was sinking into the horizon when our craft drew near the coastline of West London, dark and foreboding against the blue-silver of the English Channel. The stone docks of the lower coast of England loomed before us, and I take a moment to envy the inhabitants of this section of the city – unlike East London, they didn’t have to deal with criminal gangs or vast regions of dilapidated infrastructure.
And then I immediately stopped, as I remembered that the Fangs existed.
The docks were empty, mostly, save for around three people, standing around it in a tight semi-circle. It was too dark to see them fully, but I could see that some of them had their arms crossed as they awaited us, and others still were tapping their foot impatiently against the stone flooring of the docks
“That must be Vindiction”, Rapture said, as we drew close enough to catch sight of their costumes, “We’re here”
“They’re… kinda small, aren’t they ?”, Riptide said, eyeing them strangely, “Like… three ? That’s a bit… low, isn’t it ?”
Rapture just shrugged as the boat came to a shuddering halt, and the door slid open with a pneumatic hiss
As we walk out onto the dock, I take note of each member of Vindiction – their appearance, their costumes, and mannerisms.
To my far left stands a woman of medium-height, who looked to be about Serenity’s age. Her black hair spilled down her back up to her shoulders in a spill of liquid ebony, untamed and wild, but she doesn’t seem to care. Her eyes are covered with a black mask that looks strangely opaque. Even more strangely, they seem to be fixed a little off our actual location – like she wasn’t actually able to see us, and was merely triangulating our location from the noise we were producing
Her costume was fairly simple, consisting of a deep purple skintight costume that flared out into a trench-coat-esque double-breasted closure. Narrow, platinum-white armor plates studded the outfit – flaring out at her shoulders where they ended in sharp points, and tapering at her outer thighs, ending in identical sharp points at her knees. A utility belt hangs about her waist – two small mini-crossbows holstered on it. In addition to that, a massive quiver was attached to her back, bristling with millions of sharp, metallic needle-points. A bow was slung across one shoulder, and she held a borderline-comically oversized arbalest in her arms.
Beside her stands a young man who holds himself with all the stoic grace of a soldier – and he was certainly dressed for the part. He wore body-armor, though not as thick and bulky as the military-grade version, dyed a deep black and trimmed with silver, clearly made for agility as well as defense. Two massive swords were strapped to his back, loops of black carbon fiber attached to their ends, fluttering in the wind, giving him the vague silhouette of a winged man.
The most striking thing about him, however, was probably his face. One of his eyes was gone, the wound covered, thankfully, with an eyepatch – a black, metallic affair, embossed with a strange, aquiline sigil. The area around the empty eye-socket was mangled too, covered in old, scarred-over scratches and cuts. In fact, from where I was standing, it looked rather like someone had pulled out his eye after a struggle, rather than gouged it out with a knife or a blade
His black hair was close-cropped, trimmed at the sides, and left to grow long at the back and front, bangs of it hanging loosely over his eyes, clearly positioned so as to not block his intact eye, which was fixed on us – a warm honey-brown color. Other than that, the man seemed to wear no facial covering, leaving his visage fully exposed. Perhaps that spoke of a man with confidence – or perhaps of a man with nothing to lose.
And finally, beside him, stood a man who held himself with complete calmness, though the very sight of him sent alarm bells ringing in my head. His hair was messily tousled and trimmed – in that strange way members of boy bands and supermodels seemed to love.
His eyes were a piercing silver– and, strangely enough, so was his hair, though the man couldn’t be older than twenty. His lips were curled up into a soft smile – the kind of smile that clearly spoke, practically screamed “I know more than you”.
His costume… really wasn’t much of a costume, being essentially a soft white suit and trousers, the coat buttoned up to his waist. The metallic glint behind it told me that he was wearing some form of body-armor under his outer clothing, but what really set me off was the fact that the clothes were pristine. This man was clearly the leader of Vindiction – or, if not, he held himself with the easy grace of one… and his clothes were pristine. This man was either one hell of a cleaner… or he was one hell of an adversary.
His eyes snap to me as we approach him, and it takes all my willpower not to flinch, before I realize something. Beneath the sharpness hidden in those eyes, and the blades and the cutting edges… the man had my eyes.
Not in a literal sense of course… but... that look in his eyes – that was the look I woke up to every morning in the mirror.
But before I can dwell on that, or even begin to comprehend it, we had reached them, and it was time for introductions to begin
He holds his hand out towards Riptide as we approach, speaking in a voice that was pitched exactly right to sound appealing – not too low, not too high, not too shrill, not too deep, “Greetings”, his lips barely moved as he spoke, and when they did, the motion seemed almost robotic – like he was doing this because he knew that this action at this time would aid him in his task of winning us over. The worst part is… it was working
“I am… glad to hear that you wish to help us in our fight against the Fangs”, he said softly, his voice rising and fall in a rhythm – soothing and slow, “My name is Owl – though my parents named me Hibou. That”, he gestures to the woman, who raises one hand in a silent greeting, “is Locus – real name Cazadora Spring”, he turned his head to the man, who nods silently at us, a smirk pulling at his thin lips as he eyes us up and down, “Eagle – real name…”, he grows silent, and the man speaks up
His voice is gruff and deep, like the growl of a beast – though it carries a note of an unidentifiable emotion within it, “Adler”
I can’t help but note that, out of all of them, only Locus seems to possess a last name. However, judging by the battle-hardened appearance of Eagle, and the soft firmness in Owl’s posture, it wasn’t too difficult to guess why they chose to not carry last names.
“Of course”, Riptide smiled winningly back at the silver-haired man, “It’s our pleasure. This is…”, and with that, I tune out, as he begins to introduce each of us in turn. I can’t help but notice the members of Vindiction doing the same thing, with Locus extracting one long, fine-tipped needlelike arrow from her quiver and starting to play with it – spinning it on one finger, juggling it – despite it’s obvious incredible sharpness, and Eagle simply looking off towards the sea, and occasionally the sky, clearly either bored or exhausted.
Finally, after a few seconds of exchanging pleasantries, Owl turns and aims a wide grin at his team, one that seems to spur them into action, as each member sprang to their feet, and sidled up beside us
“I suppose you would like to see our base ?”, Eagle asked, in a voice that was tinged with an unrecognizable accent – something German, perhaps ? And a touch of North England.
“We would, yes”, I reply on behalf of the others
“That’s good”, Locus said, a little dryly, her voice carrying the same timbre and tone as Serenity’s – only with a slightly higher pitch, “because that’s where we’re going. So you’re from the East ?”
I stare at her for a few seconds, before blinking, “Is this… small talk ? Are we doing small talk right now ?”
A small grin stretches her thin lips to one side, “Do you want to make this trip in awkward silence, kid ? Of course I’m making small talk”
“Well… first of all, yeah, I’m from the East… and second of all”, I lean in conspiratorially, my voice dropping to a whisper, “Are you… blind ?”
“Yeah”, she says, completely nonchalantly, “Have been since early childhood. You don’t need to whisper – it’s not exactly a secret… and if it is, it’s not a well-kept one”
“Oh”, I say, before, “How ?”
“How ?”, she strokes her chin thoughtfully, “Medical condition – always had poor eyesight. One day it just went kaput”
“But your”, I gesture to her to indicate her vast array of projectile weapons – all of which, I presumed would require eyes to operate
“Oh, that”, she grins, “That’s my power, you see – I never miss, no matter what I’m aiming for. For instance”, she draws out one of her needlepoint arrows, and, drawing it back like an oversized dart, aims it off into the ocean, “Right now, I am aiming for…”, she nods towards a tree growing by the mouth of the banks, “that tree over there”
She grins mischievously at me, “Ten pounds says I don’t make it”
“I know better than to make deals with a cape about their own power”
She pouts in faux-offense at that, “Spoilsport”, and then her face breaks out into a huge grin, as she lets the massive dart fly – straight into the water. For a moment, an awkward silence prevails and, just as I’m about to ask her if she’s sure this’ll work, the now-sodden dart flies out of the ocean, showering us in a spray of water as it miraculously curves straight into its target, embedding itself into the trunk of the tree. Locus grins at me, spreading her arms in a presenting flourish, like a stage magician presenting a particularly well-executed trick, “Ta da !!”
“Locus”, Owl’s voice calls back to us from the head of the group, “Stop showing off your powers before you accidentally take someone’s head off”
“Owl !!”, she whines in protest, “I’m better than that !!”
“Locus”
“Fine !!”, she pouts, before nudging me gently and giving me an exaggerated grimace, as if to say “Bosses, amiright ?”
I can’t help but crack a small grin at that
“He’s right, Locus”, Eagle turns to fix her with a severe look, “Your power is that you can’t miss, not that your arrow will curve to avoid obstacles – which means that if a person gets between your arrow and the target….”
“They’ll be skewered like a shish-kebab, I know, I know”, she rolled her eyes, “Still !!”
Ignoring her, I turn to the slightly older man, “What are your powers ?”
“Stealing”
I stare at him for a second. He stares back, his expression impressively blank. I blink. He does not, till at last Locus reaches over to grab my shoulder, clearly barely holding back her laughter, “He means that. Though not exactly traditional stealing – he’s super agile, has enhanced speed – though not to those crazy speedster levels people like Starlight get to – and he has the additional ability of being able to steal anything off a person if he gets close enough to touch them. It’s crazy. I would ask him to demonstrate it but uh… he…”, she gives him a look I can only describe as a “stink eye”, “… he’s not very cooperative”
“It’s not exactly stealing if the victim’s aware of it, now is it ?”, the corner of Eagle’s lip twitched slightly upwards, “Plus, it’s a really boring power – not much point in putting it on display”
“Boring ?? Eagle, I once saw you steal a gun from a thief… while he was using it !! Literally his finger was on the trigger and then you just waltzed up and removed it. It’s insane”, she turns to assure me again
“I’m sure it is”, I nod hastily, before turning back to Eagle, “I’m curious about one thing though – why did you choose the name “Eagle” ? It doesn’t exactly have much to do with stealing”. Then again, nothing about this guy could have prepared me for the reveal of his power. That was a tactic too, I supposed - misdirection
“Simple”, he nods slightly, shrugging a little, “My birth name – Adler, translates to Eagle.”
“And… that’s it ? I guess it is a nice name”, I ask, before my lips part wider – the question “Why don’t you have a last name ?” already on my lips, before I close them forcefully. That was one can of worms I did not want to open
Instead, I opt for a safer alternative, “What about Owl ? What’s his power ?”
“Uh… well…”, Eagle faltered for a bit, his eyes snapping to Locus, who apparently had started to find the ground around her feet very interesting
“Well…”, she finally relents and looks up, her voice dropping to a low whisper – presumably so that Owl couldn’t hear us gossiping about him, “… no one really knows. The most we can identify about it is that it’s a Thinker-class ability, one that grants him advanced cognition”
“Like, extremely advanced cognition”, Eagle chimes in, “To the point that some people assume his actual power is precognition, simply because of how insanely good he is at prediction and deduction”
Huh
I lean back, my eyes rising to the head of the group, where Owl was walking. Each step was taken with preciseness and calculated purpose. His eyes, glittering like shards of broken glass, swung this way and that, no doubt scanning the surrounding buildings for any sign of the Fangs.
His back was held ramrod-straight, and his hair flowed like molten silver down to his shoulders, ending in ragged, frayed ends. His eyes flicker across the façade of a nearby bar, and I see a glint of something molten in them – like a pure anger. Then, it is gone, and his eyes continue their travels
Hm…
Chapter 31
Chapter Text
If Owl didn’t know better, he would say that the newcomers were almost… shaped with the intent of needling him
They weren’t loud – no, that wasn’t the problem. They weren’t boisterous, or boastful. No. They were far worse. Something Owl had never encountered before in all his nineteen years of life. Unreadable.
Nothing seemed to impact them, even as they crossed through the intact, welcoming façade of his home city, into the dilapidated broken ruins that served as the Fangs’ seat of power… as well as his own.
He thought he noticed a minute tightening in the sanguinokinetic’s eyes, but he soon realized they were, in fact, focused on him. How overdone – yet another cape intent on finding his secrets. No doubt he would give up after he found out just how impenetrable Owl’s inner armor actually was
Of course, one thing was very clear about them. They didn’t know jack sh*t about the Fangs, and they sure as hell weren’t here to help fight them. Everybody else knew it too – Locus and Eagle might not have quite the same level of superhuman perception as he did, but they weren’t blind, and as unreadable as the Misaligned were in other aspects, they were extremely unsubtle about this one.
He drew in a sharp breath as he approached Vindiction’s home base – God, he hated that name. He chose it because he did. Things he reviled tended to stick out more in the ceaseless data stream that was his mind – at least more than things he liked
The Elizabeth Gallery. Something that had once been the crown jewel of post-cape-era West London – albeit a distressingly asymmetrical and far-too pretentious one. A vast construction of glass and steel. Now, it was a broken ruin, and navigating it was… a chore, but that was intentional. Owl did not do things for comfort. He did them for the sake of practicality
Still, he couldn’t help but grit his teeth in distaste as he ascended the staircase to Vindiction’s base proper. Wings jutted out of the building at odd angles, like architectural tumors. The attacks made by the Fangs had left deep gouges in the buildings supports, with entire wings collapsed into piles of broken girders and brick rubble, leaving the whole construction unbalanced
Inelegant. Unacceptable.
His mind worked steadily as he eyed the newcomers, working their way up the stairs, his powers already busying themselves with providing ways to off them, should they ever become a threat
The trans man - Riptide, clearly the leader. Hydrokinetics were relatively easy to handle. Simple dehydration would do the trick. Or perhaps catching him off guard. Guns wouldn’t help – the man had the reflexes of a soldier, even if he didn’t hold himself like one.
The same went for all of them, with perhaps the Thinker and the sanguinokinetic – Emmet and James, he heard them being named. They wouldn’t be caught off-guard, and they were powerful allies.
Allies. Alliance. His mind, ever-fickle, swung to a new target, without comprehensively dealing with the first
Sweet-talk them. Bring them into the fold. Cast them in debt. Backstab them. A thousand ideas to execute, and so little time to perform them all.
No. He wasn’t a fool. Allies were better-kept as allies. Enemies made situations volatile. More unpredictable. And that was something Owl considered unacceptable
Owl’s fingers tightened into a fist – he should buy himself a cane.
It would probably give him a more respectable look, and he could easily disguise weapons within it with only minute adjustments. A gun barrel hidden along the length of the shaft , trigger concealed beneath the head. Perhaps a simple sword blade, or a poison-gas capsule. Simple. Efficient.
He closed his eyes, and shut off all incoming thought, before opening them again, just as the Misaligned – and the two stragglers, his own team, ascended the final step leading up to the first floor.
He looked at them, and his subconscious kicked in with his primary brain… temporarily silenced. Scanning them head to toe, he could tell that they were… attractive. In a purely hypothetical sense. Conventionally so, though he couldn’t fathom the appeal in any of them.
He co*cked his head to one side and scanned them up-and-down, his eyes boring into them, one after the other, his gaze unwavering, assured
He could see the rise and fall of their chests as they talked to each other, the minute detailing all over their body that gave them the signs of life. He could see the sparkle in their eyes as they spoke. He could see…
Blood, blood all over the floor. A broken bottle. A gaping mouth. Twelve years old. Too young to witness such a thing. But witness he did
He forced his eyes shut, and drew in a shuddering breath, before opening them again after precisely twenty seconds, turning a now-calm gaze onto the inhabitants of the room, who had apparently decided to ignore him and speak amongst themselves
That was fine by him – he had always preferred to watch, rather than actually participate, in social interactions, after all.
His eyes flickered to the youngest one there, before his nose crinkled in disgust. The boy – the sanguinokinetic. He stank of alcohol – and yet the others were speaking to him as if there was nothing wrong with the situation. What was wrong with them ?? Couldn’t they see ?? Couldn’t they-
He drew in another deep breath, calming his thundering heartbeat, before looking closer
His furrowed brow relaxed and smoothed out. He wasn’t the source of the sharp, alcoholic stench – one he doubted anyone else could sense, given Owl’s naturally heightened senses. Someone close to him was a drunkard.
His lips twisted upwards in silent empathy, though he said nothing, before his eyes flickered downward to the modified watch fastened around his wrist. It had been T-minus ten seconds since the conversation began. He settled down onto a nearby, bare wooden chair.
He would give them thirty more seconds to become acquainted with each other – it wouldn’t do to have conflict and friction during the following conversation after all. It would cause disorder. A disruptive work environment, magnified ten times over by Owl’s natural perception – it would be hell.
But, it would be necessary. The Fangs were obstacles, abnormalities in the natural order of things – they had to be removed. And lucky for him – both of his subordinates were ready to give their all for the cause.
Eagle. His eyes found the man, standing stoically by as the others chatted. Owl had met him in a bar located near a site that had been recently attacked by the Fangs. Intrigued by the other man’s scratched-out eye, he had made his excuses to come over and speak with him, finding out about his past – he used to be the leader of a gang known as the Talons, before the Fangs had destroyed them, leaving him as the sole survivor. After that, convincing him to form the beginnings of a gang – not out of any hatred for the Fangs on his part, but simple survival instinct in a city ruled by them – was rather easy
Eagle had never explicitly told him the history behind his eye, but it was easy for someone with Owl’s intellect to decrypt its history, extrapolated from off-handed comments made by the other man. Now, the topic was more taboo than anything – something neither of them were really willing to touch
Next, his eyes swung over to Locus, who was busy chatting with the sanguinokinetic. Powerful, with an ability that could make even the toughest capes quake for its potential strength. Most importantly – she had a stake in all this, too. Her home-town of Kent had been demolished by the Fangs… and according to her, her brother might have been in there when it had – leading, naturally, to her violent rage against the criminal gang.
And finally, his eyes, narrowed now, alighted on the newcomers, just as his timer went off with a vibrating, low buzz. A small smile gracefully curled his lips upwards, as the leader of Vindiction leaned forward slightly, steepling his fingers beneath his chin, and placing his elbows against his knees
“You aren’t here to help us, are you ?”, he asked bluntly – it didn’t take a genius to figure it out, and he wasn’t too injured by it. Technically, neither was he, “Helping us is simply a… consequence. Why are you really here ?”
Surprisingly, there were no protests, only a resigned silence, stretching for a few seconds. No one seemed too surprised, with every eye in the room snapping to Riptide, who fidgeted nervously for a bit, before stepping forward, “Nothing gets past you, does it ?”, he asked rhetorically, before nodding slightly, “No. No, we aren’t. We’re here to… look for a friend of ours”
“What’s his name ?”
“Serenity”
Oh ? That was… quite the name. His eyebrows rose slightly, and out the corner of his eye, he thought he could spot Locus eyeing them incredulously, “Serenity ? That’s the name his parents chose to gave him ?”
“That’s the name he chose to give himself”
“And you think the Fangs have him ?”
“No… he’s…”, Riptide’s eyes closed for a second, before the man blurted out, looking uncomfortable, “… fighting them”
“Then he’s dead”, Locus spoke up, her posturing softening slightly with empathy for the newcomers, “I’m sorry”
“No”, Riptide shook his head sharply, “He’s not”
“No one fights the Fangs and lives very long”, Eagle interjects, a grave look adorning his face, “At least, not for long”
“Serenity isn’t the average cape”, Riptide said, “Trust me, he’s alive”
For a moment, an expectant silence stretched over the hall, before Owl realized that no further details were going to be divulged. He sighed deeply, “All right”, he nodded, “We’ll help you… if”, he held up one finger, “you help us”
It wasn’t a difficult decision to make. In fact, it was one he had made long before he had even brought them into his base. He didn’t particularly care why someone was working for him, as long as they were.
“Of course”, Riptide nodded sharply, before looking back, “Thank you”
“No need to thank me”, Owl waved dismissively, rising from his seat, “It’s an unnecessary formality”, his voice was sharp and cold – though he held no malice towards the Misaligned. He just always sounded like that, “Now. Retire for the… night. And we’ll reconvene come dawn”
And with that, with sharp nods and half-bows, the Misaligned and Vindiction slunk away, the two other members of Vindiction helping the Misaligned to their own rooms – old guest rooms that had once no doubt been used to house the Gallery’s staff, and now served as their living quarters – and making them feel welcome
They really were quite useful when it came to social interaction, weren’t they ? Owl was good at it, too, of course, in a purely theoretical sense- but it really was very exhausting analyzing every motion taken or word spoken by the person he was talking to, let alone when he was addressing a group.
That was why he mostly tended to delegate the more… public-facing, interaction-heavy jobs onto his subordinates. A lazy, cowardly way of dealing with it, perhaps, but an effective one nonetheless
With a heavy sigh, Owl reached up to massage away his budding headache, before rising and heading to the left to return to his room – on the opposite end of the “flat” to his teammates.
He saw enough of them while awake. He didn’t need to deal with his perception telling him about the way they breathed, slept and god-knows-what-else while asleep, too. And he especially didn’t need that kind of data on the newcomers
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