MGM - Chapter 86

Three Days Later

Early Morning

U.A. Campus

“… so this is it, hm?” Ken Ishiyama hummed, staring up into Sabah’s  polite, gorgeous little smile. As always, that one glance was enough to fluster him; he ducked his head immediately, blocky gray cheeks warming over with a faint red sheen. It took the flustered Pro Hero a couple moments to readjust the ITD - or, as Cassie patented it, the Instant Translation Device - in his right ear before he found the wherewithal to slowly continue.

“I-I will take a look if you don’t mind, Sabah-san. And I must thank you both for your patience with me over these past few days. It has been years since I’ve done any wide-scale construction projects, nevertheless across entire worlds. I just want to make sure that both of our respective ducks are in a row, as they say, before I fully commit.”

Her own ITD blinking a cheery green in time with Ken’s words, Sabah shook her head dutifully and handed the folder off to him with one delicate hand, the other still gripped firmly around a steaming hot plastic cup of locally-brewed coffee. 

“There is no need for apologies, Mister Ishiyama; especially when my boss and I are the ones infringing on your time,” she bowed her head, silly locks of golden blonde hair falling into perfect curls around warm brown eyes. “These copies are for you.. I’ve triple-checked its contents after having the documents notarized, and have gone through several channels to further vet its validity. Both the blueprints layouts and the work and construction permits have passed all muster.”

Damn, I loved a competent woman. And the skin-tight black skirt she wore wasn’t the worst eye-candy in the world.

Office Siren Sabah was probably the best fucking choice she could’ve made.

Ken’s large, blocky gray fingers flipped through the comparatively tiny manila folder with a gentleness that belied his bulky stature, oval black eyes narrowing down into a considering glare as he scanned its contents. The sun was still slowly rising in the East, covering the courtyard in a warm, orange-golden glow that made the sakura blossoms floating through the air glimmer like pink fireflies. 

The world of My Hero was, as always, photorealistically beautiful. Perks of being an anime world, I guess. The air was cleaner, too, and my connection to the Aethyr alongside it. Slowly but surely, I was starting to get used to the shift.

After all, this was my fourth visit to the universe.

These past few days have been pretty busy for me, but I imagine it was a hundred times more stressful for Sabah, even after being bestowed the administrative portion of Archmage and gaining the ability to multitask and partition her mind and attention to well over a dozen fucking tasks. She took my desire to provide a stable foundation for Brockton Bay extremely seriously, and had started putting everything she’d learned from both Brockton U. and Archmage to use that very same day.

Our biggest project? Fix up the Docks, repairing most if not all of the urban decay that’d turned it into Brockton Bay’s version of a fucking Night City combat zone, and provide safe and reliable housing for those without - which, from what I knew of the Docks, was way too many people for comfort. And if going through the DAU to facilitate all of that, alongside granting them a hefty, multi-million dollar grant, helped stimulate the economy and start bringing jobs back to the jobless, well-

I wasn’t saying I was looking to play Civilization in real life, but this whole thing was starting to feel a little like Civilization in real life.

Fortunately, I had Sabah, and she was fucking ravenous to finally start helping in more ways than merchandise and social media presence. She was the one who met with the mayor and the city council and Martin Reyes, the President of the Dockworkers Association of Unions, and somehow managed to make mountains move in only a short few days. 

I helped, of course - introduced her to Nezu and Ken, officiated her affiliation to me to the ‘big wigs’ in charge of Brockton Bay, keyed her into administrative access in my accounts with Number Man - but honestly, the whole ‘politicking’ and ‘networking’ and ‘business’ business was just straight up not my thing.

Sabah asked me to show my face and look all ‘heroic and mysterious’ when she needed a little extra grease, so that’s what I did. And I took pride in being her arm candy when it mattered.

For the most part, though, she handled practically everything herself - all I had to do was give her the tools.

Which had left me free to do what I did best; bullshit with magic.

As it turns out, having my species retroactively transmogrified into that of a Magic Dragon helped a lot with magical experimentation.

I imagine figuring out an efficient, safe, and humane way to ward the entirety of Brockton Bay from any and all ‘evil’ intentions would’ve been a damn near impossible task before if I’d set my self-designated timeline to ‘four days’. ‘Evil’ was such a… black and white qualifier, I’d never intentionally crafted magical wards outside of the unintentional ones I’d included in Invictus Mountain, and pound for pound, mile by mile, Brockton Bay was simply on a completely and utterly different scale. For a self-taught mage literally free-styling all of his magic off of vibes, intent, and raw willpower, it was nearly impossible. 

And then I’d cloaked myself with Arcane, hovered over Brockton Bay in my massive, fuck-off dragon form, attuned myself to all seven Winds of Magic and my own flow of magicka, and meditated on the possibilities for the better part of that entire day.

…

Suffice to say, I discovered that I did, in fact, have options.

Only, not a single one of those options were possible without an absolutely ludicrous amount of magical power and a similarly high-quality method to maintain it. It wasn’t just a small amount, either; I was talking enough Wind to corrupt even me if I wasn’t careful, and enough mana to empty out my prodigal reserves a couple times over. And they’d need to be constantly activated, so long as I wanted the intended effects to persist.

I’d thought about it a lot. Ran it by both Cassie and Amy. I even bullied Hidden Intuition into giving me a few passive aggressive insights that I was probably missing.

And the results were all the same.

I needed something to act as arcane conduits for the wide-scale magic I was planning to perform - something like those magic crystals you’d see in almost every fantasy anime. And those bastardized versions I’d made for Cassie’s gloves wouldn’t work. If I wanted to power magic that constantly over watched and protected the whole of Brockton Bay, I’d need huge, purified chunks of magic crystal - several of them. 

They’d act as generators, batteries, and natural catalysts for my magic, so long as I attuned them to both the Winds and my particular flavor of mana. Handled correctly, they’d be capable of keeping everything running in my absence.

At least, that was our standing theory. But I couldn’t exactly test it out without the aforementioned crystals, and there were none in either of the worlds I had access to. So far.

I knew what I had to do. The fact that it was already a goal of mine simply meant I’d be able to take care of multiple problems at once, too. 

I needed to keep traveling, and the day for such was quickly approaching.

“A penny for your thoughts, Jason?”

I blinked, glancing down at the little suit-wearing rodent and his tiny, ever present cup of tea. Though Nezu had assured us of his consent when it came to stealing away his one and only Literature teacher, I still made sure to invite him to the meetings regardless; a nod of respect to his authority here, and because I genuinely enjoyed what talks we had.

“Just thinkin’ about my next move,” I said honestly, stepping away from the bench and leaving Sabah and Ken to their (dull) discussion. Nezu immediately fell in step with me, and I allowed him to take the lead as we began a stroll around the courtyard.

“Ah,” he smiled, snapping his fingers. “You two have the press conference today, yes? The one Sabah-san scheduled, ohhh… about five hours ago? My, such a fast worker that one is!”

I couldn’t help but snort. “That joke ain’t get old for you yet?”

His smile was as bright and cheery as ever.

“On the contrary, Jason-kun, I’ve only had the pleasure of using it for less than half a day since you’ve begun gracing my Academy grounds with your presence. I dare say I haven’t properly milked it for all it’s worth just yet.”

“Haah. Fair’s fair, man. Get it out while you can; I’ve already cracked the code when it comes to time dilation between our worlds,” I waved my hand, a relaxed grin curling my lips. “Ratio should be fixed from now on. One to three instead of one to fourteen.”

“Ah,” Nezu said again, his smile twitching. “Of course. Because quantum physics means nothing when you possess magic. You really must bring me some sort of mystifying arcane relic from your adventures when you get the chance, Jason-kun. I would love to see how bad of a migraine it could give me.”

“Soon,” I promised easily, the gentle needling sliding over my back as smooth as water. “Sooner than you’d think. I’ll make sure it’s something especially bullshit, just to give you a conniption.”

His button eyes practically sparkled. “Really? Wonderful!”

The weirdo’s genuine joy at the idea of being driven to hysterics by magic… 

It was truly a sight to behold.

For a minute neither of us spoke, the air between us comfortable and warm. Our walk took us beneath another copse of beautiful cherry blossoms and a long, stone-paved flowerbed filled with clusters of violet hydrangeas and golden-yellow roses. Further down, wisteria vines wrapped around the wooden trellises that arched over the pathway, their lavender petals drooping down and ever so slightly swaying in the breeze. The wind was sweet, but not so much that it offended my sharp draconic senses.

As we slowly but gradually began to slow, Nezu’s soft voice broke the comfortable silence that’d built between us.

“Are you nervous?”

I blinked, shifting my attention back down to the little rodent. “Eh?”

“Why, the press conference of course! Don’t think you can change the subject so easily with me, Jason-kun.” 

Our walk finally coming to a halt, Nezu fully turned towards me, taking another tiny sip of his tea before continuing. “You are, after all, a very big deal in this ‘Earth Bet’ of yours, aren’t you? Many, many eyes will be on you today, if only because you are your world’s greatest hero. Whether they truly care for Brockton Bay’s improvement, to be blunt, won’t matter for many tuning in. They only want to see you. Thousands, if not millions of hopefully citizens. Does that not intimidate you, even slightly?”

If it wasn’t for the simple earnestness in his squeaky voice, I’d have thought he was trying to psych me out. But Nezu had this tendency to ask me very blunt questions that dug into my psyche and philosophies without any sort of foreplay, and I’d learned to appreciate the candidness. Not too many people gave me that these days.

Sabah’s sudden decision to schedule a press conference open to public spectatorship and fielded questions wasn’t one I necessarily liked, but the logic behind it was sound. I was a big deal now, a hot commodity and topic that was topping the charts and trending every single day on PHO, and my… religion - apparently dubbed the ‘Golden Faith’ by the internet - was growing by the minute. 

After my little (read, huge) declaration two weeks ago, where I’d claimed myself as Brockton Bay’s Saint and Protector and blessed everyone with a weak healing/uplifting spell, I needed to make a public appearance, if only briefly. And more importantly, I needed to get ahead of my massively growing fame and influence, before people began doing crazy shit in my name, as all religions with absent Gods tended to have happen.

A lot of responsibility for little ole’ me.

Still didn’t frighten me, though. Not that Nezu needed to know about the religion being created in my name.

“No,” I admitted honestly after those brief few seconds of introspection. “Never was camera shy, and as arrogant as it sounds, there’s very little on that planet that genuinely scares me. A hundred people, a thousand, a million, a billion - nothin’ changes, Nezu. I’ll just imagine they’re all butt ass naked. That worked back in high school.”

That got a surprised snort out of him, which he barely managed to hide over the lip of his cup. “Mm. Admirable stoicism. And your plan to help your city; you truly believe it is the right course of action?”

“You don’t?” I arched an eyebrow, more curious than offended. “Rebuild homes, buildings, give people jobs again… Ain’t no way it hurts anything.”

“It won’t,” he agreed readily, nodding his head. “From everything you and Sabah-san have shared, I dare say it’ll be a wonderful fresh start for Brockton Bay. And Ken-kun is a very hard worker, with an extensive history in construction. You’ve set yourself up for success, I’m happy to admit.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

“Then why’d you phrase it like that?”

His smile only grew. “I simply wanted to make sure you were confident in your decision. You’re young- and make no mistake, I do not say it to patronize you or understate your accomplishments and maturity. But with youth comes uncertainty, and uncertainty alone can unravel entire threads of progress with one sharp pull. I would hate to see that happen to such a promising young hero.”

Nezu reached up with his little white paw and patted me on the hand. “You are doing great just as you are, Jason-kun. Stay your path. Your world, and many others I’d imagine, yet need a Symbol. Just be sure that the weight you carry never becomes too much for your shoulders.”

I grasped my left shoulder with my right hand, calloused finger tips digging through the silkiness of my black coat and vest and pressing into the dense, steel-like mass of muscle that lay in wait just underneath. I rolled the joint slowly, feeling the magic infused and branded into my flesh thrum and pulse with power. I knew the advice wasn’t completely literal; I was carrying a lot of weight on my back and shoulders, and now an entire world was relying on my heart and magic to keep it from succumbing to the fucking apocalypse.

It was a lot of pressure. I’d felt it the instant I made the decision to stay on Earth Bet and save it from fucking imploding. An innumerable amount of people looked up to me now, from children to the middle-aged to the elderly, and I had a responsibility to not leave them flailing in the lurch. It wasn’t a small one.

But even then-

“Somehow,” I smiled, “I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem. Not anytime soon, at least.”

And I’d make sure my women would be capable of carrying some of that weight when the time came that it became too much for me to bear.

“Good,” Nezu said simply, turning his beady gaze back out to the school grounds. Already, students were beginning to stir, streaming from various dormitories placed in clusters in the distance. “I am glad to have met you, Jason-kun. As… terrifying as I still find it to be anywhere in your vicinity, your easygoing and simplistic way of seeing life is refreshing in and of itself. It is not a trait I see in many human beings.”

My grin was crooked as I ran a hand through my dreadlocks - white, today, and steadily growing long enough to fall in messy twists down the slope of my shoulderblades.

“It’s called autism, chief.”

He choked mid-sip on his tea, and I smoothly plucked his cup out of the air before it could shatter against the ground. Heads were already turning to us, eyes growing wide and mouths falling open as the young Heroes-In-Training caught sight of the mysterious foreigner who’d both nearly beaten All-Might in an all-holds-barred sparring match. I hadn’t been hiding my presence here at UA, and for the past few days, I’d walked these same courtyards, enjoying the clear air, the cherry blossoms, the sweet fragrance of flowers and peace.

“Looks like they’re still not used to me,” I commented idly, giving a blushing young pony chick with hooves and horns a small wave. She looked somewhat familiar, though I couldn’t remember for the life of me why.

Of course, Pony Girl promptly ran away, her oversized backpack flopping against her back all the while, and I allowed the struggling memory to fade away alongside her jogging form.

Cute chick, though. A lot of those here.

“O-of course, Jason-kun. Your battle with All-Might, you must understand, is still very recent.” Nezu cleared his throat, gratefully accepting the proffered teacup back. After a brief moment of thought, he sighed, poured the remnants into the dirt, and slid the tiny piece of porcelain into the pocket of his vest. 

“Fair.”

“Besides,” he continued glibly, blinking his button-black eyes up at me, “You seem to have taken it upon yourself to show more of your draconic side nowadays, haven’t you? One would even think that you enjoy the attention.”

I chuckled, deep and rumbling in the base of my chest. “Yeah? Well, one would be wrong.”

His words brought my attention up to the nearly nonexistent weight emanating from my skull - a constant reminder of the sleek, razor-sharp crown of ebony black horns curving out from the top and sides of my head. They were like miniature versions of the ones I had in my dragon form, though still fairly large and intimidating on my comparatively tiny frame. Combined with the eyes, the teeth, the claws, and the hair, there was no mistaking me for anything but something other than human nowadays.

The girls thought it looked sexy and regal, whereas Malcolm thought it made me look like some sort of professional cosplayer. Snowcone, meanwhile, was more weirded out that I even had a human form after we’d spent the majority of the afternoon and evening hunting whales and sharks across the Atlantic.

I hadn’t made the decision for any of them, though. It was for-

“Young Eri-chan would be considered one of those… ‘Case-53’s’ in your world, wouldn’t she? It’s a kind thing for you to do, Jason. Embracing your differences so that she may learn to do the same with hers.” Nezu, ever the uncomfortably perceptive one, spoke into the quiet that followed my flippant statement. His voice was cooler now, clinical - as it tended to get whenever the many negative aspects of Earth Bet were brought up in conversation.

Turns out the sentient animal science experiment was hardly a fan of Cauldron trying out their Eden-powered booster shots on random ass people across the local multiverse, and it firmly planted the whole group on his shit list.

I fucked with Rebecca, but it wasn’t like I could blame him. Cauldron were a necessary evil for the stability of the society they purposely hamstrung, but that wouldn’t last forever. At some point they’d have to answer for the shit they did, and I could only hope Rebecca was able to shoulder her own burdens when that time came.

I sure as hell wouldn’t do it for her.

“It helps,” I admitted, rubbing along the prickly stubble of my jaw with the tips of my claws. “My world’s kinda a culture shock for her. What kinda foster dad would I be if I didn’t try to help her adjust?”

“I imagine the lack of Quirk factors and the physical characteristics that would normally accompany such is only a small part of this adjustment period for young Eri-chan,” the rodent noted empathetically, his smile finally fading into a frown. 

I grunted, a stroke of anger returning in spite of the fact that I’d already murderized everyone involved with Eri’s torture, and the lead cause was currently a withered husk dissected by one of my girlfriends. 

“Impossible to get rid of a couple years of torture-induced trauma in a few days, but I’ll make it work. My mom used to say it takes a village to raise a child. I don’t have a whole ass village, but it’s close. She’ll be alright.”

“She’s in good hands,” Nezu agreed readily.

And like the several other conversations we’d had before over the past few days, our words smoothly and naturally transitioned into yet another companionable silence as we continued our walk. I didn’t have many male friends, nonetheless ones I could consider ‘older’ than me, and I was finding that having Nezu and Yagi there - even though I haven’t really been able to talk to the latter very much recently - was something I hadn’t even known I missed.

Malcolm was a homie, but I was pretty sure he had a genuine set of screws loose in his head. Half the time he responded with grunts and growls like he was fucking Tarzan. And Snowcone was more like a younger brother or an older son than an equal friend, with the way that he looked up to and followed me on every single one of my decisions.

I needed more guy friends. The irony in the fact that it took diving into another world to get them wasn’t lost on me at all.

By the time we’d made a full circle around the courtyard, Sabah and Ken were just finishing their own discussion. I couldn’t even blame the amount of teenage boys lingering around on their ways to breakfast and homeroom, watching from the sidelines with their mouths agape - Sabah was beautiful before the Apex Serum, and now she was simply breathtaking in every stretch of the word.

Poor Ken didn’t stand a single chance in negotiations.

“Jason. Principal Nezu. I hope you two enjoyed your walk,” Sabah greeted pleasantly once we came within earshot, brown eyes glinting triumphantly from behind her black Burberry eyeglasses. 

She folded one thick, voluptuous thigh over the other, folding her hands calmly over the stretched fabric of her skirt. Her smile was small, but Sabah made even minimal gestures seem big with her body language.  “Mister Ishiyama and I surely did, didn’t we?”

The Concrete Hero gulped, the sound like rocks crashing down a flowing river. He shuffled the manila folder and nodded his head towards us. “Y-yes, indeed. Everything looks safe, official, and above all else, well-thought out and fair. Project ‘New Bay’-“

I masked my snort with a cough. Sabah’s smile turned pointed as she stared me down, and Nezu merely glanced between us cluelessly, looking entirely satisfied to simply be here instead of his office.

“-will be a joint operation between me, Ishiyama Ken, and the Dockworkers Association of Brockton Bay. Over the course of several months, no less than one but no more than six in Earth Bet time, I will work cooperatively with the DAU’s leadership to repair the Docks and other particular out-of-date or degenerated portions of the city, as listed and shown in these documents, as well as build safe and stable housing, warehouses, and other associated structures for the future safety, stability, and prosperity of Brockton Bay and its citizens.”

He took a breath, settling whatever nerves that still may have been there, and continued in a more confident tone, “I deeply admire the vision, and I’ve already agreed to the terms with Sabah-san, but-… It is the price that I am uncertain of, Jason-san. I simply can’t accept it.”

At his side, Sabah let out the tiniest of sighs, whispering beneath her breath something along the lines of, ‘Tried to tell you…’

I blinked. “You want more? I mean, I can work something out with my gold plug, but-“

“No!” 

Ken shot to his feet, waving both blocky hands frantically as he stared up at me with horror in his eyes. “No, please. No more. It is the fact that you are willing to pay me what is more than ten times my yearly salary here that- that makes me uncomfortable, Jason-san. I do not need this much money. At all. You- it would be better utilized going back into the city you’re trying to rebuild.”

“Oh.”

He thought… I was offering him too much money?

… 

Yeah, that one simply wasn’t clicking in my poor brain. Hidden Intuition?

Ken is uncomfortable with the amount of money you are offering him for less than half a year of work, it piped up immediately, its androgynous voice somehow sounding both bored and amused. You are offering Ken ten one-kilogram bars of solid gold, which roughly translates to one-hundred and sixty million yen. Ken is uncomfortable with this offer because it is equal to over ten years of salary at his current job. Ken is uncomfortable because he does not think one to six months of hard labor is worth what basically equates to a once in a lifetime lottery ticket.

That…

Made complete sense, actually.

Though it was still so odd to hear Hidden Intuition speak such long and well-articulated sentences. I kept it Dialed Down to nearly nothing nowadays because surprise was the spice of life and it felt weird, getting these prying little insights into everyone and everything I laid my eyes on, but whenever I dialed it back up and it reactivated with the stored power of Holding Back-

Well, sometimes it sounded like I had my old psychiatrist explaining basic human emotions to me like I was a depressed teenager still coming to terms with his Alexithymia. Nostalgic, sure, but holy shit was it weird.

None of that really helped our little problem, though.

“… So ten bricks is a no-go?”

Sabah groaned, smacking her forehead with both palms. When she finally managed to pull her hands away, she took special care not to look me directly in the face. According to her, my ‘dullness’ gave her cute aggression.

Which was total bullshit. How could I be dull if I was such a badass mage? Literal INT build.

“We’ll revisit the payment midway through the allotted project time, depending on the work flow and estimated time of completion once the project is fully underway in a couple weeks,” she interjected smoothly, and Ken let out a quiet sight of relief. “Are those terms acceptable, Ken-san?”

“Absolutely,” he agreed without a moment’s hesitation, a wide, blocky-tooth grin appearing on his face. “That will absolutely work! As long as Principal Nezu is still on-board with me taking on this project, of course…”

All eyes turned to the quietly spectating hamster…gerbil… thing, who was simply watching the proceedings curiously with both paws placed behind the small of his back. At Ken’s question, Nezu merely tilted his head. “Your substitute has already been found and hired, Ken-kun. I’ve reassured you of this multiple times. I wholeheartedly support Operation: New Bay.”

As opposed to ‘Old Bay’.

God, I was so fucking funny.

“Then all that’s left is getting things officially announced and started on our end,” Sabah declared happily, pushing herself off of the bench and smoothing down the wrinkles in her skirt. She pulled a slim white phone out of her purse and flicked the screen on with one perfectly manicured nail. 

An excited, if slightly nervous smile formed on her plump, peach-colored lips. “Just in time, as well. We’ll be needing to leave right now if we want to make it to the press conference, and I want to smooth out some of the silk-work in your suit before we go in front of the cameras, Jason.”

Arching an eyebrow, I glanced down at my suit. It was a bit too fancy shmancy for my tastes - a dark, sleek three piece that Sabah was planning to incorporate as part of her luxury fashion brand ‘PARIAN’ - but as someone with a taste for high quality goods, I knew it was some top of the line shit. Silk, apparently. I couldn’t tell the difference between that and cotton.

And it also didn’t seem like it needed any sort of ‘smoothing out’.

“I… don’t think that’s necessary?” I brushed a piece of lint off of my shoulder before flexing my right arm. The sleeve held together just fine, contouring perfectly with the bulging power of my biceps. “See? The, uh, silk-work’s fire.”

“The suit does look rather fetching if I do say so myself. Sabah-san,” Nezu added helpfully, clapping his tiny hands together. “Do you take commissions? Perhaps even a trade? I provide materials that you may not possess on Earth Bet, and you… provide me with a discount?”

His black eyes gleamed.

“We’ll be working closely together over the next few months, Principal Nezu. I’m sure we can find the time to discuss a mutually beneficial exchange.” Sabah's smile was polite, but I’ve worked with her enough now to notice when the impatience began to fray at the corner of her pursed lips. It didn’t help that Hidden Intuition was still murmuring in my ears, but excited to expose all secrets now that I finally let it out its cage to breathe.

Sabah is nervous because she is a young twenty-year old fashion designer in over her head, but is now acting as secretary and ambassador to the world’s most powerful superhero. She is excited to meet and surpass every one of your expectations, but worries that you’ll widen up to her inexperience and hire someone more qualified. 

She knows that your suit is fine, but wants to use the fifteen minutes before the conference fussing over your appearance because acts of service is her love language, and it calms and centers her to take on a more caretaker-like role.

Christ. It was uncanny, the level of intimate detail.

But also-

Awwwww.

That was all the convincing I needed.

“Right, it was cool seeing y’all again,” I interrupted before Ken could throw in his own two-cents, reaching down to give an amused-looking Nezu a fist-bump and walking over to do the same to Ken. “We’ve gotta run. Got a Wormhole to catch. But we - and by we, I mean Sabah - will be in touch. Two weeks, homie.”

“Two weeks,” Ken nodded resolutely.

Sabah and I made eye contact, and she knew what to do without me having to say a single word. When she offered me her hand, I lightly gripped her wrist instead, yanking her into my chest with the smallest of tugs and wrapping my other arm around the slim thickness of her plush waist. Her surprised squeak was muffled against the silky fabric of my suit jacket, and just as well - Sabah absolutely hated losing control.

It was part of the reason why I enjoyed fucking with her so much.

As the Wormhole to Earth Bet burned itself into existence beneath my feet in whirling, rainbow-colored tendrils of raw magic, I tightened my hold around my secretary’s waist, eased off of my feet just enough to not immediately fall into the space between dimensions, and locked eyes with Nezu.

“Tell Yagi I said wassup. And his lil’ protege, too.”

“I will,” he promised with a single nod, a mischievous smile on his face/maw. “So long as you also give your family my well-wishes. Remember; if Eri-chan ever needs assistance with understanding her Quirk, I’m more than happy to make an exception in our current roster.”

I didn’t even grace that with a reply, just like the last two times he offered.

Nezu chuckled. 

“Until we meet again, Jason-kun. Sabah-san.” He gave a cheerful wave with his paw, the other tucked behind his back. “I expect great things!”

Sabah, half-shrouded in the shadows of my coat, shot the little chimera a wide, if slightly flustered smile. “As you should. Until next ti-IIIIMEEEE-“

I let us fall, and the Wormhole consumed us before she could finish her sentence.

It was well worth the arm smacks she subjected me to once we fell into the middle of the Atelier, back in the Palace. 

12:50 PM.

Ten minutes before the big conference.

I had to admit-

I was excited to see just how much things changed since I’d been gone. I’d been avoiding the internet like a plague on purpose, after all.

Surely nothing too big could’ve happened in just a couple weeks.

…

Right?

_______________________________

Town Hall

Late Afternoon

Director Emily Piggot stared into the mirror, brownish-gray eyes narrowed at what could only be a ghost from the past staring right back at her. 

It was frustrating.

Here she was, getting ready to step out in front of at least two hundred people, several dozen flashing cameras, and God above knows how many News Channels for what was anticipated to be the most highly viewed press conferences in Brockton Bay history, and Emily found herself once again growing emotional about these damned changes. She needed to be ready, needed to triple check her notes and rebuttals and prepare her mind to handle Avalon’s infuriating nonchalance and casual irreverence to authority, but-

Her slim, calloused fingers traced the smoothness of her chin - singular, no longer two or three stacked on top of one another. They glided down the sharp curvature of a jaw that no longer sagged with loose skin, and cheeks that were no longer as round, red, and puffy as a pair of strawberries. Strands of her short blonde hair, soft and rich now instead of stiff and straw-like, fell in front of her steely glare. She’d had to style them back into place before she left.

Her fingers touched her lips, slim, soft, and glossed over with a smoky burgundy from the makeup cabinet she’d almost forgotten she even had.

She felt her mouth turn dry.

It was like she was looking at the Emily Piggot from ten years ago. The Emily Piggot that didn’t spend twenty two out of her twenty hours of the day wasting away in a leather chair modified to accommodate for how shitty and useless her fat, broken had become. The Emily Piggot that actually went out into the field and did things that actually fucking mattered, like apprehending rogue capes and taking the fight to the real monsters of the world, making Earth Bet less and less shitty day by restless, blood-stained day

It was like she was looking at the Emily Piggot that existed before anything and everything that could’ve gone to shit in her life went to absolute shit in a hand basket back in Ellisburg…-

And the man she had to thank for it just so happened to be the very same one that was doing his damndest to make her entire reason for living obsolete.

A parahuman. An arrogant, stupidly powerful parahuman, who now claimed her city as his. And she couldn’t even combat that claim, because it was, and everyone knew it. Even her boss.

It was frustrating.

How was she supposed to face him now, after so many months of their butting heads and trading barbs? She’d spent an entire fourth-eight hour period that first day he’d ‘healed’ her on 2/7 surveillance. Medical professionals and parahuman power specialists combed through her body with every medical diagnostic tech they had on hand, and even some from out of state, and it all said the same thing.

That she was as healthy as a fucking horse. No side-effects, no tumors, no Mastering. He hadn’t implanted some killswitch in her head to go off in case she ever defied his claim on the city - at least, none that they were able to detect. 

Avalon had simply healed her, completely and wholly. Regrown her kidney and the lost tendons in her legs. Revitalized her atrophied muscles. They said it was like he’s given her cells a full-body massage, a double shot of espresso, and told them to get to work. And work they did.

It simply wasn’t normal.

The progress she’d made in two weeks of actively pushing her body… It gave her the results any other thirty-six year old woman would take years of strict dietary control and the best personal trainers money could buy.

Emily could actually see her vagina again by day five.

By day ten, she was running laps in the Protectorate HQ’s gymnasium alongside the likes of Hannah and Jamie, and even Colin when he managed to pull his head out of his ass and crawl out of that depressive junk heap of a bedroom. 

She’d never managed to keep pace with the significantly more conditioned Protectorate members, but the fact that she could even run now, when, before, walking at a clip any faster than a power walk made her mutilated calves constrict and sent crippling stabs of agony through her legs…

Emily had forgotten what it felt like to not be broken.

By day fourteen, she was forced to take a chunk out of her savings to buy an entirely new wardrobe because none of her current clothing would fit her, and the clothes that she did have from before, she’d burned shortly after the dialysis treatments started. 

From double and triple XLs to large and mediums - it had overwhelmed her, at first. Flexing her glistening, sweaty body in the mirror, watching abs poke through loose skin that firmed and tightened every single day. Squeezing lean biceps that were much larger a decade ago, but were slowly going back to their former glory with each hammer and barbell curl she busted out in the weight room.

The Wards stared at her with shock during patrol debriefings now. Her Agents looked at her with respect in their eyes, respectfully congratulating her on her good health and hard work. She went to sleep every night in a bed that felt too large for her new-old body, and woke up with tears stinging her eyes because each morning was a morning where the sun seemed just a bit brighter, the sky just a bit bluer, and she wasn’t slowly fucking dying anymore.

And it was all thanks to Avalon, the man who invaded the privacy and sanctity of her body with his powers and forced her to become better.

It was frustrating.

Because she owed him.

And even worse than that-

She was grateful.

And how could she be hard-ass Emily Piggot, ever the stubborn, no-nonsense PRT Director of Brockton Bay and sworn rival to the chaotic hurricane of justice and freedom that was Invictus when all she wanted to do was grasp its leader’s hands and thank him, from the bottom of her now-healthy heart, for handing her a second lease on life?

‘God,’ she thought wryly, flicking on the tap and spurting some cheap liquid soap into the palms of her hands, ‘I sound like such a whiny, wishy-washy cunt.’

The realization made her chuckle.

She was upset that she wasn’t upset at him.

How old was she, again?

Right. Thirty-seven. 

Emily Piggot was thirty-seven years old, stranded at the peak of a thankless job, feuding with one of, if not the most powerful man alive outside of Scion, who no one even knew was actually a parahuman or not - and to make it all the more pitiful, said ‘most powerful man alive’ was over two decades younger than her and a genuinely extraordinary hero.

Despite the miracle Jason Black had worked on her body, she wasn’t getting any younger. And after spending two whole weeks not existing in a state of perpetual kidney pain and nausea and hatred, Emily was starting to see just how much of a waste the past decade had truly been for her. For her career. Hell, for Brockton Bay as a whole.

She’d spent years spinning her tires, wallowing in her own shit and misery like the pig they would call her behind her back, and for what?

Ridicule.

Humiliation.

Failure. After failure. After failure.

…

She was tired of it.

What was she even fighting for now? For the safety of her city? Her biggest rival was the man who single-handedly drove a drill the size of a skyscraper into Leviathan’s chest and blew him to kingdom come. How could she claim to be doing what was best for Brockton Bay when she couldn’t even admit that the best thing to happen to the city in years was the very same man she was fighting so hard against?

It was pride. She was fighting for her pride, more than she was fighting for her city. Her people. And at this point, she hardly even knew how much pride she even had left.

“A waste,” Emily muttered bitterly, a twitching, flickering smile curling her lips.

It was all a waste.

Brockton Bay was never meant to prosper. Not under the Protectorate’s leadership, at any rate. And truthfully, Piggot never even wanted to lead anything larger than a six-man combat squad. She’d gotten herself roped and shackled to that chair because the alternative had been retirement in a cold, dusty home, giving herself dialysis treatments every night as she wasted away, physically and mentally. Jobless. Crippled. Useless.

But because of Jason, she was no longer crippled or weak. And this go around, she damn sure knew to avoid getting trapped in Ellisburg with nothing but a psychopath and a squad of superpowered pussies in her corner.

Given enough time and physical rehabilitation, the Lady could come back. She would come back. And when that time came, Emily would gladly hand over the keys to the kingdom to the next bright-eyed idealist with delusions of grandeur. Hell, maybe they would even be able to do what she couldn’t and actually lead the PRT into success. Renick wouldn’t be her first choice, but he was her Deputy Director and at least enjoyed the bureaucratic bullshit to a certain extent.

The ENE branch could do worse.

She could see the resignation paperwork already, and for the first time in years, there was a thought that filled her breast with excitement.

Emily was out of fucks to give. Completely and utterly.

All she had to do was get through the next few hours with her sanity intact.

_____________________________

It was a discomforting feeling, having so many cameras flashing at her from every which angle as she made her way to the head of the conference hall. 

Two PRT Agents clad in their black and gray combat uniforms - Smith and Hackley - shielded her from the worst of the flash photography, but no amount of security could save her from the verbal assault on both her ears and her character. The whispers were barely even whispers, and they drifted to her from both sides, where over a hundred chairs were packed into the spacious hall like sardines in a marble can.

“Ugh, what is she doing here? Isn’t this a meeting for the city, not her dumpster-fire of an organization-"

“Is- is that Piggot? Emily Piggot?! What the fuck even happened? She’s… HOT-“

“Didn’t hear? Avalon apparently gave her His blessing. Made her promise not to fuck up her second chance. But, uh, yeah, I’d smash now for sure-“

“Where IS Avalon, anyway? Parian promised he’d make an appearance. If this is some shitty attempt at garnering PRT sympathy, I swear-“

“Fucking bitch. Who does she think she-”

“Useless pigs. Invictus should just-”

“-can’t believe we let them pretend for so long-”

Piggot didn’t even give them the satisfaction of a glare. She merely rolled her steely eyes and kept it moving, heels clacking with every step against the cool marble of the Town Hall’s freshly polished floor.

Truthfully, this ‘press conference’ was just an inflated town hall meeting in all but name, which was why the venue - ironically enough, the Town Hall - was packed to the brim with civilians and news reporters both salivating for yet another miracle their precious ‘End Slayer’ could toss their way. 

It had been an event organized and scheduled at the last minute by his team’s apparent Head of Communications, the former Rogue turned Independent Hero ‘Parian’, but even then both the public and the media ate it up.

Hashtags such as #WhereIsAvalon had been making its round over the past week with the Hero turned cult leader’s apparent disappearance sparking both horrified and excited speculation across the city, and not soon after, the entirety of North America. 

Theories ranged from more innocent ones such as Avalon deciding to take a sabbatical after killing Leviathan, with doctored images showing vague photos of hunky, shirtless black men relaxing on the beaches of Cancun, to darker ones like Avalon having ascended beyond human comprehension altogether after his announcement of Brockton Bay becoming his, sloughing off his old skin and reaching apotheosis so that he can watch over the East Coast forevermore.

Emily personally found that one hilarious.

The internet, always quick to chew and regurgitate every scrap of mystery, seemed torn between thirsting for scandal and trembling in awe at the thought that they might have glimpsed the birth of a god in their lifetime. It didn’t take longer than those brief couple weeks of his disappearance for the truth to come to light, however.

Everyone knew about Snowcone, the massive white dragon that roosted atop Mount Invictus. Its online fanbase was nearly as big as it was, and the plushies Parian had made of its likeness was one of her most popular pieces of merchandise - Emily would know, because she the damned thing was sold out for every single time she’s gone online to purchase one for her nephew, who was a huge Invictus fanboy. It wasn’t rare to see or hear the dragon flying overhead, though it rarely left its mountain to hunt. 

People had gotten used to its presence. Even drew comfort and pride from it, because what other city in not just America, but the world could claim to have an actual dragon as one of its staunch protectors?

But only three short days ago, the world saw the impossible happen. Something no one’d thought Avalon would be capable of pulling off for the second time.

A second dragon appeared, considerably larger than Snowcone, and dwarfed entire sections of the city in its gargantuan shadow as it flew out into the ocean after its roaring partner.

For a time, no one knew what to make of it. 

Emily wasn’t as internet-present as her coworkers, but even she’d learned to keep her phone and PHO close at hand in order to keep a handle on the amount of gossip and rumors that was constantly spread around these days. And everywhere she’d looked, the forums were buzzing, theories flying left and right but no one able to accurately pin down what - or who - they’d just seen.

It wasn’t until, just a short few hours later, Parian made an official announcement in the Brockton Bay subforum, declaring Avalon’s return and some ‘exciting news for the future prosperity and safety of Brockton Bay’ that people put two and two together. Avalon was gone for weeks, no mention of him whatsoever from his team, and then out of nowhere, a massive black dragon was seen flying away from his home, and then, shortly after, his return was declared?

The Golden Faith saw a massive surge in female converts overnight, and it didn’t taper off over the next few days, either.

Avalon was back. Avalon was somehow a fucking dragon. And the entire world wanted in on the action. All it’d taken was the term ‘monster fucker’ to pop up for Emily to log out and leave PHO be for the foreseeable future. 

That was why Town Hall was filled to capacity and beyond, damn near close to bursting with the sheer number of bodies taking up space. It was why half of those assembled - the ones who weren’t here on official media business, as per the entire point of a Press Conference - were dressed in various shades of black, silver, and gold; the self-proclaimed colors of the Golden Faith, and the colors of the flags raised in support of Avalon and Invictus.

It was why she could see entire rows of citizens, most of them young and healthy-looking, with their hands clasped against their chest, lips moving silently as they offered up prayers to Avalon. The same Avalon who’d only just been another desperate vigilante cape brawling with Hookwolf at the Hillside not even half a year ago.

When she finally made it through the center aisle and eased down into her labeled seat at the conference table, right beside the thin-haired, weak-chinned Union President of the Dockworkers Association, Emily found it difficult to look away from the large clusters of Golden Faithfuls.

It wasn’t that they actively appeared creepy or problematic. Not like the Fallen, who worshipped the Endbringers and used their religion as an excuse to perform hate crimes and cause chaos. In fact, outside of their often-times vocal dislike of the PRT, those of the ‘Golden Faith’ were actually showing themselves to be an extremely kind, benevolent, and welcoming group, accepting and supportive of individuals of all shapes, sizes, races, sexualities, and identities.

Critics theorized that much of their progressive attitude came from the fact that a lot of them were on the younger end, teenagers and young adults, and originated from the Invictus Fan Club group on PHO. It wasn’t a crazy stretch to say that followers of a black, teenaged superhero would exhibit ‘positive’ traits, just like the followers of the Endbringers were violent criminals seeking mayhem and destruction wherever they went.

Personally, she thought that all of it was a bunch of cockamamie bullshit, but it was hard to argue with proof, and most of the cult - the more vocal and proactive ones, at least - have proven themselves to be entirely harmless in the brief month or so they’d been active. In fact, they went out of their way to give back to the community, hosting food drives, cleanup walks through the Docks and beach, and even volunteering at shelters.

… It was hard- damn near impossible, even, to separate the term ‘cult’ from ‘evil, megamaniacal maniacs’, but even Emily had to admit that there were worse ways to worship someone. And there were worse people to worship. Like the late Thomas Calvert, or God forbid Kaiser.

She simply couldn’t get behind the idea of praising someone human. Giving them that much power. Because no matter what sort of insane, overpowered abilities his Trump rating granted him, Jason was still just a Parahuman like everyone else. And nothing good ever came from granting a Parahuman too much power.

That would forever ring true, no matter how grateful she was for his ‘blessing’.

“Nerve-wracking, isn’t it?” the balding beanpole of a man sitting beside her murmured, his reedy voice shaky with the aforementioned nerves. He looked over at her with large, mossy green eyes beneath thin, wire-frame glasses. 

Emily thought he somewhat looked like her family’s old Basset Hound, before it died of testicular cancer back in the 90s. Something about him simply gave off ‘sad, depressed, tired old dog’ vibes. She wasn’t exactly sure if she liked it or not.

“What?”

“I, uh… Sorry, that was sudden of me. I’m Danny. Danny Hebert. I just thought you seemed kinda nervous, haha…” He scratched at the scruffy, dark brown hair infesting his sallow cheeks, looking every bit as awkward and unsure as he sounded. “You’re the Director of the PRT, huh? That’s- really impressive, actually. It’s nice to meet you. I’m filling in for my boss, Martin; he’s, uh, really old and sick these days. The boys think he’s gonna pass the reigns on over to me since I’m the head of hiring, but-”

Emily narrowed her eyes. “Are you nervous, Danny Hebert?”

It was as if a cat skewered his tongue with its claws.

She saw the way his gaze flickered left and right, instinctively searching for an escape that wasn’t there because they were sitting before over a hundred people with cameras trained directly on their faces, and he’d just started rambling his head off to a woman he’d never met before in his life. When the realization settled in, his face slowly began to burn red with embarrassment, shoulders hunching in like a hermit crab caught with its shell up.

The sight almost made her smirk in amusement.

Almost.

“Well, yeah,” he said in a hushed voice, significantly slower than his previous rushed word vomit. “I’m sorry about the rambling; it’s just nerves. I’ve spoken in front of about thirty or forty men before. Fifty on our good days. But all of this… this publicness. These secrets. The anticipation. It’s all new, and intimidating.”

“I see.”

And Emily did.

They still had ten minutes left until the press conference officially started, but the room was already packed to max occupation. Cameras were still flashing every few seconds it felt like, and no matter where she looked, it seemed as if there was some sort of blocky black device pointed straight in her direction. The conference table was already filled with members of the City Council- at least, the ones who bothered to show up, and in his cheap, scratchy-looking brown suit, ‘Danny Hebert’ couldn’t look any more out of place if he tried.

Even the Mayor, the ever stoic and square-jawed Roy Christner, was seated at the far right of the conference table, speaking in quiet tones to Janet Greene, Councilwoman and representative of the Brockton Bay school board. The only notable figures missing were Avalon and Parian, though it seemed no one was in a hurry to question their whereabouts.

Knowing him, he’d want to make some grand, dramatic entrance, right when everyone began to worry that he wouldn’t show up. Such a mannish thing to do.

“Do you know him?” Danny asked, and Emily realized that she’d completely ignored everything he’d said since she’d last responded.

Blinking slowly, she gave him a small, dry smile. “Repeat the context.”

“... Huh?”

“To your question,” she pushed, leaning her elbow on the table and giving the lanky man her full attention. It wasn’t as if she had any interest in giving the tabloids even more pictures to gawk over. “Who is ‘him’, and why do I have the feeling it’s the same guy everyone and their mothers are raving about these days?”

“Right. Yes. This ‘Avalon’ fellow.” Danny whispered his name as if just saying it would get him smote. If the reverence and fear wasn’t so damned pitiful, Emily may have found it funny. “I was just mentioning that this meeting probably has something to do with him and the DAU. My boss, he, uh, seemed very excited when he assigned me to take his place at this conference. He was apparently in a conference call with that ‘Parian’ woman and Mayor Christner for hours. I was just wondering if you knew what kind of man Avalon was.”

He paused, the red tint in his cheeks deepening a bit. “Beyond being the kind that kills Endbringer and saves entire cities, of course.”

Emily snorted. “Can’t forget that bit.”

And much to her surprise, Danny grinned right back at her. His teeth were straight and white, making for a fairly nice smile, all things considered. “Not at all. My daughter won’t let me.”

“Mm. Let me guess,” Emily raised a single finger, and Danny’s eyebrows shot up towards his receding hairline. “One: She’s a teenager. Somewhere around the fifteen to sixteen range, if I had to guess.”

“Correct.”

She raised a second finger, narrowing her steely gray eyes. Danny, she found, had a very hard time maintaining eye contact. “Two: The system let her down in some way, little or bit. She’s now disenchanted by any form of authority.”

“... A lot of us are nowadays, Emily. But yes.”

Fair play. 

She raised a third finger, her thumb flush against the tip of her pinky. “Three: She’s got merch. Avalon or Invictus - doesn’t matter. And even worse, she’s tried to hide it from you.”

And now he was actively suspicious. “I wouldn’t say she tried to hide the plushies, necessarily, but they were stuffed behind her mattres- wait, hold it. What are you getting at, exactly?” 

Fortunately, Emily wouldn’t have to be the one to tell the poor man that his teenaged, disenfranchised fangirl of a daughter was probably in the middle of converting to the Golden Faith-

Because it was at that moment that the so-called ‘Golden God’ himself made his appearance.

It wasn’t as dramatic as she’d thought it would be. Going off of his track record, Emily had been half-expecting him to wrench away the rooftop in his massive dragon claws with his secretary perched daintily atop his snout in sidesaddle. This was the same Avalon that fought Lung to death over the Atlantic Ocean with Power by Kanye West blaring through the sky. Dramatism ran through his veins like blood, and his powers only exacerbated it.

But this time, he and Parian simply…

Appeared.

Like flickering mirages made real, they appeared from within shimmering, translucent waves of displaced air, right there in the middle of the stage. Gasps and screams from the audience filled the air, abruptly choked away into a thick, hypercharged silence that pressed down upon the atmosphere like an actual physical weight. For a moment, the only sound that filled the room was the clicking of over a dozen cameras, so quick and overwhelming that not even the famous End Slayer had the time to shield his face.

Their backs were to her, but Emily didn’t need him facing her way to realize that those ‘dragon’ rumors weren’t really rumors at all.

Avalon had changed. And she wasn’t referring to just the horns.

Significantly taller than the last time she’d seen him, his shoulders broader and his back wide enough to stretch the silky black fabric of his coat, Avalon stood with Parian pressed close to his side. Everything was… larger than she remembered. His hair was longer, tied back into a ponytail that fell messily down between his shoulder blades. His hands were bigger, tipped with black claws that lightly pressed in on his secretary’s waist. 

Even the air around him felt denser. What felt like static electricity surged through the atmosphere, sparking through her stomach and forcibly accelerating her heartbeat. Emily licked her suddenly dry lips, and beside her, Danny Hebert watched with his large green eyes damn near bulging out of his head.

“Shit. We’re the last ones?” 

It was quietly asked, but amongst the silence, the dark, smooth growl of his voice may as well have been as loud as thunder. 

The floodgates opened. 

At first, it was one voice - young, hoarse, and cracking with excitement. Then another, this one older, more shrill, shrieking in disbelief. Then ten more, then twenty, then fifty, until the sound crashed against itself in a storm of noise, reverent and frantic and jubilant all at once.

“AVALON! AVALON! AVALON!”

“HE’S- OH MY- MY HIM! AVALON, WE LOVE YOU!”

“PRAISE AVALON! HAIL INVICTUS!”

“STEP ON ME, AVALON!”

“LET ME HAVE YOUR BABIES!”

It was worship, plain and simple, voices raised so loud and high that the walls of Town Hall seemed to almost shake with the praise. Every cry layered itself atop the other until words lost all meaning and merged into one steady, continuous roar of awe, devotion, and hunger. All the while, the cameras flashed, their click click clicks practically unending behind the joyous reverence of the Golden Faith and other fanatic citizens of the Bay.

No one was rushing the stage. There was no pushing or violence or the expected frenzy one would expect from such a crowd. But even then, hands were raised, arms extended out as if getting just an inch closer would somehow baptize them in his power.

Mayor Christner was at the podium near the head of the table, talking loudly into the microphone - damn near shouting - but even his voice was drowned out by the praise. Behind her, Piggot heard her agents shift uncomfortably, though neither made a move for their weapons. The other Council Members seemed genuinely lost, though some even looked starstruck themselves, staring at Avalon’s back as if in disbelief that he actually showed up to his own press conference.

Avalon unwrapped his arm from around Parian’s waist - a woman, Emily dully realized, that also seemed to have grown in all the right places - and leaned down to whisper something in her ear. She nodded quickly, standing on the tips of her toes to whisper something back, and patted him on the cheek when he grinned. 

And then she was turning around, wide, voluptuous hips swaying as she marched straight for the podium, and Avalon was raising his right hand. His fingers crossed, thumb against middle, before-

SNAP!

“Order in the court.”

The speed in which the room quieted nearly made Emily sick to her stomach.

There were still murmurings, of course. Some people were crying actual tears, others having gotten out of their chairs to prostrate themselves on the floor, but the walls weren’t shaking from their roars anymore. Avalon simply watched them all silently for a moment, his hand slowly lowering to tuck itself into his coat pocket. Though she still couldn’t see his face, Emily got the feeling that he didn’t care a lick about the cameras, or the photos, or the raw amount of people watching him with an intensity that bordered on and even surpassed obsession.

His head tilted to the right. 

“Thank you,” he said simply, and she could hear that damned crooked grin in his voice. “Keep it classy, yeah? Respect your neighbors, and show these people some respect. We have a lot to get through today. Can we do that?”

It took a moment for them to realize that he was waiting patiently for a response. When that realization hit, however, squeals and screams once more shot through the building - except this one was much more contained and short-lived. A massive chorus of affirmations rang out amongst the fanaticism, and Emily even heard one girl - spotted instantly because of her dyed white hair and Avalon t-shirt - shout out ‘yes, daddy!’, only to flush and fall into a pile of giggles and squeals with her friends when he turned his head in her direction.

Shaking his head, Avalon gave one last wave to the people before turning around and making his way to his seat.

For the briefest of seconds, he and Emily’s eyes met. Bright, slitted silver, the color of molten steel, met a dull, steel-like gray. His eyebrows arched upwards, his smooth, long strides faltering for just a second, before he nodded his head at her and looked away.

It was brief. So very, very brief. But Emily took a certain amount of childish, womanly pride in the fact that she even surprised the normally unflappable fucker, if only for a second.

A tiny part of her was slightly disappointed that her righteous, ignorant anger hadn’t come back with a vengeance once she saw his face again, but it was overshadowed by the tired, ‘out of fucks to give’ part that wanted to be done with measuring dicks with the guy who solo’d an Endbringer. It simply wasn’t worth it.

“Good afternoon, citizens of Brockton Bay,” a low, sensual, and undeniably womanly voice spoke from the podium, and whatever vestiges of murmuring that remained faded away into silence. Parian had taken center stage, and the transition from Avalon’s casual, overwhelming authority to her silky, sweet-voiced charisma was so damned smooth that Emily hadn’t even realized that it happened.

They were good. The fact that she somehow convinced the overtly ambitious Cristner to give up the opening speech was even more impressive.

“On behalf of Invictus and the Brockton Bay City Council, I thank you all for being here today. I know how difficult it can be to gather at such short notice, especially in times like these where hearts and minds are still reeling from the multiple invasions wrought upon our fair city,” she continued humbly, each word spoken with a calm, graceful intonation that sounded as soft as feathers but hit as sharp as knives. 

Parian adjusted her eyeglasses, brown eyes twinkling behind the clear lenses, and it was only just then that Emily realized she was completely unmasked. 

“Brockton Bay has endured. You have endured. Through storms, through violence, through villains and neo-nazis, through domestic terrorists and corruption, this city has been tested more brutally than most could imagine - and yet, here you stand. Here we stand. Whole, safe, and truly unified for the first time ever.”

Cheers rang through the spellbound crowd, flags and banners painted black and emblazoned with golden crowns waving and flapping in the air. Emily was certain this speech was pre-written, but there were no teleprompters, no notes that she was reading from. Parian spoke from the mind and the hearts, staring directly into each and every pair of eyes that watched her from the crowd.

Even Danny Hebert, the frumpy, lost Dockworker with the fanatic daughter and nice white teeth, seemed utterly transfixed by the speech. 

Emily pursed her lips, begrudgingly impressed.

“Invictus was born from that endurance,” the secretary continued, her voice resolute. “We are not a gang of outsiders descending upon Brockton Bay with promises we cannot keep. We are people who have bled with you, who have fought in your streets, who have carried the weight of your grief. We know what was lost because we have lost, and more importantly, we know what still needs to be rebuilt.

“That is why we are here today - not to dazzle you with fancy speeches or grand entrances, but to set a precedent. Today is not about platitudes. Today is about accountability. About promises we have made, and promises we plan to keep.”

She took a breath, resting both of her perfectly manicured hands on either side of the lectern. Blonde-haired and mocha-skinned, with breasts that seemed ready to pop out of her top and subtle makeup applied perfectly, the woman looked like something straight out of a magazine lineup. The cameras must’ve thought so too, because they would not stop clicking.

“Avalon and Invictus have pledged themselves to this city. To its safety, to its future, and to its people. And while we cannot completely undo the wounds of the past, we can and will ensure that those wounds are not deepened by neglect, corruption, or cowardice. In the coming hours, you will hear not only words, but plans. You will see steps taken, not someday, not eventually, but now.

“We will speak on infrastructure, on economic renewal, on defense. We will speak on the partnerships already forged between Invictus and the DAU, and the ones still to come. And most importantly,” she raised her voice, and the crowd crooned alongside her, “We will listen. Because power means nothing if it forgets the people it serves. And Invictus will never forget you. Brockton Bay will never forget you. And we all will ensure that this world does not forget us.”

…

It was frustrating.

Because Emily wholeheartedly believed her.

And as the clapping of hands and the stomping of feet and the cheering of raised voices pounded at her skull like a migraine, the PRT Director found herself applauding alongside the other City Council members, though not a single one of them clapped louder than Danny Hebert. He and Avalon were the only ones standing - he’d been standing since the moment the word ‘infrastructure’ left her lips.

It wasn’t like Emily could blame him, either. 

Infrastructure, economic renewal, and defense must’ve sounded pretty fucking good right about now.

Considering she’d probably be out of a job in the next half year-

It was starting to sound pretty fucking good for her, too.

“Now, a word from Mayor Christner before we move onto our first collaboration of the day; Project New Bay!”

___________________________________

Several Hours Later…

Invictus Palace

“Thank you for this opportunity. My question is directed towards Avalon, otherwise known as both the ‘End Slayer’, and the ‘Golden God’. If it pleases the Parian, I’d prefer no interruptions or commentary. I want to hear solely from Avalon himself.”

The pudgy, greasy-haired reporter’s voice somehow remained steady in spite of the attention focused on him like a laser beam. He adjusted his sweaty grip on the guest podium’s microphone, and for a moment, an obnoxious, high-pitched feedback shot through the recording. The camera swung around, showing the faces of the cringing and annoyed audience, and the long line of people standing behind the reporter, waiting for their turn.

From his spot at the conference table, seated right between Parian and Mayor Christner, Avalon leaned back in his seat and brought his microphone halfway up to his mouth. He appeared utterly relaxed, piercing silver eyes simultaneously half-lidded and sharp.

“Yo,” he said simply, the word rolling out with a casualness that drew a ripple of laughter from the audience.

The reporter swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing anxiously in his throat.

“Ahem. Good afternoon, Avalon. I’m Reporter Xavier Espinoza from the Brockton Bay Gazette, and I come to you with a question regarding your so-called ‘religion’, the Golden Faith.”

Whispers immediately broke out amongst the crowd, and those of the Faith - so many of the attendees - visibly grew nervous and excited. Parian leaned into Avalon’s side, raising her head to whisper in his ear, but he placed a single finger down on her lips and lightly pushed the bemused woman back into her seat. He never looked away from the reporter.

“Sure,” he said lightly, placing his microphone on the table and leaning forward on his elbows. His grin was a faint curve of sharp, pearly white teeth, somehow managing to look both amused and predatory. “Lay it on me. What’s your question?”

The camera swiveled, and the reporter was once more centered in the frame. He nodded quickly, adjusting his foggy glasses. “The Golden Faith has been growing rapidly, not only here in Brockton Bay but across state lines, and even internationally. They use your likeness, your words, and your name as justification for their practice, but no one can exactly pinpoint where those practices lie. 

“We want to know, Avalon - what is the Golden Faith? What are you? What does it mean for Brockton Bay, for Massachusetts, for America, for the entire world for a cult’s growth on a level of this magnitude, when the ‘God’ they worship is here, is present, and is a cape of whom parahuman experts are claiming to be the strongest in existence next to the likes of Scion?”

When Espinoza paused to take a sip of water from the fancy bottles Parian had ordered in bulk, Avalon tilted his head. The camera whirred again, zooming in on the hero’s handsome, unbothered face as he tapped lightly on the microphone.

“Thats a lot of questions,” he stated bemusedly. 

Further down the table, Emily Piggot hid her snort behind a tightly clenched fist.

If the reporter heard the quip, he didn’t acknowledge it. His eyes raked up and down his phone screen, hungrily scanning his own notes. “H-history has shown us what happens when dangerous cults arise around powerful figures. The Fallen, for instance, and their worship of the Endbringers. At best, they destabilize communities. At worst, they lead to violence. Death. Chaos and bloodshed.

“How long, Avalon, before the Golden Faith stops being a harmless gathering of the hopeful and the disenfranchised and starts down the same road as those who worship the Endbringers? What separates them - what separates you - from being one bad day away from that same corruption?”

It should have been a ‘mic drop’ moment. Despite his later shakiness, Xavier’s speech was clearly well-thought out and well-written, though the delivery was too artificial and rehearsed to truly dig it in. It was a barrage of questions that would normally bring with it a tense, eerie silence, as people - both those who agreed, and those who disagreed - took the moment to absorb and assimilate what they’d just heard. 

The reporter couldn’t help but smile, and it was a smug, self-satisfied one. He thought he had it in the bag.

But Avalon didn’t even give it time to breathe.

“What, exactly,” he spoke into the hushed quiet, the lazy, silky growl of his normal speaking voice made sharper and colder by the tenseness in the atmosphere, “Is a ‘God’ to you, Mister Espinoza?”

“The best part’s coming!” Aisha squealed excitedly, leaping up to her feet and violently pumping the air with her fist. “God, I love it when Boss Man gets all deep and edgy! ‘What, exactly, is a ‘God’ to you,’ he says. Like what the hell is that even supposed to mean?! But it sounded cool. Let’s freakin’ go, Jay - tell that fatso who his daddy is!” 

Jumping around in nothing but underwear and an oversized Gengar onesie, she looked more her age now than I’d ever seen her, even before the Apex transformation when she wasn’t built like a succubus and had the low, husky drawl of a grunge rockstar. If it wasn’t for the golden katana sheath bouncing against her meaty ass with every excited fist pump, I could’ve imagined she was literally a normal fifteen year old girl.

As it stood, all I could think about was how much I hated hearing myself back on the big screen. And what the fuck did we get such big and high-quality speakers for?

I groaned, wrapping my arms around Amy’s pleasantly squishy tummy and burying my burning face in her thick, flower-scented hair. Riley, confused but ever-so compassionate and empathetic, patted me comfortably on the leg.

“Aisha-neechan, stop talking over Big Bro! You’re making Amy-nee pause it!” Eri pouted, turning around from where she’d been nearly glued to the TV screen and jabbing an accusatory finger at the grinning teenager in question. She was wearing the white unicorn onesie that Sabah made for her on a whim the first day she’d been introduced to the family. The stuffed, spiraling horn had even been carefully hollowed at the base so it wouldn’t press against the real one growing from her forehead. 

Aisha could only cackle at the, from her point of view, indignant white-haired midget shouting at her in squeaky Japanese. “Nooo clue what you’re sayin’ twerp.” she grinned, tapping her pierced ears. “Lost those fancy Google Translate Air Pods earlier today. You sound cute, though! Keep yelling at me.”

Eri’s entire face twitched, and her hand went for the trusty sword (read, flimsy little stick) she’d started to keep tucked away in her clothes. “Y-you-!”

“You shouldn’t stand so close to the TV, Eri. It’s really bad for your eyes,” Riley interjected in her soft, lilting voice - like little bells ringing in the wind. “A-and Mister Jason said not to ever point your stick at someone unless you intend to cause them ‘serious harm’…”

Dressed in a much more normal sky-blue pajama set, the gentle blonde-haired girl stared up at her new (and self-proclaimed bestest) friend with genuine concern in her bright green eyes. She was cuddled up into my right side for warmth and comfort since my lap was occupied by an utterly content Amy, whose much thicker lap was occupied by a dozing Cassie. In her hands she fiddled with a little brown teddy bear plushy the girls had picked up for her during one of their shopping trips. 

It was mercifully free of any metal hydraulic frames or wiring - both Amy and I checked religiously. She was planning on easing Riley into her Tinker abilities when the time came that she began showing interest in them, but so far she was apparently hyperfixated on becoming a bog-standard doctor and surgeon, which I was grateful for.

I wasn’t sure if I could handle dealing with my unofficially-adopted daughter reenacting the Bite of ‘87 with a killer animatronic teddy bear. The mere thought was cursed.

“I’m not pointing it at her,” Eri whined, though it was clear that the only reason she wasn’t whipping the dangerous weapon out was because it was stuck somewhere in her zipper-less onesie. 

After a few more small tugs, she retracted her little hand from her collar and let out a huff. The side-eyed glare she shot Aisha was criminal. “Hmph. Riley won’t be able to save you all the time, Aisha-neechan! Wait until Big Bro finally gives me my magical sword~.”

“‘Katana’?” Aisha repeated amusedly, reaching back and flicking the shiny golden hilt of Muramasa. “I understood that one, short stuff. You want my sword? ‘Cuz you ain’t getting my sword. I can help you find a super cool stick, though. The coolest, hehe.”

“I don’t even want Muramasa!” Eri shouted passionately, clenching her little fists at her sides as she faced down her sworn rival for the evening. “You’ll see! Jason-otou- ummm, Jason-aniki already promised me we’d find an epic magic sword together, and he’ll train me to fight, and- and we’ll kill monsters together, and protect Cassie-nee and Amy-nee and Riley-chan together, and- and  be HEROES-”

“Okay!” Aisha shouted, gasping for breath between bouts of giggles. “Holy crap, I gotchu. I gotchu. Just- just please, stop with the rapidfire Japanese, Eri. I’m begginggg. You’re killin’ me.”

Across the room, the massive, t-posing shadow that was Malcolm in the supine position, let out a loud, gravelly bark of laughter. Clad in a white t-shirt that seemed about ready to burst off of his ridiculously muscular frame and a pair of boring black pajama bottoms, he was by far the most plainly dressed one. Draped backwards over his wide-barreled chest, her long crimson hair pooling across the soft carpet like streaks of liquid fire, Rachel gave our little chaotic group a long-suffering glare. 

She was dressed no different than her boyfriend. Because that’s what they were, no matter how much they tried to avoid ‘labels’. 

Still- it was cute, the way she tried to stifle the smile on her face. The homie really managed to bag himself a tomboy tsundere by being literally autistic. Since he was reborn through my Apex nut, did that make this a ‘like father, like son’ moment?

Probably not.

“We gonna finish this clip or what?” Rachel asked gruffly, reaching one long, shredded arm over to nab a slice of lukewarm meat lover’s pizza from her and Malcolm’s XL box.

“We,” I enunciated with a wry grin, “Don’t have to finish shit-”

“Language!”

“Language!”

I paused, allowing Riley’s scandalized gasp and Amy’s protective hiss to filter through my body like an antivenom. Right. Eri was actively learning English using Cassie’s new ITD, and swear words were a no-go around both her and Riley. 

Attempt number two.

“We,” I repeated slowly, with great intent, “Don’t have to finish doodoo caca-”

…

“You’re so lame,” Cassie groaned from beneath Amy’s tender, bio-enhanced scalp massage. 

“Booooo!” Aisha yelled through a mouthful of pepperoni. 

“Ewwww.” Eri wrinkled her nose, narrowing her large, scarlet eyes at me. “Nasty aniki.”

Riley didn’t say anything, but I could feel her tiny hand squeeze at mine with a strength that could only come from sheer second-hand embarrassment and pity.

I could never win.

I was mortified enough having to watch myself aura farm on live television in front of millions of viewers, but the team had been playing viral clips from the press conference over and over again in the atrium, and what should have been an early night after such a long day of work turned into a bedroom watch party complete with pajamas and Dominoes pizza. 

Sabah had been the first to tap out, wanting to get a headstart on sleep considering the piles of work she was anticipating first thing in the morning, and Sherrel followed soon after for the same reasons. She, especially, was hyper-intent on clearing the Docks as much as possible before Project New Bay began in a couple weeks.

I’d been debating being the third, but there were some perks I wanted to pawn off before I ended up forgetting about it for the twentieth time in a row. Animal Form, Eyes See All or None, Sleight of Hand, and Infusion, to be more specific. Rachel, Aisha, and Trainwreck would be able to get a lot more use out of them than I could at this current moment and time, purely because I’d pretty much outgrown their usefulness through the progression of my other perks and magic.

I was planning to scout out the next world at some point within the next couple days. Empowering my people before I left, even if I planned to keep the time dilation slower on Earth Bet’s side this time around, simply felt like the right move.

“Fu- uuuuhgeddaboutit,” I groaned, pressing closer into Amy’s plush warmth and snagging the remote controller from the floor beside her leg. “We’ll finish this last clip, and then we’re done with the humiliation ritual for tonight. You feel me?”

Eri gasped. “I feel you! B-but aniki… wha- what about when that reporter asked about your horns and you showed everyone your wings and all those women began screaming? You looked so cooooool…”

I cringed.

Why this little girl was obsessed with everything chuuni, I had no idea. But I could only hope she grew out of it fast, otherwise I’d be dealing with a cursed amalgamation of my and Cassie’s most embarrassing traits.

“Absolutely not, Eri.”

“But-”

“No.”

“B-but-”

“Say ‘but’ again and you won’t be gettin’ any swordfighting lessons, young lady.” 

Her mouth slammed shut with an audible click.

Triumphant once more, I pressed play.

Avalon’s words hung forebodingly in the air. It was a simple question, but Xavier seemed entirely put-off by it. His thin, dry lips pursed together then parted for a moment, before pressing back together again. The cameras caught the hesitation, the room caught the hesitation, and Avalon himself… He caught the hesitation. He tilted his head, molten silver eyes glowing unnaturally as the camera zoomed in even closer, casting a splotchy white glare over the lens.

“Well?” he pushed cooly, one clawed finger tapping a slow, incessant rhythm on the conference table. “Don’t tell me you came all this way with all that pre-rehearsed heat, and not a single original thought to back it up. Define it for me. For everyone listening and watching. What is a ‘God’?”

Xavier cleared his throat, fumbling with his phone. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as sweat began to bead near his temples, and he smudged the lenses when he pushed them up with his palm. “A- a God is… worshiped. They’re followed blindly. Their every word becomes law, unquestionable. It… it can be dangerous. Especially if their followers are devoted enough to ignore reason. That is what history shows us, Avalon. If you’d do your research you’d see it.”

“Mhm.” Avalon sat back in his chair, steepling his claw-tipped fingers. “So in your mind, a God can be dangerous. They’re powerful. You think being labeled a ‘God’ can be used as an excuse for selfishness and tyranny.”

“Yes,” Xavier pressed, emboldened by what he thought was Avalon’s slip-up. “Yes, exactly! That’s what we’ve seen in history, from the likes of Caligula of Rome to the present day cult of the Fallen. And now we see it again, in the Golden Faith; people who scream your name in the streets, who hang onto your every word - a group that grows and has grown every single day, from hundreds to thousands to potentially millions. What happens the moment they twist that devotion into something dark and selfish? What happens when this quirky trend of ‘Praising the Golden God’ becomes a full-fledged cult with you as its head? Why should any of us believe that you and your faithful are any different?!”

Xavier’s voice rose with fervor, his chest heaving with effort and his glasses fogging up from his own hot breath. The crowd behind him murmured, discomfited by, if not his words, then the loud, obvious desperation in which he believed them.

But Avalon didn’t look bothered.

If anything, he looked disappointed.

“You’re asking the wrong questions,” he said, leaning forward again. The tapping of his finger against the table picked up pace, the quiet thunks barely audible in his microphone. “You want to know what makes me and the Golden Faith different from the Fallen? ”

A beat of silence. 

Xavier gulped, and the sound echoed through the room. “Yes, actua-”

“They worship monsters,” Avalon cut in, as sharp and cold as steel. “I kill them. It’s that simple.”

Xavier froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. The camera whirled around and zoomed in closer to Avalon, ravenous for every minute licker of emotion that passed over his face, but he may as well have been carved from stone, so stoic was his expression in that moment.

“That’s the difference,” he continued, his voice rising ever so slightly - not nearly enough to be considered yelling, but it forced sharp intakes of breath from across the entire room. “The Fallen put their faith in chaos. In destruction. In things that feast on your fear. And they call those things ‘Gods’. But me? I’ve always put my faith in myself. And when an Endbringer did show up, when those so-called Gods came to tear down your homes, slaughter your families, and remind you how human you really are, who flew forward through the storm and made sure Leviathan would never sink another city ever again?”

He was standing now, and so were those watching from the audience. They screamed his name, answering him because Xavier refused to, but Avalon’s gaze was not on the crowd. It was reserved solely for the reporter, and by proxy, the world.

“I did.”

Xavier’s lips flapped. He tapped at his phone, scrolling aggressively through his notes, but there was nothing left for him to salvage and utilize. 

And Avalon was on a roll.

“You ask if I’m ready to take responsibility? If I’m ready for people to put their faith in me?” The stoic line of his lips twisted upwards into a sharp, dangerous grin, and the click of cameras tried their best to drown out his words. “I already have, Xavier Espinoza. You call them a cult. I call them my Faithful. And while I never planned to play at being God, if it comes down to choosing between me, or some megalomaniacal madman, or an Endbringer, or motherfucking Scion taking that mantle - then I’ll wear it. Every. Single. Time.”

The crowd roared. Feet stomped. Xavier was already starting to back away from the podium, his bottle of water forgotten and his phone cradled close to his sweat-stained chest. 

“You- you’re just a strong Parahuman,” the reporter bit out, his voice cracking. “A false idol for a burgeoning cult of personality. You’re not-”

“No one else took care of business until I showed up,” Avalon growled, jabbing a finger at the retreating reporter. “Capes fought. Capes bled. But not once did they manage to truly Win, to truly Protect, with no casualties. No losses. Just sheer, overwhelming Victory. Not until me. And if killing a so-called ‘God’ doesn’t qualify me to be one, if saving the lives of those who believed in me and those who prayed to me doesn’t make me worthy of their devotion, then what the Hell does? Tell me, Xavier - what does?!”

‘What does?’

It echoed through the building, repeated by every single one of his Faithful. Men and women, boys and girls who’d just been shamed and villainized for their subject of worship were now asking Xavier Espinoza what was required to be labeled a God. What were the prerequisites to be deified amongst mortals? Who wrote the differences between a ‘cult’ and a true religion?

Xavier stammered, his words catching in his throat. “Y-you can’t… that’s not-”

“You want to know what separates the Golden Faith from the Fallen? From the pretenders?” Avalon asked, raising one hand.

The voices became quiet instantly. 

He smiled.

“It’s simple. Their creed is chaos. Our creed is strength. Our creed is kindness. Our Creed is To Protect the Good, and Triumph over Evil. That is what my Faithful will live by. You can make that your fancy lil’ headline.”

…

The resulting cheers nearly broke the camera’s microphone.

“... Wow,” Amy whispered.

For a minute, no one spoke. Not even Eri or Aisha. And this wasn’t even their first time watching it. 

This clip was the Number One Trending clip on PHO period, with the clip of me pulling out my wings to the very vocal, very… excited reaction of dozens of women being Number Two, and the awe that permeated the room felt just as thick as it did the first time they replayed the clip. Even Cassie had woken up midway through my speech, having spent all night and all day playing various RPGs in preparation for the next world, and was staring up at me with wide, hazy eyes that guaranteed I wouldn’t be getting sleep anytime soon.

Admittedly, I’d gotten a bit carried away with the whole ‘God’ thing, but what else was I supposed to do when that dickhead was pressing me in front of all my Faithful? And they looked so fucking sad when he was talking shit. Made me wanna kick a mudhole through his chest.

But I didn’t. I practiced self-restraint, and styled on him verbally instead. Better for morale.

And as a result, I could now kinda hear- no, not hear, but feel their devotion somewhere deep in the core of my soul. It was subtle and wispy, and truthfully it was very hard to actively grasp onto without complete and utter focus and concentration, but it was also something I was hesitant to fuck with until I had some time alone. This whole ‘nascent divinity’ thing was very, very new to me, hence the term ‘nascent’, and if there was one thing I didn’t want to fuck up, it was my burgeoning godhood.

It’d have to wait until later.

For now…

“Right,” I clapped my hands, forcibly jolting the room out of their awestruck reverie, “Enough godliness for one night, yeah? Who wants presents?”

As it turns out, everyone wanted presents.

Fortunately, I had more than enough to spare.

_______________________________

A/N:

Hey guys! Sorry for the wait; life’s been pretty fucked. I gave a little update on my Discord and QQ, but seeing as this is Patreon and it’s a bit more private, I’ll give you guys a bit more info.

My girlfriend has thyroid cancer, and has had it for years. For the past couple years the cancer had gone away so we were fine, but it’s recently come back with a vengeance. As a result, I’ve been spending a lot of time not spent working my shitty IRL job just trying to be there for her and my kid. But in addition to being stress relief, writing is another job that I desperately need, so I can’t really afford to go a month or more without uploading. That’s how I lose Patrons.

So here’s what imma do;

For the next while, I’m only going to be splitting my attention between Mage’s Guide and New Dog, New Tricks. That means no diving my attention between five different snippets, no bullshitting. And New Dog, New Tricks will be getting Patreon updates too. 

Hopefully this way I can focus my attention and push out more chapters without a month's wait being between them because of me trying to juggle too much at once.

Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! A lot happened, and it’s basically laying the groundwork for Jason’s divinity and the world hop that will be happening next chapter. For those who don’t know, it’s Mushoku Tensei! Woooh, medieval fantasy isekai world! (with a horribly perverted main character and his rapist of a father haha) But it has muscular cat girls and muscular red-haired tomboys, so that’s nice.

Perk Obtained from Last Quest:Nimbus 2000 - Harry Potter

A very fast magical broom.

It wasn’t mentioned here, but it’ll come up next chapter. Jason pretty much instantly gifted this to Amy.