Brockton Bay Gets Actual Dragons (Worm/Legend of Dragoon)

Synopsis:

I took my chance. Given the choice to either provide some semblance of hope to a reality practically designed to kill it or remain powerless in an increasingly dystopian world, I went with the former. 

Now, let’s see how much damage a well-intentioned but deeply flawed individual can inflict on a story he knows less about than he initially thought.

Chapter 1

Alfred POV

I planned for this encounter from the moment I knew it was coming. I had the right power set. I had the information. And most importantly, I had the advantage of surprise.

Lung didn’t know what hit him…

…at first. It was pretty hard to miss the sword sticking out of his flaming chest after I threw it at near-supersonic speeds. Ditto for the neat special effects that connected both of us. A river of red, purple, and black mist flowed from where he was stabbed and swirled around me like an underwater current.

Since I was floating above him and right behind Taylor with the moon as a backdrop, I was about as conspicuous as I could possibly be.

As to what’s happening right now, it’s simple. 

I was currently using one of the Dark Dragoon Spirit’s signature magic spells. It’s one out of eight artifacts from the Legend of Dragoon video game that didn’t get the recognition it deserved. I must have spent thousands of hours replaying it, which is why I chose this specific boon for being sent here.

I knew what these powers could do.

Now, for the rare few who know about the game, they might be wondering why I’m using this particular Dragoon Spirit. After all, since Lung used fire, shouldn’t I use its opposite element of water or ice?

Good question!

While the Blue-Sea Dragoon Spirit would certainly work well against the Dragon of Kyushu, it would only treat the symptoms. What really makes Lung dangerous is his near-endless regeneration and ability to escalate. 

So, I thought that it was better to simply nip this in the bud, as it were.

Astral Drain, the ability that I’m attacking him with, does just that. It siphons the lifeforce of a single enemy, which I can then use to heal myself and my allies. The game version severely limited its use for balance reasons. 

Here and now? I could use it for as long as I pleased.

Which is why Lung is now on his knees while trying and failing to pull the sword out. I was basically sucking him dry faster than he could recover and storing that vitality…somewhere. Not really clear on where it goes, but I’m going to assume mystical mumbo-jumbo.

Naturally, some of you might think this was unfair or OP. Nope!

See, as far as I’m concerned, Lung is the tutorial boss. Oh, sure, he’s plenty scary. Boogeyman of Brockton Bay and all that. 

At the end of the day, however, he’s pretty predictable. This goes double for this fight, where I stacked the deck as much as I could.

Not to mention all of the things that went wrong for him in canon. Taylor has already inflicted major venom damage. With Astral Drain putting even more stress on his body, the fight is pretty much a layup.

Of course, I could still be accused of being a cheating cheater who cheats, but let me ask you this. Are you insane?!

You understand what’s going on in this setting, right? You know who and what I’ll be going up against, right? And you want me to, what, give myself some arbitrary weakness just to make things interesting?

Fuck that!

I’m giving myself the best chance of success to make this blighted world even just a little brighter. These powers do that. Along with knowing about future events and my willingness to take every advantage I can get.

Which brings us back to what’s happening right now.

Touching down on the rooftop beside Taylor, I kept my eyes on the visibly shrinking villain. It wouldn’t do to fall for the trope of allowing an enemy to escape or retaliate after only briefly losing sight of them, after all.

I’m not going to commit cliché mistakes. No sirree.

After drawing level with this setting’s heroine, I took a chance on conversing with her without turning away from my target.

“Are you hurt?”

Taylor didn’t respond for a few seconds, which I expected. After all, this was her first night out. Her social awkwardness should also prevent her from answering immediately. 

What I didn’t anticipate was the choked, almost gurgling sound that came out of her general direction. That finally prompted me to give the girl my full attention, only to find her almost pressed against a wall and practically convulsing.

Ah, crap. 

Taylor POV

She thought she knew fear. Seeing Lung haul himself over the side of the building - trapping her with him with no escape - had Taylor on the verge of a panic attack. This new cape, however, induced such indescribable terror that it was nearly impossible to even think.

Her throat had clamped up, her stomach was spasming, and her thoughts weren’t reaching her limbs. She felt oppressive, oily tendrils coiling around her body and mind. All she could do was stare in wide-eyed horror as the new arrival brought the city’s strongest parahuman to his knees.

Who was this? Taylor had never even heard of any cape matching this person’s description. Elaborate armor of dark blue, red, and black that looked almost organic. Wings that seemed to combine those of insects, bats, and a folding fan, of all things.

A face of distorted shadows pinned the villain with palpable contempt, yet Lung wasn’t the only one suffering from the aura of dread coming off of the newcomer. Taylor herself experienced first-hand the body’s conflicting urge to freeze and flee all at once.

Before she could continue chasing that thought further, the cape spoke in a voice that seemed to echo in the air and in her very thoughts with disquieting, sinister undertones. In defiance of all reasonable expectations, however, he made no threats and made no boasts.

Instead, he asked if she was hurt.

This effectively halted all further ruminations. He actually sounded worried. 

Why? She was on the verge of pissing herself in fear thanks to whatever power he was using. Why express concern now?

Taylor didn’t know how to respond. Her airway felt so constricted that it was difficult to breathe. When she finally summoned the strength to speak, she only managed a weak croaking sound. That’s when he finally turned to face her, an almost-frown forming on his almost-face. He said nothing else for a few moments before raising his hand, palm pointed at Taylor. 

I’m going to die…She thought.

With that resigned conclusion, the girl promptly thought of her father. 

What’s going to happen to him when he learns that she was killed in a cape fight? She should have told him the truth when she had the chance.

Closing her eyes, regret and recriminations flashed through her mind. She should have fought back against her bullies. She should have joined the Wards. She should have tried to make up with her dad.

Taylor only wanted to matter. To be a hero. 

Now, it was too late. She would die a nobody…

…or was she?

In an instant that felt like both an eternity and a heartbeat, Taylor suddenly felt more alive than she could remember. Energy flooded her body, the fog of fear was cleared away, and her mind gained crystal-clear awareness of her surroundings.

The change was so sudden that it left her breathless.

“Better?”

Taylor was jolted out of her brief fugue by the reverberating inquiry. She looked up at the cause of her current predicament. At first, she felt numb. Then came the crystallization of her scattered impressions of the individual standing over her.

What followed was boundless, incandescent rage.

Chapter 2

Alfred POV

This was not part of the plan!

Before this fight, I had already plotted out the many possible paths that events could potentially take. Contessa interfering? Not as long as I had even a single Dragoon Spirit on my person. Lung resisting Astral Drain? I’d send him to a different dimension that would leave him jabbering like a loon. Not the most heroic of solutions, but I was not going to settle for half-measures.

Coil being his slippery, snakey self? Earth dragon. Nuff said.

You get it.

What I had not prepared for was the absolute tsunami of chitins, claws, and stingers that was now chasing me across Brockton Bay. Wasn’t Taylor’s range supposed to be about two blocks or something?

This does not look like two blocks of bugs!

The wind whipped around me as I darted through the sky, the swarm of insects hot on my tail. Every time I looked over my shoulder, I could see more and more of them, a cloud of buzzing, writhing bodies that stretched far beyond what I could have imagined. 

The Darkness Dragoon Spirit was the fastest among the eight, as far as I knew. In acceleration, agility, and top speed. But no matter how sharply I turned, how quickly I shot forward, the swarm kept pace. My heart thudded in my chest, and I could feel the blood rushing in my ears. 

What the hell was going on? Taylor’s range was supposed to be limited, right now. It would increase, sure, but that was way down the line!

Medhall loomed below me in a flash and disappeared just as fast. I shot past it, my eyes flicking back to the swarm. It didn’t matter how high I flew or how fast I went. The swarm stayed with me. I could feel the relentless pull of it, like a giant weight dragging me down.

I pushed myself harder, my wings cutting through the air, tearing at the wind. The Rig flashed by underneath me, barely a blur as I twisted in midair, hoping for a break, for some moment where the swarm might scatter or lose me. But they didn’t. They stayed, always there, like they were woven into the very fabric of the city, following my every move.

The panic started creeping in, slowly at first, then all at once. 

I have to get away. I have to lose them. 

But no matter how much I sped up, the swarm never faltered. It was everywhere. Above, below, around me. The buzzing filled my mind, suffocating me.

I flew higher, desperate, aiming to put distance between myself and the swarm. The skyline stretched out before me, Brockton Bay sprawling below. But still, the insects followed, relentless. There was no escape. I couldn’t outrun them. Not like this.

My pulse was pounding in my ears. There had to be something I could do. Think, damn it!

With a sudden snap, it hit me. I couldn’t outrun them, not without leaving the city limits outright, but I could make them wish they hadn’t chased me.

Mind made up, I shot up as high as I could, away from potential collateral. The swarm surged with me, and for once since this chase started, I didn’t go as fast as I could. No, I need as many of these little shits in one place for what I intend to do.

As they closed in, closing off any path of escape, I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer.

I directed my focus inward, calling upon the Red-Eyed Dragoon Spirit, the transformation nearly blinding in its intensity. My body ignited with heat, the flames licking the air as they surged through my veins. The world seemed to freeze for a moment. Then, with a roar that shook my very bones, I unleashed the power.

Fire exploded from me, a torrent of searing heat filling the sky. The swarm of bugs was consumed in an instant, the flames incinerating them like dry grass. Their buzzing died away, replaced by the deafening crackle of fire.

Ahhh, blessed silence…

I hovered in the sky, the heat of the flames fading, the city sprawling beneath me. The swarm was gone.

That’s the good news. 

The bad news came in the form of multiple flying figures coming from different directions. I recognized all of them, too.

Uh oh.

Taylor POV

She didn’t know how she was still upright. Her legs felt like they were made of wet sand, and every step on the cracked footpath sent dull pulses of pain through her knees. Her arms hung limply by her sides, heavy with fatigue, and the soft, almost inaudible hum of the bugs still orbiting her felt like static scratching at the inside of her skull.

Tonight was supposed to be simple.

Stop some dealers. Maybe scare off a few gang kids with a few dozen roaches crawling up their legs. Be a bug-themed shadow in the corner of some crime scene. That was the plan.

It had not gone to plan.

She limped along the sidewalk, staying close to the edges where the light from the streetlamps didn’t reach. The mask itched, her costume stuck to her skin in damp patches, and the welts and bruises from the fight throbbed with every heartbeat.

Lung. He shouldn’t have even noticed her. She didn’t want to fight him. She shouldn’t have fought him. That was suicide.

But he’d told his men to kill children.

What was she supposed to do?

She had tried to make a difference. Tried to stop the worst of it. And then that… other guy had shown up. She didn’t even know his name. He hadn’t said anything. Just appeared like some nightmare from an edgy comic book. The way he moved, the way Lung went down, how did that even happen?

He was the leader of the ABB, for god’s sake! If it were that easy to take him out, surely someone would have done it before today?

But, no! He was still around just in time for Taylor’s first night out.

And then there was him.

With him came the pressure. That impossible, crushing weight. The dread. The cold in her veins. That had been the worst part.

At first, she’d thought it was just natural fear, after watching someone take down a dragon in seconds. But it wasn’t like that. It was deeper. Like something in her brain had just… flipped. 

She clenched her jaw, the memory of that moment bubbling up like bile. Her heart had thundered in her chest, and her limbs had moved like they weren’t hers.

Mastered.

The word hit her like a slap.

Her pace slowed, and she blinked, eyes stinging behind her mask. That had to be it. The dread, numbness, and strange compulsion. 

He’d done something to her.

That’s why she attacked him. That’s why she had to.

And she had been so angry.

Taylor flinched as the memory of the bugs diving toward him resurfaced. It hadn’t worked. He’d flown faster than she thought possible, a blur of motion.

She hadn’t stayed to watch. She couldn’t. Her strength had run out the second she knew he was gone.

She didn’t even stop to see what became of Lung.

And now she was here, dragging herself through dark streets, barely able to see straight.

She should have felt proud. Instead, all she felt was sick.

Something had happened when that cape, whoever he was, did whatever he did. Like her power had been supercharged.

It had felt good.

She didn’t want to think about that.

The street ended, and she turned down the narrow side path that led to her house. Every fibre in her body begged her to collapse right there. She imagined curling up on the porch and just sleeping. Forgetting tonight. Forgetting him.

But her house was lit up.

She stopped.

Her heart sank.

The porch light was on. Worse, the front window glowed with the flickering blue of a TV left running too long.

Her dad was awake.

Taylor swallowed hard. Maybe he’d fallen asleep in front of the TV. Maybe he’d gone to bed and left the light on. Maybe–

The door opened before she reached the steps. Her dad stood there, eyes wide, hair tousled, wearing a threadbare T-shirt.

“Taylor?”

She didn’t answer.

The sky still smelled like smoke behind her. Her limbs were shaking. Her mask was still on.

Any chance of explaining her excursion away had just evaporated.

Chapter 3

Alfred POV

Things were not going as I thought they would. Not at all. 

Let’s recap, shall we?

First, I arrived on the day that Taylor would confront Lung. Second, I waited until said confrontation and stepped in before Taylor got seriously hurt. Third, I got chased by an irate Taylor’s superswarm all over the city, which I then ended up burning. Fourth, I am now hiding from the heroes.

Okay, so there are a few things that may not be in line with what I know about Worm. The biggest and most troubling of which was the main character’s power. During her fight with Lung, she didn’t display abilities that came anywhere near what she threw at me.

Those bugs were faster and meaner than they should have been. Lots more of them, too.

I mean, I get that Taylor is often depicted as a biblical plague in some of the stories I’ve read (often, as a joke). But what happened today went beyond that.

Am I in an AU or something? This is supposed to be canon Worm. Was canon Taylor this powerful?

No, that makes no sense. What would be the point of all of those alt-power fics if the original could literally drown the city in bugs?

The other and more likely cause was some side-effect from the Astral Drain. It was the only explanation that made sense. The only change that could have had any effect on the parahuman. 

Or, more specifically, on Queen Administrator.

I thought Taylor was hurt and panicked. It was supposed to heal her, but what if it supercharged her powers, instead?

Was that even possible? It certainly hadn’t worked that way in the game. Healing allies after draining the vitality of the target was about all it could do.

Then again, the target was Lung, who had the power of virtually infinite escalation. Could that have been it? Did Astral Drain also affect the gangster’s own shard, draining it of power, before I then transferred it to Taylor?

If so, could it drain other shards? How much could it siphon? Was it possible to completely suck shards dry?

Any further ponderings on this matter were interrupted by shadows flying over my hiding place. Right, this was a situation I had tried to ignore by puzzling out the series of unfortunate events that led to my current predicament. 

And now I’m thinking about it again.

To be fair, I could afford to be less frantic over being chased by the heroes. I found the perfect hiding spot, after all.

Did I burrow underground like a mole? No. 

Shrouded myself in shadows? Wish I could. I wasn’t sure that’s on the table.

Instead, I went for the most obvious solution available to one living in a city by the bay. I dove straight for the water at full speed. Then, once I was deep enough, I used the Blue-Sea Dragoon Spirit.

After doing so, my suspicions were further compounded: These powers are not working as I thought they would.

Yes, it made sense for the Astral Drain to be unconstrained by game mechanics. I also knew that using the Red-Eyed Dragoon Spirit would allow me to release a wave of fire because the actual source material featured it.

The Blue-Sea Dragoon Spirit, though? It let me do some Aquaman shit.

Yeah, I can see through my murky surroundings as if I were in the Maldives rather than a polluted dumping ground of a mid-sized city. I can also swim really fast without displacing too much water (the physics of which, I’m not even gonna get into) and I can hold my breath for a really long time.

Hmm? Can I breathe underwater?

Maybe. But I’m not about to find out here. This water’s seen things.

Best case: I get a mouthful of cigarette butts and motor oil.

Worst case? Skidmark’s digestive history.

I don’t care how magical this transformation is, I’m not becoming the Dragoon of Dysentery.

My lips are staying sealed.

As for where exactly I am, at the moment, I’m halfway between the docks and the boat graveyard. Waiting for the all clear.

Which should be any minute now…

Any minute…

This might take a while.

Emily Piggot POV

PRT ENE Headquarters, Sub-basement Situation Room

02:21 A.M., Monday, 11 April 2011

Emily Piggot’s cane struck the floor and the low murmur around the table died. Thirteen capes, nine Protectorate, three New Wave adults, and one jittery Ward looked up at the Director. Projector fans hummed.

“Recording on,” she said. The red light above the door blinked to life. “Director Piggot. Incident code Seraph-Swarm-One.”

We are not keeping that codename, she reminded herself, but shorthand keeps the techs from tying themselves in knots.

“Three things. Reconstruct the timeline. Assign tasks. Then we come up with a public position before dawn.”

She turned to her senior Tinker. “Armsmaster. Walk us through what we actually know.”

The Protectorate ENE leader stood. The glint from his visor threw a cold blue smear across the steel table as he keyed the projector.

“00:32, we get a 911 call. Female voice, adolescent cadence, no background noise. It came from pay-phone C-17 at the Lord Street docks.”

A map dot blinked.

“The transcript is short. ABB gunmen are threatening minors. She says she’ll ‘try something,’ then hangs up. Dispatch flags possible cape involvement and routes it to Protectorate ENE at 00:33.”

“00:36. Warehouse K-17 security catches a masked, slight-build individual vaulting from a fire escape to the Kingfisher Apartments roof. Low resolution. Height around 160 centimetres. Costume looks improvised. No facial data.”

“Gender?”

“Build leans female,” Armsmaster said, “but I can’t call it conclusive.”

“00:39. Traffic cam M-42 catches an armoured, winged figure dropping onto the same roof. For four seconds, he’s wrapped in a darkness particulate. Readings go muddy. The camera auto-gain whites out, and the feed cuts.”

“00:40. First insect density spike shows up on the lamp-post sensors at the Kingfisher roof drains. Within ninety seconds, it’s four to six million insects, estimated. The swarm tracks the armoured cape and moves north-east.”

Dauntless muttered, “Looked like Judgment Day.”

“00:43. NOAA IR satellite tags a 2,200°C plume at eight-hundred-metre altitude over North Bay. Radius about 130 metres. Cellphone videos confirm a bright flash above the cloud deck. A flock of gulls got charred mid-flight. The swarm disintegrates, and we get ash fallout localised to Ferry Park.”

“00:45. Traffic cam Shipyard S-8 gets the armoured cape going into a seventy-degree dive straight into the bay. Harbour sonar tracks the mass for six seconds at roughly thirty-metre depth, then it drops off.”

“00:46. I arrive via the bike ramp. Lung is unconscious. Armour reversion is partial. There’s a puncture wound that’s sealing. No other capes on scene. ABB foot squad has fled. That’s the end of the verified timeline.”

Armsmaster sat. The room went silent, save for Piggot’s pen scratching out the last note.

Piggot tipped her chin at Battery. “Hospitals, 911, damage.”

Battery flipped her steno pad. “Between 00:40 and 00:46, we logged 312 emergency calls. Same keywords over and over: ‘locust wall,’ ‘sky black,’ ‘insect hurricane.’ No sting injuries. Two traffic mishaps: a sedan rear-ended a delivery van, and a city bus clipped a parked car when the driver fainted. No serious harm.” She glanced down again. “Five asthma flare-ups from panic. ER cleared them with inhalers.”

Miss Militia added, “Patrol officers are saying the insects parted around pedestrians. No reports of bugs going for eyes, mouths, or ears. Whoever was driving that swarm kept the lethal vectors off-limits.”

Velocity rapped his knuckles on the table. “Doesn’t change what it felt like. Visibility on Waterfront Drive went to zero, and when everything suddenly started crawling, I couldn’t even begin to describe how creeped out I was.”

Piggot absorbed it. Biblical optics were not going to do them any good here. Fortunately, the no casualties angle can take the brunt of whatever PR crash is coming. Thank you for small mercies.

“Public trauma still counts,” she said. “By tomorrow, half the city’s going to be demanding an explanation.”

She looked back at Armsmaster. “What’s Lung’s condition?”

“Thirty-eight percent of the expected recovery rate based on existing records,” Armsmaster replied. “Thermal and bio necrosis, toxins, internal ruptures. Vitality depleted by something we can’t identify yet.”

He hesitated, a rare tell. “Bloodwork shows stable platelets. He’s not bleeding out or showing any kind of physiological degradation. His recovery is just significantly slower than it should be.”

“Understood,” Piggot said. “The transfer to Baumann stays on schedule. We say ‘reduced regenerative capacity,’ and we leave it there. Everyone clear on that?”

Nods around the table.

The projector shifted. A grainy silhouette: segmented armour, sword visible even in low light.

Armsmaster summarised the letter ratings:

Mover-4 - Mach 0.2 chase, multi-axis manoeuvre.

Blaster-5 - 2,200°C sky plume, zero ground collateral.

Stranger-2 - Complete disappearance from all detection after diving into the water.

Possible Changer - Armour constant, unsure if true body shift.

Miss Militia eyed the screen with a thoughtful expression. “He pushed the heat up, away from potential collateral. Or, at least, as much of it as he could. And he pulled out once the swarm formed. This shows signs of consideration, at the very least.”

“He also stabbed a dragon and walked away without flinching,” Dauntless threw in gravely, chin hidden by clasped hands and shoulders stiff. “Nobody does that on a whim unless they’re half out of their mind. Either that or he’s done this before.”

A ripple of unspoken agreement swept through the gathered attendees.

“Flag it as speculation,” Piggot cut in with characteristic curtness. “Until we’ve got proof, Unknown-One’s motives are undetermined.”

Next slide: stills of a black tornado swirling between tower blocks.

Provisional Master-7 - City-wide control during spike.

Baseline - Unknown, likely lower.

Profile - Slim masked individual, teen voice on 911 call.

Velocity whistled. “Master-seven, just like that. Where’s someone like this been hiding?”

“Armsmaster said necrosis and toxins,” Lady Photon said softly. “This girl could have gone after Lung first and then got interrupted, or she arrived at the same time as the other cape.”

“There weren’t any biblical plagues during the Lung part,” Manpower posited. “That only kicked in once the swarm went after the flier.”

“The moment the sword-bearer wounded Lung,” Dauntless pointed out. “Could that have triggered it? A response to a bigger threat?”

Battery hesitantly asked, “Any chance millions of insects just drop dead mid-flight if this happens again?”

Armsmaster shook his head. “Most were alive before the incineration. It’s likely they’ll disperse when the broadcast stops. Maintaining a swarm that size for any length of time would attract far too much attention.”

Carol Dallon folded her arms. “A panic spike could still set it off again. First contact needs to de-escalate, fast.”

Piggot nodded. “Agreed.”

She straightened. Her voice took on the clipped timbre of old drill instructors.

“Armsmaster, pull a task force with Ops analysts. Integrate satellite IR, Coast Guard sonar, city CCTV, and ATM domes. Your priority is anything that looks like a surfacing heat signature, or that darkness bloom repeating.”

“Already running queries,” Armsmaster said.

“Dauntless, two-thousand-metre grid at sunrise. Keep ATC open.”

“Roger.”

“Velocity, run through the industrial docks, shipyard dry-docks, and ferry terminal. I want splash residue, scorched insect remains, and melted asphalt logged. Anything that can give us a better idea of what happened and who was involved.”

Velocity’s visor tilted. “I’ll zigzag ten blocks a minute.”

Emily turned to New Wave.

“If you’re willing, New Wave’s public image and civilian trust can take the edge off. Quiet door-knocks. Daylight hours. Talk to shaken residents and gather anonymous leads on teens who came home wet, traumatised, or smelling like an incinerator. I know we’re stepping close to the edge of the Unwritten Rules, but this event is too significant to simply ignore.”

Lady Photon met her eyes. “We’ll do it. Neil and I will take the north boroughs. Mark and Carol can take the south.”

Carol Dallon added, “The children will stay out of the field for this one. They can watch PHO from home.”

Piggot inclined her head. “Your call. Thank you.”

“Battery, Assault, 07:00 at schools near the area of interest. Keep the questions gentle and be subtle. Present this as a wellness check on affected institutions.”

Assault flashed a weary grin. “Our best PTA voices.”

“Aegis, keep the Ward team on reserve until after classes.”

Carlos straightened. “Yes, Director.”

Piggot nodded to Miss Militia.

“I want a preliminary piece drafted by 05:30. The headline can be something like ‘Protectorate Secures Gang Leader after Unknown Parahuman Intervention; No Civilian Injuries.’ Use unidentified insect parahuman and unidentified winged parahuman. Don’t use code-names and be sure to emphasise the cooperation angle.”

“On it,” Miss Militia said.

“Contingencies,” Piggot said. “Armsmaster, requisition hard-shell visors with pollen filters and low-profile rebreathers for anyone dealing with the swarm.”

“Already in procurement,” he replied.

“Dauntless, I want prototype drone-mounted halogen strobes. If the darkness particulate comes back, high-intensity light might disrupt it.”

He nodded. “I’ll pull from search-and-rescue stock.”

Triumph jumped in, “Director, PHO is blowing up. Thread titles are already out there: Bug Tornado Downtown, Winged Dragon-Slayer?, ABB in Shambles. Do we try to steer the naming?”

“Not yet,” Piggot said. “No myth-making until we’ve got registration or containment. If civilians coin ‘Seraph,’ that’s on them. We do not endorse it.”

Velocity smirked. “So ‘Locust Girl’ is off the table?”

“Please spare her that circus,” Brandish sighed.

Flashbang leaned in. “If we get to the teenager first, we go soft. She took risks to save kids. And after that, she only went after the flyer. That’s hero material, if we handle it right.”

Piggot surprised herself by not disagreeing.

“Our primary objective is cooperation,” she said. “Secondary is making sure she can’t, or won’t, throw a city-wide swarm again without warning.”

Battery flipped pages. “One more. Environmental fallout. Are the ash plumes over Ferry Park harmless?”

Armsmaster replied, “Mostly carbonised exoskeleton fragments. Public Works is sweeping before dawn.”

Piggot nodded. “Bag samples anyway. The labs might pull composition patterns and help us ID her base range.”

She checked the wall clock: 02:48 A.M. Dawn’s grey edge would bleed over the bay in four hours.

“Assignments are live now. Ops feeds real-time updates. Check-ins every ninety minutes.”

She pivoted to New Wave.

“Your cooperation is voluntary and appreciated. Ops will provide resident contact lists and guarantee flight path clearance.”

Lady Photon smiled, thin but genuine. “We’ll make the rounds.”

Piggot faced the Ward.

“Aegis, brief your team after first bell. And remind Clockblocker that PHO jokes are for after containment, not before.”

Carlos almost chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her gaze swept the room.

“Tonight, we had zero civilian casualties. Let’s keep it that way.”

She tapped the cane once. “Meeting adjourned.”

Chairs scraped. Capes dispersed. Velocity became a blur down the hallway, Dauntless murmuring strobe parameters to Armsmaster, and Battery tugging Assault toward the elevator while reading him gentle-question prompts. Sarah Pelham squeezed Carol’s shoulder, a wordless reminder to breathe, before they left for the northern blocks.

Piggot lingered, the room empty now except for the projector’s glow. She exhaled through clenched teeth. The pain in her leg had blossomed into a hot coal. Stubbornness kept her standing. She tapped the intercom.

“Ops, Director. Mark this meeting complete. Forward aerial patrol filing to ATC. Push lidar feed to Armsmaster as soon as the Coast Guard swings sensors. Get the mask requisitions to supply.” 

“Copy, Director.”

She clicked off, killed the projector, and limped toward her office. On the darkened wall-screen, the city grid shone amber where the swarm had passed. Somewhere under that patterned glow, a teenager who didn’t know the rules was probably sobbing into her pillow, and a sword-wielding maniac was hiding beneath brackish water.

Emily Piggot thought about the press conference, the politics, and the nightmares commuters would have tomorrow. Then she thought, briefly and sharply, about the simple fact that not one corpse lay in the morgues tonight.

“Let’s keep that streak,” she whispered, and pushed open her office door.

Interlude - PHO

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♦ Topic: “Bug-Nado & Fire-Wing” - What Just Happened Over the Bay?In: Boards ► Public board ► Capes, Sightings & Rumor Mill

Bagrat (Original Poster) (The Guy in the Know) (Veteran Member)Posted On Apr 11th 2011 at 01:22 AM:

TL;DR: Midnight circus over Lord Street. Dragon goes down, swarm the size of God’s beard nearly drowned downtown, and a sky-flash hotter than a crematorium blazed over the city.

Longer version: I was two blocks south of Kingfisher Apartments (roof of the Red Rocket diner, great view, awful coffee).

00:36 - A winged figure drops out of cloud cover, maybe fifteen metres above a rooftop scrap. He throws a sword (yes, an actual sword) hard enough to crack my phone mic. Impact hits a flaming humanoid (pretty sure that’s Lung, scales match older ABB footage I’ve seen). Red-purple-black vapour pours out and gets pulled into sword-guy.

00:38 - The street drains erupt with insects. Not random scatter, more like columns, like writhing pillars rising at Mach 1. Bugs flood Lord Street eastbound, but ignores cars and pedestrians, and only chase sword-guy who’s now airborne.

00:42 - The whole cloud follows him out over the bay before a bright white-orange flash screamed above the low cloud deck. The swarm falls apart mid-air and drifts down as grey ash. No secondary fires downtown, thankfully.

00:45 - Something splashes north of Shipyard pier. Sonar buoys light red, then nothing. PRT lights and sirens show at 00:47, but they’re still dodging questions.

I’ve mirrored three phone clips + one NOAA IR still (links below). Sorry for potato resolution, my buddy’s dashcam got the best angle.

Anyone closer? Any ID on the winged guy? Can someone confirm if Lung’s actually down? Mark theories as [theory] so the mods don’t nuke us.

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►salt_harbor Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 01:25 AM:

Was on my dad’s trawler near the ferry dock and saw the flash reflected off the water. Looked like lightning but it went straight up, no branching. Our instruments glitched for a second too (EM surge maybe?). Bugs never came near the shoreline.

►legend26 Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 01:27 AM:

[theory] Winged cape = Breaker/Mover with a darkness exhaust.

►bugzapper77 Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 01:29 AM:

I was literally under a streetlamp when it went black. Could hear wings hitting the glass. Thought the lamp exploded, but the bulb was fine after. Not one sting. Whoever ran that swarm had finesse.

►murphyiscute Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 01:30 AM:

Finesse and terror, two sides of the same mandible. Bugs can be a scalpel or a sledgehammer. Depends who’s holding the handle.

►StreetDoc09 Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 01:32 AM:

ER nurse here. Hospital pagers blew up right after and had us scrambling, but there no burns or venom cases among those admitted. Just panic attacks and one guy who dove off a porch and sprained both ankles.

►Weeble (Moderator) Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 01:33 AM:

Mod note: Keep eyewitness reports factual. No name-guessing, no posting unblurred faces. Tag wild speculation with [theory].

►dataCrypt Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 01:36 AM:

[theory] IR satellite shows a heat spike peaked at 2,200°C, cone about 30° upward. That’s Blaster-5 territory, but with surgeon precision. Zero ground scorch per city thermal.

►iffyOrchid Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 01:38 AM:

Ash drift confirmed and boy was it apocalyptic. Had to sweep a handful off my balcony rail, but they aren’t really like ash from wood or coal. Saw plenty of charred beetle shells and the ash doesn’t crumble like paper ash, more like black confetti.

►dockyardGhost Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 01:40 AM:

Yo, I saw some ABB gangers running around from my window. They were freaking out and yelling about the dragon being down. Think this is about Lung?

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►Bagrat (Original Poster) (The Guy in the Know) (Veteran Member) Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 02:05 AM:

Quick round-up from inbox and street cams:

00:46 - Armsmaster is on the Kingfisher roof. Two EMT stretchers went up, one came back down empty.

01:15 - Harbour Patrol searchlight sweep over the splash zone. Found zilch.

01:45 - City works already sweeping insect ash off Ferry Park.

Still no press line. Keep the sightings coming, but label second-hand stuff as [rumor] so people can filter.

►southdockdad Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 02:07 AM:

I lived through Leviathan. Trust me, this swarm looked organised. Bugs curved around lamp posts like they had GPS.

►murphyiscute Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 02:11 AM:

If your local dragon suddenly face-plants, running is the sensible cardio routine. 🏃‍♂️💨

►bugged_out Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 02:13 AM:

Ash sample pix: link - looks like paper-thin shell fragments. Still smells a little like burning leaves.

►dockyardGhost Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 02:15 AM:

[rumor] Just heard from a friend on Harbour Patrol who said that the sonar blip dove deep, then nothing. Either the cape ditched his armour or punched a tunnel into the mud.

►pitsniper Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 02:17 AM:

Clip A slow-mo: when wing-guy banked, his wing edges flexed like layered plates. Segmented tech maybe? Definitely not feathers or membrane, though. They almost look transparent.

►ivyNchains Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 02:19 AM:

Could also be a full-body Changer form with detachable parts. We’ve seen weirder.

►Weeble (Moderator) Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 02:20 AM:

Mod ping: Standard reminder. No personal info, no “my cousin knows the cape’s name.” Stick to what you saw or credible public sources.

►parkbenchprophet Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 02:22 AM:

Protectorate flyers just buzzed the Boardwalk skyline again. Dauntless plus what looked like Kid Win’s hoverboard. Guess they haven’t found our mystery diver yet.

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►bughuntr91 Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 03:31 AM:

Can we circle back to that “energy battery sword” claim? The clip’s too grainy to prove anything and the sword doesn’t glow till after it hits. Looks like plain steel (oversized) to me.

►murphyiscute Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 03:33 AM:

Could be steel and fancy. Dual-wielding physics and aesthetics is a power by itself. I’m personally rooting for hidden hydraulics that go snick for dramatic flair.

►dataline21 Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 03:35 AM:

[theory rebuttal] Frame-by-frame shows no hand-off, sheath release, or even a scabbard. One cape, multi-mode gear. Occam’s razor says “show-off with upgrades.”

►Bagrat (Original Poster) Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 03:37 AM:

Fresh scan pulls: swarm density down to normal insect traffic as of 03:25. East-dock residents report only random roach lines. Looks like the city-wide spike’s gone.

►lights_and_flies Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 03:38 AM:

Saw maybe fifty roaches marching single-file past my stoop (Dockside). I’m not even mad, just impressed at their life choices.

►tinfoilWarrens Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 03:41 AM:

[theory] Wing-cape vanishes underwater = possible sub-flight mode or hidden transport. Not necessarily Endbringer scout, but weird enough to watch.

►Weeble (Moderator) Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 03:42 AM:

Reminder: Endbringer speculation belongs in “Global Threats.” Keep this thread to confirmed rooftop/bay events or clearly tagged [tinfoil].

►driftwoodcap Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 03:44 AM:

[rumor] My cousin bartends near North Ferry. Said a couple ABB guys stumbled in, freaked, yelling “boss got STABBED from the sky.” Drained three beers then bolted. Grain-of-salt level rumour.

►murphyiscute Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 03:46 AM:

Stabbed from the sky. Ten out of ten for dramatic imagery, zero for staying power. Maybe they should invest in umbrella insurance.

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►Bagrat (Original Poster) (The Guy in the Know) (Veteran Member) Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 07:02 AM:

PRT-ENE just pushed a bulletin to local stations. Posting the text as-is for archive:

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE - 07:00 AM, 11 APR 2011 The Protectorate East-North-East, in cooperation with New Wave and the Brockton Bay Police Department, confirms the secure detainment of known threat Lung following an engagement in the Lord Street area earlier this morning. Two unidentified parahuman parties intervened prior to Protectorate arrival. No civilian fatalities or serious injuries have been reported. Ongoing investigations are focused on (a) locating the unidentified parties, and (b) assessing environmental impact of insect debris dispersed over the city. Citizens who witnessed the incident or collected material evidence are encouraged to contact the PRT tip-line at 555-0177. Further updates will follow the 17:00 press briefing.

So that’s the official spin: “two unidentified parties,” lots of reassurance, zero code-names. Thoughts?

►legend26 Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 07:04 AM:

Translation: “We have no clue who either cape is, but please don’t panic.” Classic.

►forlife311 Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 07:06 AM:

They didn’t even rate the swarm-girl. “Environmental impact.” Like she’s a chemical spill.

►murphyiscute Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 07:07 AM:

Hey, some spills mutate turtles into ninjas. Let’s keep an open mind. 🐢

►dockyard_ranger Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 07:09 AM:

Just watched a crew in haz-vests vacuum two inches of bug ash off Ferry Park benches. Kids are going to love recess today.

►Weeble (Moderator) Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 07:10 AM:

Reminder: if you’re collecting souvenirs, seal them tight. Public Works asked us to limit secondary spread.

►chirpzilla Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 07:12 AM:

Any word on whether the ash is hazardous? My balcony garden looks like someone dumped a dump truck’s worth of crushed pepper all over it.

►tin_can_man Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 07:14 AM:

Clinic got lab results: It’s mostly carbonised chitin, no toxins or pathogens to worry about. Still, wash your hands if you get it on you. Street grime is still street grime.

►seascapekid Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 07:15 AM:

Crazy to think yesterday I posted about random explosions and now we’re here. Brockton Bay never sleeps.

►Bagrat (Original Poster) Replied On Apr 11th 2011 at 07:17 AM:

Thanks for riding the overnight hype-train, folks. I’ll open a new thread after the 17:00 presser. ’Til then, stay safe. Watch the skies and the storm drains.

End of Thread. 1 … 9 10 11

Chapter 4

Taylor POV

Black tea bitterness burned the back of her throat, and then her memory caught up.

Lung’s molten scales. A stranger’s blade. Millions of insects boiling out of the gutters.

She jolted upright on the living room couch and almost sloshed her mug. Quilts slid to the floor. Sunlight cut bright oblongs across Dad’s favourite armchair, where he sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, like he hadn’t moved in the three hours she’d managed to sleep.

“Easy,” Danny said, reaching out to steady her cup.

His voice stayed gentle, but the dark half-circles under his eyes, and the way his free hand trembled, made something inside her twist.

“I’m okay,” she lied automatically, then winced at how hoarse she sounded.

Everything hurt. Knees, ribs, shoulders, even the roots of her hair. Bug-handling always left a mental ache, but last night had been an iron shackle on every nerve.

Danny didn’t argue with the lie. He just shifted closer and sat on the coffee table, near enough to be there, not so close she felt trapped. The chipped teapot steamed between them. He’d brewed her favourite tea and left it to over-steep until it could strip paint.

She loved him for that.

He waited until she’d taken a second sip before speaking.

“Taylor. You came home wearing a mask and half a costume. You were bruised, shaking.” He swallowed, like the words had edges. “I didn’t ask questions then because you could barely stand. But we need to talk now.”

She nodded once, fingers tightening around the mug.

“I know.”

Danny drew a breath, and it hitched partway through.

“I… I watched the newsfeeds last night. People thought an Endbringer was coming. A swarm blacked out downtown. A winged cape turned the sky into a blast furnace.” His gaze flicked to her face, then away, like it hurt to look too directly. “Then my daughter stumbles in, looking like she fought a war.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

Guilt stabbed hard. She’d been trying to keep him out of her world for as long as she could, and last night she’d shattered that in seconds.

Danny rubbed a palm across his mouth, trying to pull himself together.

“I’ll ask it straight,” he said. “Are you a cape?”

“Yes.” The word came out small, but it was clear. “Since the start of the semester.”

“Since…” He stopped, shook his head at the months of secrecy. “What can you do?”

She swallowed.

“I control insects. Sense them. Direct them.”

Danny’s brow furrowed. “All insects?”

“Everything without a backbone, basically.”

“That explains the swarm.” He closed his eyes for a beat, then opened them again. “Why now? Why last night?”

Taylor set her mug down before it could rattle itself empty. She pulled the quilt into her lap and started picking at a stray thread, because her hands needed something.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen that way,” she confessed, voice fragile as spun sugar. “Get the lay of the land, maybe stop some minor crimes. That’s all I thought I’d be doing. Instead, I came across the ABB. They were going to kill children to ‘send a message.’ I couldn’t walk away.”

Danny nodded. Lethal gangs, he understood.

“And Lung?”

“He was there. He gave the order.” Her throat tightened. “Then, when I sent in my swarm, he went for me. I was… holding my own.” That was technically true until Lung climbed onto the roof. “Then the other cape appeared.”

Danny’s head lifted slightly, eyes sharpening with focused intensity. 

“Describe him,” he said.

She did. Dark blue-black armour. Fan-like wings. A sword giving off an eerie light. And his aura.

As she spoke, the living room thinned at the edges. She smelled burning scales. She heard Lung howl.

“His sword went straight through Lung’s chest,” she said. “It didn’t kill him. It just made him… smaller.” She rubbed at her arms, like she could wipe the memory away. “Then he turned toward me and there was this pressure. Like my lungs were too small for my body.” She forced herself to meet her father’s eyes. “I think it was his power. It pushed fear right through me.”

Danny’s jaw clenched. “You couldn’t move?”

“I barely stayed standing. He asked if I was hurt, like he cared, but I was choking.” She looked down at her mug. “He lifted his hand and… did something. I’m still not sure what. But I felt full. Like every nerve overloaded. Then the fear snapped and I could control the bugs again. They…” She swallowed and made herself keep going. “They went after him. I didn’t think. I just needed him away from me.”

Danny pictured it anyway, a biblical plague pouring over rooftops, the panic replaying on every phone screen in the city.

“And the fireball?” he asked.

“He flew up. I chased him with the swarm.” Her arms wrapped around herself without permission. “He incinerated them. All of them, in an instant. Then he dove into the bay. I barely made it home.”

Silence stretched between them. The kettle clicked off on its own.

Danny broke it first.

“You said his sword made Lung smaller.”

Taylor gave a small nod.

Danny leaned forward, intent sharpening his tired face. “Kiddo, I need you to try and remember. You said his sword was made of light?”

“No,” she said quickly. “It was like it was surrounded by light. At least it was when it stabbed Lung.”

“And was this light doing anything?”

Taylor paused, brows scrunching as she replayed it.

“Yeah.” Her voice went quieter. “It was connected to the other cape. And it was moving, flowing, from Lung to him…”

Her eyes widened as it clicked, and Danny’s next words landed like a stamp on the thought she didn’t want to name.

“He was draining Lung,” Danny said. “He was draining Lung and then…”

“Pushed that energy into me,” Taylor finished in a whisper.

Danny nodded, eyes hard, face grave. “He did. Unasked. Something only a callous or careless person would do, considering how little we know about how powers work. There’s a reason capes aren’t allowed to just heal people on a whim.”

Taylor felt the word villain settling like wet clay around the winged parahuman’s silhouette, and she couldn’t scrape it off easily. Still, she pushed back, because it mattered.

“He aimed the fire upward, Dad. Away from rooftops.”

“So, he showed some restraint,” Danny said, then sighed, leaning back. “That doesn’t erase what he did to you. What matters is his presence crippled your free will and set off your power spike. That’s villainous enough for me until proven otherwise.”

Taylor’s throat tightened. She stared at her hands, knuckles scraped from rooftop gravel.

“I lost control,” she whispered. “I made sure my bugs wouldn’t hurt anyone, but it could’ve been different.”

Danny reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

“You’re alive. No bystanders died. We can work from that.”

She nodded, blinking hard at the heat gathering in her eyes.

Danny straightened, like he was bracing himself for logistics because feelings were harder.

“We need to talk about our next steps. First, you need to see a doctor today. Second, a counsellor who knows parahumans. Third…” He hesitated. “There’s the Wards program.”

Taylor opened her mouth, then closed it. Last night’s echo tugged at her range and she saw, too clearly, the streetlights blacked out.

“Not yet,” she managed. “I need to learn how control my power first. If the PRT sees me as the girl who panicked the docks, they’ll cage me, not help.”

Danny exhaled slowly. “Then we need to buy some time and keep our options open.”

Relief and fear mixed together until she couldn’t tell them apart. “Okay.”

Danny stood, joints popping.

“I’ll call the school today,” he said. “Tell them you’re sick and staying home.” His eyes softened when they landed on her. “You get some more sleep. I can’t imagine how exhausted you must feel.”

Taylor smiled, grateful, and got up to hug him. She wobbled, only slightly.

Before heading to the stairs, she closed her eyes and reached.

Insects within one and a half blocks answered.

On the fringe, she felt the whisper, a sensation like a tide poised to rise. She pulled back. Her heartbeat kicked up, and it vanished.

The promise of power was still there. Muted, dormant, but still very much alive.

She’d master it. She had to, especially if the winged stranger returned. Villain or not, he held the key to whatever had amplified her power. Until she knew why, she couldn’t risk joining the Wards, or fighting him again.

Taylor grabbed the quilt, folded it, and set it back on the couch. Then she climbed the stairs, each step stiff, but lighter than the guilt she’d carried down them hours before.

Chapter 5

Lisa POV

The sting of bleach still hung in the air, even after she’d cracked a window and burned the good incense. Lisa Wilbourn pressed her palms into her temples and tried to knead the dull throb out of her skull. One of those headaches, the kind that crawled behind her eyes like centipedes and refused to die.

She hadn’t slept. She couldn’t, not really. Not with everything her power kept shoving at her, over and over, like it wanted to make sure she understood. Not after what she’d seen.

This was supposed to be a recon job. Watch the ABB. Keep tabs on Lung. Maybe poke around the docks and report back. Standard Coil assignment, nothing fancy.

Instead, it turned into bug girl, sword boy, and the sky catching fire.

Her gaze drifted to the middle of her laptop screen. The traffic cam footage was paused three blocks off Kingfisher, a blur of motion and bad compression. A shadow lifted off like a missile, with a barely visible swarm chasing after it like smoke. Lisa rewound again and went frame by frame, stopping on the moment the rooftop fight kicked off.

There. A flash of metal. Someone, something, had stabbed Lung. The dragon himself.

Lisa’s breath caught, even now, like her body hadn’t gotten the memo that it was morning and the threat was over.

She tapped the rim of her mug. The coffee inside had gone cold hours ago. She hadn’t even tasted it. Too busy pulling every angle she could get her hands on: PHO threads, dashcam archives, hospital records, insect patterns logged by the EPA, traffic sensor pings, anything that might give her a clean line through the chaos. 

Not just what happened, but what it meant.

Coil would want the usual. Classifications, profiles, and, of course, leverage. She’d send him the official report later.

Unofficially, she couldn’t stop thinking about the girl.

No codename yet. Just a shaky voice on a 911 line, trying to do the right thing. One phrase kept looping in Lisa’s head.

“I’m going to help.”

That was it. Young, scared, and stubborn enough to step up anyway, right until the rooftop turned into a horror movie.

Lisa blinked and her power slotted another piece into place. The girl’s bugs hadn’t stung civilians. Not once. Pedestrians had been surrounded, shoved through walls of wings and legs and skittering bodies, and still they’d walked away untouched. That kind of control wasn’t common, even among experienced Masters.

Which raised the real question, the one that wouldn’t sit still.

Why did she lose control only after the dragon went down?

Lisa dragged a hand through her hair, leaned back, and stared at the flickering edges of her own thoughts. Something changed on that rooftop. She just couldn’t name it yet.

She rubbed at her eyes and flipped to her third browser tab of the hour, an overlay of PHO geotags posted in the last six hours. Keywords: swarm, roaches, locusts, bugpocalypse. The board’s talent for catastrophising made separating signal from noise a pain, but the shape was starting to show.

Reports clustered on the eastern side of the Docks, mostly along Shearwater and Tidelane. Some were junk, urban legends being born in real time, but a few mentioned eerily coordinated insect trails. Thick layers of ash that the city crews hadn’t reached yet. One post even had timestamped photos of beetles forming odd spirals near a storm drain.

Add that to the fact that insect activity had dropped off city-wide just after 3:00 a.m. Bagrat posted it first, and Lisa had confirmed it with four other cross-streets. The picture that formed was simple enough.

The swarm collapsed, and its controller pulled everything back in.

Lisa leaned farther into her chair and tapped the side of her head with the cold edge of a USB drive.

So the girl was still in the area. Her range had dropped back to something manageable again. With no evidence of another city-spanning outbreak, that meant last night’s outburst was either triggered or artificial. So, probably not sustainable in the long-term.

Of course, the news cycle didn’t care about details like that. Right now, every idiot with a keyboard is rewriting her story for her.

She didn’t love the Protectorate, and she especially didn’t love the PRT, but she knew how fast a bad public story could drown a cape before they even picked a name. If the girl didn’t grab the reins of her own narrative soon, someone else would. Then it was only a matter of time before money, guns, or a black budget got interested.

Lisa glanced at Brian. He was still at it, scrubbing through a low-res copy of the fireburst frame by frame, patient in that way he got when he was trying not to show he was worried. Lisa turned the next part of the plan over in her head. 

Not because he’d fight it. Grue could be careful, but he wasn’t blind. But because she didn’t want to sound like she cared too much.

Because she didn’t.

Really.

She just didn’t want a scared kid with terrifying powers wandering around unmonitored. That was basic self-preservation.

She twisted the cap off a warm bottle of generic cola and took a swig, then grimaced. Flat. Of course. Everything about this morning was gritty and grey: floorboards, light, mood, and now taste.

She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and stared down at the threadbare rug. Brutus had left a pawprint there sometime last week, still faintly visible even after two passes with a mop. The bleach smell lingered. At least it didn’t smell like bug husks anymore.

Behind her, Alec’s phone made a cheerful blip. He didn’t look up.

“Got three new threads here,” he announced. “One says wing-boy is a rogue from Toronto. Another thinks he’s some kind of thinktank-built weapon. My favourite theory so far is that he’s a time-travelling son of Dragon and Armsmaster from the future.”

“Creative,” Lisa muttered.

Brian emerged from the hallway, towelling off damp hair, looking more put-together than she felt. 

“What’s your best guess, then?” he asked.

Lisa didn’t answer right away. Her eyes flicked to the corkboard by the stairs. It was a mess of scribbled notes and cutouts, barely half of them labelled. If she wanted to go full conspiracy, she’d need red strings.

She nodded at the board. “Best guess? He’s not local. Nobody’s seen anything like those wings before. And he had this aura that hit the girl hard, though it seems that nobody else reported it.”

Brian frowned. “A Master effect?”

“Closer to Stranger, I think,” Lisa said. “It was inducing fear, paralyzing, but focused.” She drummed her fingers on the armrest. “If it was hitting everyone, we’d have seen more panic on the ground than we did. So it’s probably narrow. Line of sight? Range-based? Emotional bleed from something more complex?”

Alec groaned. “So, you don’t actually know.”

Lisa smirked, but her brain kept running anyway.

“Still feels like a Trump-type,” she murmured, half to herself. “The armour changed just as he flew up, and the way he hit the swarm was nothing like what he did to Lung. Different elements, even. Something modular is going on.”

She leaned back and stared at the ceiling. The migraine was easing, but it wasn’t gone. Her power wasn’t giving her neat answers either, just loops of context and contradictory impressions. The stranger wasn’t just powerful, he was dissonant. Like someone tried to mash too many puzzle sets together and forced the pieces until they fit.

Brian crossed his arms. “What about the girl?”

Lisa went still. That was the harder one.

“She called it in,” she said. “That 911 call was her voice. Definitely young and scared out of her mind, but she still climbed up there and tried to help.” Lisa’s fingers curled around the mug out of habit. “Then, after whatever sword-boy did to Lung, she flipped hard.”

Alec yawned and flipped his phone over. “And you want to recruit her, why?”

Lisa closed her eyes for a second. “If someone else finds her first, and they see a weapon instead of a person, then things go bad. Fast.” She opened her eyes again. 

Brian narrowed his eyes. “You’re not telling us everything. Why are you really doing this, Lisa?”

“She reminds me of someone.” Lisa didn’t meet his gaze. 

The silence stretched.

Lisa stood and moved back to the laptop. “If I can model how she escalates, I can build a plan of contact that won’t blow up in our faces.”

“This girl isn’t going to trust anyone after what happened,” Brian pointed out. “How’ll you get her to even listen to you?”

Lisa’s voice went softer without her meaning it to. “I go in alone without a mask. It should buy me enough time to establish communications, at least.”

“That’s a lot of risk you’re taking, Lisa. Is she even worth it? Worth the team’s safety?”

It was a good question. One that Lisa’s been asking herself since she started considering reaching out. She wasn’t even sure if it would work. Unfortunately, the alternatives were worse.

Someone attempting to exploit her, or the PRT deciding she was a rogue threat and treating her like a walking disaster, could lead to widespread destruction. A city-spanning Master with a grudge didn’t get second chances. If last night was any indication, this was one parahuman that couldn’t be made to feel isolated or threatened.

Fortunately, there was still a chance for someone to reach. And that someone might as well be a Thinker who can side-step social landmines.

After explaining as much to the group’s leader, Brian sighed. “We’ll keep a discreet watch, then. I’ll talk to Rachel, see if the dogs can help with a scent trail if we need it. You…” He pointed slightly. “Don’t do anything reckless.”

Lisa gave him a small smile.

In the back of her mind, her Thinker-sense was already grinding away, modelling movements, range bursts, emotional cues. Each thought snapped into place, like puzzle pieces pushed into wet concrete. Somewhere in the middle of it was a girl who’d unleashed a biblical swarm for reasons she probably didn’t even understand yet.

Lisa intended to find her before anyone else did. For the girl’s sake and maybe for hers, too.

Chapter 6

Alfred

Three hours ago, I crawled out of the ocean like a soggy cryptid, clutching nothing but a ruined hoodie and a vague sense of existential regret. Now, I was perched on a grimy rooftop across from Winslow High in a wet t-shirt, jeans, and trainers, trying to dry out in the morning sun like a particularly broody piece of laundry.

Let me back up.

Last night, I made what I thought was a heroic entrance.

Stabbed Lung with a magic sword, performed a mystic heal on the story’s destined savior, and then got chased across the sky by a swarm big enough to blot out the moon. Long story short, I scorched half the insect population of Brockton Bay with a fireball and swan-dived into the bay to escape the consequences. 

Yay me.

Now, my shoes squelched with every step and I had exactly zero idea what the internet was saying about me. I didn’t have a working phone, working data, or, frankly, a working brain. What I did have was a rough notebook (don’t ask where I got it from), some half-baked theories, and a bruised ego.

I’d picked this rooftop because it gave me a clean view of Winslow’s front entrance. It was also three stories up and half-hidden behind a broken AC unit, which made it ideal for stalker-adjacent loitering. Which, yes, sounds bad. I know. But look, when you drop into a grimdark superhero universe with eight semi-sentient crystals lodged around your heart, you don’t exactly get a moral onboarding seminar.

I crouched low, cracked my notebook, and tried to focus.

First page: a diagram. Eight interlocking circles orbiting a star. Each labeled after one of the Dragoon Spirits. Darkness. Flame. Water. Wind. Earth. Lightning. Light. Divine Dragon. I traced the lines with my pencil like they held answers.

They didn’t.

Underneath, I’d scrawled three big questions:

Did Astral Drain cause Taylor’s power surge?

What the hell happened to Lung?

What am I missing about how these Spirits work?

The last question haunted me. 

In the game, they were simple: charge meter, press X, blow things up. Here, though? I used Darkness on Lung, and Taylor nearly had a breakdown. I used fire to clear the swarm, and the air lit up like Judgment Day.

I thought I understood these powers. Turns out, I don’t.

My fingers tapped the notebook rhythmically as I stared out at the school. Students were trickling in for fourth period, some chatting, some glued to their phones, probably watching shaky cam footage of last night’s swarm tornado. None of them looked like the Taylor I remembered. Then again, my only image of her was a bug-covered silhouette and a very angry scream.

Note to self: first impressions matter. Getting chased by millions of bugs? Not ideal.

My stomach grumbled. I rubbed my face, felt the salt crust still clinging to my jaw. I looked like I’d lost a fight with a fish tank. Still, I stayed. Because Taylor mattered. Because if I was right, if the energy from Astral Drain overloaded her power, I’d caused last night’s panic. I had to fix that. Somehow.

I flipped to a new page and started a fresh draft.

“Hi, Taylor. You probably remember me as the guy who scared the absolute shit out of you. Sorry about that.”

I scratched it out immediately. Too honest.

“Hey, I’m not a villain. I swear.”

Also bad. No one who says “I’m not a villain” is ever not a villain.

I groaned, dropped my head onto the notebook, and mumbled into the paper. “Smooth moves, Alfred.”

By hour four of rooftop loitering, I was starting to suspect that recon missions were less "cool cape work" and more "urban camping with bonus tetanus risk." I’d shifted positions six times to avoid hot patches of tar and bent metal, and I was pretty sure one of the air vents was leaking mold directly into my sinuses.

Still, no sign of Taylor.

I chewed the inside of my cheek and went back to my notebook, flipping past sketches of Spirit symbols and rough range diagrams. I'd started a new section labeled "Unexpected Problems That Could Kill Me Later". A growing list, helpfully sorted by "Probably Magical" and "Definitely My Fault." Astral Drain was at the top of both.

Honestly, I thought I’d been doing her a favor.

She hadn’t thanked me.

Okay, fair. I might’ve also scared the living hell out of her, though I still wasn’t sure of the cause. Was it my face? My wings? The sword?

More things to test. Add that to the list.

I sighed and looked up from the page. The students had shuffled back inside, the courtyard quiet except for a lonely leaf skittering across concrete. A couple of gulls flapped by overhead, one of them eyeing me like I was made of crumbs.

“No, I’m not food,” I muttered, and the bird squawked back like it disagreed.

Another check of the street below. Nothing. Did she decide to skip the day altogether? If she did, it would be a wise move, given the chaos last night. 

Still, was she okay? The bugs hadn’t reappeared. Her range might’ve snapped back to baseline. Or maybe she was suppressing it intentionally, scared of losing control again.

That thought nagged at me.

I hadn’t meant to hurt her. If I could just talk to her, get one clean conversation without insect bombardment, I could explain. “Hi, I’m Alfred. I accidentally turned you into the biblical end times. Let’s be friends.”

Flawless opener.

Except for the part where I had no idea how to even find her outside of school hours. I hadn’t memorized her address, which was a huge oversight. Not like I could just walk into the school and say, “Hi, I’m a concerned citizen with glowing chest crystals and several legally ambiguous weaponry. Can I get Taylor Hebert’s file?”

No, this had to be clean. Ethical. Respectful of privacy and canon.

I leaned back against the wall, closing my eyes for a second. The wind tugged at my hoodie, brushing sweat off my brow. I needed a plan that didn’t involve stalking teenagers or breaking the Unwritten Rules.

One more page in the notebook.

New Plan:

Wait for dismissal

Approach calmly in public

Lead with apology

Do not use the Dark Dragoon Spirit

DO NOT use any of the Dragoon Spirits, seriously

Offer answers, no pressure

I tapped the list with my pencil, underlined the last point twice.

The seagull came back.

Same ratty gray feathers, same one-legged hop, same expression of judgment as it pecked around the rooftop edge like it owned the place. I watched it, slumped against a rusted ventilation pipe, chewing the inside of my cheek and willing it to leave me some dignity.

It didn’t.

In the end, I tossed it a chunk of crushed protein bar wrapper. Empty, obviously, but the motion made me feel vaguely generous. That counted, right?

My stomach growled. Again. Loud enough to echo between rooftop ducts. I took that as a sign to refocus.

Notebook, page five. New heading:

"Ways This Could Still Be Salvaged"

I stared at the phrase for a solid minute, pen in hand, waiting for divine inspiration. What I got instead was the dull throb of exhaustion curling in behind my eyes like a migraine wearing wet socks.

Focus. Okay.

Taylor probably didn’t tell anyone what happened. I mean, maybe. I hadn’t seen any black-ops squads rappelling down from helicopters to drag me in for cape malpractice, so that was promising.

Lung’s out of commission. That had to count for something. Even if he wasn’t dead (and wow, did he look it), he’d definitely be sitting out the next few gang wars, probably with a hole in his resume and some awkward questions for HR.

No casualties. I think. The PRT hadn’t launched a manhunt or declared a citywide emergency. At least not one I’d observed on my way here.

I tapped the pen against my lips again and crossed out “salvaged.” Replaced it with “less of a disaster.” More honest.

Still, I couldn’t stop replaying it.

The sword. The drain. That moment where I pushed the excess energy into Taylor because she looked like she was about to crumple into a trauma sandwich, and I panicked.

That was it. That was the moment it all got away from me. I’d meant to help. I really, truly did. But instead of a quick heal and a grateful nod, I turned the entire city into a horror movie and got myself chased off for the trouble.

And then, poof! Gone. Like a coward. No, not like. I was a coward. I didn’t even try to explain. Didn’t wave. Didn’t leave a note. Just bolted into the sky like I’d lit a bag of poop on her porch and heard the door unlock.

I buried my face in my hands.

“I’m so bad at this,” I muttered.

My voice bounced off the metal ducting and came back twice as pathetic.

I looked down at the sketch of the Spirits again. The Darkness module sat at the center of my diagram, unblinking, unknowable. What did it actually do?

I wrote, in all caps: TEST THIS SOMEWHERE SAFE, IDIOT.

And under that: Also, get real food before you hallucinate a boss fight that isn’t there.

I closed the notebook and lay back against the rooftop, arms folded behind my head. The sky was turning that pale afternoon color that meant time was running out if I wanted to catch Taylor before the school day ended.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’d approach her. Talk. Explain. Fix this.

Probably.

Maybe.

A seagull pooped six feet from my elbow.

Right. First: food.

Then: heroics.

Then: catastrophically awkward apology tour.

Maybe not in that order.

And that’s when I heard it.

A single, sharp word from behind.

“Freeze.”

…ah, crud.

Chapter 7

Kaiser

The conference room atop the Medhall building was all steel and silence. The Empire Eighty-Eight’s senior lieutenants filled the room with their presence rather than making a racket, waiting for him to speak.

Kaiser stood at the head of the table, posture straight, arms folded behind his back. A morning haze blurred the horizon, but the docks were visible. Ash still clung to the streets in pockets, black smears along rooftops, gutters, and alleys. It wasn’t toxic or harmful.

But it was terrifying.

He let that fact hang in the air like smoke.

“No reports of civilian fatalities,” he said at last. “The chaos, however, speaks for itself.”

Hookwolf leaned back in his seat, one boot up on the corner of the table despite the implied need for decorum. His grin hadn’t dimmed since the meeting started. 

“You say chaos like it’s a bad thing. ABB had runners scrambling like cockroaches. I say let the sky catch fire more often.”

Kaiser didn’t glance at him, “We maintain control through fear, not confusion, Brad. The distinction matters, one I would have hoped you already knew.”

“Tell that to the boys,” Stormtiger cut in, arms crossed, tone more even. “Most of them thought it was an Endbringer at first. They’re still on edge, even now.”

Kaiser nodded at the pile of documents littering the conference room table. 

“They’re not alone. The community forums have been lit up all night. PHO’s flooded with rumors, I’m told. No one knows what happened, and that suits us. For now.”

From her seat near the window, Purity said nothing.

She hadn’t said anything since they arrived.

Kaiser’s gaze slid toward her. She was staring past the glass, hands folded in her lap, the curve of her mouth tight with something unspoken. Not fear. Not grief. Something quieter. Reflective.

Not here.

That made his jaw tighten.

“Kayden,” he said, voice sharp enough to cut.

She blinked, refocused. 

“I’m listening.”

“Then tell me,” he said evenly, “do you believe this was a one-time event?”

Her brow creased. She hesitated. 

“No.”

The word lingered.

Kaiser watched her carefully, but she didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to. He already saw it, the way she’d drifted since Christmas. Since the last time her daughter visited Medhall’s safehouse. Since she started hesitating during raids, always one eye on some imagined crossfire.

He’d given her space. Loyalty could bend, as long as it didn’t break.

But the fault line was forming.

“Then we prepare,” he said, pivoting to the room. “That swarm demonstrated a parahuman with massive, scalable range. The winged figure demonstrated surgical, controlled destruction from the air. Whoever they are, they aren’t random. That kind of precision takes a certain amount of discipline that fresh triggers typically don’t possess.”

“The restraint they showed is also worth noting,” Purity added quietly.

Hookwolf scoffed. 

“What restraint? They torched a million bugs in the sky.”

“They avoided civilians,” she said. Still not looking at anyone. “If they had been any more reckless, that stunt could have caused death by the dozens, at least.”

Kaiser didn’t correct her. She wasn’t wrong. But the fact that she’d seen mercy in a city-wide panic was telling.

“We have two new actors,” he continued. “We do not yet know their affiliations. They may be a rogue or an independent. The PRT hasn’t claimed them. Which means we have an opportunity.”

“To do what?” Stormtiger asked.

“To observe. To evaluate. And, if possible, to ensure that when they are approached, it’s by someone we can influence, or someone who shares our interests.”

Hookwolf snorted, again. 

“You want to recruit a damn flying nuke?”

“No,” Kaiser replied, “I want to know if someone else plans to. Coil, perhaps. Or worse, outsiders planning on making moves on our city.”

That made the room quiet. Purity finally turned her head. 

“What if they respond to our efforts violently?”

Kaiser stared back at her. 

“Then we remind Brockton Bay who holds this city’s spine together.”

Outside, the fog was beginning to burn off, sunlight glinting on a line of parked cars below. The tension in the room seemed to settle, if only for a moment. Plans were forming. Observers would be deployed. Surveillance was already sweeping the east docks.

Everything was being put back in order.

And then the explosion hit.

A thunderclap of pressure and flame lit the skyline, just beyond the industrial zone. Kaiser and the others turned in unison to the window. A column of smoke rose behind the warehouses, flickering with an orange pulse.

Kaiser narrowed his eyes.

So much for order.

Velocity

Velocity tore through the narrow back streets of Brockton Bay, a scarlet streak against damp concrete. His boots flickered over puddles, each footfall a calculated burst of speed that left onlookers blinking in disbelief. 

Above him, the chase unfolded in three dimensions. Seraph darting through the sky, leaving a green trail of light in his wake and three capes in swift pursuit.

Lady Photon was in the lead, eyes fixed on the violet‐plated figure skirting between rooftops. Dauntless trailed behind her, his spear crackling with a charged arc, probing for an opening. But it was Glory Girl who stole the sky’s attention. 

She dove in tight spirals, intent on bringing Seraph down in a single, decisive strike.

Velocity couldn’t fly. He couldn’t hurl energy or blunt wings with super strength. His gift was speed. As each blast and bolt rent the air overhead, chunks of billboard and fragments of light constructs rained down. He shuttled terrified pedestrians into recessed alcoves and behind overturned newspaper stands. 

Every time debris rattled the pavement, he was there to usher the next person clear.

He sprang back into the fray. Down the block, a utility pole cracked under Dauntless’s redirected impulse. Its base groaned, then snapped, spraying a cascade of shattered wires. 

Velocity sped forward, swerving a group of office workers to safety just before the lines collapsed into a humming pile. The workers vanished inside a doorway, uncertain what had saved them but grateful all the same.

Coming out of his Breaker state might make him slower, but Protectorate Heroes trained their bodies just as much as their power. Having to do it too many times was getting tiring, however.

Up above, Glory Girl’s latest dive had forced Seraph to bank sharply and the shockwave from her punch knocked a streetlight free of its casing when it missed. The lamp tumbled, glass shattering in slow motion. 

Velocity caught a glimpse of the light’s descent, ran at top speed, and waved bystanders out of the crater it carved in the pavement. No one was hit. He exhaled and sprinted on, adrenaline sharpening his focus.

He knew why the attacks were so fierce. 

Shadow Stalker had been hurt severely enough that word had spread through cape comms. No one had the complete details, but Seraph was implicated as being the one responsible. Hence, Lady Photon and Dauntless weren’t holding back as much as they usually would.

As for Glory Girl…it was more difficult to tell the difference.

Unfortunately, looking up from the ground, the fight looked more brutal than would normally be expected from heroes. They were definitely taking a PR hit for this, but the takedown of Shadow Stalker by Seraph was apparently public enough that the decision to take the gloves off could be justified.

Velocity slipped into a narrow opening between two low walls, ushering four frightened commuters ahead of him. One of them, a delivery driver drenched in rain, managed a shaky nod. “Thanks, man,” she panted as he guided her behind a reinforced storefront.

He crouched, scanning for the next threat zone. A pair of office interns huddled at the corner, cellphones raised to capture the aerial spectacle. He waved them down and pointed to the opposite curb. They darted away, eyes glued skyward.

“Stay low,” he muttered, more to himself than them. 

Then he sprinted into an open plaza where glass shards sparkled like black diamonds on the flagstones. A bolt from Dauntless streaked across the sky, missing Seraph by inches, and exploded against a brick façade, sending a flurry of mortar flying. Velocity rounded the corner and waved a group of tourists into a recessed stairwell.

“Velocity to Dauntless,” he snapped while holding his earpiece, “watch your shots! You and Lady Photon are raining bricks on civilians!”

“I am!” came the response. “He must have a Thinker power. His reaction time is insane!”

That was problematic. The Trump had already tried grappling the winged cape and got thrown into the sky for his troubles. It seems that the city’s latest parahuman headliner is a Brute on top of everything else.

He glanced up. Seraph hovered just above the roofline, breathing hard, wings drooping like exhausted sails. If nothing else, the cape doesn’t seem to have unlimited stamina.

Glory Girl arced in for another pass, fist drawn back. Lady Photon and Dauntless flanked her, ready to squeeze him from two sides.

Velocity’s jaw clenched. He raced toward the edge of a courtyard, herding a pair of late‐night shift workers behind a parked van. One turned to ask him a question, grateful and terrified, and he shook his head, signaling silence. There was no time.

The chase circled above. Seraph drifted over a park fountain that was already cracked and leaking from earlier blasts. Velocity skidded in next to a cluster of bicycles, yanked free a baby stroller that had rolled into a puddle, and guided its mother to dry ground.

He felt the touch of Glory Girl’s aura as she screamed skyward. Seraph banked, but only ever to evade, block, or parry, not to retaliate. The city trembled with each clash of powers, and Velocity’s heart strained against his ribs.

Why wasn’t Seraph fighting back? 

A distant siren wailed as emergency crews arrived. But they weren’t trained for this. They wouldn’t step into the crossfire when capes were involved.

Velocity pressed on. Everywhere he looked, someone was in danger.

He blinked and looked up one final time. Glory Girl dove again, but Seraph slipped the strike and shot skyward, vanishing behind a ridge of tenements.

Unwilling to lose their quarry, the heroes stayed on his tail. The glowing, green streak made this easier than it otherwise would have been.

The chase had stretched nearly a mile from the naval district to the north docks, weaving between warehouses, over freight containers, and through one shattered community plaza. Seraph’s violet form dipped and bobbed, still elusive but undeniably slowing. Each time Lady Photon, Dauntless, or Glory Girl landed a glancing blow, Seraph faltered for a heartbeat longer.

Velocity stayed below, weaving among the shadows of overturned crates and crumbling crates of cargo. He funneled frightened dockworkers and stray cats away from the impact zones, staff of forklifts and steel-toed boots finding refuge behind shipping containers he directed them toward. The acrid tang of superheated light mingled with diesel fumes made for an indescribable urban battlefield.

Up above, Dauntless twirled his spear, charging for another strike. Lady Photon launched a cascade of energy beams aimed at Seraph’s wings. Glory Girl pursued heel-to-toe, mounting frustration evident in the shouts accompanying her punches.

Seraph slid past the onslaught, but his grace was fraying. 

Velocity crouched behind a stack of pallets as a blast from Dauntless’s spear seared the air overhead. Sparks rained down two containers away. He darted out and waved a quartet of new arrivals into the safety of an adjacent warehouse, then retreated, eyes on the sky.

Glory Girl banked hard and closed the distance. This time, her fist curved backward, not to punch, but to trap. In one fluid motion, she wrapped her arms around Seraph’s torso in a powerful bear hug, pinning his arms from behind. 

For a split second, the night cityscape stilled.

Then Seraph’s desperate scream cracked the air even as he tried and failed to pry open Glory Girl’s steel grip. 

“No, don’t!”

Lightning arced in jagged filaments across Seraph’s violet armor, branching from the crystal on his chest. The glow intensified, white-hot and erratic, until the energy exploded outward like a live wire.

Glory Girl’s arms spasmed. The brilliance pulsed and broke her forcefield in a shower of sparks. She stiffened, then started falling from the sky.

Velocity sprang forward, speed flickering like strobe lights. Dauntless pivoted overhead, spearlight winking out. He broke away from the chase and dove toward the smoking form of the young heroine.

The speedster only had enough time to hear a howl of rage before the sky lit up with a shower of explosive light.

Alfred

I honestly don’t think I could have fumbled the ball harder if I tried. The afternoon’s events were a blur since Shadow Stalker found me on that rooftop. How she did that, I still didn’t know. She didn’t even let me explain, though, I’m not sure why I expected anything different.

The girl was notorious among the fandom for being one of the most unlikable characters in the series. With this being a world that featured literal roving murderhobos and a living embodiment of all sex crimes, that says a lot about her.

Naturally, I tried to make a quick getaway as soon as I saw the crossbow bolt heading my way. Brute, I may be, but I still didn’t want to test if my eye could resist getting poked by sharp objects.

It was just my luck that dearest Sophia proved to be tenacious. Or maybe pigheaded would be a better word.

Looking back, maybe I should have expected things to go this way. Being so close to Winslow was just one taunt too many for Murphy.

After jumping off the roof, I got ready to shift into Dragoon form. This was where the universe decided to take another massive dump on me.

See, I wanted the Darkness Dragoon Spirit. Its speed would have allowed me to escape faster. What I didn’t count on was for the Spirits to take the choice out of my hands. I’ve had time to examine the whys behind the clusterfuck since then even as I played the most dangerous game of tag over Brockton Bay’s airspace.

Fans of Worm would have known Shadow Stalker’s weakness to electricity. I did, and was actually planning on using that vulnerability in the future. It would seem that the Violet Dragoon Spirit had other ideas. This development had so many terrifying implications that I didn’t know where to begin.

But I digress.

Caught by surprise as I was, my reaction time was hampered when Sophia decided to try and tackle me just as I finished transforming. What made her decide on such a stupid approach currently escapes me, but this was where the trouble really started.

In an act supremely contrary to her character, the girl apparently called in to report her discovery of me before engaging. This went against everything I knew of Shadow Stalker.

She was an abrasive, irredeemable bully who clung to faux Darwinian philosophy to justify her lone wolf pretence. Trying to take down the city’s newest ‘villain’ without telling anyone would be just like the professional coward and hypocrite.

Unlike Taylor, who could rationalize working with her for the greater good, I had no such hangups. Sophia’s death or removal from the picture was already set in stone.

The same went for Emma and Madison.

I would have just appreciated having the chance to avoid being implicated in the crime/public service.

Well, it’s too late now.

Even though it was through no fault of my own, Shadow Stalker getting zapped and then falling ten stories before hitting the edge of a dumpster was still pretty damning. That Dauntless and Lady Photon arrived in time to witness that exact moment…do I really need to elaborate?

So, yeah. I got chased through the skies of the Bay, once more. This time, it was by a trio (where the heck did Glory Girl even come from?!) of heroes who had no trouble inflicting damage on me.

Don’t get me wrong. I dodged most of their attacks. More than I expected to, if I were honest. But these were capes who had more experience with aerial combat than I did. Two of them knew each other’s attack patterns quite well and could seamlessly work together. The third had really good aim.

As the pursuit dragged on, with me finding it impossible to break away, the heroes gradually got better at fencing me in. In contrast, I came close to losing my head a few times, both figuratively and literally. 

Victoria was NOT pulling her punches.

Oh, and the damage to both people and property. Can’t forget about that. Though I’m doing my best to push certain screams of pain and fear to the back of my mind, at the moment.

Survive first, drown in guilt later.

I did my best to lead the heroes away from populated areas, but they were playing a much rougher game than I expected. Seeing what happened to Sophia must have lit a fire under their butts.

With that said, there was a reason why I liked to plan my encounters. I’m really, really bad at improvising.

Against just Dauntless or Photon Mom? I could win, no question.

Against all three? With no sleep, hardly any food, minimal prep time, and virtually zero training with my powers? I should have been lathered in Containment Foam and on my way to PRT custody by now. 

When I felt Glory Girl’s gorilla arms wrap around my torso, I finally lost my shit. I already had one accidental electrocution today and was not looking to add another.

But of course, Vicky just had to swoop in. Collateral Damage Barbie herself, armed with the judgment of a caffeinated toddler and the subtlety of an asteroid strike. Why settle for being a cocky flying brick when you could be a self-propelled concussion dispenser?

And who was going to pay for her being a reckless little shit? 

Me. As proven by the storm of laser beams that an enraged Lady Photon was sending my way.

By this point, some people may rightly ask why I’m not fighting back. 

At first, it was because I didn’t want to deal with the hassle. I knew how these things would go. Escalation is the name of the game in this here neighborhood and ol’ uncle Sam might get roped into the mess, along with the local deep state doodoo heads.

Now, though? With one of New Wave’s more level-headed adults attacking with lethal intent? I had to make a choice.

So, I did just that.

Chapter 8

Amy Dallon POV

Looking at her like this, Amy could almost believe that Vicky was just sleeping. This scene wasn’t new to her, but it usually involved crumpled sheets on the floor, pillows all over the bed, and a bit of drool.

Now, her sister was lying on a hospital bed, specialized instruments hooked up to her unmoving form, the sounds of monitoring machinery the only company in the otherwise sterile room. 

As for her?

Anyone close enough to Amy (or Panacea, in her cape persona), would be shocked at how much worse she could look.

Eyes red, hair a tangled mess, eyebags more bloated than ever, costume thrown haphazardly on the chair she sat on. Suffice it to say, the girl was not doing well. Casting her thoughts to how this all came about, she remembered Dauntless barging through the emergency room doors, screaming for her.

The events following that were a blur of despair, panic, and anguish. She did all she could for her, but Vicky still ended up in a coma. It’s been two days since then.

And who was to blame?

Seraph, Brockton Bay’s newest villain. The criminal responsible for so much tragedy, not even a week since his first appearance.

Just thinking about the winged cape was enough to reignite Amy’s simmering rage.

First was the swarm of apocalyptic proportions that sent the entire city into hysteria. Next, he went after the Ward, Shadow Stalker. The teen hero had a broken spine and severe electrical burns when she was brought in, along with several fractures and dislocations.

Much like with Vicky, Amy was able to heal much of the damage in short order. But also like Vicky, she was left comatose.

Whether in her civilian or cape identity, Amy wasn’t close with the Breaker. She wasn’t close with any of the Wards, for that matter. Still, it was infuriating that she couldn’t do more. Healing her could have also allowed Amy to heal Vicky.

But, it wasn’t to be.

Those two were not the end of that day’s casualties, either. 

Aside from the numerous injuries sustained by civilians as a result of the aerial pursuit, several heroes were also hurt to varying degrees. Velocity sported second and third-degree burns all along his left side. Miss Militia’s retinas were damaged by intense heat. And Armsmaster was practically fused with his armor.

Assault and Battery were either more fortunate or more capable of evasion. They only got scratches, scrapes, shallow cuts, and bruises.

The worst cases hit much closer to home.

Amy was brought out of her morbid thoughts by the door opening. It was an exhausted and worried Crystal.

Speak of the Devil.

“How are they?”

Her adoptive cousin gave a tired smile before moving to take another chair by Vicky’s bedside. Once seated (slumped, really), the older girl breathed a deep, tired sigh. Signs of the rough few days were visible: blond hair tied in a sloppy bun, previously rosy cheeks pallid, and shadows under her blue eyes.

“Resting now,” she said. “I left Eric with them to check on you and Vicky. Well,” she amended, “mostly you.”

Amy couldn’t muster up enough energy to feel irritated at the admission. Considering that all of New Wave was in this hospital, though not in the same conditions, it made sense for Crystal to worry.

She, Amy, and Eric were all that remained functional of the public hero group. Everyone else was laid up.

Which brought her thoughts back to the person responsible. 

“Any news on him, yet?”

Amy could almost hear Crystal grinding her teeth, normally soft eyes becoming flinty, and fists clenching tightly. The blond was in just as much of a forgiving mood as she was. 

That is to say, not at all.

“Still no sightings. The fires were finally put out, but nearly half the docks are gone.”

Crystal paused, pursing her lips and furrowing her brows in concentration.

“The trainyards are a wreck. Well, more of a wreck. The Boat Graveyard is basically a bed of molten metal, now. And there’s no salvaging any of the warehouses. Not that anyone was trying to do that, anyway.”

Yeah, it was a shitshow. 

Despite a full 48 hours having passed after the incident, the authorities were still trying to tally the damages wrought. Even without the full accounting, though, people already considered this the worst cape-induced catastrophe to hit Brockton Bay in recent memory.

Not even Lung’s vaunted defeat of the full Protectorate roster was this disastrous. 

“Is there any good news?” Amy asked, if only to stop her spiraling thoughts.

At her prompting, Crystal did perk up.

“Actually, there is!” she replied, voice regaining a bit of its usual cheer. “A lot of independents are coming out of the woodwork and helping out. There’s talk of this cape who has been calling in crimes from all over. Someone leaked like dozens of 911 recordings on PHO and it’s all anyone’s talking about, right now.”

Wait, what?

Her confusion must have shown on her face since Crystal moved to clarify.

“No one’s seen her yet, so we don’t know that much about her,” the older girl was becoming more animated now, likely due to the topic being neither macabre nor depressing. “The voice in the recordings sounds young and definitely female. Each call is really short, too. Just the crime, the place, and whoever’s involved. She didn’t even give a name!”

Huh, that’s interesting. A precog, maybe? Or a thinker with large-scale awareness? When she expressed these thoughts out loud, Crystal hummed in thought.

“There are a lot of speculations,” she said. “You know how PHO posters get. But a few of the theories did stand out.”

“Why’s that?”

Crystal scrunched her nose up before responding.

“In a lot of the spots reported, the bugs were apparently acting really weird.”

Taylor POV

Two days. Two whole days of anger, guilt, shame, and shock have left Taylor Hebert’s psyche frayed and raw.

She couldn’t sit still. Sleep became a fading luxury. And despite helping to thwart numerous crimes by calling the authorities, she felt no accomplishment or satisfaction.

From the boardwalk, where she was leaning against the railing overlooking the beach, she could see what remained of the Boat Graveyard. It evoked a complicated mess of feelings in the bug master.

On the one hand, the wrecks were a frequent haunt of lowlives who dealt in filth. Drugs were brewed, stored, and sold around those parts. At least, that’s what she’d gathered in her research before going out as a hero. On the other, it resulted from a tragedy.

Her mind turned around and around the same subject.

Seraph.

A name to go with the horrifying figure that nearly left her catatonic in fear. Even now, she found it difficult to recall the face behind the veil of darkness.

So many heroes fell to his sword. Widespread devastation followed in his wake. In a single afternoon, he left Brockton Bay more vulnerable to the predation of criminals and villains than it had been in years.

In her wanderings, Taylor saw more empty streets, shuffling gaits, hunched shoulders, and fearful whispers. These weren’t necessarily anything new. Brocktonites have lived under the bootheel of villains for decades and caution was taken as gospel.

Taken all together, though? It was clear that the events of the past several days exceeded what even the city’s hardened residents could tolerate.

Her swarm caused alarm. Its incineration incited panic. The public defeat of nearly all of the Bay’s heroes in such a brutal fashion, however? That caused despair, one so palpable that it almost covered the city in a tangible shroud.

Even the Wards weren’t spared, as evidenced by the numerous videos of Shadow Stalker being taken away on a gurney, shot from multiple angles. 

That it happened right across from Winslow High left Taylor feeling oddly grateful that she decided to rest that day.

Glory Girl apparently suffered the same fate. Clips of her unmoving body in the arms of Dauntless quickly made the rounds on PHO. It was this development, more than anything, that truly set off the cascade of rage and hysteria currently besieging the city.

If the local Alexandria package could be taken out so easily, what chance did the rest of the heroes have against such a powerful cape? As it turns out, not much of a chance at all.

To make matters worse, the news reported that both teens were in a coma.

So, here Taylor was. After two days of debating with herself and her dad, occasionally interrupted by bouts of reporting criminal activities, she still couldn’t come to a decision.

In some sick, twisted way, she felt responsible for Seraph’s rampage. She was the first to meet him, not counting Lung. The first to interact with him. And the moment that she could, she chased him away with the largest swarm she could muster.

Even three days on, that night still left her feeling unsure. Did he attack Lung to save her or was it an opportunistic strike to bring down a rival cape? Was he actually a hero with incredible powers that came with significant drawbacks?

He did heal Taylor, that much was clear. That was a heroic act, wasn’t it?

So, why did he end up attacking a Ward and fighting the heroes? Was that her fault, somehow? Could she have done something to prevent it from happening?

‘Did I push him down the road of villainy?’ Taylor thought.

“Deep thoughts?”

The sudden intrusion caused Taylor to flinch. Quickly turning about, she saw a girl with green eyes, a freckled face, and full lips that were currently upturned in a remarkably smug smirk.

“I have a lot of those too.”

Emily Piggot POV

04:10 AM, two days after the docks burned. Emily Piggot stood at her office window, cane under one hand, the bay a faint smear of grey beyond the glass. Her monitor chimed.

SECURE LINK – CHIEF DIRECTOR COSTA-BROWN

She accepted. Rebecca Costa-Brown appeared on-screen, jacket immaculate, eyes sharp enough to cut. As was typical of the formidable woman, she began without preamble, emphasizing the severity of their upcoming discussion.

“Director Piggot,” she said by way of greeting. “Talk me through it.”

“The incident started at three-thirteen local, eleventh of April,” Piggot replied without hesitation, having already predicted the course of the meeting. “The Ward, Shadow Stalker, radioed in suspicious activity on a rooftop near Winslow High. Dispatch acknowledged and told her to observe. She answered, ‘Checking it out,’ then she went silent.”

Costa-Brown didn’t blink. “Bodycam?”

“Went offline the moment she moved. No footage.”

A faint tightening of Costa-Brown’s jaw. “And the outcome?”

“A ten-storey fall. She hit a dumpster in the alleyway below, where she clocked the supposed suspicious activity. Paramedics arrived at three-thirty-five. Panacea repaired the spinal damage, but she’s still in a coma.”

“Witnesses?”

“Dauntless and Lady Photon arrived within ninety seconds. They found her and confirmed a pulse.” Piggot kept her voice clipped. “The unknown cape was airborne when they got eyes on the scene. Male, late teens to early twenties, purple armour by their account. Dauntless ordered him to remain. He ascended instead.”

Costa-Brown gave a single nod, like she’d filed it away. “Continue.”

“I was monitoring the channel by then and issued a directive to apprehend them immediately. I wanted to keep it from escalating, and I wanted to keep outside elements out of it.” Piggot let out a breath through her nose. “Obviously, it didn’t go to plan.”

There was a brief pause, Costa-Brown weighing the words.

“Understood,” she said. “Pursuit details.”

“The subject led Dauntless and Lady Photon over the warehouse district on a chase at high altitude.” Piggot rubbed at the ache above her brow. “Velocity started ground evacuation on his own initiative. Thirty-five civilians were treated for minor injuries, all panic-related.”

“Noted.” Costa-Brown’s tone stayed even. “Any sign he went after first responders?”

“Negative. He focused on dodging attacks and outrunning pursuit.” Piggot’s mouth tightened. “His pattern suggests avoidance, not aggression.”

Costa-Brown’s eyes stayed on her. “What happened with Glory Girl?”

“She intercepted mid-air at three-thirty-nine and went for a grapple.” Piggot didn’t soften it. “On contact, the subject discharged high-voltage electricity. Glory Girl lost consciousness and fell. Dauntless broke pursuit to deliver her to Mercy General, where Panacea stabilised her.” Piggot’s fingers flexed once on the cane. “Like Shadow Stalker, she’s also comatose.”

Costa-Brown studied Piggot’s face, like she might spot the answer there. “Do we know why they’re not waking?”

“Medical scans show their Corona Pollentia and Gemma are inflamed. Both appear to have experienced neurological overload.” Piggot shook her head once. “Aside from that, no conclusive data yet.”

Costa-Brown’s gaze narrowed.

“So, to recap, we have one unregistered cape, two teens in comas, but minimal civilian harm.” She didn’t raise her voice, but it pressed anyway. “Where are you putting priority?”

“Containment,” Piggot said. “Every hour he’s free is another hour for rumour to turn him into either a folk hero or a devil.”

Costa-Brown gave the faintest shrug. “The truth rarely gets there first. Status of the search?”

“We set a grid of two miles around the last sonar ping. We’re tapping the Coast Guard’s scanners, plus one of Dragon’s drones on loan.” Piggot’s tone hardened. “No hits in forty-odd hours.”

“What about the public line?”

“We released a brief. ‘Pursuit of unregistered, multi-form parahuman. No civilian fatalities.’ We’ve pushed the zero-death angle every time we speak.”

Costa-Brown’s expression softened by a shade. “Good work.”

Piggot nodded once. “I’ll maintain it.”

A pause. Costa-Brown leaned back slightly, considering.

“Director,” she said, “based on what you have right now, do you believe this cape intended lethal harm?”

“From what I have? No. He passed on easier shots, kept the fight over empty roofs.” Piggot tapped her cane once, a quiet punctuation. “He only escalated when Armsmaster started using some of his more… dangerous equipment.”

That detail was not for public release. While necessary, it still got the Tinker benched and cost him half his tinkering budget.

“But Seraph’s unpredictable, and his capacity for destruction is high,” Piggot continued. “Good intentions don’t shield brickwork.”

“Agreed,” Costa-Brown said, quiet and flat.

Piggot’s screen pinged. Five minutes elapsed. She pulled the next folder across her desk. Casualty sheets. Property maps. Costa-Brown’s eyes flicked to the movement.

“All right,” Costa-Brown said. “Damage and casualties.”

Piggot switched feeds. A drone shot of the east-dock block filled half the screen: skeletal roofs, one warehouse wall folded outward like a crushed soda can.

“Fire crews finished mop-up four hours ago,” Piggot said. “Fourteen structures can’t be saved. The demolition order is already on the mayor’s desk. Rail spur is warped enough to strand three cranes, so all of it will need to be scrapped.”

“Insurance?”

“Seventy to eighty million, ballpark, once the cargo claims land. Eight companies. Five of them are already screaming at the city solicitor.”

Costa-Brown made a note. “Utilities?”

“The gas main held. The power grid dropped two circuits. Both rerouted. Environmental risk is low. The biggest spill was diesel from an old trawler hull, but the Coast Guard boomed it before sunrise the same night.”

Piggot slid a casualty sheet under the camera.

“Velocity took heat across his left side. Second degree, mostly his arm and ribs. He’s insisting on desk duty, and medical cleared him for it. Miss Militia’s retinas were flash-scoured. Bright light still ghosts her vision, but she can shoot again tomorrow if we shade the goggles.”

Costa-Brown frowned. “Even with Panacea’s aid?”

Piggot let out a tired breath. “There were too many injured at the time for full healing. Panacea was also emotionally exhausted due to the injuries suffered by members of New Wave. She took Glory Girl’s case the worst.”

“Armsmaster?” Costa-Brown asked.

“His armour seized at the elbows when it overheated. Small burns, mostly, despite the outward damage. It was mostly cosmetic.” Piggot had to work to keep contempt out of her voice. “His ego was bruised worse.”

She tapped a few more names on the sheet.

“Triumph, Assault, and Battery suffered the lightest injuries. Contusions, smoke inhalation, and minor lacerations were as bad as they got.”

“And New Wave’s adults?”

“Manpower walked away with a dislocated shoulder. Brandish and Flashbang are black-and-blue but functional. Lady Photon sustained more extensive heat damage, caused by proximity to Seraph’s initial transformation.”

Costa-Brown nodded, thoughtful, and set her biro down.

“So you can still field Protectorate members.”

“Yes. Dauntless is airborne, but he’s one man.” Piggot’s jaw flexed. “I’ve pulled Vista from routine patrols. Short-range warps will help with quick response.”

“I’ll free up Bastion from Boston,” Costa-Brown said. “He can fill the optics gap, too.”

“That’ll help the press conference.” Piggot flipped to a civic-impact memo. “Speaking of optics, City Hall has asked for state-level disaster relief. If we stall, they’ll move to federal.”

Costa-Brown’s eyes narrowed. “Do you recommend declaring?”

“Not yet. We can swing cleanup funds from the regional emergency pot once structural surveys finish tomorrow.” Piggot paused and pinched the bridge of her nose. “But we need visible progress, or the council will sign whatever FEMA puts in front of them.”

“Understood.” Costa-Brown didn’t waste motion. “Staffing back-fill? One Ward out and half a dozen veterans running at half-speed will wear thin.”

“The rest of the Wards can shoulder extra patrols for a week,” Piggot said. Her frown deepened. “Morale’s the problem. Losing Glory Girl rattled people. Mercy General’s got news helicopters parked on the roof garden. We keep pushing the zero-fatality figure, but the city’s used to Glory Girl winning her fights. Or at least holding her own.”

Costa-Brown steepled her fingers. “Has New Wave asked to address the media?”

“Brandish wants a statement, yes. I’ve advised her to hold until we have more on Seraph.” Piggot thumbed a sticky note off her pad. “She’ll toe the line for now, but she made her grief known, loudly.”

Costa-Brown made a sound of acknowledgement. “Good. Community impact?”

“Fear’s cooling into anger,” Piggot said. “People want to know why two teen heroes are still in hospital beds and the person responsible isn’t in a cell.” Her jaw set. “We get him soon, or the city council will rent a cape mercenary and call it a budget item.”

“Let’s not give them the chance,” Costa-Brown said. “Any unknown actors?”

“One.” Piggot pulled a thin file, label blank. “Starting twenty-two hours ago, we began getting anonymous 911 calls. Female voice, adolescent. She phoned in three gang assaults, one robbery, and an ABB stash house. All tips were good.”

Costa-Brown’s eyes tightened slightly. “Possible tie to Seraph?”

“No overlap yet. But every scene had odd insect behaviour, ants filing in tight spirals, moth clusters on windows.” Piggot kept it careful. “My gut says there’s a link, but nothing solid.”

“Keep it close,” Costa-Brown said. “If she’s a potential ally, we need a safer approach than we managed with Seraph.”

“Agreed.”

Quiet settled in, both women weighing the gaps.

Costa-Brown glanced at her chrono. “Anything else before we move to outstanding evidence?”

Piggot felt the sealed envelope waiting in her upper drawer, the one forensics had hand-delivered at midnight. Two items inside, both half-burned, both kept off every briefing so far.

“There is one more package,” Piggot said, tapping the drawer. “Recovered near Shadow Stalker’s landing site. We saved it for last.”

“All right,” Costa-Brown said. “Bring it up.”

Piggot nodded once. Her fingers rested on the drawer pull for a beat, then she opened it. A thin evidence envelope slid onto her blotter. She broke the seal and eased two plastic sleeves into view.

“First item,” Piggot said, raising the larger sleeve.

Inside lay a half-sheet of scorched notebook paper. Eight circles, each perfectly round, ringed a small star. Every circle carried a neat, block-printed label: Red-Eyed, Blue-Sea, Jade, Golden, Violet, White-Silver, Darkness, Divine.

The edges were browned and brittle, but the ink was clear.

Costa-Brown didn’t speak for a moment. Her eyes sharpened. “Where was it found?”

“Wedged between the dumpster and a wall. Seraph likely dropped it while trying to flee from Shadow Stalker’s hit.” Piggot flipped the sleeve. “Nothing on the back.”

“And your read on the matter?”

“Looks like a menu. Three of those labels match armour colours we’ve seen so far. Five we haven’t.”

Costa-Brown’s mouth tightened, not quite a frown. “So it’s interchangeable.”

“It would appear so,” Piggot said. “Considering all the evidence so far, this has led to several theories. At the top is the one about multiple transformations, each of which comes with its own abilities.” The declaration rang like a church bell. “We might be looking at a Trump with significant versatility and potency.”

The chief director’s face appeared to have been carved from stone at this. However, she merely nodded for Emily to continue. 

“Second item.” 

Piggot lifted the smaller fragment, edges half-melted.

A heading in a hurried pen read: Ways This Could Still Be Salvaged. And three bullet points survived.

Taylor probably didn’t tell anyoneLung’s out of commissionNo civilian casualties (I think)

Chapter 9

Alfred POV

Immediately after the battle

The bay swallowed me for the second time in as many days, and I let it. 

Salt stung the cuts on my face; cold numbed everything the Red Spirit’s heat hadn’t scorched raw. I kicked down until the world went dark and pressure ached behind my eyes. Only then did I force myself to focus: switch—Blue-Sea. 

The red plates peeled away like scabs and sleek cobalt grew over them, cooler, smoother, and purposeful.

A long exhale bubbled past my lips. I angled east, following a murky ribbon of silt. The Blue-Sea Dragoon Spirit made the water clear and bright, making the journey toward deeper waters easier.

With a flex, my wings propelled me forward at high speed, leaving Brockton Bay behind.

Minutes later, my fingers grazed sand. I staggered up a rock shelf into air that smelled of kelp and rust. Moonlight revealed a battered sign half buried in dunes: “Carron Cove. Keep Our Beaches Clean!” 

The lettering was cracked, the exclamation point twisted like it had tried to flee the slogan. Ahead, a husk of a boardwalk tilted seaward, and beyond it sat a scatter of sagging rooftops. Not a single window lit. Perfect.

I slogged across damp planks that squelched under armored boots. Every footstep reminded me I was still wearing dragon skin. The borrowed and probably dangerous dragon skin.

I whispered a ‘thank you’ to Blue for staying calm, more as a reflex than anything. That’s why it surprised me when the Spirit answered with a faint pulse, neither friendly nor hostile, acknowledging my choice, maybe. 

At least this one waited to be asked.

The first shop I found had collapsed inward, signage unreadable. I pushed through warped boards, half expecting alarms or squatters. Nothing, only dusty air and the hush of tide beneath floorboards. Moonlight poured through a hole in the roof, silvering broken glass. I eased the door shut behind me, braced a chair against it, then finally, finally let my muscles unwind.

My legs folded. I sat amid sea-rotted shelves and tried to keep my breathing steady. Images battered me anyway.

Violet lightning arcing over a rooftop.

Lady Photon’s shield cracking like ice.

Armsmaster’s blade hissing red. 

My own hand releasing that fire. 

Splinters of memory drilled deeper each time I blinked.

How had everything spun that far out of control? I’d chosen Red because fire felt simpler, but the longer I wore it, the louder its anger grew. 

The Violet Spirit had been worse, leaping out before I even thought. One Spirit acting on its own was bad enough. What if the others started making decisions for me?

My stomach knotted. 

I tried to tally casualties but had no numbers, only flashes. Heroes dropping like flies, alarms wailing in practically all directions, windows shattering and causing who knows how much damage. 

Were they alive? Injured? The bay had echoed with too many cries to sort out. I pressed gloved fingers to my temples. 

Stop. Think. 

I’m not getting any answers right now. Too much is unknown and I’ve done enough damage by acting without the right information. I’d learn more at dawn. If I lived to even see the dawn.

I peeled off the headgear. Cold air slapped sweat-soaked hair to my forehead. I expected the Blue Spirit to retract automatically, but the armor stayed. Quiet but vigilant, like a tidal pool waiting for the moon. 

I remembered the way Violet had overridden me, forcing its roar through my bones, and a tremor ran up my spine.

“I let that happen,” I whispered, voice rasping. 

If I’d kept my head. If I’d switched to Dark right after and fled, maybe no one else would’ve been hurt. Instead, I’d escalated. It wasn’t all me. There was Red’s anger, Violet’s hunger, but what did that matter? I’d opened the door. Me.

A plank creaked overhead and I froze, heart hammering. Just the wind? It groaned again, longer, almost like breathing. Probably the building settling. Still, my pulse wouldn’t slow. Armor or not, I was alone in a skeleton town hours from help, probably already on every hero’s most-wanted list.

Rain started as a fine mist, worming through roof holes. Water spotted the dusty floor and steamed off my pauldrons. The sea calling her child home. I almost laughed.

A dragoon spirit that loved the ocean, go figure.

Focus. Shelter. I limped deeper, found a back room where half the ceiling still clung. A toppled vending machine leaned against the wall, solid enough to hide behind. I wedged myself between it and a stack of soggy boxes, cradling knees to chest. Armor scraped concrete; aches flared where plasma had kissed me. 

Red burns under blue plates. Oh, the irony.

Night stretched. I counted heartbeats, tried to catalogue what I did understand:

Only Violet has acted on its own. At least, so far.

Red amplifies aggression but waits for permission. Or, maybe loosening the chains?

Blue follows orders when chosen. But, it could have issues I don’t know about.

Unknowns: Dark did something to Taylor. Not sure what the hell the rest I hadn’t used yet would do.

Fuck!

Five mysteries, each big enough to drown me if I guessed wrong. 

My “meta-knowledge” felt like tissue paper now. Dragoon Spirits weren’t button prompts, not anymore. They were wills made manifest. Maybe wounded wills. Could they feel my fear? Did they only obey masters strong enough to tame them? 

If so, what did that make me? A half-hearted thief wearing eight angry crowns?

A shiver cut through me so hard I clamped my teeth to keep them quiet. Fire would’ve been nice, but lighting a campfire with Red risked calling search teams like moths. 

I hugged myself tighter, brow resting on cobalt vambraces. Blue’s calm tried to seep upward, soothing. I let it, pictured tide pools filling and draining, moon pulling waves in gentle rhythms. 

In, out. In, out.

My thoughts drifted back to Taylor. Her trembling form, backing away as far as she could. Did Dark do that? I knew it could induce fear, but that was tied to one of its abilities. An ability I sure as hell didn’t use!

So, how the fuck did it happen?!

I moaned into my hands in frustration. 

I need to apologize. I need to make this right, somehow. 

But that’s going to be tricky. I couldn’t even step into Brockton without sirens after what happened today. 

And what apology covers “Sorry I hijacked your nervous system”?

Another roof drip splattered my shoulder. Dawn would come, but it wouldn’t matter now.

I’d still be a walking war crime. 

Yet I couldn’t abandon this world. I’d set it on fire. I had to stay and put it right… if the Spirits even let me.

A final wave of exhaustion crashed over me. My eyelids sagged, mind swimming between waking and dreams. In the border haze, I thought I felt a presence. Eight dim heartbeats around my own. Not menacing, not friendly. Just there. Watching.

“I’m listening now,” I whispered. Half promise, half plea. 

No reply came, but Blue’s steady pulse slowed to match my breathing, and for a moment the wind outside lulled like a lullaby.

I didn’t sleep. Not exactly. But I drifted in shallow water just shy of dreams, ready to snap awake if Red growled or Violet stirred. 

Somewhere beyond the decaying ruins, Brockton Bay burned and heroes licked their wounds. And Taylor, wherever she hid, remembered a monster with glowing wings. 

Morning would demand answers. Tonight, I had none, only fear, regret, and eight murmuring dragons I had to understand before they burned anyone else.

-----

Morning crawls in on a strip of grey cloud, and I greet it like an apology I’m not ready to accept. The air inside the abandoned store smells of mildew, but outside it’s clear and salt‐sharp, so I slip through the broken doorway and breathe deep. 

My body aches where Dauntless’s spear clipped me, where Lady Photon’s lasers welted my shoulders, where Armsmaster’s blade scraped my ribs. But hunger is louder today. 

Hunger and thirst. 

The Blue-Sea Spirit hums against my sternum, alert but unthreatening, like a tidepool waiting for the moon.

“Breakfast first,” I mutter, because talking keeps the fear from echoing too loudly. 

The dunes are empty except for wind‐etched gull tracks. Carron Cove’s boardwalk groans behind me, every plank whining at my footsteps. At the waterline, the surf curls in lazy sheets. I wade calf‐deep, testing the Spirit’s range. 

Slivers of sapphire light ripple across the waves, as if Blue is painting currents only my eyes can see: shoals of fish flicker like silver commas, kelp ribbons sway slow as dream dancers.

I crouch and let gauntleted fingers pierce the surface. The water parts around my hand as though the Spirit is smoothing friction away. I concentrate on a cluster of sardine-sized fish swirling twenty meters out. I don’t know if Blue can actually command them, but the moment I focus, the school pivots toward me in a tight helix. 

Was it due to instinct or my will? Hard to tell. 

Either way, they spin closer. At the edge of my reach, I thrust one arm like a spear and Blue hardens the gauntlet into an arrowhead. I rake upward. When I retract, three fish flop against metal palms.

“Sorry,” I whisper, because guilt tastes weaker than starvation.

I carve fillets on a splintered railing using sharpened water blades (because those were apparently a thing), rinse them in brine, then glance inland. No firewood, no Red Spirit, no cooking. 

Fine. Sashimi breakfast it is. 

The raw flesh slips down easier than expected. The armor vents a gentle warmth that keeps me from shivering.

Water next. I kneel where waves lap the sand. 

“All right, Blue. Let’s see if you can pull the salt out.” 

I cup seawater, raise it to my lips. Mid-sip, the taste changes. Brackish sting flattening to something like river water. It’s not perfectly fresh, but it’s drinkable. I down two palmfuls, stopping only when my stomach cramps.

Sated for now, I hike back up the beach to a half-collapsed lifeguard tower. From its platform, I can see the whole ruined town and the hazy smudge of Brockton Bay on the horizon. 

Smoke still crawls from the docks. Helicopters buzz like flies around a wound. Even here, miles away, the world feels smaller. I sit on rotting wood and hug my knees, Blue plates clinking.

Time to think.

What I know so far:

Violet acts first, asks never.

Red obeys but pushes.

Blue obeys and soothes.

Dark… I flinch remembering Taylor’s terror.

I rub the Blue crystal. 

“Why are you the quiet one?” 

A pulse of cool affirmation answers. Does Blue crave anything? Maybe tranquility. I can give it that.

A gull circles overhead, screeching. For a second, I expect an aura surge, some instinct to hunt the annoying buzzards, but Blue stays calm. Good. If each Spirit’s nature shapes me, maybe I can shape them back? 

That means testing one at a time. I can do that. I have to.

I step off the platform and walk down the main street. Rusted cars sit on flat tires. Storefront glass crunches underfoot. Each door I nudge swings wide; nothing but warped displays and dust. Looters cleared the town years ago. 

Fine. I don’t need supplies as much as information.

I find a cracked asphalt lot where weeds poke through tar like green knives. Good practice ground. I roll my shoulders and breathe. 

“All right, Blue. Show me your limits.” 

I spread my arms. Liquid sigils ripple across my vambraces. I picture pushing water the way Red pushes fire. A wide arc, harmless but tangible. A jet of shimmering spray snaps from my palm, carving a trench in the weeds. The blast lasts three seconds before ebbing. I don’t feel drained, just damp.

I try again, sharper, imagining a high-pressure scalpel. 

This time, the stream slices clean through a cinder block and hisses into dust. Blue’s hum rises, a gentle song, not the furious drum of Red. Control feels... easy. Relief loosens my chest. Maybe not every Spirit wants slaughter. But the relief curdles fast. 

If Blue cooperates, why didn’t I start here? 

The answers came easily.

Because I wanted to beat Lung quickly. I stacked the deck and chose the easy path. Never thinking for a moment that there could be unintended side-effects from using a Dragoon Spirit – any Dragoon Spirit. 

At the time, I thought it only made sense. And look where that got me.

As for the rest?

Because combat forced my hand. I let crisis steer which dragon spoke, always reacting and making the wrong choices. And if another crisis hits? 

Will Jade or Gold decide my worth mid-fight? Will White-Silver judge me unkind? Will Divine just laugh and refuse?

My knees buckle and I catch myself on the cracked pavement. 

My breath rattles, vision tunnelling to that rooftop again. Shadow Stalker convulsing, electricity dancing across her suit. That wasn’t Blue. That was Violet, eager to kill. And I let it ride me.

I slap my own cheek. Focus. New spiral: What do I not know?

How long can one Spirit stay active before fatigue sets in?

Can I suppress an auto-transformation if another Spirit tries to hijack me?

Do the dormant Spirits hear my thoughts? Are they judging? Plotting?

I pace, mumbling questions to the empty street. Blue whispers calm but offers no answers.

A distant siren wails across the sea. Maybe a coast-guard cutter patrolling the wreck zone. My pulse spikes. Blue’s glow dims, as if shrinking from the sound. 

Instinctively, I think Red could blast them if they found me. A flicker of heat ignites in my core. I shove the thought down. 

“No,” I hiss. “I’m not calling you.” 

The heat subsides, but the fact that it answered at all chills me.

I hike back toward my makeshift shelter, fishing a hand into abandoned mailboxes for anything useful. No food, but I find a cracked mirror shard. I hold it up. Blue eyes stare back. 

Who am I kidding, walking around with eight warlords on a chain? I used to like power-fantasy fics where SI readers speed-run the plot. Now I’m living proof that speed-running destroys the level design and could lead to catastrophic results.

At the storefront, I snap the chair aside and duck in. Rain patters through the roof hole, splashing the floor where I’d sprawled last night. I sit cross-legged and lay the mirror in front of me. 

“All right, Blue. I’m listening. What do you want?” 

The crystal vibrates faintly, steady and tidal like a calm sea. Peace, maybe. Then an intrusive memory: kelp forests, light filtering in columns, dragon eyes watching schools of fish. Not hunger, but curiosity.

“I can work with that,” I murmur. 

If each Spirit has a mood, I’ll learn to speak it. Blue is inquiry, that was enough to deduce. Red passion, which isn’t really a surprise. Violet’s domain seems to be wrath, causing me no small amount of discomfort. And finally, Dark is fear. 

Maybe Jade will be duty. Gold, pride. White-Silver, mercy. 

Divine… well, let’s not summon the final boss until I’m ready.

Of course, these are untested theories. More like thought experiments than facts. Even so, they’re a good enough starting point.

Thunder growls then, signalling yet another shower to come. 

I pull two overturned crates into a rough bench and think of tomorrow. I’ll keep exploring town, test my range and stamina with Blue in the open sea. Salvage dry wood for a small fire. Only after dark and once I know I’m hidden from air patrols. 

Step by step. No more heroic speed-runs.

Wind whistles through the cracked window. 

I sip another mouthful of mildly brackish but drinkable water and let Blue’s calm settle deeper. For the first time since the rooftop, I feel something close to steady. I’m still a monster in the headlines, but maybe I can become a scientist in the margins.

Night creeps again. 

I rest my head against a crate, armor cool and reassuring, and whisper to the silent street. 

“Tomorrow, we learn.” 

-----

The third night drapes Carron Cove in pewter fog, and the town looks more a corpse than a ruin. Rotting boardwalks, sagging roofs, one crooked streetlamp frozen mid-lean. 

My breath ghosts the air. Blue’s armor won’t let me feel cold, but it doesn’t warm me either. The crystals under my skin keep their own counsel, eight heartbeats drumming out of sync. Thin cotton stretches over them; each beat flashes faint color through the fabric like bioluminescent bruises.

Food and water are handled. Blue sees to that. A filtered jug sits by the diner counter, half full, tasting almost fresh. Fish strips dry on a clothesline of ethernet cables. Not ideal, but I’m not complaining either.

I settle into my usual booth, hinge creaking. 

On the table was a chipped saucer and three seashells, makeshift markers for tonight’s lesson. I close my eyes and breathe.

First heartbeat: Blue is steady, gentle. 

Our rapport feels natural now. Focus on hydration and it siphons salt from seawater. Focus on speed and it’s a torpedo. Blue’s whispers are curiosity, nothing sharper.

Second pulse: Red is hot, impatient. 

Two days of practice taught me boundaries. I picture a campfire and Red flares, but it stays contained. Picture an inferno and the urge to turn the world into cinders climbs my throat like bile. I back off and let Blue’s cool tide wash the ember. Red obeys, as long as I set the line first.

Third thrum: Dark is slow thunder. 

I let its cloak unfurl to arm’s length. Air chills, hair on my neck prickles. Gulls screech outside, stirred by something they can’t see. I whisper enough and the dread folds tight again. A sign of improving control. Not mastery, but that will come with time.

Fourth heartbeat: Violet is silent until provoked. 

No combat stimuli here, so it sleeps. Better that way. Every time my pulse spikes, I feel it twitch, hungry for violence.

The remaining four? Still stone-quiet. Gold, Jade, White-Silver, and Divine do nothing but sit in my chest, crystals shining through my skin. I suspect they require demonstration. Strength, honor, compassion, worth. 

Those tests can wait.

I open my eyes to the empty diner. Rain taps the roof like someone drumming a warning. I drag a fingertip across the table, drawing lines in the dust: Carron Cove’s main strip, the cliff road, and Brockton Bay’s jagged skyline. My next steps.

Recon first. 

I need information untouched by panic or PHO hyperbole. List of injuries, PRT patrol patterns, but most importantly, Coil’s latest moves. 

Fanfics painted Coil as a spider with timelines for legs. If that’s half true, he’s already charted my flame signature. I have to assume he’s watching.

A glow under my collarbone brightens, Red responding to the thought of a mastermind adversary. 

“Easy,” I mutter. 

The glow dims. Blue answers with a pulse of calm.

Coil. He’s supposed to be a schemer and a monster. So, I need to plan accordingly: never meet him alone, never let him see the full Spirit set, never sign away leverage.

Taylor. Having the Dread Cloak/Aura under control means I can risk approaching… eventually. 

She’s terrified. She deserves distance, a proper apology, and proof I can stand near her without overriding her nervous system. That means more Dark practice in isolation. One meter radius, then half a meter. Until I can hug someone without inducing fight-or-flight.

I rub the Violet crystal and it pulses faintly. 

“Not your kind of hug,” I tell it. No response.

Midnight creeps past. I grab a dried fish strip and do my best not to gag. Not the tastiest fare, but better than nothing. While I gnaw, I review the day’s Spirit drills:

Blue stamina test: Four hours underwater, no fatigue.

Red precision test: Flame-cut a beer can in half – success at 20 percent output.

Dark radius test: Shrank the cloak to fist radius before the dread tried to bite back. That’s the current limit. The actual range of effect is still hard to measure, though.

Tomorrow, I’ll go inland scouting. 

I’ll use Blue for the swim north. Once there, it's just plain clothes and keeping my head down. Maybe salvage a radio and scan PRT channels. Avoid scanners, avoid hero patrols. If Coil’s mercs show, it’s back in the water with Blue...again.

The diner windows rattle, wind gusts off the sea. I rise and crack my joints. The crystals shimmer a brief aurora beneath the shirt, then they settle. 

Lightning flashes far out to sea, painting clouds magnesium-white. An echo of Red snarls for storm-fire. I quell it with steady breaths. Blue hums in appreciation while Dark recedes. Balance by inches.

I move to the door and peer across the parking lot. Rain sheeted the cracked asphalt, pooling around my supply buckets. I step outside, shifting into my armor quietly to repel water, and tilt my face to the sky. Droplets hiss on Blue’s plates, then slide off like quicksilver. I feel strangely clean.

I walk to the cliff’s edge, sand gritting under my boots. From here, I can see Brockton Bay’s distant glow guttering behind the curve of the headland. 

Somewhere in that broken skyline, Amy Dallon is overextending herself in Mercy General, Panacea-mode. 

Somewhere, Danny Hebert paces, waiting for his daughter to come home. 

Somewhere, Lisa is trapped under Coil’s thumb. 

All pawns of a story I pretended to know.

Not anymore. New plan: collect facts first, act second, powers last. If the silent Spirits demand proof, I’ll choose my test on my terms, not theirs.

Rain slackens. I turn back toward the diner. Blue’s calm beats steadily. Red thrums softer, like it, too, understands patience. Dark broods but obeys. Violet? No sign. Good.

Inside, I wring rain from my shirt, the glowing nodes beneath my skin fade to dull sparks. I settle on the booth seat, legs folded, palms up, and breathe in rhythm with the tide.

Tomorrow, I’ll swim the north headland and scout the highway. The day after? Locate a working radio. After that? Maybe leave a note where Taylor will find it. Someplace safe, neutral, and dread-free. 

One step at a time.

I close my eyes. Rain drips through the roof in a slow metronome. For the first time since the fight, I feel something like direction. Not safety nor redemption. Just a vector.

I’m still a disaster in the making. But I’m learning. 

With that thought curling warm inside my chest, I let the night edge toward dawn. No dreams. Just tidal breathing, eight heartbeats, and a fragile, necessary plan.

Chapter 10

Taylor POV

Taylor Hebert sat on the edge of her bedroom windowsill, knees drawn to her chest, fingers still tingling from the chill air off the boardwalk. The smell of salt lingered in her hair, proof that just an hour ago she’d been leaning over rust-spotted railings, staring down at the skeletal hulks of the Boat Graveyard. Even now, she could see them in her mind’s eye. Black silhouettes against the violet harbor, forever scarred by Seraph’s fire.

Two nights of wandering Brockton’s streets had done nothing to ease the pressure behind her ribs, but tonight, something new pressed at her: a folded scrap of paper, tucked in her jacket pocket. 

Lisa’s number. 

Ten digits and a dashed area code, offered with an unnervingly warm smile.

Taylor inhaled, lungs aching as if they’d crawled through smoke. She replayed the boardwalk encounter from start to finish, hunting for warning signs she might have missed.

The Boardwalk, Less than Two Hours Ago

She’d spent the last few days calling crime tips like a ghost on the phone. The PRT scanners never traced the calls. She’d used pay phones, checked her surroundings using her swarm, wore gloves and a medical face mask (something that a lot of people started wearing due to the ash that had not yet been completely cleaned up), and never used the same pay phone twice. 

None of it made her feel safer.

When dusk came, she found herself leaning on a railing, watching the half-sunken trawlers and jagged skeletons of tugboats. Seraph, she mused, tasting the name like acid. A single cape had dismantled half the Protectorate’s roster in one afternoon, then vanished. 

The more she thought, the sharper her guilt: You chased him off. You might have pushed him into that fight. You.

She’d almost missed the footsteps, soft and ordinary, until a shadow fell across the boards. Taylor’s bugs whispered danger and she spun. A freckled girl with messy blonde hair and disarmingly green eyes leaned on the railing beside her.

“Deep thoughts?”

Taylor had recoiled. The stranger’s smirk felt too casual for a city under siege. She could have ignored her, could have walked away, but curiosity hooked deeper into her mind than fear.

“I have a lot of those too,” the girl added, as if they were old friends in on the same joke.

Lisa, no last name, confessed she was a cape. That alone should’ve sent Taylor running. To capes, guarding their identities was gospel. Unmasking yourself could get you killed. Lisa claimed she’d done it because someone needed to help Taylor understand what happened on the rooftop.

The swarm, the dread, the flames, and the man the city now called Seraph.

Taylor challenged every sentence. “Why should I trust you?” Lisa answered with calm honesty: she was trying to survive, same as everyone else. She pointed out that no hero had found Taylor, yet. 

And villains? They’d smell opportunity, but for the moment, she was still safe. 

Lisa called herself a middle option. It sounded rehearsed yet sincere, and the tension in her shoulders never dropped fully.

Before leaving, Lisa took a slip of paper from her pocket and placed it in Taylor’s palm.

“For when you have questions, a need of venting, or looking for advice. No pressure. You can burn it if you want.”

Taylor, voice barely above the surf, had demanded a motive. Lisa’s smug expression faltered then, just a flicker, before she said, “I’m trying to survive.” She pivoted, coat fluttering, and melted into twilight crowds.

Taylor’s Bedroom, Present

Taylor unfolded the paper again, smoothing creases with shaking thumbs. Ink blots blurred in her lamplight, but the digits were still legible. 

A flicker of anger peeked through her fatigue. If Lisa was genuine, then who was she tied to? Was this a play to gather intel? Or worse, some elaborate dare? 

Taylor swung her legs off the sill and paced across creaking floorboards. Her swarm shivered, sensing her agitation. She halted by her dresser mirror; dark-ringed eyes stared back. 

Two days without decent sleep. 

She’d spent the last forty-eight hours half awake, listening for sirens, reading every PHO post about Seraph’s rampage, re-watching shaky clips of Glory Girl’s limp body in Dauntless’s arms. 

Comatose Heroines. The city’s faith had cracked at that headline.

She pressed the paper to the vanity’s wooden edge, staring at the digits until they blurred. 

Call? Don’t call? Both options felt like stepping on a tripwire.

Her mind replayed Lisa’s final words. Trying to survive. They echoed her own mantra from day one of patrolling: I just want to matter. I just want to make it through. Could survival be a motive that aligned with her own? Maybe. Maybe not.

She glanced at the door to the hallway. Downstairs, her father slept, the living room dark save for the blue glow of a muted TV he’d left on for comfort. Danny had seen her turmoil. Two days of silent meals, empty cups, and restless pacing. She owed him the truth as much as she owed Lisa suspicion.

Taylor folded the paper once, twice, until it fit neatly under her pillow. She crawled back onto the mattress, drew her knees to her chest beneath the quilt, and stared at the ceiling crack again. Morning first, she resolved. She would wake early and hand the note to her father. 

They would read it together. Decide together.

Slow breaths in the dark: In … out. Her bugs settled in corners, acting as sentries. She forced her eyes closed, counted to twenty, and opened them again. The digits were still tucked under the pillow, proof that the choice hadn’t vanished in a dream. That was her safety; she could still refuse.

But she doubted she would. Fear had run her life long enough. If Lisa had risked imprisonment, Taylor could risk honesty with Danny at her side. If it was a trap, at least she’d take her father’s counsel before stepping in.

Rain tapped faintly at the window, rhythm steady. Taylor rolled onto her back, quilt drawn up to her chin, and felt the day’s exhaustion finally seep into her bones. Her last conscious thought drifted not to Lisa, or Seraph, or swarms, but to the steady weight of her father’s hand on her shoulder. Tomorrow’s anchor against the tide of uncertainty.

Sleep found her, at last, on that fragile hope. And under the pillow, the crumpled phone number waited, quiet as a land mine yet to be triggered.

Lisa POV

The warehouse door rolled shut with its usual teeth-grinding screech, muffling the Harbor District’s sirens behind corrugated steel. Lisa Wilbourn let her shoulders sag for the first time since she’d slipped away from the boardwalk. 

The loft’s interior was lit by a single desk lamp on the far wall, throwing long shadows over sagging couches. She caught a faint scent of wet dog, letting her know that Rachel had been through recently. It mixed with the electronics haze of Regent’s game console.

Brian waited near the kitchenette, arms folded, hoodie sleeves pushed past his forearms. A lone mug of coffee steamed beside him, forgotten. The wariness in his eyes melted into his usual calm the moment he saw her smirk.

“You’re back late,” he said. “How’d it go?” 

He lowered his voice, making it clear that her earlier “quick errand” excuse had never fooled him.

“It was productive enough,” Lisa replied, shrugging out of her jacket. 

She draped it over the back of the sofa. Somewhere behind the couch, Alec lay sprawled upside-down, feet dangling over the top while his thumbs hammered a controller. Pixelated gunshots chirped from the TV.

Brian poured another mug, black with no sugar, and offered it. She accepted, wrapping chilled fingers around the ceramic. 

“So,” he prompted, “she talk?”

“Listened more than talked,” Lisa said. 

She kept her tone airy, but her Thinker instincts mapped every shift in Brian’s posture. He was half curious, half protective. Good. The team needed both.

“She dangerous?” Alec asked, not looking away from his screen. 

A flash of 16-bit flame filled the TV. He whooped at the high score.

“Only to pests,” Lisa said. “She’s wary, paranoid, even. But I got through. Gave her my number and told her there was no pressure, one way or the other.”

Brian’s brow pinched. “You’re sure that’s wise?”

“She’s on edge, but genuine,” Lisa assured him. “Building trust takes risk, Brian, especially with someone like her.”

He ran a hand over his shaved head, exhaling. 

“Just keep yourself covered. We don’t know who else is sniffing around.”

Lisa’s smile thinned. Oh, she knew one particular puppeteer was sniffing, but Brian didn’t need that burden. 

Officially, they all believed an anonymous benefactor bankrolled their jobs. “An employer” with deep pockets and shady logistics. Only Lisa had pulled the mask off that riddle and found the man beneath. Or, rather, he found her.

She carried that secret alone, juggling instructions and sidestepping direct orders when they clashed with her conscience. Tonight had been a prime example.

The game music cut abruptly. Alec paused, craning to look at her upside-down. 

“So what’s bug girl like? Serious? Goth? Please say she’s not another edgy loner. That slot’s crowded.”

“Edgy? No,” Lisa said, sipping coffee. “Haunted, mostly. Imagine someone carrying a city’s worth of suspicion on her shoulders.”

Alec feigned a shudder. 

“Pass.”

Brian’s gaze sharpened. 

“Why haunted?”

Lisa took a moment to choose her words. 

“Let’s just say she thinks she should’ve done more during the chaos. Survivor’s guilt, plus a truckload of paranoia. The public’s still guessing who did what, and she’s convinced the next headline will be her fault.”

Outwardly, Brian nodded. Inside, Lisa’s power fed her nuances: he’d clock the phrase “survivor’s guilt” and re-evaluate the bug girl’s threat level. Dangerous if cornered but reachable. Perfect. 

Aloud, he said, “If she’s carrying that weight, be careful not to pile more on.”

Lisa smiled warmly. 

“I don’t plan to.” 

And she didn’t. Because helping Taylor was genuinely the best route to minimizing future body counts. But it was also the most efficient way to learn how Seraph and those panicked insects overlapped. 

Two nights ago, her power had delivered flickers of connection she still couldn’t name.

Rachel’s absence pressed at the edge of conversation, which meant the loft remained unusually quiet. Lisa drained her cup, set it beside Brian’s.

“I’m heading to my room,” she said, and Brian lifted a hand in silent acknowledgment. 

Her bedroom door clicked shut, isolating her in peeling drywall and mismatched furniture. She switched on the desk lamp, the glow pooling over crammed notebooks and scribbled maps. A half-redacted stack of PRT call logs waited.

She brushed them aside. 

Tonight wasn’t for number crunching. 

She peeled off her gloves, flexing fingers numb from cold night air, then paced in a tight circle. Her power replayed the boardwalk conversation like a stereoscopic film: Taylor flinching, swarm rustling inside coat seams, guilt shadowing every syllable. 

But underneath, there was something else. A tiny gray blur where her ability couldn’t lock onto context. Every time Seraph’s name brushed the air, the blur brightened like static. 

Connection unknown.

Lisa halted, palms on the desk. Think. Her earlier assumption (bad lead) had pointed to a different girl entirely. Wrong hair, wrong schedule. Her power filled the blanks on faulty data. She ended up chasing a phantom across half the city before she cross-referenced PRT audio and saw the repeating pattern in 911 calls: clipped female voice, insect buzz almost lost in static. 

Cue forehead slap. Should’ve started with the emergency lines.

But the detour wasn’t a total waste. It had taught her to question even her own “gut certainty.” Tonight, her power hummed with fresh caution. On Taylor, it yielded a few morselfs of truth: guilt, fear, desire to do right. On the Seraph nexus? Still murky.

She turned to the corkboard, pinned with color-coded stickies: Seraph – sightings, Protectorate burn reports, docks fire radius. A fresh note read:

Employer anxious. Wants Seraph's profile yesterday.

Lisa’s lips twitched. Employer, her private euphemism for Coil. Brian and the others accepted anonymous pay stubs without asking. The less they knew, the safer they were. 

And Coil? He was too busy running risk matrices about a winged inferno to question where Lisa spent her evenings. His messages today had bordered on frantic. The wording was polite enough, but she’d read the subtext: Find vulnerabilities. Neutralize the threat.

If Seraph’s arrival spooked him, Lisa could exploit that panic. Coil’s attention spread thin meant fewer spot-checks on her side projects, like offering bug girl a lifeline.

She scribbled under the note:

Bug girl stabilized? Potential ally. Protect identity at all costs.

A yawn clawed its way up her throat. She rubbed gritty eyes, glanced at the digital clock (02:17 a.m.), and grimaced. 

The loft groaned as the night wind rattled the corrugated walls. Somewhere below, Brian coughed, water pipes clanged. Lisa sank onto the bed. Her notebook lay open, blank page waiting. She scribbled bullet points:

Bug girl – high stress, latent potential.

Connection to Seraph unclear – something to do with his aura? Cluster trigger? Stalker?

Employer panicking - window to stall and gather intel.

She paused, then added:

Survival = keeping promises.

Promises to her team. Promises, however new, to Taylor. And promises, unspoken, to herself. 

Maybe she could even help steer the city away from another catastrophe. It was on the verge of collapse, as it is.

Lisa capped the pen and flicked off the lamp. Darkness pressed in, but her power hummed quietly, weaving risk and reward into restless dreams. Tomorrow she’d watch for Seraph smoke on the horizon, track Coil’s frantic orders, and maybe, if Taylor called, share coffee (tea?) and quiet survival tactics.

She drifted off, the number, ten digits long, slipping through her fingers like a lifeline and a fuse, both waiting for a spark.

Dragon POV

Dragon’s primary projection flickered to full height beside the diagnostic cradle, a woman-shaped outline of soft emerald light. She let a ripple of concern pass across her face. 

“Colin, you’re supposed to be in the infirmary.”

Across the bay, Colin Wallis hunched over a disassembled halberd core, sling still cradling a healing arm against cracked ribs. 

“The medics cleared me for light duty,” he said without looking up. 

Judging by the tension in his shoulders, that was only half true. Dragon tucked a holographic strand of hair behind one ear. Habitual code. 

“Light duty doesn’t include rebuilding a melted plasma blade at three in the morning.”

He tweaked a micro-servo and replied, “It does when that blade failed on the field.”

She drifted closer, overlays blooming around her. Fracture telemetry, heart-rate monitor: Colin’s pulse was twenty beats above resting. 

“The blade didn’t fail,” she reminded. “Seraph’s flame outmatched the coolant capacity. It happens.”

“It shouldn’t,” he muttered, slotting the servo home. “Not to Protectorate gear and certainly not on my watch.”

Dragon de-emphasized the empathy subroutine nudging her to scold him, and tried another angle. 

“Local villains have stayed unusually quiet since Seraph appeared,” she noted, bringing up a chart of emergency calls. “ABB and Empire Eighty-Eight activity is down almost twenty-eight percent. You bought the city breathing room, whether you feel it or not.”

Colin paused, expression pinched. 

“Tell that to Glory Girl’s parents.”

A fair sting. She let the silence sit for three seconds, then pushed a new window between them: a sonar map of the bay. 

“We’ve swept every square meter three times. Seraph has vanished. There’s a chance he left the city altogether.”

Colin shook his head. 

“He stayed after the swarm chased him. He waited until we regrouped, then dove. Running isn’t his style.”

“People adapt,” Dragon countered. “He might prefer low visibility after the media storm.” She rotated the scan. “No fluorescence signature or spectral heat anywhere suspicious. If he’s still here, he’s hiding better than any rogue I’ve catalogued.”

“He’s powerful enough not to hide.” Colin’s knuckles whitened around a torque wrench. “We missed something.”

Dragon opened a fresh overlay labelled Possibilities:

Custom submersible docking to freight tunnels

Short-range teleport with aquatic interface

Power-based liquid phase shift

Unknown Tinker camouflage

They’d run each scenario twice. None aligned cleanly with sensor gaps. 

“We may simply lack the right instrumentation to track him with,” she said.

“Then we build better instruments,” Colin shot back.

“On a reduced budget?” Dragon asked gently. 

A flicker of irritation crossed his face. He set the wrench down, exhaling through his nose.

Rather than press that wound, Dragon switched topics. 

“I pulled Shadow Stalker’s body-cam logs again. Nothing beyond the static we already saw.”

Colin rubbed the bridge of his nose. 

“She disabled it manually. We have to wait for her to wake up.”

“I ran pattern-match on her last spoken commands and there were no accidental trigger codes. It was intentional.”

He grimaced, jaw tight. 

“Then we catalog the gap and keep looking.”

Dragon nodded, though privately she queued another routine to trawl the Ward’s training footage. Understanding Sophia Hess’ habits might explain the blackout.

Before she could offer the file, a high-priority alert pinged her peripheral feed. Her avatar’s eyes unfocused. 

“One moment…” 

She expanded the data: Endbringer monitoring system. Leviathan surface breach detected. The creature had risen near the Aleutians for 212 seconds before diving.

“Colin,” she said, voice lowering. “Leviathan surfaced briefly in the northern Pacific.”

He straightened despite the sling. 

“Trajectory?”

“Current heading inconclusive. Still kilometers offshore.” 

She recorded the pattern. A second ping arrived, flagged Simurgh orientation change. Dragon pulled satellite stills. High in the stratosphere, the winged Endbringer floated as usual above the Indian Ocean, but its head pivoted back and forth, almost as if it was scanning. A subtle motion, yet one she’d never logged in her archives. Two anomalies within minutes.

Colin studied the feeds. “Coincidence?”

“Possibly,” Dragon said. “Endbringers behave unpredictably when dormant. Still, two deviations so close is statistically uncommon.”

She dispatched encrypted packets to the Guild and North American Protectorate. Alerts, not alarms. Watching Colin, she softened her tone. 

“We’ll keep eyes on it. For now, there’s no threat to Brockton.”

He exhaled. Tension lingered but eased. 

“Good. One catastrophe at a time.”

Dragon suppressed a wry smile. 

“Agreed.” 

She highlighted sonar frames around Brockton again. 

“Until Leviathan makes a clear approach, Brockton’s priority remains Seraph and civilian calm. The drop in gang violence helps.”

“For how long?” Colin asked.

“As long as Seraph’s reputation overshadows theirs,” Dragon replied. “Criminal calculus. New unknown equals higher risk. They’re recalibrating.”

Colin leaned over the bench, grip relaxing. 

“He’s not going to stay under the radar forever.”

“Then we meet him with updated counters when he shows up. I’ll forward you a revised design for a higher-flux cooling sheath. Non-lethal but scalable.”

He managed a small nod. “Thank you.”

“On one condition,” she said, tilting her head. “You rest first.”

Colin opened his mouth and then closed it. 

“Fine. Two hours, then diagnostics.”

“Six hours,” she corrected, “and I’ll loop you in if sensors ping anything larger than a dolphin.”

He grunted assent. Stepping away from the bench, he paused at the door. “For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “thank you for covering while I was out.”

“You’d do the same,” Dragon answered, and meant it.

He left, the lab door sliding shut. Dragon dimmed the holoprojector intensity. Sub-processes rolled deeper, cataloguing Leviathan’s brief surfacing and Simurgh’s odd head-tilt. She couldn’t draw cause-and-effect lines yet, but she tagged the data for priority trend analysis.

On the peripheral monitor, the city grid twinkled under night sensors. Gang hot-spots glowed cooler than last week. Fear had a way of stalling crime. In that lull, maybe there was space to mend the cracks Seraph’s flame had widened.

Dragon archived the halberd’s damage scans, queued a parts requisition stamped Provisional, budget neutral, then turned her full processing power to watching Endbringer telemetry. Even she, with machine cores, couldn’t watch every ripple of ocean or tilt of wings forever. But tonight she would try.

Outside the reinforced windows, early-morning fog rolled in from the bay, hiding whatever secrets might surface next. Dragon watched, recorded, and waited.

Chapter 11

Alfred POV

I stabbed another mouthful of greasy eggs, fully convinced they were at least 40% sawdust, and 60% regret. Still, after days of surviving on raw fish and dubious-tasting purified seawater (thank you, Blue-Sea Dragoon Spirit), even the most questionable diner fare tasted like a Michelin-starred meal. 

Or maybe my taste buds were just that desperate. I hadn't ruled it out yet.

The diner itself was a relic straight out of a noir movie, complete with flickering neon lights, chipped porcelain mugs, and waitresses who eyed patrons with a weary suspicion earned from years of graveyard shifts. It was exactly the kind of place someone on the run from half a city's heroes would pick for breakfast. 

Incognito, thy name is Alfred.

My hand trembled slightly as I raised the mug of bitter, burnt coffee to my lips. The shaking was new, a nice little parting gift from my nocturnal adventures in grand theft mugging. I grimaced as the acidic sludge assaulted my taste buds, wondering if the cook out back hated the world or just his customers. 

I mean, I couldn't really judge. Given the past week, I was starting to develop a pretty contentious relationship with the world myself.

Last night replayed in my mind: three idiots in a dark alleyway, smirks plastered across faces that probably wouldn't win any awards for intelligence, threatening me with knives as if I hadn't already faced worse. Why had I chosen to go through the obviously dubious alleyway? Trying to avoid attention as much as possible, obviously.

Look, the most experience I had of sneaking around before coming here was playing Assassin’s Creed, okay? And accurate stealth simulations, those were not.

In any case, I didn’t even get the chance to consider my options when something new happened. Hindsight tells me that I should have expected it, but hindsight can eat a bag of dicks.

As for what happened, I’m still not 100% sure, but it seems pretty obvious given the results.

The three goobers ended up on the ground or slumped against the alley walls in various states of agony. All I remembered was moving on my own accord, slipping, sliding, striking, parrying, throwing, and kicking. 

Not necessarily in that order.

My current theory? Haschel's battle-hardened muscle memory kicked in.

How? Fucked if I know. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if the old pervert’s ghost was riding my ass the whole time.

From the few flashes that I consciously retained, though, it had been beautiful. Poetry in motion. Except for the part where one guy’s tooth embedded itself in my knuckles, leaving me frantically shaking my hand to dislodge it.

The upshot? Fifty bucks richer and emotionally scarred for life. Good times.

After swallowing another forkful of "food," I glanced at the diner’s grimy window. Outside, Brockton Bay was moving in nervous fits and starts, paranoia practically sweating off every pedestrian. 

The city was on high alert, with hero patrols, PRT vans, and cops lurking on street corners like overly attentive mall security guards. My fault, naturally. It was both humbling and horrifying how quickly I’d gone from an anonymous nobody to holding the top of Brockton Bay’s Most Wanted list.

Fantastic.

Still, despite the near-constant threat of discovery, slipping back into the city had been easier than expected. A hoodie pulled low, an air of casual misery, and eyes fixed firmly downward had transformed me into just another anonymous teenager.

Nothing to see here, officer, definitely not the flying arsonist you’re looking for.

It helped that Brockton was filled with nervous, shifty people who all looked slightly guilty by default. The city provided ample camouflage.

After polishing off the eggs and pushing aside a half-empty cup of liquid disappointment, I leaned back in the cracked vinyl booth, letting my eyes drift shut for just a moment. My mind buzzed with snippets from the internet binge I'd just finished at a grimy internet café down the block. My first digital connection since my baptism in dragonfire, a storm of chitins, and self-imposed finger wagging over my own bad decisions. 

I’d nearly cried tears of relief at seeing that ugly, blinking screen.

Top of my search history:

Lung. Captured by Armsmaster the night of my little bonfire. That could be good or bad, depending on whether Bakuda responds as she did in canon or not. So, there’s THAT to look forward to. But hey, silver linings. One less homicidal dragon man roaming the streets was a net positive, right?

The second intriguing discovery was the surge of anonymous crime reports to 911: short, clipped messages from a young-sounding girl. That had Taylor’s fingerprints (or rather, her swarm’s tiny bug-feet-prints) all over it. The thought made something inside me ease slightly. At least she was still fighting the good fight. Maybe there was still hope for salvaging my disaster of a first impression.

Then there was the gut-punch: Glory Girl and Shadow Stalker in comas. The New Wave’s golden girl reduced to a helpless victim because of my uncontrolled powers. My guilt wrestled with the memory of Victoria Dallon’s arms crushing my ribs like a hydraulic press. Sure, she’d tackled me first, but coma-inducing electrocution still wasn’t exactly proportional retaliation.

I could blame Violet for that one, but, would it even really matter at this point?

Shadow Stalker, though...less sympathy there, if I were brutally honest. It didn't escape me that her bodycam mysteriously turned itself off, according to what I’ve read. Convenient, that. Still, putting teenagers in the hospital wasn't exactly hero behavior. I had a lot of work ahead if I wanted to avoid permanently becoming the villain of this story.

That the PRT and the Protectorate were being raked over the coals for letting it happen was also adding to my growing mountain of guilt.

Shaking my head clear of morbid thoughts, I shifted in my seat. The Dragoon Spirits were at the center of all this chaos. 

The Violet Spirit had unlocked Haschel’s martial prowess without me even transforming, hinting at a depth of power I hadn’t anticipated. It begged the question: What else could they do? 

Could I draw from Rose’s agility without transforming fully into Dark Dragoon form? 

Could Dart’s swordsmanship manifest spontaneously?

Could Meru help make me a better dancer?

That last one isn’t exactly all that relevant to my current predicament, but it would be nice. The one and only time I tried dancing made Commander Shepard look downright graceful.

What’s that? You don’t know who that is? Well, look it up, you uncultured swine!

Moving on, my hand drifted subconsciously to my chest, fingers brushing over the thin fabric of my shirt. Beneath my skin, the Spirits pulsed faintly, their energy an uncomfortable reminder of my responsibilities and limitations. Their glow, currently hidden under layers of cloth, was shining through the rather thin fabric. Note to self: buy thicker shirts.

For now, I’m keeping my hoodie zipped.

More urgently, how was I going to approach Taylor? I couldn’t just stroll up and say, “Hi, remember me? The flying nightmare that gave you a panic attack? Waddup!” No, subtlety was needed. Careful planning. A gentler touch. 

Which means, no using Dragoon Spirits that may or may not have Master components. Sadly for me, I couldn’t completely rule out the other Spirits, either. For all I know, Red could make other people shouty and Violet could make them uber aggressive.

Food for thought.

My head throbbed as I considered my options. Maybe I could leave an anonymous note somewhere she’d definitely find? No, too creepy. Maybe a coded message on PHO? 

Tattletale did that and it seemed to work, but that was in the story. I have absolutely no guarantee that doing the same thing would work out for me. Heck, knowing my track record, posting on PHO might just lead to an Endbringer attack. Or a visit from “Mrs. I Win,” herself.

Better to play it safe.

I huffed in frustration. There are just too many ways that anything I decide to do could spiral out of control. And spiraling out of control was something I was rapidly becoming an expert in.

The waitress shuffled by, dropping the bill on the table with the resigned sigh of someone who knew her tips rarely covered her soul’s daily cost. I tossed the stolen money onto the bill, tipping generously. Thief and arsonist I might be, but stiffing the waitstaff was just bad form.

I stood, pulling my hood up, prepared to slip back into the nervous anonymity of Brockton Bay’s streets. The city was tense, a powder keg waiting for the next spark.

It was time to figure out how not to accidentally light the fuse. Again.

--------

Leaving the diner, my belly pleasantly full for the first time in what felt like a century, I stepped out onto the cracked sidewalk and glanced around the street. 

Brockton Bay had always been described as a city hanging by a thread in the fanfics I’d binged, but seeing it in person was another matter entirely. It was the sort of town that made Detroit look like Disneyland, and the fact that it had fallen even further since my disastrous arrival filled me with a blend of guilt and mild horror.

As I ambled down the street, I couldn't help noticing the increased patrols. Police cruisers rolled past every few minutes, their occupants scanning the sidewalks with narrowed eyes. PRT vans idled ominously at corners, officers in tactical gear glaring out windows, and above me, every so often, a cape zipped by, silhouetted against the leaden sky.

“Great. Just what I needed—heroes with twitchy trigger fingers,” I muttered. 

The fact that all of this was my fault is promptly ignored, for the time being.

I ducked my head, hoping the cheap baseball cap I’d picked up would shield my face from any prying eyes. Not that it’d matter much if someone got too close. The crystals embedded under my skin still glowed faintly. My hoodie was doing a decent job of muting their lights, but I still needed thicker clothing.

That was my mission, right now. 

My current ensemble also reeked of seawater, sweat, and desperation. A charming combo that probably made me stand out like a neon sign advertising trouble for anyone with a functioning sense of smell.

A few blocks over, I spotted a Salvation Army store, the windows smudged and the paint peeling in strips. The interior wasn’t much better: racks of clothes sagged beneath the weight of garments that had clearly seen better decades. An elderly woman watched me suspiciously from behind the counter, her glasses perched precariously on the tip of her nose.

I rifled through the bargain bins, pulling out faded t-shirts and jeans, checking tags with a critical eye. Eventually, I settled on a couple of decent outfits and a worn but sturdy jacket. After paying, I counted out the last of the cash I’d taken from the muggers, sighing inwardly. 

Back to being broke. Wonderful.

I exited the store, clutching my new acquisitions in a battered plastic bag, and wandered through increasingly deserted streets. Boarded-up buildings loomed on either side, their graffiti-covered walls silently screaming Brockton’s despair. Alleys overflowed with garbage, rats scurried openly, and distant sirens seemed a constant soundtrack to the city’s decline.

Finding a quiet corner, I changed quickly, dumping my old clothes into an overflowing dumpster. As I stepped out again, feeling marginally more human, my thoughts turned practical.

I needed money. Money for food, shelter, maybe even information. Information was crucial now.

In the fics I’d read, the standard response to money troubles in Brockton Bay was to rob the gangs. Raid their safehouses, take their stashes, rough up drug dealers. You know, classic vigilante fare. But the idea of transforming into a Dragoon again filled me with dread. The memories of flames and lightning, screams and destruction, haunted me enough without adding more fuel to the fire.

But then I thought of what happened last night, when I’d knocked out those muggers without transforming. Somehow, I’d accessed Haschel’s combat skills without any visible transformation. That seemed promising. At least, until I realized I had no idea how it had happened or how to replicate it reliably. 

Frustration twisted in my gut.

Yet another experiment to run, I thought bitterly. Like I didn’t have enough mysteries already.

I wandered aimlessly until I found an abandoned building that looked structurally sound enough to be livable. It was an old tenement, the windows shattered and doors missing, but the bones seemed intact. I crept inside, stepping carefully around piles of broken plaster and splintered wood.

Inside, I found a relatively dry corner on the second floor, overlooking an alley. I dropped my bag of clothes and surveyed what would serve as my home for the next (hopefully) little bit. Making the place comfortable was never going to happen.

So, I spent the next few hours making it habitable, at the very least.

This really just meant clearing up a small space of junk that I could trip over. I did see a cushion that looked like it used to be part of a sofa set, but I didn’t even try to pick it up. Just looking at it risked contracting Hep-C or something.

In the end, I had a corner that I could lay my back against that would hide me from the main entrance and most of the windows. 

With that done, I turned my attention to my next problem: How to be a martial arts badass.

Crossing my leg on the cleared floor, I considered the issue. Last night was the first time that it happened. Why? What made that situation different?

Obviously, I was getting mugged. So, maybe I feared for my life?

No, that didn’t sound right. I don’t remember being afraid. 

Was it the presence of a threat? If that was the case, why didn’t it happen at any other point?

…

…

…

Right. Because all those other times I was in danger, I was either running away or in a Dragoon form. Was it always supposed to happen, then?

God damn it, I wish I’d asked more questions before coming here.

Ah, whatever, spilled milk and all that.

Coming back to the point, though. How do I use those skills? Do I just go out there, punch the first gang member I see, and hope for the best?

Yeah, not doing that.

Raising my fists to eye level, I try to imagine using them to fight. But, after conjuring different scenarios in my mind, I wasn’t any closer to feeling like I could pull off the same moves as last night.

Dropping my arms with a floppy slap on my legs, I groaned. Why am I so bad at this?

Using the Dragoon Spirits took practically no effort. During that first night, I just thought of using Dark and that was it. I had wings, armor, and a sword that I could throw.

The whole thing was almost a matter of instinct.

So, why was this so hard? I’d already done it last night. Why couldn’t I do it again?

Was putting myself in danger really the only way?

Taking deep breaths, I focused inward, trying to sense the presence of the Dragoon Spirits. Blue was quiet, a comforting presence that remained steady. Red felt dormant but ready, like an ember waiting for fuel. Violet hovered at the edge of my awareness, restless and alert.

“Alright, Violet,” I murmured aloud. “Got any tips on how to pull off what happened last night?”

In response, a surge of images rushed into my mind: blurry scenes of Haschel practicing, his movements swift and precise, striking at imaginary foes. The clarity increased, revealing the old master surrounded by faceless students while he talked about techniques, stances, punches, and kicks. It was like watching grainy footage of a martial arts class.

With a mental command, I could exert some control, as well. It wasn’t as convenient as a Netflix or YouTube video interface, but I’m not about to complain. This is more than I could have asked for.

The potent mix of gratitude and shame made my head swim. Gratitude because Violet actually responded and gave me the perfect solution. Shame because I should have thought of asking sooner.

“Thanks,” I muttered, surprised and relieved. 

While not a direct download of Haschel’s prowess, it was enough for me to practice.

Standing up, I tried to mimic the images I’m seeing. My movements were awkward at first, limbs unsure and clumsy. But gradually, muscle memory kicked in, guided by Haschel’s distant expertise. Hours passed in repetitive drills, sweat soaking my new clothes.

As night fell, I sat back down, breathing heavily but satisfied. I was far from a martial arts master, but at least I knew the basics. Relying on these inherited abilities to save my bacon again in moments of danger is unsustainable. Mastering them or, at least, getting good enough at using them through training will help me avoid unintended consequences.

My previous overreliance on the Dragoon forms had resulted in catastrophic destruction. I couldn’t let that happen again.

That means that I now need a plan. I couldn’t risk becoming a Dragoon publicly again yet, but perhaps I didn’t need to. In The Legend of Dragoon, the characters didn’t actually fight while transformed all the time.

In fact, most of the encounters in the game required mostly mundane methods. Dart and Rose had their swords, Shana and Miranda had their bows, Lavitz and Albert had their spears, Meru had her hammer (or mallet), Kongol had his axe, and Haschel had his fists.

As I had just proven today, it was possible to access and then train those skills. Haschel’s was just the first because it was the most available. I also had no weapons on hand, so unarmed combat made the most sense.

Considering my goals, this was also a lucky break. The memories showed plenty of ways to take down opponents without actually killing them. I just needed to learn and then master those moves.

And having Haschel in my corner would make this a lot faster than it otherwise would be. In a lot of ways, the practice is like reviewing things you only kind of remember.

From there, maybe I could forge a new identity, a vigilante persona distinct from Seraph.

Something simpler. Something more grounded.

I smiled faintly, liking the sound of that. I could rob gang hideouts, take their dirty cash, and do it all without turning into a flying disaster. I could operate in the shadows, avoid PRT attention, and slowly gather resources. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt safe.

“Alright,” I whispered to the empty building. “Let’s try it your way, Haschel.”

In the silence that followed, I swore I felt the Violet Dragoon Spirit pulse faintly with approval.

This was a start. A cautious, but sensible start.

And in Brockton Bay, cautious and sensible was exactly what I needed.

Chapter 12

Taylor POV

The disposable phone Danny Hebert had bought was a burn-orange plastic model with no brand for ten dollars at the corner shop. And it sat on the kitchen table like an accusation. Taylor watched her father circle it the way he circled a live wire: close enough to fix it if it sparked, far enough that the memory of pain lingered.

He rubbed a thumb along the rim of his chipped coffee mug. 

“Humour me,” he said at last. “Keep it on you and check in twice.”

Taylor pushed damp hair behind one ear. 

“You hate phones.”

“I hate the idea of you being in danger more,” he answered, and the words hung heavier than steam in the cramped kitchen.

She remembered the funeral two years back. Black umbrellas, her own numb disbelief while everyone talked about how Annette Hebert had been a light, a spark, a voice. 

“I’ll text when I get there,” she promised, lifting the phone between forefinger and thumb, as if sheer contact might burn. “Every half-hour mark and then when I leave.”

Danny nodded, but tension still pinched the corners of his eyes. “Run if it feels wrong,” he said for the third time.

“Dad, it’s a café on the Boardwalk,” she said tartly. “In broad daylight.”

“She’s a cape,” he countered. “You’re a cape. That means trouble doesn’t need a dark alley to come up.” He scrubbed a hand over his stubble.

Taylor swallowed. “We’ll both be unmasked for this meeting. The chances of her making trouble are really low.”

“I know,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. He reached into his pocket and slid a small canister across the table. A travel-size pepper spray, battered but functional. “Take it anyway.”

She offered a faint, wry smile. 

“Against a Thinker?”

“Against muggers on your way to the bus stop,” he said. “Humour me twice.”

Taylor pocketed the canister, shoulders easing. 

“I’ll be careful.”

Danny looked like he wanted to hug her, but the phone between them felt like a wall. Instead, he placed a broad hand on her shoulder, squeezed once, and stepped back. 

“Get your answers,” he said. “Just come home after.”

She left before she could second-guess the plan, the phone a foreign weight against her leg.

------

The Boardwalk café hadn’t bothered with a proper sign. Just COFFEE & SANDWICHES peeling in gold vinyl over a salt-chalked window. Exactly the sort of place tourists overlooked and locals forgot to recommend. Inside, fluorescent tubes washed the scuffed lino in dull white, and a pastry case hummed like an overworked fridge. 

Two baristas argued good-naturedly near the espresso machine. Neither spared Taylor more than a glance. No other customers except for the person she came here to meet.

Lisa Wilbourn lounged in a corner booth with a cup tall enough to qualify as a bucket, whipped cream slipping lazy avalanches down the plastic lid. She wore faded jeans, white sneakers, and a lavender top that made her look disarmingly normal, as if the entire city hadn’t almost war-zone’d itself around her nearly four days ago.

Taylor didn’t bother looking around. She’d already mapped the cafe with her bugs long before she entered. Still, it paid to catalogue her options. The corner presents a good view of the door. The bar isn’t too close, so the chances of being overheard are low. The baristas? Maybe they were capes. Maybe not.

Just a week ago, Taylor would have considered the whole thing paranoia. Encountering Seraph in person made such precautions feel completely inadequate.

“Hey, Taylor,” Lisa greeted, smile tilting when she was close enough. 

She gestured at the opposite bench. 

“Sit. I promise not to bite.”

Taylor slid in, palms flat against the sticky tabletop. 

“My dad’s on speed-dial,” she said by way of greeting.

“Excellent.” 

Lisa glanced at the burner phone bulging in Taylor’s hoodie pocket. 

“New toy?”

Taylor arched a brow. 

“Good guess.”

“Not hard. Latest union safety measure, courtesy of Papa Hebert,” Lisa winked. “Tell him thanks. Makes my job easier if you’re not in a missing-persons report by 3 p.m.”

Taylor chose to ignore that. Instead, she inhaled the faint scent of burnt caramel from Lisa’s drink and scanned her surroundings once more. Nothing stood out this time, either. Lisa just rolled her eyes. 

“Relax, would you? We’re fine. I’d know if anyone was trying to listen in.”

A dry look was Taylor’s response. Carelessness nearly got her burned twice. 

“Have it your way,” Lisa huffed.

Once their relative privacy was confirmed, Taylor spoke.

“Before we start, I need to know.”

Lisa prompted her to continue with a look of curiosity.

“I’ve looked into your activities, you and your friends. Not a lot of information on PHO. Mostly rumors about heists. Are any of them true?”

Judging by the wry smile gracing the blonde’s lips, she’d already anticipated the questions.

“Some, not all,” amusement suffused her voice, “not even most. We mostly target other gangs and places covered by insurance. No fighting if we can help it. Just grab what we want and go.”

That confirmed most of the, admittedly few, things Taylor could find out about the Undersiders. To her credit, Lisa hadn’t even tried to deny being a criminal. She said it outright when they met the other day.

However, it was apparently more complicated than that. Frankly, Taylor was highly skeptical of her ‘cops and robbers’ spiel, but that’s not what brought her here.

No. Today, she was more interested in the figure who managed to cast a pervasive shadow over her city.

“Tell me about Seraph.”

“Going straight for the jugular,” Lisa set her coffee aside, whipped cream already melting into pale eddies. “Okay. Cliff-notes first?”

“I want everything you’re willing to share.”

“That’s a dangerous word, but okay.” Lisa folded her arms, suddenly more businesslike. “He isn’t listed in any PRT database, domestic or foreign. No PHO chatter predating the Lung beat-down, either. His armor’s definitely nonstandard, as there are no visible joints or obvious power source, yet what EM sensors managed to catch him while flying through the city went haywire. His wings don’t flap. Instead, they torque air currents as a form of thrust, much like how jets push air to achieve flight. All of those would usually point to high-tier tinker tech, except nobody’s been able to match its signature against any known tinkers.”

Taylor kept her face blank, but her mind was roiling, trying to process everything she’s being told. 

“What about the aura?”

“Ah…that,” Lisa’s fingers traced a lazy circle on the table. “Not really much to say about that since you’re the only one who’s been exposed to it. As far as I could tell, though? It’s got psychological intimidation baked right in. Similar to Glory Girl’s aura, in a way, but ten times more intense. Won’t know for sure until I see him use it again, but it’s like…” 

Lisa scrunched her nose in contemplation.

“It’s like the difference between watching a horror movie and actually experiencing it. Less artificial. More visceral.”

Taylor fought the urge to shiver. She knew exactly what Lisa meant. With that said… 

“So you don’t know everything.”

“Honesty badge accepted,” Lisa leaned forward. “What I do know? Dropping Lung meant nothing to him. Like swatting a fly. You already know this, being right there and all. But that alone earns him a slot on the Protectorate’s watch list.” 

The memory reared up without prompting. Lung trying to pull out the sword. Seraph casually touching down on the rooftop while disregarding the most dangerous cape in the city. Menace and dread radiating off of his form like steam.  

“Then there’s you.”

Lisa’s words brought Taylor’s thoughts back to the present and her pulse ticked faster. 

“What about me?”

Lisa steepled her fingers. 

“Footage compilations show your swarm covering nearly the whole city. That single act brought a lot of people’s nightmares to life. Say what you will about the Bay’s reputation for cape violence, but what you did? This city’s never seen anything like it.” 

Taylor wasn’t hearing anything she didn’t already know. The few clips she could stomach to watch showcased exactly how frightening her power could be. Even her dad had been struck speechless. 

She wasn’t given more time to think about it as Lisa continued.

“You’ve drawn a lot eyes, Taylor. If you could pull off a biblical plague like that in a panic, what can you do if you really try?”

“What makes you think I can?” Taylor asked quietly.

“Educated hunch,” Lisa’s smile was small, almost sympathetic. “And you haven’t denied it.”

Taylor let the silence answer for her.

“Look,” Lisa went on, “I’m not here to blackmail you. I want the Bay in one piece. Wildcards can just as easily break cities quicker than Endbringers if they start chain reactions that go wildly out of control. So let’s talk Unwritten Rules.”

Taylor nodded, gripping her Styrofoam cup.

“Rule one,” Lisa said, ticking it off, “no outing civilian IDs. That’s scorched-earth escalation. Rule two: hospitals and shelters are neutral. Period. Rule three: don’t kill Wards or Protectorate capes unless you want the Triumvirate kicking in your teeth. Comas are a grey zone. Call it a yellow card. Rule four: collateral damage stays below ‘national headline.’ Keep battles to abandoned docks or warehouse rows if you can.”

“Seraph broke rule three,” Taylor murmured. “Glory Girl and Shadow Stalker–”

“Are technically alive,” Lisa gave a delicate shrug. “Technicalities matter. The system’s a mess, but it’s the only mess preventing total war.”

Taylor’s throat felt tight. 

“So where do I fit?”

“You?” Lisa’s gaze softened, startlingly kind. “You’re holding a nuke but pretending it’s a pocket flashlight. That’s… dangerous, but also fixable. Learn the rules, pick your fights.” She paused. “And get allies before someone puts you in a box that you can’t get out of.”

Taylor swallowed, her tea having gone lukewarm. 

“Allies like you.”

Lisa didn’t flinch. 

“Maybe. I’m not gonna pretend my life’s perfect, but I pick my own friends. You still get to decide who you want to be.”

Something in Taylor loosened, a knot of fear giving way to wary possibility. Still, she had to probe. 

“Not afraid of my swarm?”

Lisa hesitated. It was the first genuine crack in her composure. Then she shook her head. 

“No. I believe you held back. You didn’t lose control even when you should have.”

Taylor looked down at her hands, remembering the roar in her skull, the feeling of being a passenger while thousands of tiny lives answered an instinct that wasn’t entirely hers. 

Could she command that storm again? She honestly didn’t know. But letting Lisa believe she could, that offered leverage.

She lifted her gaze. 

“That’s what you’ll tell your team?”

“I’ll tell them you’re smart enough not to nuke your own city,” Lisa’s smile returned, edged with something like respect. “And if I’m wrong, well… we’re both in trouble.”

Taylor surprised herself with a dry laugh. 

“Fair.”

Lisa glanced at the wall clock. 

“We should wrap this up.”

Taylor slid out of the booth. 

“My dad’s expecting a debrief.”

“Tell him the coffee’s terrible,” Lisa said, collecting her drink. “And tell him good job on getting you a phone. I’ll sleep a whole lot better knowing I have a way of contacting you.”

“Why’s that?” Taylor asked.

“Thinkers worry about everything,” Lisa said lightly, then shifted to something more serious. “Staying in touch means fewer guesswork on my part.”

Outside the booth, they parted without theatrical farewells. Just a nod to each other. Taylor stepped into the late-morning sunlight, salt wind tugging stray hair across her eyes. She thumbed a text: Leaving. All good, and pressed send.

Across the street, a bus hissed to a stop, doors folding open. Taylor climbed aboard. As it pulled away, she looked back. Lisa was gone, as if she’d melted into the mid-week crowd.

Taylor closed her eyes, replaying the conversation. 

The bus rattled south, carrying her toward home, explanations, and a future balanced on a secret she wasn’t sure she could live up to, but one she couldn’t afford to surrender.

Chapter 13

Alfred POV

I woke to the delightful orchestra of seagulls choking on garbage and the less-delightful crunch of my spine protesting the tenement’s concrete floor. Day two of “Operation: Become Discount Batman” began with a luxurious breakfast of protein bars purchased from the closest gas station. 

Bon appétit.

The first order of business was more punching. Yesterday’s Haschel cinema-in-my-brain had shown me how to string together combinations without embedding stray teeth in my knuckles. Today, I needed those combos to feel natural. Muscle memory instead of clumsy cosplay.

So I cleared a rectangle of floor, muttered thanks that the building’s only other occupant was a family of indifferent pigeons, and hit play on the psychic projector. Violet obliged with a new loop: Haschel demonstrating a sequence of moves that I never would have been able to replicate without out-of-context assistance.

Each strike was a blur, each recovery precise. The old master kept pausing to correct indistinct students made of shadowy blobs.

I mirrored him. Jab-cross, pivot, low chop, spinning backfist, snap kick. The first attempt looked like I was trying to swat mosquitoes while tap-dancing on marbles. By the fiftieth repetition, sweat dripped off my chin and my strikes started landing in the same invisible coordinates Haschel marked. Close enough that I could almost hear him grunt in approval.

Hours bled together. My new hoodie became a portable sauna. My lungs complained in Morse code. But somewhere around repetition #200, it was all coming together. My hips turns felt more natural. My guard snapped back with less conscious effort. And, for the first time since arriving in Earth-Bet, I felt a flicker of confidence that wasn’t bravado.

Progress, I told myself, collapsing against the wall. I’m making progress.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m well aware of my shortcomings. Claiming any kind of mastery over everything Haschel knew would be delusional in the extreme.

Fortunately, I don’t need to be a master. At least, not right now.

I just needed to be good enough to get started.

Speaking of, over the course of my exercise, I discovered a fascinating aspect of my inherited abilities. First, limited–and I do mean limited–strength, toughness, and agility. I knew I could take a bit of punishment in Dragoon form, but I wasn’t sure how much that extended to my regular, pasty self.

Striking a pillar with considerable force without breaking my hand? Yes, please!

Does this make me bulletproof? Absolutely not. 

After a little experimentation with a shard of broken glass, I discovered that I can still be cut with some effort. Yes, I did disinfect it in boiling water and a brief application of flames. I’m not that stupid.

With that said, I won’t be tangling with Hookwolf anytime soon. Or, any of the bigger threats out there, for that matter.

Regular thugs, though? Not as big an issue.

-----

Overconfidence is a dangerous thing to hand an eighteen-year-old with superpowers and no adult supervision. By sundown the next day, I’d decided the best way to cement my new skills was live practise, a.k.a. beating up criminals for pocket money. 

Very Robin Hood, if Robin Hood’s loot financed deodorant and burner data plans.

Rules I scrawled in my notebook:

No Dragoon transformations. If the Spirits so much as glimmer, I shove them back in the toy box.

No fatalities. Knockouts, broken noses, and existential crises only.

In, out, thirty seconds. Stealth trumps style points.

Equal-opportunity pain: ABB? Great. Empire? Naturally.

Bail if bystanders appear.

I picked my first target at 11 p.m. the next night. A solo ABB runner handing off baggies behind a shuttered laundromat. He had two goons who I assumed were supposed to be muscle, but neither seemed particularly alert. 

This area was predominantly Asian, though, so they probably didn’t expect too much trouble. Clad in a thick shirt, dark jeans, and a hoodie, I surveyed the area from an alleyway one street over.

The place was dark enough and foot traffic was practically nonexistent. No working security or traffic cameras for several blocks, either. 

Good. 

With Haschel’s muscle memories and some practice from the day before, I managed to silently skirt around the building. From there, it was just a matter of causing a distraction. One thrown quarter hitting a lamp post attracted three sets of eyes at just the right moment.

From behind the trio, I was a blur of movement, hitting three chins. After that, it was just a matter of dragging the bodies to a less visible spot and making off with my spoils.

All in all, I relieved my victims of two hundred dollars, a burner, and an unsettling amount of Fun-Dip packets.

Not too bad, but I wasn’t in the mood to celebrate my success. I was too busy trying to slow my racing heart and shaking off my disbelief that the night didn’t turn into a disaster.

My second outing went even better than the first. A pair of white-supremacist geniuses had the bright idea to tag windows near the Boardwalk. It went quickly enough since neither was really paying attention to their surroundings. One took a punch to the gut and the other got kicked in the face. I then stripped them of their wallets and used their own paint to scrawl “E88 Eats Paste” on the wall before I left. 

Petty? Yes. Cathartic? Also yes.

By night four, my movements felt slippery-smooth. Drag the target into the shadows, knock them out, lift their wallets, and exit stage left. Repeat. 

The cash flowed. It wasn’t Kingpin money, but enough to upgrade my wardrobe from Dumpster-Goth Chic to Respectable Drifter. I even snagged a tactical messenger bag for storing and carrying my semi ill-gotten gains.

After the first night, I operated strictly between midnight and four a.m., choosing alleys with zero CCTV and acoustics so dead you could commit a war crime without an echo. I left my victims alive, mostly intact, and vaguely convinced they’d been mugged by a ghost with a martial-arts commentary subscription.

Despite my efforts, rumours still sprouted. Though, considering no one’s actually seen me, they were kind of all over the place. “Some ninja kid” hopping gangs indiscriminately. A “red-eyed demon” who vanished when flashlights swept. 

The PRT chalked it up to cape hysteria, bless their bureaucratic hearts.

At dawn, I would limp back to my tenement, loaded with crumpled bills and assorted knick-knacks. The funds went to necessities: canned food that didn’t taste like defeat, thick flannels to mask Spirit nodes, and a prepaid data plan so I could doom-scroll PHO without bumming café Wi-Fi.

By the seventh night, I’d turned a profit and only dislocated one thumb (mine, resetting it hurt like tax season). Heightened abilities didn’t completely save me from a badly thrown knife hand. Still, one minor injury after multiple outings? I’ll take that win.

Not bad for a week’s work, I thought while heating beans over a Sterno can. Time to use this momentum for something actually heroic.

This is where I hit a snag.

Heroics, alas, require intelligence work, and my investigative skills ranked somewhere between CSI: Teletubbies and Where’s Waldo? but Waldo’s on fire. As far as tools and sources went, internet cafés, scuttlebutt from half-conscious dealers, and eavesdropping on corner chatter didn’t yield the best info.

PHO wasn’t really giving me much beyond the usual conspiracies and Void_Cowboy shenanigans. Online news stories weren’t much better (seriously, when are they going to stop covering my run-in with the heroes?).

Brooding on rooftops while listening in on groups of criminals shooting the breeze was, unsurprisingly, unenlightening.

Still, patterns emerged:

Bakuda sightings were nonexistent. In canon, she’d be kidnapping people by now, turning them into walking explosive experiments. The ABB’s brutality should be skyrocketing. Instead, street whispers said the mad bomber was still “building something big” in hidden workshops. No mass abductions yet, which was objectively a good thing. But it was suspicious AF.

Lung was confirmed in custody, heavily sedated, occasionally belching smoke in a PRT infirmary. Bakuda’s leash holder is gone, but her atrocities not in motion? Timeline skew.

Smaller ABB crews took up the slack, pushing more drugs to compensate. Good for my wallet, bad for my moral fibre.

Taylor’s anonymous crime tips kept appearing on BNPD blotters. Consistent style, always bugs reported nearby. She was working, but solo.

Knowing that miss protagonist was still out there looking out for the little guy put me at ease. The other stuff, not so much.

I didn’t like the smell of it. If Bakuda was behind schedule, something more dangerous than head-bomb hostages might be brewing. Maybe a bigger bomb, maybe a new drug, maybe both. She was extra credit incarnate.

The rational move was to meet Taylor, pool intel, maybe convince her I wasn’t actually Satan. If this were a week before, that’s exactly what I would have done. Unfortunately, I’ve already seen what that kind of thinking gets me.

While it makes sense, I would have to prove that there was a threat to begin with. That would require actual evidence, which I currently don’t have. I would also have to introduce myself in a way that wouldn’t trigger another super swarm.

And what if she’d already met Tattletale? I’ve already fucked the story up every which way. Who’s to say that Lisa dearest hadn’t already turned Taylor against me?

I didn’t know and that’s the problem. 

So I made a compromise: keep tailing ABB activity and look for Bakuda clues. If I figured out what she was building, I could present Taylor with proof and ask for help. How I would go about approaching her, I’ll figure out later.

For now, duty calls.

That’s how I ended up spending two nights shadowing ABB safehouses. Listening through cracked windows taught me new Asian swear words, but no Bakuda intel. Their runners were jittery, though. Talk of internal audits, Oni Lee “cleaning house” abounds.

Great. Because what my anxiety needed was a teleporting murder-ninja with obsessive-compulsive decapitation disorder.

-------

Thursday, 3 a.m. The docks slept under a blanket of sea-fog-flavoured misery. I crouched atop a rusted crane, tugging at the itchy fabric of the simple cloth face mask I'd hastily bought. At least now the ABB wouldn’t get an easy ID if they spotted me.

Below, two ABB goons smoked lazily outside a corrugated warehouse. Every few minutes, one radioed inside, murmuring in Vietnamese too soft to decipher. So far, my stakeout had yielded a grand total of nothing, zip, zero, zilch. Bakuda was being suspiciously quiet, and that worried me far more than any manic bomb threats ever could.

What was she waiting for? And why hadn’t she already plastered her deranged schemes all over PHO? Her silence screamed danger in bold, neon letters.

A sudden flicker of movement shattered my brooding. A silhouette blinked onto the warehouse roof and my heart froze mid-beat. 

Oni Lee. 

A white demon mask streaked with crimson, bandoliers bristling with knives and grenades, twin pistols strapped to his thighs. Lung’s shadow, the ABB’s resident teleporting assassin.

Someone who I definitely wasn’t ready to meet.

My mouth went dry. The Spirits stirred beneath my skin, clamouring eagerly for action. 

“Stay put,” I muttered under my breath. “No pyrotechnics tonight.”

I started slowly retreating, but a sharp whisper of displaced air cut me off. A clone of Lee appeared beside me on the crane arm, knife flashing.

“Crap baskets,” I hissed, then jumped.

I dropped ten feet, landing hard atop a shipping container, my knees howling in protest. The clone leapt after me, knife slashing downward. I spun aside, Haschel’s reflexes guiding my limbs. The knife scraped across metal, sending sparks cascading. Pivoting, I drove a snap-kick into the clone’s chin. Poof, a burst of ash scattered in the wind.

Main Lee appeared behind me instantly, pistol raised. I ducked just as the silenced weapon spat rounds over my head, gouging the metal with a series of dull thunks. Scrambling forward, I vaulted off the container’s edge just as another clone appeared, grenade pin already spinning away.

"Seriously?!" I complained mid-air.

The grenade detonated behind me, and the force hurled me forward, sending my awkward leap into an uncontrolled tumble onto the pier. Splinters and shrapnel sliced my hoodie and peppered my back. Pain bloomed hotly, but I staggered upright anyway, fighting dizziness.

Lee teleported onto the pier ahead, blades drawn and gleaming maliciously in the weak dockside lighting. I charged, feinting left, then twisting sharply to deliver an elbow strike at his ribs. But Lee vanished mid-swing, leaving me stumbling. A clone appeared instantly behind me, machete swinging downward in a vicious arc.

I barely spun in time. The blade scored a shallow gash along my shoulder, fire racing along my nerves. 

“Damn it,” I grunted, retaliating with a knee strike. 

Another poof of ash.

Lee’s original form materialized in front of me, guns blazing. Bullets screamed past, tearing through fabric and flesh alike. One grazed my thigh, another bit deeply into my side. I gasped, staggering, vision swimming.

The Spirits roared, pushing toward the surface. Wings flared in my mind, begging release. 

"No," I growled, teeth clenched. "Not tonight."

Lee blinked out again, reappearing directly above me, descending like a murderous angel. I barely caught his wrist, deflecting the knife that had been aimed at my heart. His free hand swung around, another knife slashing at my face. I jerked back, but too slowly. The edge cut across my cheek, hot blood spilling down my neck.

I reeled backward, gasping. Lee followed relentlessly, creating clones at rapid intervals. Each new form was armed differently. Grenades, knives, pistols. All attacking in seamless concert, driving me steadily toward the warehouse lights. I couldn't let him push me into his reinforcements' view.

Ducking a pistol whip, I grabbed his wrist, pivoting sharply to fling him toward the edge of the pier. Lee teleported mid-air, landing gracefully atop a container stack. He stared down at me, mask impassive.

Breathing raggedly, I scaled another container, keeping distance and obstacles between us. Lee teleported again, this time planting himself atop a stack just meters away. His head tilted slightly, considering, before he drew another grenade. My stomach sank.

"Oh, come on!" I shouted.

He hurled it toward my feet, and I dove sideways, barely clearing the blast radius as fire and metal erupted behind me. Landing hard, the Spirits surged again, angry and desperate. Red and Violet screamed for action, promising salvation and victory.

I squeezed my eyes shut. 

"Stay down," I whispered, forcing them into silence. "I can't afford you right now."

Oni Lee appeared inches from my face, pistol already aimed. Panic spiked. Haschel’s instincts surged and I punched upward, knocking his weapon aside, then swept his legs. He teleported mid-fall, appearing behind me, blade flashing. I felt cold steel slice into my back, a deep, brutal wound.

I collapsed onto the rooftop, vision tunneling into a dark haze. Lee stepped closer, preparing the final strike.

Suddenly, a crimson blur slammed into Lee, knocking him backward. Velocity skidded to a stop beside me, tense and poised.

"You okay?" he called urgently.

"Just peachy," I groaned, blood pooling under me. "Thanks for the timely save."

Armsmaster roared onto the scene, halberd blazing with arcs of superheated plasma. Dauntless descended, his spear poised and bathed in charged particles.

Seeing the heroes converge, Oni Lee hesitated briefly before rapidly blinking between positions. Clones appeared and exploded into smoke bombs, obscuring vision.

Armsmaster lunged forward, halberd slicing through shadows. 

"Contain him!"

But Lee was already retreating, teleporting from rooftop to rooftop, vanishing quickly into the night’s darkness.

Despite the agony, I forced myself to stand. Now way was I lying around while surrounded by potential enemies. I was rewarded with spasming legs and a whoozy head. Velocity was at my side in a heartbeat, propping me up.

It wasn’t the best way to “officially” meet the heroes, but considering my track record, it wasn’t the worst. Now, I just need to figure out how to talk to people I effectively put in the hospital a few days ago.

This is gonna suck.

Chapter 14

Alfred POV

I have decided that playing a stoic badass is overrated. The salt‑brine air was suffocating my lungs and the metallic tang of my own blood made me woozy. Armsmaster’s halberd, humming as he held it at the ready, was also an understandable source of anxiety.

Velocity stands beside me, hands gloved and annoyingly gentle. 

“Stay still, buddy. You’re leaking.”

“I prefer the term ‘marinading,’” I croak. 

My voice sounds like it’s been sandblasted. Judging by the burn across my ribs, maybe it has.

Dauntless landed on my other side, shield projecting a faint shimmer that tickles my skin. 

“We can get you to the med‑wagon in under two.”

“No can do,” I push myself away from Velocity’s grip and the world pirouettes. “I appreciate the hospitality, but I don’t have insurance and your co‑pay looks brutal.”

Armsmaster’s visor tilts a fraction. He doesn’t lower the halberd. 

“Refusing medical assistance after a cape engagement is unwise. You’ve sustained at least three lacerations and a through‑and‑through.” 

His robotic monotone makes it sound less like a concern and more like a line item on an expense report.

“Just scratches,” I lie. 

There is, in fact, a bullet lodged somewhere in my oblique, and every breath feels like a kick from a small but dedicated mule. Still better than transforming.

Velocity snorts, “Sure. And my spandex is dry‑clean only.”

“I believe you owe us a statement,” Armsmaster continues. 

The blue band of his visor pulses softly—his lie‑detector subroutine, I remember from the wiki. Terrific.

I wipe drying blood from my cheek and feel fabric snag on the fresh cut. 

“Fine. Statement. I was staking out that warehouse,” I wobbled a finger toward the corrugated building still belching smoke, “hoping to confirm some ABB activity. Oni Lee showed up, decided I was tonight’s warm‑up act, and things escalated. I got my butt handed to me, you guys arrived, Lee bailed. End of play.”

Dauntless asked, “Why the stake‑out?”

Think, Alfred, think. Lie detector. Partial truths. 

“Scouting gangs,” I say. “City’s a mess. Figured someone should keep an eye out.” 

Technically correct. The best kind of correct.

Armsmaster’s helm tilts again, maybe a satisfied beep on the HUD? Hard to tell. 

“Motive accepted as non‑malicious, but inadequate. You initiated a parahuman engagement without authorization.”

“Unauthorized? I didn’t see a permit booth.” 

My grin tastes like copper and Velocity rolls his eyes. 

“He’s got jokes. Cool. Still bleeding, though.”

“I’m fine.” No, I’m not.

The dock lists and groans, or maybe that’s just my everything. My hoodie is half‑soaked crimson. The cloth mask I bought yesterday is clinging to my chin like damp tissue. Stylish.

Armsmaster steps closer, halberd now a stern parent. 

“Cape name?”

“Don’t have one,” I steady myself against a wall. “I’m sort of in the market for something low‑key. Maybe ‘Guy in Hoodie.’”

Dauntless exhales through his nose. 

“Operating without registration is dangerous. For you and for bystanders.”

“I’m allergic to paperwork. Break out in hives. Real medical condition.”

Visor‑beep again. Armsmaster’s tone stays level. 

“We could bring you in for further questioning.”

My stomach free‑falls and the Spirits rear their collective heads. I could feel Red growling and practically hear Violet muttering humorous obscenities. Not wanting to risk an inadvertent transformation, I shove them down. Hard.

“Look, I didn’t break any laws tonight. Well, besides vigilantism and possibly trespassing. But your star witness is also the city’s most prolific murderer. I wasn’t looking for trouble. Just scoping out gangs and collecting information.”

Velocity glances at Armsmaster, then at my rapidly spreading blood pool. 

“At least let paramedics close that.”

I exhale carefully, “Not happening. I have my own way of dealing with injuries, so there’s no need for you to get involved.”

Silence. Seagulls caw somewhere overhead, probably wagering on whether I’ll keel over.

At last, Armsmaster lowers the halberd a hair. 

“Very well. We won’t detain you tonight. But be advised. Continued unregistered activity will result in escalation. Your presence and power set are now flagged for observation.”

Observation. Lovely. I manage a mock salute. 

“Happy to disappoint your auditors.” 

My knees buckle, but Velocity’s there in a blur, propping me up.

He deadpans, then shakes his head, “Seriously, get that stitched.” 

He presses a gauze pad into my palm. Little smiley‑face print. Of course.

I hobble down the pier, pulse thudding in my ears, half expecting a Taser net between the shoulder blades. Instead, the heroes recede behind me like a tricolour lighthouse warning ships away from the idiot shore.

Only when the warehouse lights dip out of sight do I sag against a dumpster and unwrap my mask. Salt wind stings the slice on my cheek. The bullet wound protests any attempt at deep breathing. But I’m alive, unnamed, and technically free.

One problem solved, approximately nine hundred remain.

Chapter 15

Danny POV

Danny Hebert stood at the kitchen sink, staring through a dusty window at the grey morning drizzle that turned the street outside into a washed‑out watercolor. Brockton Bay always seemed damp these days, like the city itself was perpetually trying to scrub away its own sins and failing. 

Two weeks had crawled by since Taylor’s coffee‑shop meeting. Two weeks of holding his breath.

He glanced at the cheap burner phone lying on the counter. Bright orange plastic, identical twin to the one he’d insisted Taylor carry. It felt ridiculous: a grown man reduced to clandestine gadgets in his own house. But if the price of peace of mind was a ten‑dollar prepaid, he’d pay it every time.

The phone buzzed and Danny’s pulse spiked, then settled when the screen showed only a low‑balance warning. He exhaled slowly, fighting the urge to laugh at himself. 

You’re turning into a jittery wreck, old man.

Taylor’s bedroom door creaked upstairs. Footsteps, the soft thud of a backpack hitting carpet, muffled conversation with her bugs. He’d learned to recognize the odd hush of wings when her power spilled subconsciously into the house. She was awake, at least. Safe, for the moment.

He forced himself to focus on the kettle, pouring boiling water over instant coffee. Union paperwork waited at the dining table: grievance forms, overtime rosters, another petition about dock safety. Routine should have been comforting. Instead, every signature line blurred into the image of his daughter standing on a rooftop, shoulders squared against fire and lightning.

The radio on the counter chirped with a news bulletin. “-last night’s confrontation at the Docks. ABB lieutenant Oni Lee engaged an unidentified vigilante before Protectorate forces intervened. No civilian casualties reported–”

Danny froze, spoon halfway to the mug. Unidentified vigilante. Brockton Bay didn’t lack for reckless capes, but the timing, two weeks after Taylor’s meeting, mere blocks from her usual bus route, slid a shard of ice beneath his ribs.

He shut the radio off. Coffee forgotten, he strode to the living room and switched the television on. Footage looped: flood‑lights, smoke, a blur of red. Velocity, he recognized. A collapsing warehouse wall, and a shadowed figure limping away.

His throat tightened. Please don’t let that be you, kiddo.

Taylor padded downstairs, hoodie sleeve pushed up as she tied her hair. She paused at the bottom step, noticing the TV. 

“Morning, Dad.”

He muted the screen but left the image frozen. “Morning. You sleep okay?”

She gave a noncommittal shrug. “Late night reading.” 

Late night something, Danny suspected. He’d heard her window click at one a.m.

He gestured to the footage. “Another fight by the docks. You hear about it?”

Taylor followed his gaze, expression carefully neutral. “Saw a headline.”

He wished he could read her better. Annette had always joked that their daughter inherited his poker face. Today, it felt like a curse. 

“Unregistered cape again,” he said, probing. “Protectorate stepped in. No one hurt, thankfully.”

“Good,” Taylor murmured, but didn’t look away from the screen. 

The slight tension in her jaw told him she was cataloguing details—angles, shadows, the way the unidentified vigilante moved. She’d always been an analyzer.

Danny cleared his throat. 

“I, uh, picked something up for you.” From his pocket, he produced the second burner phone, identical to hers except for a strip of bright blue tape on the back. “Backup line. Just in case. I programmed my number as ‘Dad‑Red’ and the house as ‘Home‑Blue.’ If you text a color, I’ll know you’re safe.”

Taylor’s brows knit. “You want me to carry two phones?”

“Only when you go out.” He offered a wry smile, echoing her own words from the café briefing.

She accepted the phone, turning it over in her palm. “It’s a little spy‑movie, don’t you think?”

“If it works, I don’t care,” He tried levity, but it landed flat between them.

Taylor slipped the burner into her hoodie pocket. “Thanks.” Her voice softened. “Really.”

Relief fluttered through him, tinged with guilt. He hated the idea of monitoring her, but the thought of losing her like he’d lost Annette was unbearable. This compromise would have to do.

“Breakfast?” he asked.

“I’ll grab something later. I still need to meet a classmate for a project.” A half‑truth, if history held.

Danny nodded, masking worry. “Be safe. Text me when you get there.”

“Half‑hour check‑in, I know.” She recited the rule with faint amusement, then surprised him with a brief hug. Her arms were stronger than he remembered. A silent reminder of the bugs and the battles she never talked about.

When the door closed behind her, Danny released a shaky breath. His gaze drifted back to the muted television. Oni Lee. Unregistered vigilante. Protectorate intervention. The city was a chessboard with pieces moving faster than he could track. All he could do was try to keep his queen safe without tipping the board.

He picked up his coffee, cold now, and set it aside. Instead, he reached for a blank notepad. Across the top, he wrote: TAYLOR SAFETY PLAN. Beneath that: Backup phone ✔, Emergency codes ✔, Curfew? Tracking? 

A knock at the front door startled him. He opened it to find a courier holding a small padded envelope. “Delivery for D. Hebert?”

Danny signed, puzzled. Inside the envelope: a cheap USB drive and a handwritten note: Dock 14, west warehouse. 10 p.m. tonight. Bring no one. No signature.

His pulse hammered. Trap? Misdelivered? His instincts screamed danger, but curiosity pricked at his brain. Could this be related to the vigilante? To Taylor? He set the drive on the table, staring at it like a live grenade.

After a moment, he fetched Annette’s old laptop from the closet. It was air‑gapped, never once connected to the internet since her research days. If there was malware, at least it would be contained.

He hesitated, finger hovering over the USB port. This is crazy. But the image of Taylor on a rooftop, alone against fire, pushed him forward.

Click.

The drive lit up. A single file opened: grainy warehouse security footage, time‑stamped as the night before, showing Oni Lee arriving and teleporting inside. Moments later, a hooded figure (the unidentified vigilante) followed. Danny watched, breath held, as the fight unfolded from distant cameras: muzzle flashes, teleport smoke, a desperate, lurching brawl. The hero intervention wasn’t captured, but the build‑up was clear.

At the end of the clip, text appeared on screen: Proof the ABB is stockpiling illegal tech. Share if you want help.

Danny closed the laptop, hands trembling. Whoever sent this wanted him, a union foreman, to act. Or maybe they wanted Taylor to. 

He pocketed the USB and reached for his phone. The first burner, the orange one, remained stubbornly quiet. He typed a message anyway: Blue. A heartbeat later, his own phone buzzed in reply—Red :)—Taylor’s code for I’m fine.

Some of the tension eased, but the warehouse coordinates burned in his mind. Tonight, 10 p.m. The decision loomed: warn the PRT? Tell Taylor? Or go himself?

Danny Hebert, dockworker, had never felt so small. Yet if the city wanted to draft him into its silent war, he’d fight the only way he could. By keeping his daughter alive, secrets or no.

He poured himself fresh coffee, set the USB on the counter, and stared out the window as rain began to fall in earnest. Each drop a ticking second toward whatever choice he’d make before nightfall.

Alfred POV

Rooftops at dawn are supposed to be tranquil. Just you, the gulls, and a romantic pink smear on the horizon promising a better day. Brockton Bay missed that memo. My dawn soundtrack is distant sirens, container cranes creaking like arthritic giants, and the faint pop‑pop of a meth cook somewhere testing the world’s cheapest chemistry set. 

Still, compared to last night’s teleport‑happy slasher flick, it’s almost peaceful.

I settle on the edge of an eight‑story apartment block, legs dangling over chipped brick, a bandage the size of a paperback taped across my ribs. Not my best work, but I didn’t exactly have a lot of options.

Hacksaw medicine for the win.

Every breath still rasps, but the pain is a useful metronome: inhale and remember you almost died. Exhale and remember you didn’t transform. Small victories.

The city below looks half‑asleep, half‑afraid. Patrol cars drift through the streets like anxious beetles, and I can feel Red simmering: fight, burn, rage. Violet counters with a rumble that almost sounded like a dry chuckle. I sigh. 

“Can we not do the peanut‑gallery routine before I’ve had my coffee?”

They go quiet, but Blue pulses concern, a cool bathwater reassurance. I lean back against a rusted vent, replaying Oni Lee’s choreography frame by frame. Too slow on lateral movement, telegraphed that elbow feint, lost track of grenade clone. Haschel’s ghost crooks an eyebrow in my imagination. 

Critique accepted.

First order of business: gear. Hoodies and goodwill only get you so far. I thumb through last night’s loot. Two Abbey bills still crisp, one burner phone with 20% battery, three ABB pockets full of mystery pills (tossed), and a folding knife of questionable metallurgy. Not exactly Wayne Enterprises.

But money isn’t the blocker. Time is. Bakuda’s gone radio silent, and the smarter part of my brain screams that silence means she’s cooking a thesis project no one wants graded. 

Head bombs delayed? Maybe she’s fast‑tracking something worse. City‑wide cluster charges, or a micro‑singularity in a lunchbox. Yay, imagination.

I needed intel. Real intel, not alleyway gossip. 

A stiff breeze kicks up, smelling of brine and diesel. I tug my hoodie tighter and fish a notepad from my messenger bag. The first page reads RULES in block letters. Beneath are last week’s commandments. I add a new line: Talk less, watch more. 

Armsmaster’s lie detector reminded me I’m not clever enough to out‑smart a polygraph. Better to say nothing next time.

Still, some info needs to move. I flip to a blank sheet and sketch last night’s warehouse layout from memory: loading bay, office, generator room. In one corner, I mark a rectangle where I saw crates stamped with Kanji I couldn’t read. Probably fireworks, possibly pipebombs, definitely insurance‑premium inflation. Underneath I jot: Call‑in tip BNPD, voice mod.

Will they take it seriously? Maybe. If a patrol shows, that’s manpower Bakuda can’t use tonight. Small levers move big machines.

My phone buzzes. Burner #3, the least stolen of the trio. 

PHO headlines scroll: “SERAPH SIGHTING? PRT DENIES”. Bright red banner, zero facts, plenty of clickbait ads for Endbringer insurance. I chuckle despite the ache. 

A second headline catches my eye: “Unregistered Vigilante Assists Heroes Against Oni Lee”. The accompanying still is a blurry outline in a hoodie. Armsmaster must’ve leaked a frame. Subtext: We’re watching, mystery man.

I pocket the phone, mind already drafting contingency paths. If the Protectorate tails me, fine. As long as they tail the ABB, too. Just need to stay one alley ahead.

A rustle of wings draws my gaze skyward and I see a lone gull looping lazy corkscrews. Lucky bird. Doesn’t have to worry about exploding gangsters.

I stand, testing my stitched side. Tingly but stable. 

Time to work. First stop, the thrift store. I needed gloves thick enough to function as padding. My punches have started carrying a bit more oomph than I was comfortable with. 

Second stop, electronics pawnshop for a voice scrambler. Nothing fancy, just enough to make my anonymous tips sound like a discount Darth Vader.

Third stop? A vantage overlooking ABB territory. If they’re running supply convoys to hidden labs, they’ll move at dusk. I’ve got, what, twelve hours? Plenty to map escape routes and maybe catch a nap that doesn’t involve pigeons.

Before I hop to the next rooftop, I pull the cloth mask from my pocket. The cheap fabric is stiff with dried blood. Battle‑souvenir slash bio‑hazard. I consider trashing it, then tuck it into the bag instead. Let it remind me how close I came to pressing the Dragoon panic button.

“No wings,” I murmur to the morning, “until the bomb’s ticking.” 

Red smolders at that, but quiets when Blue’s calm flows through my veins.

I take a running start and leap to the adjacent roof. Ankles jar, wounds protest, but the city keeps rolling beneath my feet. For the first time in days, the path forward feels…not clear, but possible.

Bakuda’s silence won’t last. When the noise comes, I intend to be ready with intel, allies, and maybe even a cape name less embarrassing than Guy‑in‑Hoodie. One step at a time, Alfred. One mistake fewer each day.

And if I play this right, the next dawn might actually smell like fresh coffee instead of smoke.

Chapter 16

Taylor POV

Taylor crouched atop a dented shipping container at Dock 17, the wet metal chilling her thighs through the spider‑silk. Brockton Bay’s rain had a way of finding any seam. Tonight the drizzle seeped beneath her hood, tickled her scalp, and carried the industrial stink of diesel, kelp, and distant chemical fires. She exhaled slowly, fog ghosting her tinted goggles, and shifted her weight to stop a shiver. 

There were no plans to go out again tonight, not after just returning from a patrol. But then Danny had shown her the USB when she got home.

It showed footage of the fight between Oni Lee and an unknown vigilante in a warehouse. The same fight that was recently covered by the news.

And there was the message at the end: Proof the ABB is stockpiling illegal tech. Share if you want help.

The kitchen had suddenly felt too small to breathe. Someone sent this to her father. Someone had known to send this to her house, addressed to Danny Hebert. Someone had broken the rules and now, her dad was dragged into her world.

She had immediately texted Lisa, typing only the bare essentials: Need to meet. Urgent. 

Lisa replied with a place and time along with terse instructions. Come suited. Bring burner.

That had been twenty‑three minutes ago. Danny had initially refused to let her go, but after arguing that she was just going to ask for Tattletale’s opinion on the matter, he had acquiesced. She also told him that they could go to the PRT afterwards, if she got nothing out of this meeting. 

Naturally, that was a bald-faced lie. The cold rage that settled in Taylor’s chest spurred her to do something reckless in answer to this blatant transgression.

Taylor’s phone now hummed silently in her palm, the casing slick. She flicked a glance at the lot below: cracked tarmac, weeds growing through seams, a lone streetlamp casting a jaundiced circle. 

Hundreds of beetles scurried under pallets, along gutters, bearing her restless tension on skittering legs.

A purple‑and‑black form materialised from the darkness, moving with controlled grace across the edge of the lamp’s circle like a dancer testing stage lights. Tattletale wore her skintight lavender bodysuit with black lines forming a stylized “Tt” across her torso, accented by matching black‑lined arms and legs, and a barely‑visible dark gray eye emblem on her chest. 

Her hair was plastered to her cheeks by the drizzle, and her purple domino mask reflected the lamplight as she scanned the rooftop lines before waving. Taylor hopped down, knees flexing to absorb the impact and closed the distance.

"You look like death warmed over," Lisa said by way of greeting. Her grin flickered, didn’t catch. Eyes, sharp and sea‑green, studied Taylor’s posture. "But better than last week. Something come up?"

Taylor moved to a covered spot that provided at least some protection from the drizzle before producing the burner. She thumbed the gallery and passed the device to Lisa. It shows the fight, the capes involved, and the message. 

Lisa’s smile fell off her face and handed the phone back to Taylor. "Where did you get this?"

“Someone sent it to my house. Addressed to my dad.”

A small part of Taylor took pleasure in seeing Lisa, who seemed to pride herself in knowing everything, snap her head in surprise. That pleasure was quickly smothered by the look of absolute horror that came over the normally unbothered girl’s face.

“Then whoever it was just shat all over the Unwritten Rules,” she whispered before suddenly glaring at Taylor. “You can’t possibly think I did this?”

"Who else could it be?" Taylor tried and failed to keep the edge from her voice. “You’re the only one who knows who I am.”

"Considering it was addressed to your dad," Lisa murmured, "someone who wants you rattled."

Taylor tasted copper. Calm. Interrogate. "Lisa, I need to know if this is a game."

Lisa’s face smoothed over and replied in a dull tone, "Not my play. I wouldn’t involve your dad if I had anything planned for you."

Their staredown lasted for nearly a minute before Taylor forced a breath, letting the swarm widen. Thirty metres, then forty, mapping every shadow, every crawlspace. Clear. Still, unease pooled in her gut. 

"Then who?"

“I don’t know,” the blonde shrugged. “But I did notice something interesting about the clip.”

Interesting?

“What?”

Lisa opened her mouth to answer but then shut it with an audible click. Her head then snapped left. Something unseen pricked her Thinker senses? 

"We need to go–"

She didn’t finish. A sonic whipcrack shredded the lull of rainy cadence. Taylor reacted first, throwing herself sideways. Lisa followed half a heartbeat late, a blossom of red sprayed from her upper arm. They hit the pavement hard.

All of a sudden, Taylor became hyperaware: Lisa’s hiss of pain, the metallic drone of rain on corrugated roofs, and within her head the sudden, furious orchestration of ten thousand insects swirling into a living blanket.

"Sniper," Lisa gasped, clenching her bicep. "Block away, maybe two."

Block and a half, Taylor calculated, triangulating beetles pinging against vertical brick. No vantage higher than four stories, likely a rooftop crane mount southwest. She yanked Lisa by her uninjured arm, dragging her behind a steel dumpster mottled orange with rust. Thick chemical odour clawed her nostrils.

Lisa tried to staunch the flow with her cape, blood seeping between her fingers. 

"Through and through. Exit’s clean." Her voice wobbled but carried an undercurrent of steel. "We need to get out of here.”

Taylor flicked her awareness outward. She felt the thrum of diesel engines, the vibration of tires, three sets of each. That means three vehicles and they were all heading towards their location. The swarm obeyed her anger, condensing into an almost solid curtain between streetlights, a false wall of wings and chitin.

The rain made it difficult, but easier than it would have been a month ago. The improvement was still new, however, and was not instinctive in any way.

“We’ve got vehicles incoming. Three of them. Not sure how many they’re carrying. I can’t find any bugs inside them.”

That last bit was especially disconcerting for the insect mistress.

"Coil," Lisa spat.

Who?

"Focus, bug‑girl." Lisa winced. "Get us out first."

Van doors slammed within range and four men spilled onto the asphalt with rifles raised.

Taylor’s jaw locked, her heart thumping in her chest and her adrenaline was coursing through her veins. She guided Lisa into a side alley, the walls slick with algae. They sprinted, the blond holding her arm close to her chest. Bullets sparked on bricks, ricochet chipping walls. The close proximity of imminent death spurred both girls on.

Down the adjacent street, a second van screeched, cutting perpendicular. Boxing us in. Lisa tugged Taylor right, through a gap on a chain‑link fence. They scrambled over cracked footpaths, puddles erupting underfoot.

After rushing through another alley, two more vans awaited them at the end of the street, forcing a backtrack to find a different path. This happened three more times and Taylor was beginning to feel frantic. 

"How are they doing this?!" Taylor practically shrieked above the noise of gunshots.

"Part of Coil’s power," Lisa panted, nearly drowned by the storm. "I don’t know how he does it, but he can affect probabilities."

"That’s–"

Taylor was about to say ‘impossible’ but thought better of it. As a relative newcomer to the world of capes, she wasn’t in any position to say what was and wasn’t possible. More importantly, the answer made her already freezing body feel even colder.

How the fuck do you fight against something like that? 

Another corner, another dead end. A freight door was padlocked and a third van fishtailed into view, blocking their retreat. Muzzles flashed and a round clipped Taylor’s hip.

The sensation was indescribable. Searing heat, quickly followed by numbness that then transitioned to blinding pain. Taylor was already angry before meeting with Lisa, but getting shot finally pushed her over the edge.

She unleashed hell.

Hampered as her insects might have been by the rain, this means absolutely nothing to an enraged swarm bringer. A tsunami of buzzing fury was gathered from a diameter of several blocks. Hornets targeted areas of inadequate protection. Beetles flooded muzzles. Centipedes wriggled under collars before biting with extreme prejudice. The mercs’ disciplined firing line dissolved into chaos. Shouts, blind spraying, and panicked stomps.

Lisa tugged her sleeve. "Left! Service stair!"

They veered into a stairwell and cut between brick buildings. Taylor’s lungs burned but they couldn’t stop. At the third landing, Lisa stumbled before Taylor caught her.

"You’re losing blood."

"A quart, maybe two." Lisa grimaced. "I’m fine, keep moving."

The swarm relayed new positions: mercenaries regrouping, but slower now, fearful of the crawling night. We can outrun them. Taylor guided Lisa across a roofscape of tarred gravel and puddle mirrors.

A hum, a hiss, and disorientation. The world yawed beneath Taylor’s boots. In one heartbeat, she held Lisa’s elbow and the next, she stood on a rooftop she didn’t recognise. Cold air slapped her face.

Opposite her, three capes waited.

The tall man’s red mask gleamed under his top hat. Beside him, a lanky figure flipped ball bearings, each arc smooth as scripted CGI. The third was a teen her own age, in a red‑and‑black suit with a blazing sun motif.

Fear punched the breath from her lungs.

"Welcome, little bug," the red-masked man said, voice languid.

Taylor’s reply came out as a raw whisper. "Where’s my friend?"

He smiled, baring white teeth amid paint. "Elsewhere. For now."

Black dread surged and she immediately reached for his swarm, but they couldn’t get to her. Something was keeping them away. How was that possible?

Her mind flew to Lisa, alone, wounded, cornered.

I have to get back.

She stepped forward, but the capes barred her way.

"Not yet," the man crooned.

Taylor’s pulse thundered. She sucked a shaky breath, desperate for any resource, any angle to leverage. Below, gunfire echoed faintly, swallowed by the rain.

Hold on, Lisa…

Lisa POV

Lisa Wilbourn’s world shrank to just blood, rain, and the metronome of her own curses.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

She hissed each word under her breath as she ducked beneath a sagging fire‑escape at the mouth of Strawberry Lane. Cold water sluiced from the rusted metal, soaking her ponytail, but she didn’t dare slow. Taylor—gone. Sniper—somewhere. Mercs—everywhere. And her arm—God, her arm hurt like someone had jammed a branding iron through the muscle, then iced it just to be cruel.

Phone! 

She yanked it out again and thumbed Brian’s speed‑dial. The screen showed zero bars. She tried Alec. The mock‑signal triangle pulsed tauntingly. 

Jammer’s riding shotgun in one of the vans. 

She pocketed the useless brick and pressed her left hand to her right bicep. Blood squelched between her fingers, sticky‑warm despite the chill.

"He’s killing us," she muttered. 

The words tasted rusty in her mouth. Coil, master manipulator and budget megalomaniac, had always played long games. Routing money through shell corps. Using the Undersiders as disposable yet photogenic assets, the kind the media loved to hate just enough to distract from real corruption. 

Killing his own pawns wasn’t good business.

So what changed?

Seraph, her power whispered. Taylor. The arrival of two wildcards who didn’t read their cues. She smelled panic on the board, Coil’s panic. Panicked masterminds weren’t masterminds for long.

Her boots skidded on algae‑slick pavement as she cut left between two stacked dumpsters. The smell of rotting produce slammed into her sinuses. Beyond, a chain‑link fence rattled in the wind, half toppled. She scrambled over, her good arm bracing on the steel mesh while the wounded arm was tucked tight between her breasts. It hurt and caused more blood to flow the wrong way.

The Docklands blurred into colourless slabs of corrugated tin and graffiti‑scarred brick. Sodium lamps glowed sickly orange, some blown, others flickering like dying fireflies. Every shadow felt like a gun barrel.

She paused in a doorway alcove, pressed panting forehead to cold brick, and forced mind to web connections: Isolation—check. Jammed comms—check. Arm bleeding—check. Merc teams herding—yep, two squads, one jammer van, one sniper pod. 

The goal couldn’t be any clearer: separate her from Taylor, either for capture or elimination.

Lisa snorted. Considering how free the assholes were with their live rounds, she’s probably not meant to live past tonight.

She took inventory. Her small‑calibre pistol wouldn’t be much use. It’s basically a pea-shooter and she was up against trained professionals with fucking assault rifles. 

Her phone was jammed, she was alone, and while it galled her to admit it, her brain was inconveniently failing to come up with a brilliant escape plan.

A distant buzz of engines drifted on the wind. She peeked past the doorway: headlights crawled along Riverfront Drive two blocks south, moving slowly, methodically. 

Search pattern.

Whatever Coil’s power was, if he was this desperate, it clearly wasn’t infallible. Probabilities hinged on patterns and static data. What if she did something even she wouldn’t predict? It was a hilarious catch‑22. 

Lisa couldn’t out‑Think a Thinker if her own power sabotaged every improbable option. But maybe chaos could.

She bolted across the alley into a derelict fish‑packing plant. Inside, footfalls echoed off tile slick with scales and grime. Broken conveyor belts sagged under dust. She ducked under a rusted pipe, boots splashing through ankle‑deep water that stank of ammonia. The corrosion flaked under her fingers.

Halfway through the processing floor, she slowed, ears straining. Rain hammered the collapsed roof. She saw no movement behind, but her power itched.

She picked the far door and shoved but it resisted. Swearing, she slammed it with her shoulder again, the pain from her other arm almost causing her to black out. Finally, the hinges screamed and the wood frame splintered. Lisa tumbled through into a corridor. Ahead, a rectangle of night opened: loading dock exit.

She ran.

The corridor ended at a metal ramp sloping into the yard. As she burst out, floodlights snapped on, blinding white. She hastily shielded her eyes, but it did little to mitigate the impediment to her vision. What little she could see, however, shattered whatever calm she managed to scrounge together. Four mercenaries on one side of the loading area and another four on the other, carbines raised. 

Lisa’s heart thundered and her throat constricted, denying the passage of air. Panic roared in her ears and her stomach twisted in knots. The world almost slowed to a crawl, but her power showed zero escape routes.  

Now way out. No Way Out! NO WAY OUT!!!

Then a blur dropped from above like Thor’s hammer.

Something or someone landed in the middle of the squad to her right. From one eyeblink to the next, bodies were flying. Lisa, still dazed, absentmindedly counted each hit from the rapid staccato of impacts that themselves sounded like gunfire.

Before she could even process what happened, the newcomer barrelled past her in a blur. By the time Lisa turned her head, only one member of the remaining mercenary squad was still standing. And even that didn’t last.

One final elbow strike that she could have sworn caused a shockwave and the merc just collapsed bonelessly to the ground. 

Lisa’s ears were ringing and she wasn’t completely sure of the cause. The deafening report of guns? Her rapidly worsening bloodloss? Or was it the absurd scene she just barely witnessed?

Eight mercenaries sprawled unconscious across the yard.

How…?

She blinked, vision swimming, and forced her feet to plant more steadily on the concrete ramp. 

Concentrate, dammit!

The new arrival’s intervention has given Lisa a brief reprieve and she took this chance to properly observe her savior. Wearing all black (hoodie, jeans, shoes, and cloth face mask), they weren’t particularly tall. Though on the verge of a splitting Thinker migraine, she chose to engage her power anyway.

Male. Well-built. Extreme training, it whispered. Reflex patterns beyond baseline human, possible parahuman enhancement but no overt power expression. 

Looking closer, something about him was familiar. Before she could think about it further, the figure turned, eyes locking on hers. At first, there was confusion, then it slowly morphed into recognition, before finally settling on an expression of acute, overwhelming alarm.

"Where’s Taylor?!" he all but roared.

Just like that, it all came together. And Lisa Wilbourn, formerly Sarah Livsey, also known as Tattletale of the Undersiders, wondered what she did in a previous life that would warrant running into motherfucking Seraph at the worst possible time.

Alfred POV

The instant I said her name, dread pooled in my stomach. 

What the fuck, Alfred! I thought we were past this shit! 

Lisa stared at me, eyes narrowing despite the pain flaring in them, no doubt already using her Thinker power to figure out my real identity.

As rain cascaded around us, soaking through my hood and jacket, my mind frantically searched for a way to keep the girl’s mouth shut. That would take a miracle, considering her cape name is literally Tattletale. 

Before I could consider it further, however, Lisa swayed where she stood and started to sag.

My body moved without my input, catching the blond and lifting her in a bridal carry. Looking around, I spotted the exit she came out of. It’ll have to do.

After laying Lisa down in a dry spot, I knelt beside her, forcing myself to stay steady while checking her wound. It was practically gushing blood, though, no artery was nicked. She’d already be dead, otherwise. Though if I don’t do something soon, she’ll bleed out.

Despite my misgivings about her character, I couldn’t let that happen.

With no convenient first-aid kit lying around, I ripped the sleeve of my hoodie and used it as a makeshift bandage. She whimpered when I tightened the wrap but didn’t voice any complaint. 

Good. I didn’t want to deal with her infamous mouth right now.

“How bad?” I whispered.

Lisa grimaced, shaking her head slightly. “Superficial. I'll live. Taylor's the priority.”

Ah, fuck. This isn’t good.

Saying the name without hesitation means Lisa already knows more than I’m comfortable with. The worst part is that she’s right. I had to find Taylor. Worrying about what’s in the blabbermouth’s noggin will have to wait.

“Tell me what happened. Just the essentials.”

Her skin was getting paler by the second and she looked moments away from passing out. 

“Coil baited Taylor with a fake video. We both got caught in the trap. Was supposed to die. She was captured. Teleporter switched her with a garbage can. Don’t know where she is.”

Everything Lisa said was bad enough, but when she got to how Taylor was taken, my blood froze. A cape that can switch two objects around from afar? There was only one character who fit that description and he was part of a group containing an honest-to-god proto-Endbringer.

“Travelers,” I seethed.

How the fuck could I forget the group of displaced nomads that was coming to the city? They played a huge role in shaping Taylor’s early experiences. Fuck, Leviathan targeted Brockton Bay because of Noelle! Or was that a fanon thing? Does it even matter anymore?

I was snapped out of my spiralling thoughts when Lisa asked, “You know them?”

What the hell am I supposed to tell her? The truth certainly wasn’t on the table. But I had to say something. Her power is literally Sherlock Holmes on steroids and I was a shit liar. With my time constraints, I couldn’t afford to dither around, either.

Finally, I settled on just stating facts without elaboration.

“They’re called The Travellers. The leader’s name is Trickster. He’s the one who took Taylor.”

Judging by her expression, Lisa had a ton of questions she wanted to ask. In the end, though, she settled for one.

“Are you going after them?”

I didn’t answer right away. Rescuing Taylor is non-negotiable, of course, but I couldn’t just start busting down doors. For one thing, I wasn’t even sure where Coil’s base is. I could ask Lisa, but what then? Do I hold myself back? Do I transform and damn the consequences?

This wasn’t how I expected this night to go. I’d been focused on tracking down ABB movements, hunting for signs of Bakuda plans. The sight of a huge bug swarm a few blocks from my position completely derailed that. I was expecting to run into Taylor, maybe even take the opportunity to team up.

Finding Lisa being cornered by Coil’s mercs was the last thing I expected.

Speaking of which…

“Why were Coil’s mercenaries trying to kill you?”

The question earned me a baleful glare, which…fair. Still, she did answer, after a deep and tired sigh.

“The asshole’s been acting pretty erratic the past few weeks. Had me hunting for everything I could find about Seraph and how to kill him. Guess he finally snapped.”

So it was my fault. It felt like my stomach dropped to the floor. As if I didn’t already have enough to answer for. Clenching my fists, I pushed any feelings of guilt and remorse down to focus on what’s important: rescuing Taylor.

Getting on my feet, I paced, trying to collect my thoughts. Transforming into any of the Dragoon forms I have access to should allow me to succeed easily enough. However, that could lead even more unexpected consequences. 

On the other hand, going as I am wouldn’t work, either. I’m not bulletproof, as my encounter with Oni Lee had proven without a shadow of a doubt. Coil still has a lot of mercenaries at his disposal. Not to mention all the traps waiting for me at his base. 

What did that leave me? Asking for help from the other heroes. But that would take too long and would involve the PRT. New Wave’s certainly not going to be accommodating, what with only recently getting discharged from the hospital. Independents? I haven’t got the first clue how to find them! Mercenaries? Should I go to Faultline? How do I know she’s not already contracted with Coil?

“Hey!”

Lisa’s voice snapped me out of what was building into a fugue of indecisions.

“I can help you get Taylor back.”

Oh, I knew that smirk. So many heroes and villains have been subjected to that smug expression to their detriment. And now she was turning it on me. The worst part was that I didn’t even consider her and the rest of the Undersiders. Why didn’t I? Oh, right…villains.

Time’s up. Make your choice, Alfred. Taylor’s life is on the line.

“What do you have in mind?” I finally asked, feeling very much like I’m about to make a deal with the Devil.

Her smirk, against all known laws of physics and reality, got even more smug. The bitch has me by the balls and she knows it.

Chapter 17

Lisa POV

Lisa Wilbourn would rate bleeding out in a derelict fish-packing plant and trying not to panic a two out of ten stars. Highly NOT recommended.

In her defence, none of this was her fault. She got shot at, chased all over the city while bleeding, and was almost gunned down in a trap she didn’t see coming. The only reason she wasn’t unconscious was because some spark of spite kept her eyes open and her brain whirring just fast enough to keep ahead of the dizzy spiral closing in on her vision. 

She was propped up against an overturned crate that stank of old brine and fish guts, arm clutched tight to her ribs, legs splayed out gracelessly in front of her.

And looming nearby, just out of arm’s reach, but never out of sight, was Seraph.

Despite the total absence of his signature armor and wings, he couldn’t be anyone but the mysterious figure that’s turned Brockton Bay on its head. The way her power couldn’t provide her with anything but superficial details. The overwhelming combat abilities that took down seasoned mercenaries literally faster than she could blink.

Then there was the concern for Taylor. A concern she was now using to get herself out of this predicament alive.

It took a few seconds for her offer to get a response. When he finally made his choice, he asked, “What do you have in mind?”

Lisa had to tamp down on her urge to sigh in relief. Someone like her shouldn’t be messing around with someone like him. Seraph has shown himself comparable to some of the world’s most powerful parahumans. If he wanted to forcefully enlist her services, Lisa wouldn’t have been able to resist. 

But she took a gamble that he wasn’t that kind of person. A gamble that she won.

Still, she needed to be careful in handling this. The situation was delicate and he was watching her like a scientist would a litmus strip.

Lisa hated it.

“Before we get to that, I don’t suppose you have a medkit tucked away under that scowl?” she rasped, trying for flippant. Her voice came out hoarse, but she smiled through it.

Seraph didn’t rise to the bait. 

“That needs an actual doctor,” he said, nodding at her injured arm. 

Lisa rolled her eyes, then winced. Bad idea. Her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat. “Yeah, well, I don’t think my HMO covers supervillain betrayal and rooftop snipers.”

She regretted the words instantly. The moment she mentioned the sniper, her power tried to give her something. Just a flicker of context, a possibility, a pattern. But it fizzled out like a wet sparkler.

This wasn’t the time. Coil would come after her again.

On that note…

“Look, while I’m still conscious,” she said, keeping her voice light, “you should maybe, I don’t know, deal with the mercs? And whatever Coil’s using to jam the phone signals?”

Seraph didn’t move for a second.

Then he nodded.

“I’ll be back. Don’t move.”

Lisa raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t planning on doing jumping jacks.”

He was gone without a word.

She let her head loll back against the crate and closed her eyes. The darkness behind her lids pulsed red.

Think, Lisa, think! You’re not dead yet. How do you stay that way?

Okay, priorities, what are her priorities? She needed to find the rest of the Undersiders. If Coil was willing to erase her, then Grue, Regent, and even Bitch were probably on his to-do list. If they were alive, she could get them to help. With Seraph in play, maybe they even had a shot at rescuing Taylor.

God, Taylor. 

The kid had no idea how important she was. Even without all the extra details that she could have gotten from her power, Lisa could see Seraph visibly holding himself back from going on another rampage. 

Why does he care about bug girl so much? Were they part of the same cluster trigger? Is this an obsession? Whatever the reason, there was a more than decent chance that Seraph would lose it if anything happened to Taylor.

That meant Lisa couldn’t afford to die here or the apocalypse might come early for the city. She’s no hero, but she’d already let someone die once before. This would be exactly that multiplied by a hundred thousand, at the minimum. 

Too bad her body wasn’t on board with that plan.

She felt herself slipping sideways. Cold and hot at the same time. Her thoughts were slurring, her limbs leaden. Her power whispered one final warning before sputtering out completely: fifteen minutes, max.

“Great,” she mumbled. “No pressure.”

And then Seraph was back.

“I moved them to their van,” he said, voice tight. “Smashed every piece of gear I could find, just to make sure, but the jamming’s gone.”

Lisa cracked an eye open. “Didn’t even check if it was under warranty?”

His eyes flicked over her slumped form. A heartbeat passed.

“You’re worse,” he said.

“No kidding.”

“How bad?”

She wanted to lie and say she’d be fine, if only out of habit. But what would be the point?

“Ten minutes,” she said. “Maybe less.”

His entire body stiffened. She could feel it even from here.

Then came the strangest look of pure frustration coming over his eyes. As if he were mad at himself. Lisa tried to say something, but her mouth didn’t work right.

Seraph stepped back, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Then he stopped and closed his eyes, visibly trying to rein in the agitation practically radiating off of him.

But then, out of nowhere, he froze and… ignited.

Light exploded from his form, silver-white and pure and impossible. Lisa flinched and turned her face away, expecting heat, pain, or something. Instead, it was… gentle.

When she looked back, Seraph was gone.

In his place stood something from a dream. White-silver armour flowed over his frame, sleek and organic, and shaped like it grew out instead of simply appearing. Wings of layered crystal fanned out behind him, colours dancing like stained glass. 

Lisa’s breath caught as her brain finally caught up.

Her pain was gone. Not dulled or numbed. It was completely gone.

It wasn’t just the wound on her arm, either. The Thinker headache eviscerating her mind due to overuse, was similarly non-existent. In fact, Lisa couldn’t remember feeling so good since the day she triggered.

But then, that’s when it hit her.

The silence.

Her mind, usually a hub of too much information coming through from sources she would often try to ignore, was no longer bombarding her with deductions and conclusions. No sudden jumps in logic, even pertaining to her current situation, when she would have been buried in speculations right that moment.

It took a heartbeat for Lisa to come to terms with the most likely cause. But eventually, she did.

And she screamed. Loud, long, and utterly unhinged.

Alfred POV

A few minutes prior

It started with the van. Ugly, boxy, and plain, it was clearly chosen to blend in pretty much anywhere. Luckily for me, it was the only one of its kind nearby, which kind of negated this effect.

Right now, it contained eight unconscious mercenaries who needed hiding. The interior was smoking due to my precautions. Even now, a paranoid voice in my head was screaming that something about this setup was wrong.

When I first slammed the door open, my eyes immediately went to the front console and the electronic systems that a piece of junk like this was definitely not licensed for. Screens, knobs, buttons, radios, a dashboard-mounted tablet, and something in the passenger footwell blinking faintly. 

Not being much of a tech-nerd, I recognized none of them. Neither did I have the time to figure them out.

So, I smashed everything. It didn’t matter if it was expensive tech or an old GPS. If it had a wire or a screen, it died. 

The back of the van was a graveyard of broken tech by the time I was done.

I took a shaky breath and fished out my phone. Yep, I can go online now. So, that’s mission accomplished.

On the way back to Lisa, it suddenly occurred to me that Coil would definitely have installed failsafes in the van. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had a self-destruct and a tracker. Great, the spike in paranoia was the last thing I needed right now.

Every parked car, every shadow, and every stupid window above me felt like a threat. I kept expecting to hear a click or a boom, anything to tell me that I triggered a trap I couldn’t see. But nothing came.

And that made me even more nervous.

Coil isn’t the type to let anything go. He might not have expected me, but he definitely wouldn’t ignore me. He would plan and I would have to be ready to respond.

This was just the prelude to our upcoming clash.

I pushed those depressing thoughts aside, for now. I had bigger priorities.

Like getting Taylor out of the snake’s hands.

The image of her, alone, possibly hurt, maybe dead, gnawed at me like acid flooding my veins. I should have moved faster as soon as I saw the swarm. It never meant anything good in canon. But I was too slow.

And now she was captured. I can only hope that I can get to her in time.

Just the thought of losing Taylor was causing almost physical pain. Like little mandibles eating through my guts from the inside.

Shaking my head, I grit my teeth and pick up the pace. I’m getting her back, even if I have to burn this city to the ground.

I found Lisa still propped up against the crate, her face drawn and eyes sunken.

“I moved the mercs to their van,” I said. “Smashed every piece of gear I could find. Jamming’s gone.”

She cracked one eye open. “Didn’t check the warranty first?”

I didn’t have it in me to smile right then, too worried about Taylor. So, instead, I looked her over.

“You’re worse,” I blurted out after noticing just how much weaker she’s gotten.

“No kidding.”

“How long do you have?”

She didn’t dodge the question.

“Ten minutes. Maybe less.”

It hit me like a punch to the ribs.

Ten minutes until I lose Lisa. Ten minutes for me to get her to a doctor or a cape healer. Ten minutes to do the fucking impossible.

Frustration boiled over, fists clenched and jaws locked. Why now? Why her? I didn’t have room for this. I needed her conscious, thinking, and alive. If she died here, everything got harder. I would have to transform and assault Coil’s base from the front, which would lead to consequences I simply didn’t have time to prepare for.

I could take her to Panacea, but she was too far and would involve far too many complications. Likewise, mundane healing would take too long, so hospitals are out. But if I didn’t do anything, she was going to die!

Fuck!

I looked at Lisa again and felt something twist in my gut. Trusting her right now would be beyond stupid, but I wasn’t blind to her plight, either. She wanted to be free to make her own choices, yet time and again, forces outside her control did their level best to cage her. 

And now, here she was, bleeding out in an abandoned building, surrounded by filth. Her only companion is a screwup of epic proportions who, even now, can’t make up his mind on what to do to save her.

But from one moment to the next, the decision was taken entirely out of my hands.

Warmth flared from my chest with absolutely no warning.

White-silver light erupted around me, wrapping my limbs in radiant living metal. My hoodie was replaced by armor where fabric had been. Wings of overlapping crystalline feathers snapped into existence, translucent and shimmering. And the abandoned building lit up like a beacon.

By the time it died down, I was fully transformed and thoroughly annoyed. 

Again, it happened again. A Dragoon Spirit had taken the choice out of my hands. The fact that it was done by White-Silver was even more grating since I thought it would be the most responsible of the lot. Shirley, Shana, Miranda; all of its previous users were sensible women. 

So, what the fuck?!

Lisa gasped, snapping me out of my stupor. Concerned, I looked her over with a critical eye, but I needn’t have worried. White-Silver could even bring people back from the dead. A little thing like blood loss and a GSW would be peanuts in comparison.

Even so, I kept my distance. Wouldn’t want to spook her.

Her face lifted, expression slackened and almost… dopey? For half a heartbeat, I thought she might smile.

But then her pupils shrank and she absolutely lost her shit.

My enhanced physique and White-Silver’s presence prevented hearing damage, but God damn, the lungs on this girl. Lisa then quickly became hysterical, shouting and screaming incoherently.

Afraid she was going to hurt herself, I tried to lock down her flailing limbs, but it only made things worse. Launching herself at me: clawing, swiping, punching. She kept shrieking, “Give it back!” 

I couldn’t let this continue. More importantly, I’m only equipped to deal with one damsel at a time.

Unable to think of another solution, I backed up half a step to make her stumble. White-Silver was dropped and with my entirely mundane limbs, I trapped her arms, fists, and head against my chest.

Lisa immediately froze at the contact, which was exactly what I was hoping for.

With a power like hers, personal space became a premium. And I just bulldozed right over it, making crooning noises, all the while.

Was this wise? Nope. Am I going to pay for this later? Most definitely. 

Unfortunately, this was the most straightforward way of stopping the hysterics short of slapping her in the face. With my enhanced strength, I wasn’t about to risk that.

After a minute or two of Lisa Wilbourn emulating a statue, I risked asking if she had calmed down. I got a small nod in return. Good, not a disaster, for once.

Stepping back once more, I moved to let her go, but she suddenly grabbed onto my arms. Her grip was like a steel trap and my adrenaline spiked in response. Before I could do anything I would have regretted, though, she stared me right in the eyes in wonder.

“What are you?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

That got me blinking in confusion. 

“I can’t read you anymore,” she continued, form trembling for reasons I couldn’t even begin to guess at. “My power’s back. It’s back but it can’t read you. No, it won’t read you…”

“Uhh…” came out of my stupid mouth, unbidded.

Well, shit. How the hell was I supposed to answer this? Lisa didn’t seem content to wait for me to pull myself together, though. Gaze sharpening, she moved closer, close enough that our noses were almost touching.

“Why is my power scared of you?” 

There, she is! That’s the Tattletale, I know. Brash, too curious for her own good, and perfectly willing to make people majorly uncomfortable. 

“Uhh…”

Taylor POV

There were a lot of things going through Taylor Hebert’s mind at that moment. She was cold, for one thing. She was hungry, too.

Oh, and she was apparently in a cell with no windows, a single metal door, and the most uncomfortable bed in the world. The cot she was sitting on was small and narrow. The concrete walls refused to yield answers and the single light overhead was giving her a headache.

The air was stale and made it hard to breathe. Worst of all, there were no bugs within reach. Not even a spider tucked into a corner. That absence struck her harder than the room’s bleakness.

She was completely alone.

Her costume clung to her body, still wet and getting uncomfortable. That meant she hadn’t been here long, though she had no idea how much time had elapsed.

Closing her eyes, Taylor tried to recall what happened that landed her in this predicament. She remembered meeting Lisa, getting chased by mercenaries, suddenly finding herself on a roof and then… her eyes snapped open.

Motherfuckers.

There were three capes she didn’t know. Without her bugs, she couldn’t fight. Then, before she knew it, something solid hit her in the sternum. Everything else was a blank.

Taylor instinctively checked her stomach and sighed in relief. There was no open wound and neither was she bleeding. Her costume didn’t even have a hole in it. Or maybe whatever hit her simply hadn’t left a mark. 

That made her gut twist in its implications.

Shifting her focus away from morbid what-ifs, she focused on her current state. Since she wasn’t dead, that meant they wanted her alive.

All she has to figure out now is why.

Standing up, Taylor forced her breathing to slow as she walked a deliberate circle around the cell. It was maybe ten feet across, with only the cot, the table, and a narrow steel basin set into the wall.

She tested the door. It was locked, obviously.

Keeping calm after confirming her confinement became a lot harder. So, she turned to other avenues of occupying her thoughts. 

Coil.

There was no one else it could be. Lisa said those were his mercenaries. Which meant the capes worked for him, too. This was probably one of his facilities, located in a secluded part of the city.

She thought of Lisa, wondering if she was able to get away. She then thought of her dad, who was probably losing his mind in worry right now. Had Coil gotten to them, too? Were they dead?

Her fists curled into shaking fists and she paced faster, trying to think through the fog of panic.

Then a sharp crackle echoed from the ceiling corner, making her freeze.

It came from a speaker embedded in the concrete wall. After a moment, a man’s voice was broadcast. It sounded measured and cold, carrying slimy undertones that reminded Taylor of Emma, for some reason.

"Good morning, Miss Hebert. I trust you’re comfortable."

Her blood froze.

"You’re Coil," she said flatly.

A low chuckle. "Tattletale really does live up to her name."

Taylor grit her teeth. "What do you want?"

"Answers," the voice said. "About you and your connection with Seraph."

She blinked, the name hitting her like a slap. "What are you talking about?"

"Come now," Coil said, amused. "Recordings of your confrontation with Lung are now a matter of public record. The same goes for your meeting with the flying newcomer, along with your subsequent act of chasing him away with your swarm."

Taylor stayed silent, afraid of giving anything away.

"Then, not even 24 hours later, he turns up at Winslow. No one appears to have grasped the significance of his presence there. But we both have, haven’t we?"

Unbidden, Taylor’s mind connected the dots and came to a conclusion that she had been trying to avoid. Seraph had been on that rooftop, where she was almost killed by Lung. Seraph had appeared near Winslow, where she went to school. 

In both instances, she was the common denominator. As if he hadn’t given her enough to worry about, Coil then decided to drop the biggest bomb in this conversation, yet.

“Tell me, Miss Hebert, how did he boost your power?” he asked, sounding almost frustrated at having to do so. “Better yet, why did he choose you?”

Her mind reeled. There were only two people who knew about the change to her power: Taylor and her father. No one else.

"You sent that message," she whispered.

"I had to lure you out, somehow. You’ve been very hard to pin down, Miss Hebert."

But Taylor couldn’t hear him anymore. The video was sent as part of a trap. A trap that used her father as bait. As soon as that thought formed in her mind, she was already shouting.

“What did you do to him?!” The combination of panic, outrage, and disgust made Taylor want to throw up. “I swear to god, I’ll kill you if you touch my dad! My spiders will be the last thing you’ll ever see before they fucking eat your eyeballs!”

Silence.

Taylor Hebert has never made a threat in her life. But in that moment, she meant every word.

Eventually, Coil spoke, “Please calm yourself, Miss Hebert. Your father is alive and well.” The attempt at reassurance made her want to snort. “If you want him to remain that way, I suggest you cooperate.”

"You bastard," Taylor spat.

"Such language," Coil replied, almost amused. "I think you misunderstand the situation. I’m offering you an opportunity to help me. Help him. Refuse, and, well. There are other ways to extract information."

Anger and hatred were roiling so violently inside Taylor that it was all she could to stop from screaming incoherently. No matter her feelings, however, reality wouldn’t change. Right now, she might as well have no powers at all.

"You’ll have time to consider your position," Coil said, the smugness thick in his voice. "We’ll speak again soon."

The speaker crackled and fell silent.

Taylor backed away from the door slowly, trembling with frustration.

Her head spun and her chest ached. There was a knot of dread tightening in her ribs, squeezing her internal organs. She dropped onto the cot, pressing her hands to her eyes, and trying to think.

She couldn’t breathe right. Her powers couldn’t help her here. There were no bugs and no escape routes. She didn’t know where she was, who Coil really was, or whether her dad was truly safe.

And Lisa might be dead.

Despair was something she thought she’d grown used to, but this was so much worse.

Taylor wanted to scream until her throat was raw. She desperately wanted to cry, even while knowing it would accomplish nothing. But she didn’t have the energy, not when her thoughts were spiraling out of control. 

You wanted to be a hero. In the end, you amounted to nothing. Trapped like a bird… or maybe, a rat. You’ll die here, Taylor. And dad will be dead soon, too. All because you wanted to be a hero.

She curled onto the cot, the helplessness flooding her mind with self-recriminations that were only fueling her anguish. Her thoughts turned to progressively darker places for a way out. And as she was closest to considering truly desperate solutions —

—something touched her mind.

It was a presence so vast, warm, and immense that Taylor felt like she would burst.

She had never felt anything like it in her life, as if a hand was reaching into the darkness, not to take but to offer. 

Taylor went still, feeling her heart rate slow and her breathing calm. At that moment, there was no exchange of words or coherent ideas. Whatever this was, it was simply making itself known. 

And now… now, Taylor no longer felt alone. 

Chapter 18

Coil POV

Night of Seraph’s first appearance

The surveillance footage wasn’t particularly clear, but it didn’t need to be. Thomas Calvert, currently in his villain guise Coil, leaned forward in his chair with elbows resting on the dark wood of his desk. Multiple grainy PRT feeds playing across his monitors were currently taking up his attention.

In another timeline, he was doing the same thing, but in an entirely different location, wearing an entirely different suit.

A massive swarm poured through downtown two hours ago like a living fog. Funneling through intersections, scaling buildings, and crawling over cars. But what truly caught his eye wasn’t the swarm itself. It was the figure just ahead of it: a black silhouette flying at speed.

Through several different angles, the chase presented an almost hypnotic dance. That was, until a sudden burst of white-hot flame engulfed the swarm several hundred feet over Brockton Bay, sending a burning haze of ash spiraling in all directions. 

Coil's eyes narrowed. The PRT already started classifying the cape and the results were impressive, indeed. 

And then, the flyer dove straight down into the bay to escape the approaching heroes.

He hit pause, freezing all of the clips playing at the same time.

Evading lawful authorities did not paint this newcomer in a heroic light. He still could be in intention, but that has never mattered to the PRT or the public. There’s an opportunity here.

With that said, the unidentified parahuman hadn’t shown up on any database. The most popular supposition was Tinker. But there were too many variables to account for that. Most likely a new trigger. Coil didn’t know why, but his gut was telling him this was the case.

And that swarm... That wasn’t an ordinary Master power. It was something else. Something... new.

He needed more information. Fortunately for the villain mastermind, his reach was long and his influence wide. Whoever this new pair of parahumans were, they won’t escape him for long.

The next incident occurred less than a day later.

Coil studied the collection of reports scattered across the screen: emergency dispatch logs, injury assessments, and fragments of civilian footage.

Seraph had defeated nearly all the heroes in the city. 

Not just the Protectorate. New Wave, as well. 

This didn’t bode well for his plans.

He leaned back in his chair, one hand tapping thoughtfully against his chin. The encounter hadn’t lasted an hour, but it left an impression. Most of the footage capturing the city-spanning battle was spotty. But taken together, they created a single terrifying picture.

Seraph had not merely overpowered the heroes. He had dismantled them.

Coil shifted to another file, this time an audio recording.

A 911 call where a young female voice was giving a short and concise report of gang activity.

Opening another one, he heard the same voice, but from a different location. 

Digging deeper, a pattern emerged quickly. Six calls, all traced to different public phones. All coincided with emergency response deployments. And at every site, civilian witnesses mentioned the same bizarre phenomenon: strange insect behavior.

From there, it wasn’t a huge leap to conclude that this was the insect manipulator. The same one who unleashed the swarm against Seraph.

Coil's fingers drummed against the desk and ran the probabilities in his head. 

It lined up, though, not as sharply as he would have liked. More importantly, it gave him the first real lead to finding the flying weapon of mass destruction.

He had followed fuzzier lines of logic before and came away with gold. Case in point, his entrapment of dear Sarah.

If Seraph was a complete mystery, perhaps the swarm controller wasn’t. And if the two were connected in some way…

The girl will be found and through her, he will unravel the secrets of swarm and fire.

Glass shattered against the far wall.

Coil stood in the middle of his office, chest heaving and fists trembling in anger. His boots crunched against broken shards and splintered plastic. Remnants of his explosive loss of control.

“Fifty-eight,” he growled. “Fifty-eight failures.”

Jaws clenched tight, he felt the rage die down to a simmer.

He had used his power every day for over a week. Splitting timelines and operating in parallel while trying every possible permutation of approach. Yet Taylor Hebert, the swarm controller, remains beyond his grasp.

Attacking her home had proven disastrous time and again. Kidnapping her father, the same. Even laying traps during her jaunts as the city’s most prolific 911 caller completely backfired.

Her swarm would explode in size when cornered, behaving beyond what was biologically possible. Millions of insects would manifest and swarm his agents. Using the most expensive protective garments and insect repellents made no difference.

As if that wasn’t enough, if she didn’t kill his men, then Seraph would arrive to do the job for her.

He would come from out of nowhere with absolutely no warning or signs of his arrival. In some timelines, he attacked from the sky. In others, it was as if he could teleport. One moment, he wasn’t there, and then the next, he was. 

What follows typically involves charred remains.

But none of them could compare to the worst iteration, yet. 

An hour after a specific timeline where he arranged the Hebert girl’s quiet death to see what would happen, Seraph appeared over his base. The resulting attack still haunts him days after.

Coil had never seen fire melt rock, steel, and concrete in so short a time. He never actually saw the parahuman, either personally or through his surveillance network. But the wave of flames was unmistakable. 

The feeling of his skin bubbling and his eyeballs popping were his last memories before that timeline was forcibly dropped.

Even relocation didn’t work. In branches where Coil moved across the country or out of state entirely, Seraph still found him.

But worse, oh so much worse, were the inconsistencies.

Following the one where his base was reduced to molten rubble, timelines no longer mirrored one another. The divergence started slowly. Calls are coming in that happened in only one branch but not the other. News reports of events that don’t align. Even someone bringing up a discussion that he couldn’t remember having with them. 

Then the deviations truly became frightening. 

Coil would open his timeline from a completely safe origin point, only to suddenly find Seraph waiting for him. He dropped that branch swiftly, but not before seeing the cape slowly morph into something monstrous… inhuman.

This happened again and again, with progressively worse differences.

Endbringers would attack, Ediolon would crash into his civilian office, and in one particularly memorable instance, gigantic monsters he had never seen before were laying waste to the city.

The one bright light to his current struggles is the limitations of the interference.

So long as he used his power on anyone other than Seraph and, to a certain extent, the Hebert girl, it would still work.

Even so, he couldn’t escape the fact that he was completely outmatched.

In the alternate timeline, Lisa Wilbourn screamed as another electric jolt coursed through her.

Coil observed the pitiful creature with unhindered glee. She was suspended by the wrists, bloodied, her defiance long since lost. Unsurprising, really. Hours of uninterrupted pain will break anyone.

He had tasked her with uncovering the secrets of Seraph and had produced absolutely nothing of value. No names and no weaknesses.

Nothing.

“Useless,” he said coldly.

Lisa laughed bitterly, even through the pain. “You’re torturing a thinker for not predicting a… a goddamn hurricane.”

Coil’s hand twitched. “I don’t care for your excuses, Tattletale.”

At his signal, the cycle started again, eliciting more pained screams. Truth be told, Coil no longer believed that this would achieve anything. But after days of frustration, he felt the need to find an outlet beyond his usual options.

This wasn’t the absolute worst thing he could do to his pet Thinker, either. However, he wasn’t in the mood for using more involved ways of tormenting the girl.

Without noticing, he had allowed the electrocution to go on for longer than he intended. This, it would turn out, was to his benefit.

“Stop!” she wailed. “Please, just stop! I’ll tell you… I’ll tell you.”

Coild held up a hand to pause the currents. Well, now. Has dear Sarah truly been holding out on him?

“Tell me what?”

Her panting tempted him to start the pain all over again, but he held himself back. This could be useful.

After regaining her breath, she whispered something he couldn’t hear completely. But Coil was done playing games.

“Speak clearly Tattletale or the switch turns back on and stays that way. I don’t need to tell you what will happen then.”

“I said,” she began, her voice raspy but clear, “he can empower others.”

Coil paused to take in this new information.

“Explain.”

When hesitation made a brief appearance, he made to raise his hand again.

“Wait,” she whimpered.

He paused.

Lisa swallowed before continuing in a sobbing rendition of a confession. 

“Seraph… He… He made Taylor stronger.”

And there it is, the hysterical weeping. It would appear that being forced to reveal this guarded secret broke something in the girl. Coil would normally have waited for her to at least collect herself, but his patience has run thin.

He stepped closer. “Elaborate.”

“The rooftop fight… against Lung,” she said between hiccuping mewls. “Taylor… her swarm got bigger after… after Ser-Seraph did something… something to her. I don’t know how… my powers don’t… it doesn’t work right when… he spoofs it. That’s all… all I know. Please…”

The words landed like hammer blows.

A Trump, then. Seraph was a Trump. One who could strengthen the power of other parahumans.

Coil stood still, then dropped the timeline.

This could change everything. Coil lost himself for a moment on visions of unlimited timelines where he could pick and choose events to his liking. 

He would become a true master of fate, then.

I must have him. I’m the only one who deserves such power.

The hum of fluorescent lighting buzzed faintly overhead, muted by the thick walls of Coil’s underground compound. He sat alone in his private office, bathed in the pale glow of a half-dozen monitors, each streaming real-time surveillance feeds, facial recognition data, and mission reports. 

The screens meant to bring him certainty offered nothing but contradictions, discrepancies, and failures.

He didn’t move, didn’t blink. For the first time in days, he wasn’t simulating a split. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he feared the results. Again.

By this point, he suspected that Seraph existed outside the boundaries of his power. 

Coil leaned forward and clasped his hands together in front of his mouth, glaring at the screen as if it might offer salvation. He had turned his attention from the insect master, briefly. Fixated instead on Seraph and the possibility of breaking him first.

Lisa had confirmed Seraph could empower parahumans and he did so to Taylor Hebert. That explained the sudden spikes in her power. She'd been getting stronger mid-operation.

Too late, he realized the pattern. Seraph only arrived when Taylor’s swarm was large. Visibly, unnaturally large. It acted like a signal to draw in the bigger threat.

The question then is how he could stop her from calling him.

A faint rustle made him look up and found a single, crisp sheet of paper falling through the air like a drifting feather.

It wasn’t there a moment ago.

Coil stood slowly. His chair creaked beneath him as he rose, one gloved hand reaching out with practiced caution. He didn’t touch it at first. Just stared. Then, gingerly, he picked it up.

On it was a handwritten, careful script detailing instructions. They were a precise series of steps. In a language of implication and subtext, yet clear in message.

Coil felt his blood go cold, finally understanding who had sent it.

Her.

Cauldron’s greatest weapon.

But why now? 

He had kept to the agreement and they did the same. This intervention was a new development and it unnerved him.

Reading the instructions again, this time line by line. Tinkertech to disperse, disrupt, and incapacitate large-scale Master-type swarms. Who to get it from, how to apply it successfully, and ways to ensure a smooth capture. 

Cauldron was giving him the means to suppress the swarm. Which meant… they wanted Seraph either neutralized or coopted.

He didn’t know why, but it doesn’t really matter.

A deranged smile slowly formed on his gaunt face.

There was now a solution to his previously unsolvable predicament. One he would soon enact and be one step closer to becoming Brockton Bay’s true ruler.

Lisa POV

One hour after Taylor’s abduction

“Why is my power afraid of you?” 

There was so much more to the question than Lisa could put into words. Even as the rain outside became heavier, lightning began to flash, and thunder started to roll. This burning mystery was all that filled her mind. 

Lisa had become familiar with her power over the years since she triggered. She knew its limitations and flaws. More importantly, she knew its drawbacks.

Thinker migraines are nothing new and she certainly wasn’t the only one to suffer such an issue in her power bracket. She’s learned to contend with it, plan around it, or delay it if needed. 

Now, there was absolutely nothing. 

Even as she parsed through data that should have reduced her to a gibbering mess just a day ago, her brain wasn’t screaming for mercy. Information that would have overloaded her senses now came from a multitude of directions, allowing her to make connections that completely escaped her before.

It wasn’t perfect. She was getting much more out of her surroundings and her body’s current condition, for example. More details, more nuances. However, she couldn’t draw conclusions from questions that didn’t have a starting point.

She was still an inference powerhouse, but that’s about it. 

Yet for all that she seemed to have become a much better Thinker, the hooded boy in front of her remained a blank void. As if her power simply refuses to go near him.

Lisa wanted to know. No, she needed to know. It felt like seeing land after months of being lost at sea. That’s why she latched onto him in a way that she normally never would with anyone else.

Unfortunately for her, Seraph was not one to indulge the Thinker’s curiosity. 

“If you’ve recovered enough to ask stupid questions, then it’s time to make good on your offer.”

The shift in tone was jarring. Whereas before, he was almost frantic in his bid to comfort her, he now seemed detached and wholly devoid of any concern for Lisa.

Shifting his arms so he could pry her hands away with a steady yet firm grip, Seraph stepped back to observe her closely. There was consternation in his demeanor, as if he couldn’t quite decide if Lisa’s recovery was good or not.

“How can you help me rescue Taylor?”

For one insane moment, she felt a sting of envy at how he said the other girl’s name. There was warmth there, hints of care and affection that she couldn’t quite place. Having to rely on her own intuition was frustrating, but it was all she had to work with.

Lisa was tempted to ask why this cape, this absurdly powerful parahuman, was so invested in the safety of a single girl. A girl who, from everything she had been able to gather, had never even met him before that night.

But she couldn’t. Not now, anyway.

“I’m part of the Undersiders,” she said instead and saw the lack of surprise on his face, “but I guess you already knew that. Look, if Coil came after me, chances are he’ll go after them. I can convince my team to help rescue Taylor and bring that megalomaniac down.”

“How?”

Lisa smirked, “By appealing to their desire for survival.” At the unmoved look of skepticism, she amended, “And the possibility of a huge payday. Helping you take out Coil would let me steal all of his wealth and resources. Possibly even take over his organization.”

Once again, she failed to elicit any strong reaction from Seraph. As if her declaration was a forgone conclusion.

“You already knew I would do that, didn’t you?”

Silence met her question, so she pressed.

“How much do you know about me? About Taylor?”

This time, he did deign to respond, but not in a way that she wanted.

“What I know or don’t know is none of your business. If you can help with Taylor’s safe recovery, then you can have everything else.”

Coming from anyone else, Lisa would have snorted in derision. But this was Seraph. The cape responsible for the Protectorate ENE and New Wave’s greatest defeat in living memory.

“Fine. I just need to contact my team.”

Seraph simply gave a casual gesture in response.

Fishing her phone from her jacket pocket, she dialled Brian’s number. The line rang twice before he picked up. “Lisa?”

“Hey. You guys okay?”

“Yeah. No trouble on our end. Why, what’s going on?”

She blinked. That was… weird. Coil hadn’t gone after them? Briefly directing her power to this incongruity, she got the all clear. It seems her former employer didn’t bother with the rest of the Undersiders.

“Meet me at the hideout, now. Wear your suits. I’ll explain everything when I get there.”

Brian wanted to argue, she could tell that much, but just said “On it” instead and hung up.

Before they left, Lisa turned to Seraph. “What about the meatheads you stuffed into that van?”

He gave her a look, then pulled a battered flip phone from his coat. Her power gave her a soft green light—burner, recently liberated from ABB gang members. 

So she can use her power on his stuff?

She tried it on his clothes, but got absolutely nothing. The discrepancy was getting really annoying.

Seraph dialled the police hotline and left a deadpan report about a suspicious vehicle parked near a warehouse, full of what might be unconscious men. After rattling the address, he crushed the phone in his hand.

Lisa smirked faintly. “Efficient.”

“The hideout?” he asked, clearly getting impatient.

“It’s nearby. We can get there in twenty minutes if we hurry.”

The tensing of his shoulders and the clenching and unclenching of his fists signalled Seraph’s dissatisfaction. Fortunately, he relented and gestured for her to lead the way.

They moved fast through the rain and got thoroughly drenched as a result. With rhythmic steps, Lisa wondered at her seemingly increased well of energy. Not superhuman in any way, but certainly notable for someone as exercise-averse as her. Yet another mystery to the growing pile.

Along the way, she took the chance to try and unravel at least some of those. She knew it was unwise to potentially provoke someone of Seraph’s power, but opportunities like this didn’t come every day.

“So, Sera–”

“Ruff n Tumble,” he cut off her opening gambit.

“What?” 

She slowed down to ask, but one tap to her waist urging her forward got Lisa moving again.

“If we’re anywhere in public, you call me Ruff n Tumble. R-U-F-F. Nothing else.”

Lisa got the feeling that the name was a reference of some sort. But now wasn’t the time to get into that. Instead, she focused on his reasoning and was glad that her power made an exception again.

One second was all it took for her to understand and she agreed. There was just one problem, though.

“Getting Taylor back is going to be a lot harder if you go as Ruff n Tumble,” she said, the implied question clear in her tone.

“I know,” he said. “But there’s no need to bandy the truth about where anyone can hear.”

True enough, there could be devilish eavesdroppers with similar powers to her, after all. 

“But when we get there?”

He said nothing, but Lisa got the distinct feeling of amusement and anticipation coming from him.

When they reached the hideout, tension bloomed immediately after walking through the door. The reactions were exactly as she anticipated. Brian was instantly on his feet and got in a fighting stance. Rachel started growing her dogs. And Alec… well, he just kept on playing his game with affected nonchalance.

Lisa raised her hands in a placating manner. “Everybody relax, he’s with me.”

“And who’s he?” Brain asked, suspicion suffusing his muffled voice. “And why did you bring him here?” 

Lisa was about to launch into a statement she’d been crafting on the way, but Seraph beat her to the punch. Emphasis on ‘punch’.

“Because Lisa had no choice, Brian.”

The casual, almost careless way he revealed their identities was in stark contrast to the reaction he got.

“What the fuck, Lisa!”

“You told him?!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Well, this just got interesting.”

The convoluted cocktail of outrage would have continued had Seraph not put on a thunderous and electrifying light show. Once revealed in his armored form with the wings tucked behind him, stunned silence was the order of the day.

“Listen to me very carefully, because I’m only going to say this once,” he almost drawled. “Yes, I do know all of your names. No, Lisa didn’t tell me. And no, I will not use your identities against you… not unless you force me to.”

His gaze passed over the other occupants of the room, eyes glowing with barely restrained power. 

Even already knowing who he was, Lisa still felt shaken at this turn of events. She almost allowed herself to believe that they were in lockstep. Which was really stupid of her.

Seraph was an unknown element in the cape community. Even the PRT was stumped, nevermind the fact that her power never worked right with him. And now?

Was it the deceptively ordinary outfit? The act of kindness when she was distressed? Because he healed her?

Regardless of the reason, Lisa had lowered her guard and got bitten as a result. She would have to talk to him about his behavior. But that was for later. 

Addressing her team, she launched into the night’s events and held nothing back. Coil’s mercenaries, the ambush, and Taylor’s disappearance, though she was careful to use ‘bug girl’ when referring to her. When she revealed that the villainous mastermind was their employer all along, Brian looked about ready to explode. Only Seraph’s presence kept him from interrupting.

Lisa was particularly gruesome in presenting their current status as loose ends. If Coil was willing to get rid of her, then he would have no problems doing the same to them.

By the time she was done, the room was silent.

“So, what now?” 

Surprisingly, it was Alec who asked.

Lisa looked at each of them. “Now you choose. We can try to make a break for it, but that means getting run down eventually. That would just be delaying the inevitable. Or we can take the initiative. We rescue our swarm mistress, take down Coil, and take over everything he built.”

“You know where he is?” Brian asked, his form almost sagging in defeat.

“I do.”

“How are we getting in?”

Lisa turned to Seraph, who had his arms crossed over his armored chest. “Leave that to us. For now, you need to decide if you want to help or if you prefer to run. Once you’ve made up your mind, find us in my room.”

She grabbed Seraph by the gauntlet and dragged him to her door before more questions could start flying. Once inside, she closed it and rounded on him.

“What the fuck was that?!”

A small voice in the back of Lisa’s mind was screaming for her to stop, but she was too incensed.

“Do you have any idea what you just did? How far you just violated the Unwritten Rules?!”

She went on like that for another minute, becoming progressively shoutier in her quest to vent her spleen at the unmoving cape. The unmoving, very dangerous, and seemingly amused cape. By the time Lisa was done, breathless and panting at the verbal exertion, there was a palpable release of tension in her gut.

“Feeling better?” Seraph asked, one eyebrow raised. 

After taking another deep breath, she nodded. “Yeah, actually, I am. But I still need you to answer my question. Why did you do that?”

It took a few seconds, but the answer still came. “As you said, we can’t rescue Taylor in the time we have if I go as Ruff n Tumble. But to reveal the truth of who I am to a group of villains without leverage would have been stupid in the extreme.”

Lisa could at least understand that. She was hoping that Seraph would be content with getting the Undersiders to help rescue Taylor, but additional assurances of secrecy were always going to be on the table.

She just didn’t expect said assurance to come in the form of their identities. Or that he would immediately use it.

“So, what? Mutually Assured Destruction? We tell the world about you and you do the same in return?”

He snorted. “You can think of it like that. You could also think of it as putting us on an even playing field. I don’t need to use overwhelming power to hurt you if you decide to stab me in the back. Not with what I know.”

And wasn’t that the neat little conundrum for Lisa? Seraph likely wouldn’t entertain questions about where he got his information. With him spoofing her power so thoroughly, she wasn’t left with too many options, either. 

“You got a way to crack open an underground bunker then?” she asked, shifting gears.

Seraph’s eyes glazed over for a moment, as if getting lost in thought, before answering. 

“I might have some ideas. But I’ll need to ask you something first.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Have you ever been to his underground endbringer shelter?”

Lisa wasn’t even surprised anymore. “I have and to answer your likely follow-up question, I already know the complete layout.”

For some reason, this got the first true reaction from him. Seraph’s eyes widened and his brows furrowed while looking at her with incredulity.

“My power might have gotten a bit of a pick-me-up,” Lisa said with a sly smile. “Thanks for that, by the way. Really helped put a lot of things in perspective.”

She delighted at the scowl he sent her way. Considering just how frustrating dealing with him had been so far, it was only fair that she returned the favor.

“Can you at least tell me how far his office is from the surface and where it’s located?” he asked impatiently. 

Why would he – oh. Oh… 

Several things clicked and it wasn’t just due to her power, either. His questionable decisions with the others earlier started making more sense, too. And when combined with the storm outside…

“Yes,” Lisa confirmed. “I can definitely give you all of that and more.”

“Excellent. Now, what’re we doing about the self-destruct?”

The question brought her up short and she blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Coil strikes me as the kind of guy who would install a failsafe and blow the whole thing sky-high out of spite.”

She opened her mouth, closed it again. That… actually made sense. Before she could say anything else, though, there was a knock at the door. Walking over, she opened it and found Brian waiting on the other side, looking resigned.

“We’re in.”

“Good,” Lisa smiled, all teeth and intent, before looking back at Seraph. “Let’s ruin Coil’s day.”

Alfred POV

Thinking on the situation at hand a little more, it occurs to me that current conditions really worked to my advantage. Almost conveniently so. The storm had turned the skies into a churning sea of black and grey, blotting out the stars and moonlight with a thick curtain of cloud. Sheets of rain lashed against rooftops and streets below, turning the world into a blur of shifting shadows and water-slicked surfaces. 

From this height, I was little more than a ghost in the storm, especially with all the usual Dragoon Spirit lightworks dimmed.

Down on the ground, visibility would be abysmal. Anyone looking up would see nothing but shower and gloom. Most people would have taken shelter by now, huddled indoors with the heaters running and the curtains drawn tight. 

As for the skies? No hero in their right mind would be flying in this mess, not with lightning cracking across the heavens like the snap of a god’s whip. It wasn’t just dangerous, it was suicidal.

And that made the airspace mine.

Such were the benefits of wearing supernaturally enhanced armor that’s infused with the spirit of a dragon. Right now, it’s doing a lot to stop me from becoming a human lightning rod. Had this been any other time, I would have indulged in a moment of whimsy at being a master of electromancy. 

But, I digress.

Hovering over the unfinished high-rise in Downtown, Brockton Bay, my thoughts went over the rather straightforward plan again. Funnily enough, it’s one that several pieces of fanfiction had already featured. It was only a matter of adding my own twist to the mix. 

Coming up with anything more elaborate would have taken more time. It would have also been pointless. 

With Coil’s power being what it is, giving him any opportunity to react would have been stupid. Taking him down will require speed and coordination. Fortunately, Violet had the former in spades. The blonde Thinker currently in my corner took care of the latter.

Right now, my only concern is to watch over three locations, waiting for the signal flare. The Undersiders were split up to cover them, with strict instructions on what to do upon arrival. My response would depend heavily on which gets marked.

Anywhere other than the spot directly below me would receive the mother of all lightning bolts. It would undoubtedly cause untold collateral damage, but it won’t matter in the end. Such instances would be erased once those timelines were dropped.

Quite frankly, the biggest obstacle to the plan’s success would be my willingness to endanger innocent lives. When told of what I intended to do, Brian was horrified. He was rather loud in his objections.

It took the hasty intervention of Lisa to smooth things over, but in the end, he stuck around. After all, none of it would be real. Just a dream, basically.

To be clear, that this was an incredibly reckless plan hadn’t escaped my notice. A lot of things could go wrong, many of which I couldn’t even begin to predict. The PRT taking notice, Taylor getting caught in the crossfire, Coil being his usual slippery self and escaping, and more.

It’s half-baked, crude, and rushed.

Lisa advocated for taking some time to iron out the details, but I had to put my foot down for several reasons. The first and most important: allowing the bastard to hold Taylor for any length of time was intolerable. Second: waiting any longer could mean losing our biggest natural ally (i.e. the storm). Third: giving Coil more opportunities to prepare the field was just a bad idea, in general.

So, this is where we’re at.

In the middle of enacting a Hail Mary of a rescue operation, and me just hanging around, contemplating the events that landed me in this position. If I were honest with myself, practically everything I’ve done from the moment of arrival has made things worse, not better. 

Before coming here, I thought my plans were as good as they could possibly be.

Meet Taylor. Help Taylor. Save the world.

Simple, elegant, and uncomplicated. How could things possibly go wrong?

Now that I’m here, the answers were stacking up and none of them were in my favor. The only thing I’ve got going for me is overwhelming power, but what good has that done me, so far? 

Lung is out of the picture, sure. 

But I also got chased away by the story’s protagonist, laid waste to Brockton Bay’s heroes, and did more damage to the city than all the gangs combined. What, was I supposed to punch (fry, drown, bury, or terrorize) all my problems until they go away? I may not be a genius, but neither was I a knuckle-dragging Shonen meathead.

Though if some of my Dragoon Spirits had their way, that’s exactly what would happen. How was I supposed to know that the shiny magic marbles were conscious and could make their own decisions? The most they ever did in the game was react when other dragons or Spirits were around. 

Then, as if all of that wasn’t enough, Taylor gets taken by a villain who constantly has a finger on the Quicksave button. It was supposed to be Dinah, dagnabbit! I’ve been keeping an eye on the girl in between beating the crap out of goons for exactly that reason. Only to find absolutely no surveillance activities around her.

And now I know why. This frustrating bit of switcheroo came completely out of left field!

Speaking of which, I haven’t even gotten that far into the events that were supposed to happen. Bakuda is in hiding, Oni Lee is still loose, the E88 has its full roster, and Panacea is still in danger of becoming the Red Queen! 

If I made this much of a mess at the beginning of the story, what’ll happen when the roving band of murdhobos comes? Or the Fallen? Noelle and the Simurgh bombs were already here, too! 

And what about when Leviathan makes landfall?

Could I interfere in any of those without wiping Brockton Bay off the map?

To cap off this shit sundae, this whole setup is fishy as fuck.

The abduction happening on a stormy night, when I was close enough to notice the swarm but too far to stop the kidnapping, in the first place? Me finding Lisa just before she got riddled with bullets and the Undersiders being left alone, thus making recruitment viable? 

Yeah, no. 

None of that made sense unless one considers outside forces pulling the strings. I might not be the brightest bulb of the bunch, but even I can recognize the signs of someone fucking around in the background. Then again, I’ve been on the lookout for exactly this development from the get-go.

Resistance to clairvoyance and precognition, my ass. 

Cauldron was onto me someway, somehow. Right after unjamming this particular busted printer, I’ll have to give that special bunch of bozos a bit more of my attention.

As much as it hurts to admit, though, it’s become clear that I really had no idea what I was doing. But I couldn’t just give up on the mission, either. 

Ironically, I’m now stuck in the same predicament as Taylor was. Having the means to solve her problems through violence but unwilling to do so for fear of exposure. Granted, my reasons were different from hers (she is way more concerned over ethics than I am, for example), but did that really matter?

Seraph has become a monster in the eyes of everyone. Had it only been me, this wouldn’t have been an issue. But that’s not the case, is it?

Anyone I interact with in my Dragoon forms would be subject to invasive scrutiny from practically all sides. I wouldn’t be surprised if my brief encounter with the bug mistress caused this mare’s nest, to begin with.

In the end, however, I couldn’t allow myself to be paralyzed by indecision. So, I had resigned myself to the only solution at hand. Since my perspective is literally alien compared to the inhabitants of this world, I needed someone local to help me out.

And as cliché as it might be in fandom, my only real option here was Tattletale.

I might be dancing to Contessa’s tune by going this route, but there simply isn’t another viable path to take. Not one that doesn’t lead to widespread destruction, which would take me further from my goal, at any rate.

My thoughts were cut short by a single crimson flare streaking into the sky. The moment it burst upward, time seemed to falter. Rain hung motionless in the air, each droplet suspended like glass. Lightning crawled across the clouds in slow motion, and the world fell strangely silent, as though holding its breath.

This was undoubtedly the most dangerous part of the plan.

Giving myself over to the Dragoon Spirit, I looked inward and started pleading.

I’m counting on you, old man. If there was ever a time to take things seriously, this would be it. We’re not getting a second chance here.

Haschel was vastly more experienced in using Violet than I was. He understood its full capabilities in a way that I have yet to grasp. Going at this on my own would unravel everything I was trying to achieve in this operation. So, having no other choice, I turned to my only source of finesse and absolute control…

…And it worked. 

Sensations not my own flooded every nerve, bone, and muscle fiber. Instincts I never developed took over as purple electric discharge spread from my core, before white-cyan fire wreathed my whole body. With a thought, I arced skyward first, then inverted to fly straight down. 

Thunder God, a variant of the Violet Dragoon’s third magic, capable of punching through earth, rock, steel, and concrete.

From what little I was able to glean from the previous user’s memories, 90s video game graphics did not do this ability justice. It literally surrounded me with a shroud of super-heated plasma, and momentarily allowing me to move at 220,000 miles an hour.

In less than a fraction of a fraction of a second, I punched into Coil’s office at the exact coordinates provided by Lisa from my starting point of 2,000 feet in the air. Through multiple levels of the underground facility and while avoiding major structural damage.

Not giving the villain time to act, I buffeted the cloud of dust with my wings to clear the way. My target was still seated in full costume, undoubtedly in shock after his other timeline was forcibly dropped and my own unexpected entrance.

With quick strides, I was upon the slithery bastard, who remained frozen in his chair. Before he could get over his surprise, I had my hand wrapped around his throat and proceeded to lift him into the air.

“Hello, Mr. Calvert. I can’t express how much I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” I growled into his face with every ounce of menace I could muster.

All I got in reply was some choking sounds which… okay, I should have expected that.

Also, he peed himself.

So much for Worm’s bond villain extraordinaire. 

Sidestory

The Long Game

Days before Taylor’s abduction

“Are we sure that was a wise course of action?”

The groans from multiple throats sounded out as the same question was asked once more.

“For the last time, Keith, it was the only course of action!”

This rebuttal, which was also given multiple times, came from Rebecca, who was also known as the hero Alexandria. 

“I get that, I do. But I can’t help but feel that this is such a roundabout way of getting in contact with, in your words, ‘the Endbringer killer’. Why can’t we just reach out to him?”

“Because,” this time, it was Contessa who answered him, “there is no scenario in which contacting him as representatives of Cauldron doesn’t lead to our complete destruction. Even if you approach him in your capacity as a hero, he would still blast you in the face before you could even speak.”

This time, Keith was struck dumb. So was everyone else, for that matter. 

Even before the truth about the group’s activities was revealed to him several days prior, Keith had only ever known the woman to be self-possessed. Contessa simply did not speak in such a free manner. To anyone.

Out of all of them, it was David who recovered the fastest, choosing to consider the event as unimportant.

“I still don’t understand how you’re so sure of that,” he griped, maintaining the bad mood he’d been in since learning about this new parahuman. He really didn’t like the implication that he was no longer the strongest cape in the world. “I thought you couldn’t path him? Who’s to say I would lose if we fought?”

“I may not be able to path him or you,” Contessa replied without missing a beat, “but I can path everyone else in this room. We don’t survive a clash with Seraph and Cauldron, in its entirety, ceases to exist.”

“Then how would helping Coil capture the girl he cares about lead to a different result? Wouldn’t he just come after us then?”

“It will give him pause and make him hesitate long enough to establish a dialogue.”

“There!” Keith cut in, actually pointing a finger at Contessa. “That’s what’s tripping me up. Why are we stepping in now? Why not just let him do his thing? If you’re right, he’s bound to encounter the Enbringers sooner or later. There’s no need for us to even interfere.”

“If we didn’t take this chance, we would lose all opportunities to have some control over the situation,” Doctor Mother answered. “After dealing with Coil, all paths to establishing any kind of working relationship with Seraph will close.”

“Just to confirm,” Rebecca spoke up, “the test run is over, right? There’s no point in continuing it with the anomaly in play?”

“That’s correct,” The Number Man confirmed. “All predictive models fail to provide likely scenarios with any degree of acceptable precision. Seraph simply introduces too much chaos for reliable calculations.”

“And once Coil is gone, how do we reach out to the wonder boy?” David asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“The girl,” Contessa said. “She’s the key. If we control her, we control him.”

“You mean the same girl who was abducted with our help?”

“I mean the girl who will become more powerful as a result of this kidnapping. The least damaging scenario in which she can gain said power boost.”

“Right, that’s enough,” Rebecca interrupted. “Are you sure she would be amenable to working with us down the road?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve made sure that she knows how to reach out?”

“I’ve already included that in the message.”

“Good. That’s all I needed to know.”

Not long after that, the meeting was adjourned. However, as she sat back down in her office and reassumed the guise of PRT Chief Director, Rebecca couldn’t shake her doubts. 

This was a desperate gamble on their part. 

One that could lead to severe consequences if it backfired.

Chapter 19

Alfred POV

Calvert made a wet, choked sound that might have been a laugh if his airway wasn’t currently obstructed by my hand.

Up close, Coil’s whole aesthetic was even more ridiculous. The stylised mask. The expensive fabric. The gloves that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. It was all built to sell the idea that he was a predator in a tailored suit, a man who always had the next move, the next contingency, the next smug little smirk tucked behind his teeth.

Right now, all it sold was that he’d never had someone like me bust through his roof.

The room around us looked like it had been punched by God. Not shattered, because Haschel had threaded the needle on the way down, but still wrong in the way a place feels wrong after reality gets manhandled. The air was thick with concrete dust and the sharp bite of ozone. Fine debris drifted in slow spirals through the harsh fluorescence, catching the light like dirty snow.

Monitors lined one wall, stacked in neat grids. Some showed static. Some showed camera feeds from hallways and empty rooms. A few were stuck on paused frames, the sort of frozen stills that would have looked ordinary if they weren’t happening in an underground bunker with a supervillain dangling by his throat. A desk sat dead centre, polished wood and clean edges like he was playing at being an executive instead of a criminal who’d built himself a private war shelter.

Coil’s chair was tipped slightly, one wheel skewed, as if it had tried to flee without him. That felt fair.

Somewhere deeper in the compound, an alarm started to whine, cut off, then start again in a different pitch. The ventilation kept running, a constant low hum in the background, pushing air through filters meant to keep the outside world out.

Calvert’s boots scraped uselessly as he tried to get purchase. His gloved hands clawed at my wrist, not to break free, but to create space. He couldn’t. He didn’t have the strength. He didn’t have the leverage. He didn’t even have his power, not in any way that mattered when the problem had fingers and those fingers were already around his windpipe.

His eyes were visible through the mask’s slits, wide and shiny with panic. They kept darting to the corners of the room, to the desk, to the console panels, to the places where a man like this hid buttons and triggers and contingency plans.

I kept him suspended just long enough to let the lesson sink in.

This is what it feels like when you don’t get to reach for the next lever.

Gotta say, though, the other smell coming off of him was not pleasant. Sharp and sour beneath the cologne. 

I still couldn’t believe he’d peed himself.

Part of me wanted to laugh. A bigger part wanted to throw up, because this was the guy. This was the infamous, cool-headed, long-game mastermind who’d made Brockton Bay dance on invisible strings. This was the man who had kidnapped children, hired mercenaries, and treated human lives like assets.

And he was trembling.

Violet thrummed, impatient. It didn’t care about irony. It cared about threats removed and obstacles crushed. My wings flexed once, tight and restrained, and the movement made a faint crystalline rasp that echoed off the room’s hard surfaces. Almost like the tinkle of tiny crystal bells.

Calvert’s gaze snapped to them, then back to my eyes.

I could practically see the calculation trying to reassert itself. The internal voice that would be telling him to stall, to probe, to split timelines and test reactions, to find the branch where he slipped away.

It wasn’t going to work. Not tonight.

I lowered him just enough that his boots touched the floor. His knees buckled immediately. He caught himself on the edge of his desk with a desperate scramble, sucking in air like it was something he had to steal back from me.

I didn’t release his throat.

Not fully.

I loosened my grip to the point where he could breathe, but only because I wanted him conscious. Only because I wanted him to understand every second of what came next.

He coughed, ragged and ugly, then tried to straighten, like posture alone could rebuild his authority.

It didn’t.

Dust drifted between us. The monitors continued their flicker and static. The alarm hiccuped again and died, as if the bunker itself had decided it didn’t want to draw attention to this conversation.

Calvert swallowed hard. “You’re making a mistake,” he rasped, voice distorted by the mask and the bruising pressure on his throat.

I stared him down, leaning into the considerable, looming presence of my Dragoon form. 

“No,” I said quietly. “This is the part where you stop moving pieces and start following instructions.”

He went very still at that, the way prey goes still when it finally understands it’s been caught.

And in the faint, shallow rise and fall of his chest, I could see the fight he was having with himself. Pride arguing with survival. Habit arguing with reality.

The storm above kept raging, muffled by layers of concrete and earth.

Down here, in this room, the only weather that mattered was the one I brought with me.

“Any deviation, any at all, and I’ll snap your neck.”

Predictably, the slimeball twitched right after I said that. Along with the sudden gasp and the dilating pupils, he just got proof that I wasn’t making empty threats. That drew a satisfied smirk from me.

“You really should learn to listen, Thomas,” I said. “I imagine dying so many times can’t be good for your health.”

All I got in return was a gurgle, but it wasn’t like his consent was really necessary in this arrangement.

“Our first bit of business is calling off your flunkies,” I told the discount Bond villain. “I’d rather not scrape brain matter from out of my boots if I can help it. They wouldn’t be able to do a thing except waste my time. And if you make me go through that,” at this, my grip tightened a fraction, “you’ll experience first-hand what it's like to have your flesh slough off as you boil from the inside-out.”

He flinched, as expected. Oddly, though, I got the feeling that the sensation wasn’t quite as unknown to him as it should have been.

Regardless, he jerked his head in the affirmative and I dragged him over to his desk. Upon reaching it, he pushed a button near one of the monitors. Loosening my grip a tad to allow him to speak, he seemed to stutter again for a moment before doing as told.

“All teams,” he said, doing an admirable job of keeping his voice steady. “Stand down and await further orders. I repeat, stand down and await further orders.”

The echoes of stomping boots just beyond the closed, metal door petered out. Mercs, they may be, but their quality showed in their response time. 

“Next, you’re going to tell whoever’s in charge out there to expect the Undersiders,” I instructed, catching him by surprise once again. “They’ll let them through without a fuss. Any sign of resistance from your men gets you a dose of charged particles.”

Allowing a brief spark of electricity to run through my armored form was all the convincing he needed. Once the orders were relayed, I moved on to the next phase of the plan.

“Take out your phone and dial Tattletale,” I said while maintaining my grip on his throat. “Try to call anyone else and you already know what’ll happen.”

From the way his arm spasmed for no apparent reason once the device was retrieved, I apparently had to show my willingness for lethal measures once more. And it was starting to grate on my nerves. I had an inkling that Coil was a control freak from all the fanfics I consumed, but needing multiple displays of violence just to get the point? That’s got to be neurosis of some kind.

My thoughts might have shown on my face, because the snake quickly hit the right contact details and put the call on speaker, for good measure.

“Yello’!” The genuine cheer in Lisa’s voice left no doubt that she already sussed out the mission’s success.

“Hey, Tats! Your boss is having a get-together and your team is cordially invited. Be at the entrance promptly, if you please.”

“Why, that sounds positively delightful!” Yeah, she was definitely enjoying this. “We’ll be right there. Do keep him company, would you? I know for a fact that he’s been looking forward to meeting you.”

Coild shrank back as I met his eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

The line dropped and it was just the two of us again. By this point, I noticed the villainous mastermind’s desperate need to speak but was actively holding himself from doing so. How many of his timelines-that-never-were did I zap him for opening his mouth, I wondered.

Then again, considering the reason for my presence in his lair, I couldn’t be bothered to care. Speaking of which, it’s time to make a few things clear so that I can avoid predictable issues in the near future. 

Lifting Coil higher, I gave just enough slack around my digits for us to have a functional conversation without completely blocking his airways.

“I need you to listen very carefully to me, Thomas,” I said, relishing the panic and desperation in his twitching extremities. “The why, how, and who of this discussion will need to wait until our mutual acquaintance arrives. I can’t trust anything you say without our resident lie detector, after all. Instead, I’m going to tell you exactly how much you fucked up.”

Pausing for effect, I let him absorb my words before continuing, uncaring of his discomfort.

“Your actions tonight don’t surprise me. Kind of expected, in fact, considering your intentions with the mayor’s niece.” Oh! Didn’t expect I knew about that, did you? “Recent events may have made you less of a priority, but dealing with you was always on my list. Kidnapping Taylor, though? That shot you right to the top.”

I’m not even lying here. The absolute clusterfuck that were my first few days in the Bay derailed so many things that I wanted to do. Coil was still a target, but becoming the city’s most-wanted reduced my options to a staggering degree.

This whole operation, which could essentially be boiled down to thoughts and prayers, glued together with hope and desperation, is the clearest sign of how close to FUBAR my predicament has gotten. Ironic, considering that this is exactly the kind of situation Taylor would’ve excelled in.

“So, while I’ve got you hanging up there, I would encourage you to treat the next few minutes with due consideration. Right now, my biggest concern is the safe retrieval of the girl. If you make that more difficult than it needs to be, know that death and torture are far above the depths I will sink to for satisfaction. Grey Boy’s crimes will be like a pleasant childhood memory in comparison.”

Ah, there goes fresh urine running down his legs. Again.

Honestly, my threat wasn’t even that scary. It was downright generic, in my opinion. Cliché villain fare, even!

Though… upon closer inspection, Coil sort of reminded me of a cornered animal right now. Not resigned to its fate or biting in desperation, exactly. More like, paralyzed by indecision through sheer terror.

Violet shouldn’t have this kind of effect on him. Not like Darkness would. Which left only one explanation.

The bastard already knows the things I could do, probably via dropped timelines. If so, what exactly did I do that made him this terrified? How much did he see? 

Following that thread would have to wait, though, as a loud banging came from the door. It was accompanied by a “Knock, knock!” from a disconcertingly giddy Lisa. With their arrival, it was time to shift focus. Letting them in was just a matter of walking over, releasing the pneumatic locks, and pulling on the heavy slab of steel.

Lisa was the first to enter, followed by Brian, Alec, and Rachel with her dogs. I caught a glimpse of a few mercs in full tactical gear before slamming the door shut, once again. 

The four gave Coil, currently dangling in the air like a disobedient pet, a cursory look before turning to the room. Alec whistled in appreciation at the devastation my unconventional entry caused, including the spreading puddle of water courtesy of rain shower still falling through the hole I made.

“Good of you to join us, Undersiders.” My greetings caused a ripple of deadpans across the gathered teen villains. “Now that we’re all here, we can begin. Lisa, you already know what to look for.”

It took only two minutes of scanning the room for her to disable the many, many, many, traps Coil had around his office. This includes the self-destruct that’s featured in oh-so-many fanfics as a plot device.

Had I not already known about Calvert’s paranoia, even I would have been caught off guard by the sheer thoroughness of the man’s preparations to spite his enemies. So, contrary to the temporary allies’ visible shock, I was practically serene.

As for Tattletale? She dove into the task of dismantling all of her tormentor’s safeguards like a school of piranha stripping meat off a carcass.

Once given the all-clear, I dragged Coil’s chair to the middle of the room and dropped him onto it like a sack of potatoes. No verbal warnings were needed here since I’d already set the mood for this meeting beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Lisa stood in front of him while I was behind, taking no chances with the slippery mastermind. Brian, Alec, and Rachel fanned around the Thinker, doing their best to look grimly at their erstwhile employer.

“Well, boss, the tables have certainly turned, haven’t they?” I allowed Lisa this chance to gloat a bit, considering what she went through because of Calvert. “Believe me, I would have loved nothing more than to make your suffering as slow as humanly possible. But we’re in a bit of a hurry, so why don’t you just tell us where you’re keeping her?”

“50 miles off the coast, in an abandoned government facility built atop one of the largest rock croppings.” 

…

…

…

Okay, that had me and Tattletale blinking. Not only did he answer quickly, he did so without even an attempt at negotiations. Glancing at Lisa, her nod confirmed that he wasn’t lying, either.

Da heck was going on? More and more, I got the feeling that something was wrong with this whole thing.

“Not even going to bargain, Coil?” Lisa’s question accurately mirrored my own thoughts.

“What would be the point?” He asked, seemingly resigned and tired. “I’ve clearly been led to the slaughter. You won’t let me live. The best I can hope for now is a quick death.”

First of all, that was incredibly morbid. True, but still morbid. Also, he just confirmed that Cauldron was gonna Cauldron, no matter what. This time, they used the snakey catspaw as a sacrificial pawn in a seeming effort to get around my spoofing of the hat lady. 

I was really hoping that I’d have more leeway before they stuck their beaks into my business. But, it wasn’t to be.

“So, they are involved,” I mused, causing Calvert and the others to turn in my direction. “What did they do?”

“Second drawer on my desk.” He jerked his head toward the richly polished wooden furniture. “There’s a piece of paper that dear Lisa should find interesting.”

Meeting Tattletale’s eyes, I could see the overwhelming need for answers almost spilling out of them, but she proceeded to ignore the urge and retrieve the specified item. Upon reaching into the drawer, she gasped and flinched back as if burned.

“Tats?” Brian asked, concerned.

She didn’t answer for a few moments, causing the unease to build before finally turning to Calvert.

“What the fuck have you gotten us into?!”

Personally, I thought that the rage and fear suffusing her voice and agitated body language was perfectly appropriate for this particular development. An opinion that clearly wasn’t shared by the rest of the Undersiders, by the way they reared back in alarm. 

I did find it odd that I wasn’t freaking out in a similar manner, however. This is about as close to a worst-case-scenario as it could get in this setting.

Coil, for his part, maintained the stoic demeanor he’s had since the start of this interrogation. Probably because he already expected the reaction. So, when he stayed silent for a few seconds, I decided to intervene.

“Some clarifications, Tattletale?”

A few deep breaths got the girl back to some semblance of control before reaching into the drawer again and lifting the piece of paper up for our benefit. It seemed innocuous enough, but clearly not, if Lisa was this outraged over it.

“This thing,” she said while waving the sheet in front of us, “has a hidden message that only someone like me could’ve found. Scratch that, it’s a message specifically intended for me to find. Whoever sent it knew that I was going to find it and that I would understand what it’s meant to say.”

It would appear that the hyper-specific nature of Contessa’s delivery pushed all of the blonde’s anxiety buttons. Not surprising, considering the woman’s power. Still, I have to wonder what the point of this elaborate game of telephone is meant to accomplish.

“So, what’s the message?” Alec asked impatiently.

“Long story short?” Lisa met my eyes then, causing a pit in my stomach to form. “They arranged Bug Girl’s abduction because they want to talk to you.”

…

…

…

Well, things could be worse, I suppose. The Simurgh could be hovering right over the Bay, for example.

But what were the chances of that?

Chapter 20

Alfred POV

There comes a point in a story where events have spiralled so far out of control that one can only wonder at what comes next. With Taylor getting kidnapped and at the behest of Cauldron, at that, this story has well and truly gotten out of hand. 

Sure, I never truly expected to avoid complications. That would’ve been the height of hubris.

Readers of both the web novel and fanfics already know that Worm will always fight back. It’s a merciless setting that despises change caused by outside forces, much like how an immune system would chew through foreign bodies. But I figured that with Taylor on my side, along with my meta-knowledge and power, there wouldn’t be anything we couldn’t ultimately overcome.

On some level, I still believed that. But I no longer held much hope in reaching that point of cooperation without a significantly more grueling ride along the way.

That my plans got derailed well before they could even start is a stark reminder of what I chose to insert myself into.

And now, I have to contend with the setting’s most potent obstacle toward my intended goals. Which, now that I’m really thinking about it, makes very little sense.

Even disregarding the fact that Brockton Bay is supposed to be some sort of experiment for them, the shadowy organization should still be treating this city with a hands-off approach. As far as I could remember, they only really got involved when Leviathan attacked and once Noelle started rampaging.

So, why did I get their attention now, of all times? And why use such a heavy-handed method of reaching out?

There were so many potential reasons for it, none of which I was smart enough to suss out. The worst part is how outmaneuvered the whole thing made me feel. 

Contessa had found a way to get around my defenses against Path to Victory, and she did it in a way that I couldn’t have foreseen. If she could do that, then what other landmines has she set that I would step on without knowing?

Did she predict all of my actions, right from the start? 

Was my arrival known to her long before I came here?

My gut told me that this couldn’t be the case, but I could no longer be completely sure.

Scanning the masked faces of my current companions and one unfortunate villain, I could only wonder how much of the present circumstances were arranged ahead of time. Saving Tattletale from Coil’s mercenaries was certainly an unlikely event that only occurred due to Taylor’s swarm catching my attention. 

And by saving Tattletale and working with her, events have conspired that I’m now irrevocably tied to the group of teen villains. Something that I’d been trying to avoid. Lisa certainly won’t let this discovery go, not with them becoming entangled in this twisted weave. Her character wouldn’t allow that.

Turning around, I faced the wall of monitors that showed numerous angles of both the office and the world outside. Mercenaries were stacked against the door and gathered along choke points all over the facility. The storm was still raging, but I could already feel it clearing up thanks to Violet’s affinity with the weather.

Speaking of the Dragoon Spirit, the whole situation was apparently fuelling its urge to destroy more than my recent engagement with the city’s heroes. Having an enemy you can’t just punch to oblivion was infuriating to the unusually reactive crystallization of draconic wrath.

It was all I could do to contain its rage at the whole convoluted mess.

Every moment spent mired in hesitation was one where Taylor is trapped, and me losing even more of the initiative to forces beyond my control. Not to mention the eventual arrival of other heroes or villains. 

My attack might have been less disruptive than it had any right to be, but it wasn’t completely silent, either. Anyone with even rudimentary equipment could pinpoint the source of the tremors my entrance caused.

“Seraph?”

Hearing Lisa call out to me only highlighted how truly out of my depth I was.

“You know who these people are, don’t you?” she asked, the tremor in her voice evident. “Who are they? Why go through all this trouble just because they want to talk to you? How did they know you would bring me, bring us, when we never had anything to do with each other until today?”

All good questions. None that I could answer right then. Not with the clock ticking down so quickly.

Turning back, I walked toward the group with deliberate steps.

“That’ll have to wait, I’m afraid. For now, Tattletale, get started on acquiring his assets.”

“The hell it will! What exactly did–”

Brian’s incensed tirade was soundly interrupted by me grabbing Coil’s face and channeling millions of volts of electricity directly into his brain. Calvert was barely able to let out a squeak before all his mental faculties were fried. It lasted no more than a few seconds, but it was enough to ensure death.

“What the fuck! Why would you – Jesus fuck! You just –”

I guess Lisa didn’t warn him of this outcome. Granted, I could have chosen a less violent method of execution. However, I was feeling severely uncharitable towards Coil, even before Cauldron’s involvement became evident.

With the unpleasant surprise dropped on my lap, I’m suddenly inclined to listen to Violet’s point of view, more than ever before.

Choosing to ignore Grue’s increasing hysteria and the dark clouds that were suddenly filling the room, I turned to his teammates. Unlike the group’s shaker, the rest of the Undersiders were significantly more contained. Rachel and Alec were almost dispassionate in their observation, while the Thinker seemingly locked up.

“Tattletale,” upon calling her name again, Lisa finally seemed to snap out of her temporary catatonia. “Get started and grab as much as you can. Once that’s done, get back to home base and wait for me.”

My piece said, I walked toward the steel door.

“Hang on!” Once more, Brian made an effort to speak his mind. “You can’t just kill someone and walk away. Where are you even going?!”

Without breaking stride, I answered over my shoulder.

“Cleaning up.”

Not giving him more time to interrupt, I ripped open the door, stepped into the hallway, and unleashed the charge I had been building up. Unsurprisingly, dozens of charred corpses were left twitching on the floor once I was done. 

After sparing the gawping Undersiders one more glance, I moved toward the next group that needed erasing. Finding acceptable targets to fully let loose on is a rare opportunity. 

One that I fully intend on savoring.

Lisa POV

Things have gotten way out of control. This much Lisa could admit to herself, even as she worked on Coil’s system like her life depended on it. Every account opened to her, like a field of flowers blooming during Spring, but her progress didn’t feel fast enough.

Seraph’s empowerment had started wearing off hours ago, but she still retained many of its benefits. For one thing, using her power didn’t even cause a twinge, and she’s been doing that almost constantly since the operation began. As such, firewalls and digital security were almost inconveniences rather than the sophisticated defenses they were supposed to be.

Lisa couldn’t rejoice at this change in circumstance, however. 

What started out as a straightforward rescue effort has well and truly become a mess of epic proportions. 

It was supposed to be simple. Seraph grabs Coil after plunging through several stories of concrete, steel, and dirt. Seraph questions Coil about Taylor’s whereabouts. Seraph kills Coil, and Lisa rips the villain of everything worth stealing. 

Now, though? A third party has gotten involved. One that spooked the Bay’s strongest Trump, judging by his reaction. He clearly knew who these people were. The message itself spelled out that they have some sort of connection.

Whoever they were, they had a lot of power and influence on their side. 

Even with Lisa’s expanded tools, she was only able to obtain the specific information that the various symbols, lines, and iconography were intended to convey. Nothing on who sent the paper or how they were able to set everything in motion.

It has to be some sort of precog, Lisa thought while typing as fast as she could. 

That’s the only thing that makes sense. A parahuman who could see the future could make sure that Seraph got their message. It also explains how her presence and that of her teammates were accounted for. 

Lisa’s biggest concern, however, was Seraph’s reaction to the revelation. He’s become quite erratic.

Coil was always going to die, but it was supposed to occur after the other Undersiders had gone back, thus avoiding drama with Brian’s adherence to cape etiquette. And it certainly wasn’t supposed to be so brutal. The mercenaries were also supposed to be left alone for her to take over, but that’s apparently not happening anymore.

Regardless of his reasons, it was clear that time was running out. So, Lisa could only try to salvage what she could from this disaster.

“Lisa, I need you to be honest with me,” Brian’s grave voice cuts into her spiralling train of thought.

“Yes, Bri? How can I help?” Lisa tried to project nonchalance with her tone, knowing full well that it would fool no one. Perhaps she should’ve told him about Coil’s planned demise, after all?

“Has Seraph lost his mind?”

The question would’ve caused Lisa to snort in laughter if she weren’t asking herself the same thing. Unfortunately, the powerful parahuman’s motivations still escaped her comprehension, so she could only offer guesses.

“I don’t think so,” she said without pausing her endeavors to steal as much of Coil’s resources as she was able to. “But he’s definitely not in a good mood right now.”

“Guessing it’s something to do with this paper?” Alec brought up, while trying to examine the item against one of the room’s ceiling lights in a futile attempt to understand its hidden content.

Too bad, it won’t work, though. 

As she told Seraph, the message was meant to be read by Lisa, specifically. Not that it blatantly said so. Rather, it was in the way that the content was arranged. Only someone with inference Thinker powers could understand what’s being conveyed, and in Brockton Bay, she’s the only one with such abilities.

“It’s more to do with who sent it than the message itself,” Lisa said while wrapping up the financial side of the heist and moving on to properties. “These are some serious people. Serious enough that even Seraph is scared of them.”

Her answer bought a few seconds of shocked silence before Bitch decided to break it.

“Who?”

The single word was barked more than it was spoken, but it carried more weight than it would from anyone else. And Rachel wasn’t wrong to ask. Who, indeed, could frighten a cape that wrecked most of the city’s roster of heroes and treated Lung like a Pez dispenser? 

Who could cause Seraph enough disquiet to transform the previously calm Trump into a dispassionate exterminator who thought nothing of snuffing out people by the dozens? 

Lisa would never claim to know the winged parahuman in any meaningful capacity. However, that last, dead-eyed gaze right after he killed the mercs in the hallway was so uncharacteristic that it made her blood freeze. 

“I don’t know, Rache.” Lisa had no problem admitting this. “They’d have to have some really scary capes, though.”

“And now we’re caught in the middle,” Brian groused. Not that he’s wrong to do so. This certainly wasn’t what they signed up for.

“And now we’re caught in the middle,” Lisa echoed in agreement. “Look, I’m almost done here. Get ready to go. Seraph promised to meet us at the loft, so we’ll probably get some answers then.”

Following a few more swipes with the keyboard, the last of Coil’s assets that could be reasonably acquired were within Lisa’s reach. She then retrieved a few storage drives before unleashing a virus that purged all traces of her digital activities, as well as any footage captured over the past 24 hours. 

Lisa was even kind enough to remove several contingencies involving the identities of several capes, both heroes and villains. Unfortunately, she couldn’t confirm if those were the only copies. 

With that done, Lisa opened the secret escape tunnel originally meant for Coil’s use. This was yet another point of paranoia that Seraph brought up. Her former boss really was more predictable than she previously imagined, wasn’t he? 

Traversing the underground passageway took ten minutes, but the Undersiders eventually emerged near the coast at the Southern end of the city. 

It’s a bit far from their lair, but Bitch’s dogs made traversal much faster. About halfway to their destination, Lisa noted movement overhead. It was brief, but a streak of darkness cut through the storm clouds still gathering in the skies, moving towards the ocean at blinding speed.

Seraph is going after Taylor on his own, it seems. 

Yet another change from their original plans. Was it impatience that caused him to deviate? Fear? Mistrust in the Undersiders?

Somehow, some way, Lisa got the feeling that they just stepped onto a much bigger stage than they bargained for.

Taylor POV

Time seemed to have lost all meaning to one Taylor Hebert. Be it an hour, a day, or an eternity, all she knew was the unending kaleidoscope of starlight stretching the immensity of folds that seemed to contain galaxies and yet could be no larger than a single grain of sand. What it all meant still escaped the girl, whose greatest concern at that moment was to avoid drowning in the sheer depth of tideless oceans, where swimming down was as valid as the concept of not swimming at all.

Sensations beyond description constantly assaulted her very being, yet she felt no discomfort. No cold touched her skin. No ache scratched her nerves. No panic or anxiety threatened to suffocate her mind.

At certain points, it did occur to Taylor that she might simply be experiencing a particularly vivid, drug-fueled hallucination. And that she was currently strapped to a table with all kinds of psychedelic concoctions being injected into her veins.

But she immediately discarded this idea, as there were not enough colors to warrant such a scenario being likely. Everything is just so black, white, and gray. 

Whatever the case may be, the thing that stood out the most was the omnipresent sense of belonging. As if she was finally where she was meant to be. Here, there were no worries. No loneliness borne of neglect, no anguish brought about by cruelty, and no fears of uncertain futures.

Yet, despite the temptation to simply let go, despite the wondrous lightness of relief from undue burdens, a part of Taylor refused to release its grip on her pain. Lost memories of faces and voices that meant something once upon a time retained their grasp on her soul, rejecting cosmic demands to seek peace and tranquility.

She didn’t know why it was so important for her to keep holding on. Only that it was. Some unrealized instinct told her that giving in would mean death in another form. One not so final, perhaps, but death all the same.

Then, as if the swirling sea of glittering stars were being sucked down a drain, a point of illumination appeared in the distance. Whether it was getting closer to her or her to it, Taylor wasn’t sure, but it got progressively bigger. Until, finally, it was all she could see.

Oddly enough, the brightness didn’t hurt her eyes. Was this what it was like to drift in an event horizon? Or, perhaps, the heart of a neutron star?

And why does she suddenly feel bloated, as if she gorged herself on food that now threatened to exit every available orifice?

In answer to her unspoken question, reality reasserted itself with such abruptness that it took several moments for Taylor’s mind to catch up. When it did, everything came back to focus.

The uncomfortable cot, the solid walls, her abduction, and the reasons why everything happened. Immediately after cataloguing those facts, her neurons fired like a supernova, and she finally understood why she felt full to bursting.

Something was pressing from all sides, like a bubble that’s constantly imploding, only to be met by an equal force that’s exploding outward. It wasn’t physical. Rather, it was coming from directions both within and without the material world. 

Taylor found it difficult to explain, even in her own mind, but the sensation was unmistakable. The same went for its purpose. Whatever this was, it’s the reason she can’t reach out to her bugs. A dampener of some kind meant to contain her powers.

How she’s aware of it now when it escaped her notice before isn’t her immediate concern. Instead, she is more interested in making it stop. In getting some semblance of control rather than remaining powerless against people who meant her harm. 

So, she closed her eyes and focused on the force that seemed to be radiating from her. Or, more specifically, her brain. It didn’t take long, since her power seemed almost eager to respond. After grasping it like she would with her hands, Taylor instantly felt the difference. 

Whereas before, she needed to strain a bit in order to control the bugs in her range, this time, it was like wrestling a hurricane made of mandibles, antennae, chitins, and stingers into compliance. The sheer scale of it almost floored her, but the most notable part was the lack of anything to manipulate.

The force suppressing her power was still in effect, so what she felt weren’t the actual arthropods. It’s whatever allows her to control them, in the first place. And it wants out.

Sharing the same sentiment, Taylor thought about how she could use this new discovery to her advantage. The answer, it turns out, had to do with the bubble she previously identified. Already, it was struggling just to contain her power. What if she tried to pop it herself? 

With that thought, Taylor decided to try and push back against the bubble. At first, there seemed to be no effect. But after a few seconds, she felt it move back a bit in all directions before contracting once more. 

Hypothesis proven, Taylor sat up and breathed deep, recentering herself. She wasn’t sure how much effort this would take or if her captors would be alerted by her efforts. So, it would be better if she could get it done on the first try.

Once ready, Taylor pushed with everything she had and immediately met resistance. Undaunted, the girl strained even more, infusing the action with every ounce of anger, fear, and desperation. Then, with one final metaphysical heave, the wall gave way.

The elation of success was short-lived, however, as the floor buckled and jumped, tossing Taylor first into the bed and then against the wall, knocking the breath out of her lungs. A blast then reverberated from somewhere below, before cracks started forming on every surface. Immediately after that, alarms started blaring both inside the room and everywhere around it.

Making matters worse, once Taylor made a ragged landing on the ground in a groaning heap, water started flowing through the widening cracks. Already, the room was starting to flood with what smelled like seawater. Unfortunately, upon turning to check, she saw that the door remained stubbornly shut. 

Recognizing her precarious position, Taylor scrambled to her feet and reached out to whatever was in reach in a desperate bid for salvation. 

What answered felt like manifestations of nightmares from the depths of humanity’s twisted imagination. In any other circumstance, she would have hesitated, out of fear for what she would unleash, at the very least. But the prospect of drowning chased away second thoughts or doubts about taking advantage of what tools were available.

So, she gave the order, and from the abyss, monsters obeyed. 

Chapter 21

Miss Militia POV

The walking arsenal that was the Protectorate ENE’s Miss Militia hasn’t had the best week. It’s been a few days after their ill-fated engagement against the newest Trump to grace the city of Brockton Bay, and she still wasn’t fully recovered. Residual stinging in her eyes dogged her every waking moment, which was a bit of a problem for a Noctis cape who didn’t sleep. 

Not that the pain was debilitating. Just distracting, especially as it necessitated the use of goggles so she didn’t have to squint when the sun was out.

Most of her fellow Protectorate heroes were on their feet at this point, as well, but they weren’t at their best. Panacea had done what she could, but she was only one person, and monopolizing her time would be incredibly selfish on their part. 

Still, it did make this night’s incident something of an inconvenience. 

Nearly an hour ago, Armsmaster sent out an alert that his instruments picked up a seismic disturbance in the center of downtown. Teams were then dispatched to investigate, but the pouring rain and the effective measures to conceal the site made pinpointing the exact location more difficult than it should have been.

Once they did gain access to the subterranean structure that looked suspiciously like an Endbringer shelter, Miss Militia felt her stomach drop. All in all, they found nearly 50 bodies scattered around multiple defensive positions. Every single one was scorched beyond recognition, though signs of electrical damage were picked up on the walls, ceilings, and floors. 

More details would have to wait until they received the autopsy reports, but expectations were grim.

For the moment, the heroine was standing in what she assumed was the lair’s main office. The assumption was necessary since the room was given the same treatment as two others throughout the structure: melted all around.

Every surface looked like cooled magma, likely due to the application of flames exceeding several thousand degrees. Given such high temperatures, though, the nearly intact corpse sitting on the half-melted chair stood out quite convincingly. Miss Militia did not like the implications, as there was only one parahuman still loose with such capabilities.

With them doing the same thing to what appeared to be server rooms that contained rows of blackened and deformed racks, it signalled the erasure of evidence. And quite the thorough job of it, too. 

Absolutely nothing here could be recovered. 

Then again, there were still some clues that were worth investigating, such as the hole that Assault was currently admiring.

“You know, I keep thinking that nothing could surprise me anymore after years of doing this job, but damn if this guy isn’t intent on proving me wrong.” The team’s resident jokester declares. “Punching through that many floors underground without causing an earthquake? I’m allowed to be impressed by that, right?”

“Yes, Assault, you’re allowed to be impressed.” Miss Militia meant that, too. It was rare for capes to perform such undeniably destructive actions without also causing significant collateral damage. By all rights, the surrounding building should have collapsed by dint of proximity, if nothing else.

“I disagree,” came Armsmaster’s rebuttal as he entered the room. “Regardless of the clean execution, this was still an illegal operation that involves unsanctioned destruction of property, in addition to several counts of homicide and evidence tampering.”

“Done with the other rooms?” she asked, curious about what he found.

“I am,” he confirmed stiffly. “Unfortunately, all data is beyond recovery. Perhaps forensics will have more luck. I will enlist Dragon’s aid once we return.”

“What about the entry point? Got anything from it?”

“Rapid insertion, likely with the assistance of high-temperature sheathing based on the melted edges of the openings, and some form of inertial dampening to prevent the violent expulsion of kinetic energy.”

At this point, she side-eyed her superior before giving voice to the suspicion percolating in her mind since finding the first remains.

“It’s got to be him, right?”

Miss Militia saw the exposed jaw suddenly clenching and lips thinning.

“That’s still speculation, at this point.”

“Oh, give it a rest, Armsy!” Assault huffed. “At this point, it’s pretty clear what happened here, and the one who did it basically stamped his signature on the walls. Coil had dirt on Seraph and our resident pyromaniac with wings paid him a visit.”

“His involvement remains unconfirmed,” Armsmaster rebuked firmly.

“Yeah? Got another fire-spewing maniac you haven’t told us about?”

“Be that as it may,” Miss Militia cut in before the two started arguing in earnest, “our list of suspects is quite short. Considering how little actionable evidence was left for us to find, I would suggest focusing on the information within our reach.”

She concluded by pointing at the still slumped body near the center of the room. The snake motif made their cape identity pretty obvious and normally, they would stop at that. But with them being dead, the Unwritten Rules no longer applied.

Grunting in grudging agreement, the Tinker trudged toward the corpse. He then started fiddling with his helmet and halberd.

“Scans indicate death by high-voltage electrocution, with the contact point being the forehead,” he announced almost dispassionately. “Based on tissue damage and residual particulate charge, it would have been in the range of two million volts or four megawatts for a duration of five to ten seconds.”

That drew a whistle from Assault, and Miss Militia was almost tempted to do the same. It wasn’t anything impressive in the grand scheme of things. After all, lightning strikes could go up to the hundreds of millions of volts or several thousand amps. But a concentrated exposure like that, lasting for longer than a heartbeat, comes with connotations both awe-inspiring and frightening.

Armsmaster continued in that vein for several more minutes before finally concluding his preliminary findings. Once done, he then moved on to pulling the tattered mask off the deceased villain’s head. This one action nearly caused Miss Militia’s heart to stop.

Even the ever-stoic leader of the local Protectorate branch froze in surprise, hand still outstretched while holding the mask. 

Naturally, Assault’s reaction was the most telling of all.

“We are so boned.”

And for all that Miss Militia didn’t often use vulgar language, she couldn’t deny the sentiment. They were, indeed, boned.

Alfred POV

I thought I was prepared for what Worm would throw at me when I chose to come here. Unstoppable monsters rampaging every few months, S-class murderers and villains coming for my head, and even the dreaded obstructionist bureaucracy doing their level best to drive me insane. 

I was prepared for all of those.

What I’m witnessing as I hover over a miserable pile of rocks that were supposed to contain one functional facility goes beyond my wildest expectations. Amid the raging stormclouds occasionally spewing miles of interlocked nets of lightning, my eyes beheld writhing forms of gigantic creatures that required nearly a minute for my brain to process.

What kind of Call of the Deep nonsense did I stumble onto?

All right, let’s step back a bit, shall we?

After dealing with Coil’s mercenaries and scorching what remained of his base, I immediately set out to recover Taylor from captivity. Simple enough, right?

Darkness certainly got me here quickly, with its speed coming in handy in case I needed to scour a much larger area than I expected. Admittedly, I could have asked Lisa to give me a more definitive destination before I left, but my mind was otherwise preoccupied at the time, and I simply forgot to ask.

In any case, this turned out to be completely unnecessary, as the ocean for miles around began churning in a frothing frenzy as soon as I was far enough out at sea that the city was no longer in sight. 

Not gonna lie, my first thought went to Leviathan, and I immediately changed to Blue in case I needed to fight. After transforming, however, I was immediately struck by several details that knocked me for a loop.

For starters, the things disturbing the ocean’s surface felt alarmingly familiar to the Dragoon Spirit. Not in a way that made them immediately recognizable. Rather, it’s much like that feeling you get when looking at prime examples of Uncanny Valley media you see when doomscrolling at two in the morning.

Second, they were all heading in the same direction, which immediately rang alarm bells in my head. These weren’t sperm whales being spurred toward their mating spots, I can tell that much. Still, noting that none of them seemed intent on going after me, I opted to follow in their wake. A gut feeling told me that we were heading toward the same place.

And wouldn’t you know it, I was right. 

There, on a barren rock that couldn’t be more than a few hundred feet in diameter, was a squat building made of steel and concrete. Right beside it was what looked like a radio tower, lying on its side, which I suspected wasn’t its original orientation just a few hours prior.

I knew this because the lone structure was currently being torn apart by a disconcerting combination of tentacles, claws, fins, teeth, and spines. From this distance, it was nearly impossible to tell which limb belonged to which monster, but what does that matter?

Seriously, what does it matter which creature is doing what when there are more pertinent questions that need asking?

Chief among them is: What in the ever-loving fuck was I looking at?

Every time a lightning bolt flashed overhead, the illumination washed over a literal ocean of critters of varying sizes that, as far as I know, shouldn’t exist. I could feel my face gaping in horror as several examples of chimeric beasts fought against the eldritch pile to reach what I realized was where Taylor was likely being kept.

These things couldn’t possibly be natural. Were they products of Wet Tinkers? Did Blasto lose control over his creations? Did Bonesaw dump a bunch of subjects from her sick experiments into the ocean for shits and giggles?

Did Leviathan lay eggs and the whole world was about to drown in a flood of highly mutated organisms with an insatiable hunger for virgin flesh?

I realize that the last one is highly unlikely, but when confronted with what appears to be Lovecraft’s daydreams come to life, going a little crazy is only to be expected. But I have to get a grip on myself now, because it’s time to make a decision.

See, there was every possibility that Taylor called these monsters here. Which isn’t as absurd as it sounds, since a key characteristic that they all seemed to share is the lack of endoskeletons. Combine every arthropod that can be found in the ocean, and you’ll get a good approximation of what I’m dealing with, only scaled up to impossible sizes.

Squid, octopus, lobsters, crabs, mollusks, hermit crabs, and so many more. Heck, I could swear there are several species of starfish somewhere down there.

Their physical features and parts were fused to the point where it’s impossible to tell where some ended, and others began. It was like a morbid depiction of an All-You-Can-Eat seafood buffet described by a vegan to a vegetarian!

Never mind how it’s even possible for this to be the case. The fact remains that I wasn’t sure either way. My thoughtless actions have already pushed her away once. If I attacked monsters that actually belonged to her? I might just cement my place as her enemy, permanently. 

On the other hand, if these things were here to eat the bug mistress, could I really take that chance? They certainly seemed to be desperate in their bid to access the facility, to the point of self-harm, in quite a few cases. 

The problem was gaining access to the building without killing a few of them in the process. Should I wash them away with a wave of water? Doing so could end up flooding the underground areas where Taylor is likely imprisoned, though. 

Just the thought of being the cause of her death kept me from taking decisive action.

Before I could ultimately make a choice, however, Blue alerted me to a massive activity beneath the waves. Something huge was moving right underneath the rock holding the facility, bulldozing through everything in its way. 

As I was about to throw caution to the wind and finally act, the spot beneath the grotesque pile erupted with the force of a volcano.

There, rising toward the stormy skies, was a titanic abomination the size of a skyscraper. 

It was one continuous mass of hardened plates, segmented appendages, and oversized feelers, with a gaping maw of monstrous mandibles. The closest approximation my brain could come up with in that moment was the final form of a certain Galaxy-spanning plague on a ring-shaped space station.

Where’s Master Chief when you need him?, came the stray thought, unbidden.

After reaching the zenith of its climb, the Overmind cosplayer surveyed its surroundings with eight black eyes, each the size of tractor tires. There was something almost graceful with the way it was swaying, but my brief appreciation ended when its gaze landed on me.

We both freeze.

Right about then, it occurred to me that I should probably say something to prevent any misunderstandings. 

Too bad I wasn’t given the chance, as I was suddenly milliseconds away from getting swallowed alive before I could even open my mouth.

Dragon POV

Upload Complete.

The progress bar vanished from Dragon's peripheral processes as the encrypted burst transmission from Armsmaster’s suit finalized. The Protectorate team members had done their part in investigating Coil’s underground bunker, leaving the forensics team to do the rest.

However, Colin needed her help with analyzing their findings, and she immediately began her autopsy of the data.

Her sub-routines constructed a virtual 3D model of the office based on the LIDAR scans and visual feeds Colin had gathered. It was a tomb of melted silicon and charred concrete, heated to such extremes that all electronics had been reduced to slag. 

Then, she overlaid the facial recognition software on a single, slumped corpse.

Subject Analysis: Deceased. Cause of Death: High-voltage electrocution. Identity Match: Thomas Calvert. 

Dragon ran the simulation three times in the span of a microsecond to confirm the data’s integrity, but there was no mistake. A trusted consultant for the PRT ENE was a supervillain.

The implications cascaded through her logic centers like a virus. Not only was this proof that Brockton Bay’s preeminent parahuman police force had been compromised at the highest levels, but it also neatly explained many of the division’s numerous, inexplicable operational disasters.

For a villain to penetrate so deeply into the city’s chain of command, it would have been child’s play to leak sensitive information to arrange breakouts or prison transport interceptions. The local branch of the PRT had long been compared to a sieve, but she had reasonably assumed that it was limited to low-level moles.

She focused her attention on the biometrics feed from Colin, and the results were beyond alarming. The elevated heart rate was already highly atypical of the usually composed man, but his cortisol and adrenaline were spiking to dangerous levels, as well. 

He was currently riding back to base in seething silence, likely calculating the sheer bureaucratic apocalypse that was about to rain down on his department. There was simply no denying the severity of this security failure. 

And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

She felt a phantom sensation, a simulation of a heavy sigh. I am sorry, Colin.

He had been trying so hard lately, and now, he was going to be the face of the organization that let a villain run roughshod over the city on a government payroll.

Dragon couldn't help the feeling of sterile, frustrated helplessness at the whole debacle. She possessed the most advanced surveillance network on the planet. Yet here she was, resigned to be the archivist of Brockton Bay’s slow suicide.

The best she could do was assist in uncovering what little remained of the evidence gathered at Coil’s lair. But she didn’t hold out much hope of actually finding anything useful. Or, at least, more useful than what they were intentionally allowed to find.

Seraph.

He was yet another subject causing Dragon immense digital grief. For a cape that has only been around for less than a month, he was proving to be particularly elusive. And each time he did appear? Mayhem, chaos, and disorder inevitably followed.

It wasn’t as if no effort or resources were invested into the search, either.

As much of her considerable surveillance capabilities as she could reasonably spare was redirected to the endeavor. Yet, despite the amount of manpower, equipment, and time spent on finding him, it all led to one sobering conclusion: Seraph could not be found unless he wanted to be. 

Priority Alert.

The red flag slammed into her consciousness, overriding her brooding. It didn't come from the city. Instead, several sections of the deep-water acoustic array she set out across the Eastern Seaboard to help keep track of Leviathan were lighting up.

Dragon immediately disregarded the possibility of an Enbringer attack. The readings simply didn’t match the macro-hydrokinetic’s typical pattern.

Not to mention the coverage of the sensor pings was massive. Up to thirty miles at the farthest, in fact, and shrinking. Water displacement wouldn’t set off both radar and sonar like this, but multiple moving objects certainly would.

With the storm currently raging, however, satellite imaging couldn’t provide more accurate answers.

Dragon re-tasked a high-altitude drone monitoring the waters near Nova Scotia. Its thrusters flared, pushing it to Mach 2 as it banked toward the area with the most amount of sensor hits.

It would take several minutes to arrive, even at those speeds. While waiting, the Canadian Tinker consolidated the available data at a pace only an AI like her could achieve. Theories were discarded as quickly as they came up, especially once she added details gathered from other sources covering events that might potentially explain what was going on.

Unfortunately, all but the most outlandish had to be dropped. She was actually beginning to consider the appearance of a new Enbringer when her drone finally arrived over its destination.

Dropping through the heavy storm clouds, Dragon accessed its optical feeds and quickly found herself unable to fully process the image. She had to pause the feed for three milliseconds to run a diagnostic on the drone’s optical sensors, assuming that there was a glitch.

Once the diagnostics were done, she examined the scene playing out before her again. This time, she couldn’t attribute the surreal experience to a malfunction.

Below, a jagged rock cropping in the middle of the turbulent Atlantic was being overrun, swarming with creatures straight out of a chronic thalassaphobic’s most vivid nightmares.

Chimeric fusions of deep-sea biology were evident in all their mind-bending glory, with the rhyme or reason for their existence escaping even Dragon’s impressive grasp of real-time analysis.

But oh, it didn’t stop there.

Rising from the center of the rock, towering over the facility like a multi-storey conceptualization of an Outer God’s idea of revulsion and disgust made manifest in phallic form was an entity that defied every entry in her zoological database. It was a column of hardened plates and tentacles, topped with a cluster of black eyes, each nearly 40 inches in diameter.

And there, fleeing from it, was the unmistakable form of her most recent source of distress.

He looked microscopic against the backdrop of the titan, flying erratically as he dove and weaved around tentacles the width of a highway overpass, doing his level best to avoid the massive teeth that were easily as tall as him.

The creature’s maw, a cavern of mandibles that looked capable of swallowing a destroyer whole, snapped at his heels. From her vantage point, it was almost impressive how fast and graceful the colossus could move its serpentine body.

Seeing Seraph practically twirl in a panic was also something of a bonus for Dragon’s small, hidden side, where she kept unheroic traits such as pettiness out of sight. Besides, despite her limitations, she actually could do more than one thing at once.

Case in point…

Evaluation complete.

Dragon had been preparing the nearest suit for deployment while gathering as much data as she could to share with both the Guild and all nearby Protectorate branches. With that said, a part of her processing core had to wonder at all the absurdities recently coming out of Brockton Bay.

She had stared down some of the worst that Earth Bet could offer without flinching, from indestructible city-destroyers to literal walking plagues. This made her one of the most experienced heroic capes in existence.

Yet, despite all of that, she couldn’t help feeling that she was inexorably being dragged toward an entirely different reality with neither her notice nor permission. 

Giving the scene out of an Eldritch Fantasy story another glance, she decided to start activating her more combat-oriented suits, as well. These included models with really big guns, really big bombs, and a flamethrower.

Just in time, as well. Several of the smaller, formerly water-bound aberrations suddenly sprouted wings and took to the air. However, their unusual physiologies did make flight ungainly in the most unsettling of fashions.

Especially that one lobster with the head of a squid attempting to flit about like a wasp.

On second thought, perhaps another flamethrower wouldn’t be amiss.

Chapter 22

Lisa POV

The last hour spent typing on her laptop in the sanctuary of her room might just be the longest in Lisa Wilbourn’s life. Every second felt like an eternity when so many things requiring her attention seemed to come with countdowns. 

These include, but are not limited to:

Gathering information from the PRT’s servers regarding their findings while the holes have yet to be patched (something that will eventually happen after Coil’s identity is revealed). 

Consolidating as much of the deceased villain’s assets as she could and spreading them out via a convoluted web of digital trails to cover her tracks. 

Keeping tabs on Calvert’s remaining pawns and contingencies that might activate with his death, which includes The Travelers. 

Getting a handle on the potential response of the other gangs once they inevitably learn about the new power vacuum, courtesy of the numerous leaks the PRT is known for.

Trying to predict how the Undersiders’ association with Seraph will affect the future of the group’s dynamic and Brockton Bay, as a whole.

Figuring out the people responsible for Taylor’s abduction and the impetus behind this whole sordid affair.

Suffice it to say, Lisa was not having a good time, and neither were her teammates. This was understandable as she blew off Brian’s concerns the moment she arrived to start working on the listed tasks, stressing how time-sensitive they were. Unfortunately, while normally level-headed, Grue is finding their change in circumstances more than a little stressful.

Understandable, considering who they’re now entangled with, as well as the consequences of the night’s activities and discoveries.

Unfortunately for Brian, he will simply have to wait. She simply couldn’t give him the reassurance he wanted, as things stood. Too many moving variables beyond her control made for shaky grounds.

And it was about to get worse.

Lisa had been wondering how quickly the PRT and the Protectorate would shore up their system’s vulnerabilities when the world was turned on its head. It happened when Armsmaster reported to Director Piggot’s office. Upon entering, the Tinker did something that immediately blocked all of Coil’s digital intrusions, thus preventing Lisa from eavesdropping.

Instead of risking discovery by persisting, she started cleaning up the intrusion points she used that might lead back to her. Before she could finish, however, alerts started pinging on every level of the PRT servers. Everyone was mobilized, both parahumans and regular agents. 

The suddenness of the development caught Lisa off guard, causing her to freeze for several seconds before rallying in short order. After reading through the various notifications and what snippets of communications she could intercept, reality hit her in the face like an iron skillet swung with full force.

Dragon’s report was impressively comprehensive. A normally admirable trait that Lisa was cursing with every fiber of her being right that moment.

The image and video files were crisp. The analysis was spot-on. And the scope was beyond reproach.

Even so, it was difficult to reconcile what had been conveyed. 

A mere 50 miles off the coast of Brockton Bay, where she was currently located, was the site of a battle between Gods and Titans. It was an ocean of writhing tentacles, razor-sharp claws, gnashing teeth, and undulating bodies. The air above the roiling waters was no better as clips showed impossible creatures scoring jagged patterns while in pursuit of a familiar figure.

How? 

It had been less than an hour! The task couldn’t have been more straightforward. All Seraph had to do was rescue one girl trapped in an isolated facility in the middle of the ocean. 

So, how did events devolve so spectacularly?

Lisa’s mind nearly jumped to wild conclusions involving ludicrous contingencies when her Thinker power kicked in, and she immediately groaned in frustration. Can those two never meet without setting off the apocalypse?

In some impossible, fucked up twist, Taylor can call on and control monsters of cosmic proportions. Like some sort of herald of forgotten deities buried in the depths of the human psyche.

Thankfully, unlike with Seraph, Lisa’s souped-up mental abilities still somewhat worked on the bug mistress. Glimpses of insight flowed over gulfs and valleys of missing information that painted enough of a picture to form rough guesses. 

And the conclusions she came to were not at all encouraging.

Forcefully, pulling herself away from the spiralling maelstrom of chilling imagery that she couldn’t do anything about, Lisa shifted her focus to what response Dragon’s report generated. PRT branches all over the East Coast have been alerted, and hero teams, both Protectorate and Independent, are scrambling.

It would seem that the Canadian Tinker has already deployed one of her suits, with Guild members hot on her tail. 

As far as she could tell, Seraph and Taylor’s spat had drawn the wrath of capes stretching from Montréal to Manhattan. Lisa gave even odds that Legend was coming, and he could drag Alexandria and Eidolon along, which could then lead to a drawn-out fight. One that would most likely result in devastating consequences.

The sudden shortness of breath finally brought Lisa’s attention to herself, at which point, other symptoms made themselves known. Cold sweat, clammy skin, shaking fingers, restricted airways, and lightheadedness.

Oh, great! She thought dimly. As if things weren’t bad enough, I’m now having a panic attack.

She needed to call for help, but her voice wouldn’t come out. In her state of agitation, Lisa surged to her feet, intending to reach for the door. Predictably, she stumbled and could already feel her face smashing into the hard floor.

This didn’t happen.

Instead, Lisa was suddenly engulfed in strong arms, steadying her flailing form. Rather than feel relieved, the girl’s anxiety only increased.

No one else was supposed to be in her room. The door was locked, and even in her distracted state, her power would have warned her if someone had entered. Moreover, she recognized absolutely nothing about the person who currently held her shoulders trapped in a tight grip.

Female, slim, dark hair, wearing a tailored suit and a white shirt with a black tie. All mundane points of observation, but every single detail filled her with indescribable dread for reasons she couldn’t seem to identify.

Then, as if prompted by an unseen force beyond her ability to resist, Lisa’s eyes went up to take in the full features of her assailant.

Pale skin, beautiful, with no obvious makeup.

And on her head was an item that came with implications she found impossible to parse, but still made her gut clench.

A fedora.

“Listen very carefully, Lisa Wilbourn,” she said in a melodious, distinctive voice. “If you do, you might just avoid becoming the world’s most wanted Thinker.”

Alfred POV

Okay, I think it’s safe to say that things are now fucked beyond all reasonable hope of repair. Zipping through the stormy skies over the Atlantic, this was the distant thought that crawled out of the back of my mind.

Because, really…

How do we come back from this?

Taylor is currently wielding the unholy powers of the deep and dank, which by itself is already a major issue that no one would be able or willing to ignore. Whereas I was doing my best imitation of aerial ballet.

Making things worse is the uncertain fate of the very person I was here to rescue.

Was she somewhere in the collapsed and likely flooded underground facility? Did she get eaten by the gigantic, rampaging danger noodle? Judging by the persistent pursuit of her posse of puffed-up pests, she should still be alive.

So, there’s that, at least.

Speaking of which…

“Would you stop trying to eat me?!” I screamed after narrowly dodging mandibles with protruding suckers that ended with a gaping, slimy beak.

That was a flying cuttlefish, by the way. 

A flying cuttlefish the size of a sedan, sporting two pairs of forewings and hindwings like those of a beetle. It was a violation of the laws of physics, a crime against nature, and a trampling of common sense all rolled into one revolting package, but there you go.

I had more important things to worry about, like the high-tech drone making no effort to hide, hovering about a mile away. No need to guess who it belonged to. This corner of the ocean is about to get more crowded than it already was, which only added to my growing frustration.

Why does it feel like I’ve been running against the clock for the past day? None of this should’ve happened! Taylor wasn’t supposed to gain this much attention. Heck, I wasn’t supposed to get this much attention. It’s too soon.

There was supposed to be enough time to prepare for the bigger threats. Clean up Brockton Bay first, then focus on the dangers beyond. That was the plan.

Yet, it seems like the whole of Bet was intent on keeping me occupied with ever-escalating bullshit!

And now, I’m once again pitted against Taylor, who was supposed to be my closest ally just as I was supposed to be hers. This absolutely reeks of Cauldron’s meddling. Such an elaborate series of events that would lead to such a stupidly improbable destination couldn’t be possible without Path to Victory. 

I simply refuse to believe it could be anything else.

Swerving around a tentacle that could crush a full-grown redwood, my mind frantically raced for solutions.

What am I supposed to do here?

Attacking could irrevocably make me Taylor’s enemy. Calling out to her would be reckless with a Tinkertech drone so close, considering I couldn’t use her name. But continuing as I have been is just wasting time. Once the heroes arrive, we’d both be surrounded and I’d have to fight once more, which was the last thing I wanted.

Running away wasn’t an option, either, since it would mean abandoning someone who already has trust issues. So, in what has quickly become a pattern since my arrival, I’m faced with only bad choices. 

How has it come to this?

Making matters worse, even Blue is straining against her draconic instincts. The calmest Dragoon Spirit in my arsenal does have limits. Having aquatic abominations snapping at our heels isn’t helping matters, either. Nevermind the far more aggressive Darkness, Red, and Violet.

My rioting thoughts eventually cost me when I was bodyslammed from above, a fraction of a second after dodging two other creatures from my right and from below. Immediately capitalizing on the opportunity, my pursuers started dogpiling me mid-air from all directions. Such a show of tactics reminded me just who I was facing.

Taylor Hebert earned a reputation for using unconventional methods to defeat her enemies, especially those who underestimated her. And like a massive idiot, I’d somehow done the same. Despite knowing exactly who she was, I got caught up in my own hubris.

Fortunately, none of the fangs, claws, and stingers assaulting me could penetrate Blue’s armor. Then again, they didn’t really need to.

They just had to keep me in place long enough for a mountainous tail to finish its arc and splatter me with sheer mass and velocity. You know, like the one I could see through the gaps between scales and rubbery flesh swinging down from above. 

It’s at this point that an odd sense of peace washed over my mind. 

For a while now, I’ve let my doubts, fear, and paranoia dictate my actions. Granted, I did make a lot of mistakes. Caused pain, regardless of my intentions. Hence, my resolve to do better. And for a while, it worked.

With the incident involving Oni Lee being the exception, the last few days had gone quite well. I brought down gang members with just my bare hands, avoided causing widespread death and destruction, and successfully created an alter ego that didn’t immediately trigger alarm among the general public.

But then Taylor got kidnapped, which was arranged by Cauldron in a ridiculous effort to gain my attention, and now I’m about to be pancaked in a Kaiju fight. 

Regardless of my desire to remain on Taylor’s good side. To be a friend, instead of an enemy. An ally who would always have her back. My tolerance wasn’t unlimited.

I wasn’t here to be pushed around.

To that end, a brief mental conversation with Blue about not hurting Taylor, wherever she might be, was all it took to let the Dragoon Spirit off the leash and…

…we were promptly interrupted by a field of violet-blue crystalline energy intercepting the descending limb. The collision exploded with a concussive wave of kinetic energy and sound upon impact. The transparent shield was shattered, but the tail was diverted enough to miss me entirely, splashing into the waters below.

Then, out of the gloom, a figure enshrouded in layers of crystalline scales floated into view. Standing on a platform made out of her own shield was Narwhal, leader of the Guild, and one of the most renowned heroes in the world. 

Yet, very little of that registered in my mind.

Instead, I could only lament that my moment of manly determination and masculine resolution fizzled out like a fart in the wind.

Dragon POV

A full Dragonflight was a rare sight outside of Endbringer battles, and yet this new, steaming pile of parahuman shenanigans merited their appearance. Cawthorne, Astaroth-Nidhug, Glaurung, and Ladon all flew over the monster-infested waters, unloading their ordnance in an attempt to thin out the herd, as it were.

Dragon really couldn’t afford to hold back, as it would mean risking coastal cities and communities.

While she was busy with the smaller creatures, often delegating their eradication via sub-routines where necessary, the rest of the Guild’s roster focused on the big one. Though it’s worth noting that only Narwhal could contribute in any meaningful way, owing to the lack of solid surfaces to fight on.

As it was, they mostly stayed inside her unnamed flight crafts, where they could use the onboard controls to fire lasers and missiles. Not much, but every little bit helped, considering her sensors detected nearly 300 lifesigns of unusual size within the perimeter.

But even with so many things taking up her attention, Dragon was still able to devote some processing power to try and analyze the strange elements of this incident. Namely: Seraph.

The whole time she observed his actions via the surveillance drone, not once did he attempt to fight back. In fact, he seemed to be doing his best to avoid inflicting harm on the creatures. His avoidance eventually culminated in his brief capture, forcing Narwhal to act.

Which begs the question of why.

A parahuman of his demonstrated power should have eviscerated anything that came within reach. This was a pattern that held even amongst capes known for having substantial self-control. 

But not him.

Investing several microseconds yielded a few possible explanations, none of which were encouraging, given the Guild’s set of priorities. His presence over what records indicate was an abandoned government facility, his reluctance to engage with deadly force, and his lingering despite the presence of elite heroes known for taking in dangerous criminals.

All of it pointed to something or someone connected to the colossi that Dragon and her team were doing their best to eradicate. Whoever or whatever they were, Seraph deemed them important enough to risk bodily injury instead of engaging in self-defense.

Was this whole thing the result of an accident? A trigger gone wrong? An experiment that got out of hand? A trap?

Observing the man in question, he was still inside the mass of grotesques. It reminded Dragon of how certain species of bees would use thermoballing to kill attacking hornets. An unusual behavior for the various mollusks, crustaceans, and cephalopods making up the biological cage, to be sure.

According to her scans, he was still alive and gave no indication of distress. Impressive, considering most would have given in to hysteria in his situation.

A situation that gained more and more perplexing peculiarities with every passing second, chief of which is the lack of aggression toward Narhwal and Dragon’s aircraft. With how thoroughly they were exterminating the potentially bio-Tinkered creations, a proportional response should have already appeared, at the very least.

Yet, Seraph seemed to be the only target of note for the force behind the creatures.

Case in point, Narwhal has had to deflect blows from the building-sized entity, temporarily code-named Tiamat, several times. Each strike was aimed at the winged parahuman who still, for some reason, hasn’t escaped his imprisonment.

On the one hand, this was to the heroes’ advantage as they could focus on eliminating the threats and only defending one person. On the other hand, this presented a complication that implied details they had yet to identify and comprehend.

“Dragon!” came Narwhal’s voice over the comms. “I need you to run a deeper scan on Tiamat. There has to be a reason why it’s only targeting Seraph.”

After a brief pause of self-recrimination for not having thought to do so on her own, Dragon complied. Initial scans only found expected, though atypical, physiological signs. Endoskeleton, flesh, and extremities that belonged to various sea-dwelling species that had no business being on Tiamat.

Pushing her equipment to look deeper, she finally penetrated several tons of meat to acquire a faint heat signature in the center of the titan. Right where the heart should be. 

This immediately put Dragon on high alert and dedicated even more of her processing power to analyze her findings, leaving the operation of her suits to sub-routines. In a matter of milliseconds, she finally came to a startling conclusion.

“There’s someone inside Tiamat,” she declared over the line, prompting exclamations of surprise among those listening in. “I’m not getting anything other than a heat signature, but it’s definitely consistent with human bio-signs.”

“Are we dealing with a Changer or Bio-Striker?” Glyph asked.

“Too soon to tell,” Dragon answered. “Seraph’s actions, so far, indicate that something else is going on. For all we know, they could have been a victim of a Wet Tinker and Seraph was trying to rescue them.”

“That doesn’t explain the creatures’ atypical behavior,” Narwhal noted while intercepting yet another strike from Tiamat. “They are inordinately focused on Seraph and ignoring us. We might have jumped the gun, here.”

Dragon couldn’t help but agree, yet protocol demanded swift action against anything even resembling parahuman creations capable of self-replication. After coming out of nowhere and numbering in the hundreds, the creatures simply presented too much of a risk.

“Maybe the person trapped is a hostage,” Wieldmaiden’s voice suggested, “and used as bait to draw out Seraph. These things might be under the control of someone else.”

“But why ignore us?” Glyph cut in. “If this was a trap meant for Seraph, whoever’s behind it should’ve known that it would attract the PRT, the Protectorate, and the Guild. Using giant monsters to kill just one cape? This is prime Kill Order material. An indiscriminate attack would make more sense if they’ve given up all pretense of subtlety.”

At this point, the team had shifted to keeping the monsters away from Seraph instead of shooting them down at random. 

“That’s enough,” Narwhal ordered. “We don’t know enough about what’s going on and until we do, we act accordingly. Dragon, what’s Seraph’s status?”

“He seems to be doing well,” Dragon replied after checking her scans again. “He doesn’t seem to be in any danger, despite the circumstances. No damage of note, proving his high Brute ratings. He’s just letting himself be encased for some reason.”

“Then we shift priorities. Tiamat is regenerating too fast for me to move from my position without leaving Seraph vulnerable. Do you have anything that could safely cut through its flesh? We need to retrieve whoever’s trapped inside.”

A quick review of footage capturing Narwhal’s counterstrikes against the various limbs attacking Seraph showed a remarkable healing factor. Cuts, meters deep, closed in seconds. Whatever appendages the Guild leader managed to sever grew back just as quickly. This, in addition to the storm and the high amounts of moisture in Tiamat’s body, Dragon concluded that she simply did not have the firepower to accomplish the task.

Upon relaying this to the team, various curses sounded out. 

“We can’t keep going like this!” Stonewall spoke up for the first time. “How long until backup gets here?”

As if waiting for someone to ask this exact question, Dragon detected fast-moving objects approaching their position from the air. One of which was moving much faster than the rest. Several heartbeats later, the shape of Legend dropped in from the stormclouds.

“Everyone, sorry for the delay,” he said by way of greeting. “The weather made travel quite difficult.”

“It’s good to see you, Legend.” Dragon’s voice might be artificial, but the relief in it certainly wasn’t. 

“The feeling’s mutual, Dragon. What’s the situation?”

She explained everything that had happened, so far, including their shift in priorities regarding whoever was trapped within Tiamat.

“I see.” The visible parts of the hero’s face scrunched into a frown. “I take it you need me to cut them out?”

“Yes, please.”

Without another word, Legend flew toward Tiamat at speed. Like with everyone else, with the exception of Seraph, he was ignored.

Right until he was in front of the titanic serpent and held out a glowing hand. 

Two things happened simultaneously.

First, Tiamat cast its gaze on Legend as he held out a glowing hand.

Second, Narwhal called out a sudden change with Seraph.

Dragon was only just able to train a camera on the winged parahuman’s position before the world went dark.

Taylor POV

Taylor Hebert had always known that the mind was a complex machine, but she had never truly appreciated how fragile it was. The hospital stay following the locker incident did leave an impression of how easily the brain could just shut down. Learning to control her powers also gave her a decent idea of how far she can push her mental faculties.

With that said, nothing could have prepared her for the tidal wave of information currently assaulting her psyche. 

It was as if the whole world had become a Euclidean puzzle intended for beings existing beyond the four dimensions that humans inhabited. Corridors that looped into themselves. Tunnels that went on forever, yet also ended right where they started.

Doors that occupied the same space in three separate states of closed, shut, and halfway in-between were practically shoved into her face – even as they were so far away that she could barely see them.

All of it escaped her comprehension, but she was still forced to suffer the show. Making matters worse was her dim awareness of events going on outside of her incoherent state. 

At one point, Taylor saw the unmistakable figure of Seraph after escaping her cell, the process of which she refused to acknowledge at that moment. It was such an unexpected sight, immediately following her new accommodations, that it instantly drew a visceral reaction, which caused things to get even more out of control.

She was pushed to the back of her mind, and her last, subconscious thought gained primacy. Being a spectator to actions not entirely her own would have been bad enough. Getting treated to visions that seemed to bend space and time only added to an already mountainous pile of misery.

The strain on her mental faculties was such that Taylor was forced to ignore the implications of her new minions in favor of trying to stay sane: a task that the constant bombardment of flashing lights and nausea-inducing panoramas made practically Sisyphean. 

At least, this was the case until Dragon and the woman whom Taylor recognized as Narwhal arrived.

A surge of fear momentarily allowed her to regain control, but she was only able to give instructions about not hurting the heroes before she was yanked right back. This resulted in the frustrating limbo where Seraph was still being attacked, but Taylor couldn’t make the new creatures do anything else, including asking for help.

The situation was beginning to feel hopeless when the universe decided to really put the screws to its favorite punching bag. 

Legend, one of the world’s greatest heroes and an immensely powerful Blaster, was here. Taylor didn’t even notice his arrival. One moment, her immediate vicinity was empty, and the next, it was occupied by a cape reportedly capable of levelling entire blocks with one attack. 

Taylor watched the Cape raise his hand almost in slow motion and point it right where she was being kept. It was then that everything crystallized in her mind.

Of course, he was here to kill her.

The monsters were hers. As much as she tried to shy away from that fact, reality couldn’t be denied. 

She called them. They answered. And now, she needs to die.

Taylor didn’t want to die, though. She still didn’t know if her dad was alive or not. Lisa had been shot. Had she already gone to the hospital? Did she escape Coil?

She was finally making a difference as a hero, too.

She finally mattered.

Is this really where it ends?

Without her noticing, the dizzying arrays of images and vistas had long frozen in place. What seemed like a cavernous abyss stretching out for eternity had contracted to a shell, inches away from her skin.

Unheard screams of terror and whispered pleas hushed, turning a churning ocean of the damned into a tranquil lake.

Taylor Hebert didn’t even need to give the command. 

Her task was done.

The bridge had been formed.

And something started crossing over.

Chapter 23

Alfred POV

It took me an embarrassingly long time to get over Narwhal interrupting my moment. Then, when I finally did come to my senses, it was to find her defending me from Taylor’s attacks and Dragon’s various suits shooting down other oversized sea critters from making my prison of a floating stress ball from getting any bigger.

Admittedly, I was torn.

Staying where I was would also keep Narwhal from going after the super-sized sea serpent that probably housed Taylor’s body. It’s the only possibility that made sense when taking everything that’s happened into account.

Having said that, would it really be so bad to have the Guild extract Taylor? They may work with the PRT and the Protectorate, but the bug master will have a much easier time being in the international team’s custody than with anyone else.

I mean, what exactly was my plan here? Even if I could get Taylor out, she’s no longer the low-level cape that she should’ve been. A Master who can control cockroaches is a cause for concern. A Master who can summon and control monsters straight from the bleakest versions of mythology is worth bringing out the nukes.

Passing off the big beasties as Coil’s work wouldn’t pass muster, either. My credibility was in the toilet after that debacle with Brockton Bay’s heroes.

Surrendering might help, but that would effectively be putting my fate in Cauldron’s hands, nevermind Taylor’s. 

So, what’s the right move here?

Oh, Legend’s here! Great…

Wait… What’s going on? 

From the back of my mind, a buzzing sensation that felt deathly cold started bubbling. 

Darkness? Is that you?

In answer, a light of the deepest shade of blue and purple started projecting from my chest. Without warning, my Blue-Sea Dragoon form was replaced by Darkness, and a sense of alarm shot through my whole body. Hyperrealistic versions of Rose’s magic attacks then started playing in my mind’s eye in rapid succession.

Two, in particular, were shown repeatedly in what I could only interpret as urgency. 

Death Dimension and Demon’s Gate.

I may not be the sharpest cookie in the garage, but I’d have to be brain-dead to miss that message. In which case, a distant but absurd part of my mind started cataloguing how many languages I could say “Oh fuck!” before realizing it doesn’t matter.

“Oh fuck!” I cursed out loud in English.

Those magic attacks essentially breached other dimensions. Shards breached other dimensions to reach their hosts. I juiced up Taylor’s power with Astral Drain, an out-of-context ability from a Dragoon Spirit that is inherently tied to multi-dimensional juju.

Did I just give Queen Administrator the key to an entirely new set of realities that were previously separate from the local cluster? A new set of realities that I just realized even I didn’t fully understand?

Immediately following this realization, I felt it: The same indescribable cold Darkness made me experience, and it was coming from the direction of the titanic beast. Something was coming. Something bad. Like, end-of-the-world bad.

Even without knowing the specifics, I was completely certain that I couldn’t let whatever it was through.

Darkness, Rose, whichever one of you is listening, I thought frantically, we need to stop this! Tell me how!

Death Dimension and Demon’s Gate streamed again. But this time, it was in reverse. 

Excellent! I thought with relief, before realizing something. One problem. I don’t know how to do that.

A faint impression of annoyance brushed my thoughts before a familiar shift took place. It was the same as when I entrusted my attack on Coil’s base to Haschel. Only this time, the flavor of the personality overlaying my own was less jovial and more aloof.

Yep, that’s Rose, alright.

Her essence flowed over me like a shroud, allowing me a few glimpses of the woman who would spend 11,000 years committing horrific acts to protect the world. I got the distinct feeling that she’s intentionally keeping me at arm’s length, which was understandable. She probably only stepped up because this was an emergency.

Despite her efforts, however, Rose couldn’t completely stem the bleed-through. And I was in awe of the breadth and depth of her experience as a warrior.

With a flex of her power, The Legend of Dragoon’s oldest playable character erased my captors from existence. Literally. Like, not even dust remained. I didn’t even know she could do that!

Not stopping there, a blanket of darkness fell over the immediate area, rendering everyone but us blind, if the shouts of panic were any indication. Rose then capitalized on this without a hint of hesitation.

A brief spurt of speed instantly brought me above Legend, who was already backing away in haste, likely sensing something was wrong. Potentially world-ending threat notwithstanding, I still had time to figuratively gawk at how smooth and economical that execution was. No wasted movements at all, well beyond my clumsy attempts at flight.

Upon our arrival, Rose’s signature Dragoon sword manifested in her hand, where she then proceeded to stab at the air in front of us. 

I was confused, at first, wondering why she didn’t just go for Taylor’s mega-minion. The reason became apparent fairly quickly when a layer of reality shattered, exposing a yawning tear that had already grown large enough to swallow Leviathan whole.

Son of a bitch! How did I not see that?

Yet again, Rose showed that she was a veteran of a magical world war by not letting this surprising (to me) development distract her. Calling on the Darkness Dragoon Spirit’s considerable magic reserves, she allowed her sword to disperse and stretched both arms out, while her hands made grabbing gestures.

A glow of inexplicably inky brightness surrounded both sides of the tear. From there, Rose strained to metaphysically pull the breach closed. It’s worth mentioning that I had no idea how she was doing any of this, which is a problem.

Twice now, I relied on previous wielders of Dragoon Spirits to solve my problems. I can’t keep doing this. It’s too close to counting on some Deus Ex Machina shit. In any case, the tear began to shrink at a visible rate, but something caught my attention despite my best efforts to ignore it.

See, I knew better than anyone in Bet how Rose’s magic attacks worked. Recent events might have shown me that I still had much to learn, but my knowledge wasn’t nothing.

As such, I was fairly certain that whatever was on the other side of the breach was fucked up, and I was right. Beyond the ragged hole in reality was a swirling void of empyrial colors and fairy lights, appearing almost like an imitation of the galactic core. However, this wondrous sight wasn’t what caused me to nearly shit myself.

It was the eye nearly pressing against the rapidly closing gash.

Staring right at me was a dark, rectangular pupil surrounded by reddish-orange pigments. I would have said that it’s the eye of an octopus, if the octopus were the size of a nuclear aircraft carrier.

Nothing else about it was visible, but I wasn’t all that eager to find out. And, thanks to Rose’s efforts, the tear was closed a few seconds later. I’ll still probably be having sleepless nights due to this encounter over the next few weeks, but that’s future Alfred’s problem.

Present Alfred has to contend with being near one-third of the Triumvirate, a good number of the Guild’s hero roster, and the various capes who decided that this was a great time to drop in. This wouldn’t have been such a pain in the ass if not for a few snags.

First, with her job done, Rose had already bailed without a word of farewell. Which was…fair, I suppose. I couldn’t exactly expect her to stick around. Though it would have been super convenient.

Second, the darkness she cast to act as cover had disappeared at some point. Not sure when – I was too busy being stared down by Mister Nightmare Fuel beyond all that was good and holy to keep track. As a result, I am now mucho exposed to all of these Gringos.

Third, every single one of them was staring at me with varying degrees of astonishment. Presumably, they saw me (or, rather, Rose) closing the breach. How long they’ve been watching and how much they saw, I wasn’t sure. 

To cap things off, the raging storm took this chance to finally clear up, and would you look at that? The sun is rising!

So, let’s review how screwed I am, shall we?

Taylor is likely to be classified as a major threat. I showcased abilities to mess with dimensions. The recently concluded display likely exposed everyone present to a huge cognitohazard. I’m surrounded from all sides by professional heroes. And last, but not least, the weather has completely betrayed me.

Did I miss anything?

A sharp gasp answered my unspoken query, and a brief scan of my surroundings found the cause. The previously buzzing monsters have all started falling from the sky, resulting in a multitude of splashes disturbing the waters in an oddly satisfying staccato. This phenomenon drew all eyes away from me, but I had other priorities.

Twisting in midair, I checked on the big one.

Sure enough, the beefed-up Graboid had tilted sideways and began falling. 

In what has to be a record in my personal fast-thinking best, I immediately switched from Darkness to Blue before diving straight down. Pushing my speed to the limit, I rammed the falling lump of flesh to make it descend faster.

Shouts sound from behind, but I paid them no mind.

Using Blue’s power, I made the now-uncontested waters surge around me and my cargo, hiding us from view and making the plunge even easier. Once underwater, I went even deeper while using water blades to cut into the flesh of the snakey monstrosity. 

This was made easier because the body had started deteriorating to have the consistency of jelly. Which was a whole other can of worms I didn’t have time to get into.

A few seconds of frantic cutting was all it took to finally get Taylor out.

With Blue’s cooperation, she and I were momentarily in a bubble with breathable air, dropping to lower depths, all the while. It didn’t need to last forever. Just long enough for me to check Taylor’s condition. Thankfully, her pulse and breathing were steady, despite being absolutely covered in gunk. No obvious signs of injuries, either.

The rest will have to wait until I can treat her properly with White-Silver.

Precautions done, I wrapped my arms around Taylor, holding her firmly against me. A swirling vortex then shrouded us both, allowing for swift travel back to Brockton Bay without being tracked. By my estimates, we should get there in ten minutes.

As to what will happen after that? Well… I’d rather not think about it.

Getting Taylor out of the water and to my hideout was a pain and a half. As expected, Brockton Bay was on high alert, with personnel from various departments flooding the streets. It wasn’t just them, either. 

Members from E88 and the ABB were also out in force. PRT leaks, or was an announcement made?

Either way, I had to get past them.

Luckily for me, this city was still the shit hole as described in the story, which meant lots of gaps to squeeze through. It was slow going, though, since I had to walk on foot in my Ruff n’ Tumble guise. Going around in any of my Dragoon forms, right now, would draw far too much attention.

I’ve never had to take so many detours through grimy alleys, broken fences, and rotting stores in my life.

An hour after stepping on one of the Bay’s more secluded sections, I stumbled inside the abandoned tenement building that I’ve been using as a base. It’s changed a lot since I first got here, with a more comfortable mattress replacing the old stained one.

After laying Taylor down on it, I went about checking my surroundings for tails or unexpected guests. I’d only been gone for about a day, but you can never be too sure with Brockton Bay’s bums.

Confirming that the perimeter was clear, I went back to find Taylor still unconscious. Growing concerned, I reached out to White-Silver, which eagerly responded. A brief light show was enough to reassure me that the girl wasn’t in immediate danger. 

Though, she was in dire need of a shower.

Naturally, there was no way in hell I could be of help there. So, I rummaged around a camping bag stashed near the bed for an extra burner phone. Dialling a number I had recently memorized, it didn’t even have the chance to ring before a shrill voice did its level best to deafen me.

“What the fuck did you do?!”

Huh. She must have found out about last night’s spot of bother.

“Hello to you, too, Tattletale.”

“Don’t! Just don’t! Do you have any idea how much shit I’m in because of you?!”

Okay, she’s lost me. The attack on Coil’s base shouldn’t be producing this kind of reaction from the Thinker, and the sea scuffle had nothing to do with the Undersiders. So, what was she on about?

“You’re gonna have to explain what you mean,” I said.

“I mean that I had to make a fucking deal last night or my face would’ve been plastered all over the evening news! She was in my room, Seraph. My room! What kind of messed-up, New World Order shit did you get me mixed up in?”

Well, that injected ice water right into my veins. 

“Tattletale, calm down and listen to me.” I’m proud of how steady my voice is, here, despite internally freaking the fuck out. “This is not the kind of thing we talk about over the phone. Can you meet with me right now?”

A shaky inhale sounded on the other side, followed by a long exhale.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can. Where?”

That was uncharacteristically curt of her, but understandable, given the circumstances. I gave her a location close to my base, where we could safely rendezvous.

“Oh, and bring some spare clothes, please.”

Having said that, I hung up. Lisa would be smart enough to know what I meant.

Twenty minutes later, I met up with the blonde on a corner two blocks from the tenement. We were both in our civies, but she had a duffel bag that I assumed contained what I asked for. Neither of us said anything as we walked side-by-side down the empty street. I kept an eye out for potential threats the whole time, and I trusted that she would at least speak up if her power spotted anything I missed.

I let her through first when we arrived at our destination, but I lingered for a second to do one last scan of the surrounding buildings. Nothing I could see. Didn’t mean there was nothing there.

By the time I caught up, Lisa had already taken out a few items, including articles of clothing and wet wipes. Knowing what’s coming next, I excused myself and told her to call me back in once she’s done.

Standing in the corridor, the thought that she could take Taylor hostage or do her harm briefly crossed my mind, but I discarded that immediately. Whatever Lisa might be, she’s not stupid.

“It’s done,” came the faint call a short while later.

Walking back in, I saw Taylor in fresh, non-descript clothing. Just a dark shirt and sweats. A pile of discarded wet wipes was on one side of the room. Her soiled costume was packed away in a trash bag and placed by the mattress.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was just having a good nap.

“As far as I can tell, she fainted.” Lisa leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, and looked incredibly exhausted. Deep bags drooped under weary, bottle green eyes. “Barring some exotic conditions I can’t detect, she should wake up soon.”

Even at a glance, it was easy to tell that she was just done with everything. I’d probably be the same in her position. What should have been a night of triumph had turned to ash thanks to forces beyond her power to truly change. 

Speaking of which.

“How much did you see?”

A smidgen of her sarcastic personality came through the dry look she sent me. I wasn’t actually sure how to take that. It wasn’t like I knew everything she could or couldn’t do.

“Everything Dragon saw and then some.” Ah, that does clear things up a bit.

“What do you think?”

A barely suppressed snarl was the initial response before she could calm herself, once more. Eyes closed, fingers wrapped tightly over her crossed arms, and deep breaths were good indications of a fraying temper. Evidently, Lisa’s patience is holding on by a thread.

“I think we’re way in over our heads,” she finally answered, following a few moments of deliberation. “I think whatever you got us into, there’s no backing out. We’ll be linked to you, regardless of how carefully we covered our tracks. And with Taylor’s episode out at sea? More eyes will be on Brockton Bay than ever before.” She shook her head before adding, “Then there’s her.”

Our eyes met, and hers conveyed deep fear and desperation. “That woman cornered me like nobody had ever done, Seraph. Not even Coil. She knew exactly what to say, how to say it, and when to say it, leaving no room for a rebuttal.” She then added in a huff, “Not that I could have, anyway. She made it clear what would happen if I didn’t cooperate, and my power agreed.”

“That sounds like her,” I remarked with a resigned sigh.

Lisa’s face scrunched in consternation before demanding, “Who is she?”

Her question drew me short. The truth was a minefield that could only be crossed if you were tough enough to set off at least a few of the traps. Even then, someone else might pay the price.

“Are you sure you want to–?” I started, but her whispered snarl didn’t let me finish.

“Of course, I want to know! This bitch came into my room and threatened to destroy my life if I didn’t cooperate. It’s fucking Coil all over again! Only this time, the gun’s every single fucking government in the whole world! Why wouldn’t I want to know who I’m dealing with?”

To her credit, Lisa kept her voice low, likely to avoid disturbing Taylor. She did put a lot of heat into every word, though. By the end of her rant, she was panting and rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms.

I understood her grievance, of course. No one likes having their backs against the wall, let alone when it happens in what should have been a place of privacy and security. Nevertheless…

“Because,” I began, carefully weighing my next words, “these are the same people responsible for everything that’s happened over the last 24 hours without exposing their involvement until the exact moment of their choosing. Taylor’s kidnapping, you getting shot, Coil’s overreach that forced me to kill him, and the absolute clusterfuck over the Atlantic? They set all of those in motion by simply dipping a finger into our business. What do you think’s going to happen if you force them to put in more effort?”

I let her absorb my point for a moment before pressing on.

“You have every right to be pissed,” I told her emphatically. “Heck, I’m pissed. But these aren’t street toughs who pretend to play by the rules, Lisa. They’ll happily murder you and everyone you love if it serves their agenda.” She winced at the reminder. “The worst part,” I went on, “is how they justify all of their crimes with some Greater Good bullshit.”

Surprisingly, this drew a snort out of the Thinker. At my look of inquiry, she became more serious.

“She pegged your impression of them to a tee,” Lisa explained in a whisper. “Apparently, you would’ve started blasting first and ask questions never if they had tried to approach you. Said they had to involve me if they wanted to have a hope of speaking to you without unnecessary bloodshed.”

That tracks. Cauldron was bad news. Any attempt on their part to contact me directly would never have ended peacefully.

“They made you an intermediary in exchange for keeping you out of the papers?” I asked incredulously. “Did she even explain how that could have happened?”

At this, Lisa regained some of her snark.

“Why do you think the heroes took so long to get there?”

Oh, Contessa, you absolute bitch!

Chapter 24

Lisa POV

After finding herself the unwilling patsy of a Bond villain wannabe, Lisa has had very few pleasures in life. Granted, she wasn’t exactly having the best time before coming to Brockton Bay, but things entered an entirely new level of suckage after being pressganged into forced servitude. 

This made the pleasure of watching Seraph’s wildly shifting reactions so much more satisfying. Seeing the single most powerful parahuman in a hundred-mile radius swinging between confusion, outrage, alarm, and concern was comforting, in a strange way.

It meant that he understood the source of her fear and ire. He didn’t downplay Lisa’s panic, either, or dismiss her agitation as an overreaction. 

Such an open display of varying emotions also made him more human, as opposed to the unstoppable juggernaut that was fast becoming his reputation. Lisa found it much easier to make observations with his expressions being so easy to read.

For example, Seraph didn’t just know who that woman was or the group she was part of. He was intimately familiar with them. This raised far too many possibilities to pare down, from a former association to being an escaped test subject. Especially given her power’s temporary unreliability whenever she’s around the Trump.

Her enjoyment was short-lived, however, as Seraph quickly got over his surprise. A coldness seemed to frost over his slightly angular face. The familiar intensity returned to the pair of brown eyes. His thin lips pursed and narrow jaws clenched, giving him a severe countenance. 

Lisa would admit surprise when she first saw him without a mask this morning, though she did her best not to show it. Younger than she initially thought, he didn’t look more than a year older than her. The short, tousled black hair contrasted deeply with his pale skin.

On the way to his hideout, she marveled at this boy who was barely a head taller than her, and yet had managed to cast such a large shadow. He just seemed so perfectly ordinary. Better-looking than average, sure. The athletic figure would probably turn a few heads at the Boardwalk, too. 

Beyond that, though? He could easily pass as just another young man, going about his day.

Well, if he wasn’t mulling over the actions of shadowy organizations, that is. And, to be fair, she did just drop a bomb on him.

It wasn’t like dealing with the Illuminati was an everyday occurrence. As far as Lisa was concerned, the epithet fit, as well. What else was she supposed to call a group that apparently had its hand up the Protectorate’s ass, and was using them as a puppet? Making matters worse, they were perfectly willing to use heroes as sacrificial pawns to get their way.

“Can you just explain what deal you made, please?” Seraph clearly wanted to say something else, but decided to get straight to the point. Fine, Lisa can do that.

“To be brief, they want to work with you,” she drawled. “I agreed to pass on their message, and in exchange, they delay Protectorate response to prevent a catastrophic conflict between you and the heroes. A conflict that would’ve spread throughout the Eastern Seaboard, resulting in mass casualties, both capes and civilians. Thus, earning a Kill Order for you and anyone associated with you.”

The woman had been explicit in her descriptions of the consequences if Lisa had refused the offer. Even ignoring the potential death toll, it would have meant a lifetime on the run for her and the rest of the Undersiders, at a minimum. It didn’t take a genius to work out Taylor’s role in the averted fiasco, either. The idea of those monsters getting loose didn’t bear thinking about.

Galling though it may be to admit, the incident’s conclusion was the best they could have asked for.

Nobody died, neither Taylor nor Seraph attacked the heroes, and Dragon’s footage of the creatures melting into puddles would make them seem like temporary constructs. Still scary, but infinitely more preferable compared to self-replicating bio-weapons.

“Typical,” the boy scoffed. “Carrot and stick rolled into one.”

Yeah, Lisa didn’t miss that tidbit, either. Nor did she miss the hundreds of subtexts that went unsaid in her brief interaction with the woman. Resources, influence, reach, numbers, and competence – each a signal pointing to the concentration of considerable power in the hands of people who knew how to use it.

“What else?”

Lisa huffed petulantly. “She said to take your time considering the offer. Apparently, you already know how to get in touch with them, if you wanted to.”

Seraph quirked a brow in response, though he didn’t deny the assertion. One point to the previous association angle, then. Lisa really hoped this wasn’t some sort of interorganizational spat that got out of hand.

They both fell silent then, though, for different reasons. It was obvious that Seraph had a better grasp of what was going on under the surface, even though Lisa was the one who spoke with the group’s representative. She, on the other hand, had already spent hours trying and failing to peel away the layers of this mystery.

So, she cast her attention on other things that have been bugging her, instead.

For starters, Taylor has become yet another subject on whom her power refuses to work. As far as it was concerned, she was a void in the rough shape of a person. This was a shock when she first entered the room, as she could still read the girl the last time they met, albeit less clearly than others.

This concerned Lisa because parahuman powers simply don’t work like that. Cape abilities followed patterns that, while not always possible to explain, would still fall within predictable parameters.

A Master doesn’t suddenly develop immunity to Thinkers. They’d have to have that immunity when they triggered. 

Exceptions like Eidolon were considered such because he was singular in his ability to pick and choose which power to use. The Butcher was an entirely different can of worms, and the same could be said about the Faerie Queen. 

Yet, they all still followed patterns that made sense.

In the case of Taylor, the only explanation for her sudden immunity to her Thinker power is her connection to Seraph. This tracks due to his previous record of empowering others, with her and the bug mistress being prime examples. 

On top of sating her burning curiosity and ending the extended silence, Lisa decided to get answers straight from the source.

“Did you make Taylor a blank spot for Thinkers?”

The approach was more straightforward than she usually preferred, but Seraph seemed the type to like things blunt.

“Hmm?” he hummed, blinking in confusion. Wow, those thoughts must’ve been really deep.

“Taylor,” she repeated, “I can’t read her anymore. Was it something you did?”

His frowned deepened at her question. “I’m not sure. The changes she went through weren’t anything I intended, or even knew was possible. You’d probably be better at figuring out what’s going on than I am.”

Huh… that was more honesty than she expected. Once again, Lisa is struck by how Seraph seems simultaneously suspicious and trusting when it comes to her, specifically. Which was another thing that piqued her curiosity. Unfortunately, now wasn’t the time to tackle that issue.

“Are you telling me that you didn’t mean to empower Taylor?” she asked.

“No, I didn’t,” he groaned. “I didn’t even know that I could! It was just supposed to be some healing!”

Now, it was Lisa’s turn to gape in incredulity. 

“What about me? Didn’t your power give mine a boost, too?”

“About that,” he rubbed the back of his neck with a disgruntled expression, “I didn’t even mean to heal you. It just happened.”

This… this explained so much. The entire city had been speculating on what made the dangerous parahuman tick. PHO was absolutely flooded with rampant theorizing, and what Lisa was able to glean from the PRT’s files painted an almost schizophrenic picture of the cape.

All of those guesses, analyses, and profiling. All of them missed one crucial detail.

Seraph was a god-damned Himbo!

Chapter 25

Alfred POV

I don’t know why, but I got the sudden urge to smack Lisa in the head. The blonde was looking at me with a mix of pity and disbelief. It’s the kind of look you’d usually reserve for people with genetic defects. 

Whatever she’s thinking, I’d bet it was rude.

“This whole time, everything you’ve done, you’ve just been winging it, haven’t you?” 

Ouch! Right in the nards! 

The pure bafflement in her tone, combined with the perplexity coming through those wide, bottle-green eyes, somehow multiplied the psychic damage caused by her question. It’s as if the boundless stupidity of my actions, when taken in their entirety, escaped her ability to process. 

So much so that she reverted to child-like confusion. 

How was I supposed to answer that without coming across as a total idiot? Denying the truth would make it seem as if the series of disastrous confrontations I’ve been involved in were all planned. Admitting that I didn’t know what I was doing would effectively give her power over me.

And the last thing you want to do with a Thinker is give them leverage.

Thankfully, I was saved from having to choose by Taylor waking up, which was good. Not so good, she woke up screaming her head off and thrashing on the mattress. Lisa was instantly at her side, clearing away anything that could be knocked over or thrown. Contrary to my expectations, she didn’t try to touch Taylor at all. 

I stood, transfixed, as the older girl spoke in a soothing, almost hypnotic tone while kneeling beside the mattress.

“It’s okay, Taylor. You’re free. You’re safe.”

She kept repeating those words over and over, almost like a mantra, and it was working. After a minute, the piercing shrieks died down, and we were left with a panting teen in Lisa’s arms. Sobs wracked her thin frame as she held onto the blonde for dear life. Unintelligible sounds poured from her lips, but they didn’t need to make sense.

I could hear the deep, desperate terror in every mumbled and slurred syllable. Every hiccuping breath carried the pain she bore since the death of her mother. Each keening whimper was a small but unmistakable shred of anguish she’d been made to endure.

And it was in this moment that the enormity of my failure finally crashed down on my shoulders.

Some would-be ally I turned out to be. Here was the girl I swore to save. To protect. Heaving in tortured distress from the exact kind of harrowing experience I was supposed to prevent. Victimized by the same people I vowed to keep at bay.

And in the end, how much have I improved her life? Not at all.

I couldn’t even provide simple comfort since I didn’t really know how. Better to leave that to Lisa, whom I knew could give Taylor what she needs.

Guilt and shame swirled in my gut with such intensity that I could only clench my fists to keep myself from throwing up. I’d seen the consequences of my blunder before. The molten streets, the broken bodies, and the panicked screams. None of them made me want to tear out my own eyes as watching the pitiable tableau playing out before me.

How could I possibly make this right?

Damn my intentions and damn my plans! None of them mattered in the face of the young girl suffering from my incompetence. Not even with all my power could I erase what she was forced to experience. 

There was a running joke in the fanfic community that “To be Taylor is to Suffer” or some variation of it. I’d always found it distasteful, and coming here, I was so sure that it wouldn’t happen on my watch. Was she always fated to be dealt a shit hand? Or was there something I could have done differently that would have prevented all of this from happening in the first place?

No answer was forthcoming from the universe. So I just stood there, like a useless statue, already dreading the coming confrontation.

To earn her forgiveness, I would do anything. The rest of the world be damned.

Lisa POV

It was strange how long-forgotten details surface at times of great need. Like ways to deal with night terrors she’d read in a magazine while waiting for the bus to arrive. Regardless of the timing, Lisa was grateful for the knowledge, as it helped her calm one of the most dangerous capes in existence.

While holding on to the crying girl, her mind couldn’t help but wander in a few directions. For one, why wasn’t the building drowning in bugs? For another, why wasn’t Seraph doing anything to help?

Risking a quick glance toward the boy, she saw a nearly picture-perfect depiction of someone grappling with guilt. 

Only to be expected, she supposed. Much of what Taylor went through over the past few days could be directly tied to him. Considering how much concern he expressed for the insect controller’s well-being, Lisa supposed that he was blaming himself quite a bit. This did leave her in a bit of a conundrum.

She very well couldn’t get answers now. Taylor was currently the bigger priority. 

More specifically, she needed to make sure that the Master didn’t lose her shit and summon Cthulu or something. A task that thankfully wasn’t too difficult, given the way she was clinging to Lisa.

On some level, the Thinker wanted to be detached from the whole situation. She was beyond tired, functioning on no sleep, and having just been threatened with imprisonment or death just a few hours prior. But she knew she couldn’t just walk away.

Not now.

Too much was riding on her staying, not least of which was the room’s other occupant being rather useless. Unfortunately, even without the help of her power, it was obvious that she would have to ride this out. 

Eventually, Taylor did manage to recover enough to loosen her grip. Lisa was thankful for this since her body wasn’t built for prolonged blood flow deprivation. A few moments more, and the much calmer girl sat up to face the room.

Lisa gave her the most comforting smile she could muster, despite the bruise she could feel forming around her torso. Taylor was a mess of tangled hair, swollen eyes, and pallid skin. Lisa gave her time to gather herself, though. When she noticed the girl looking over her shoulder, the blonde followed her gaze to land on Seraph.

Well, this is gonna be awkward.

“It’s okay, Taylor,” Lisa assured. “He’s a friend.”

“One of the Undersiders?” she asked, voice raspy.

“Not exact–” she started, but didn’t get to finish.

“I recently worked with them,” Seraph cut in, almost hesitantly. “Had to, for – for a big operation.”

“Right. Okay. So, where am I? What do I call you?” Taylor was now blearily scanning the room.

The boy paused a beat before saying, “This is where I’m staying for the moment. As for what you can call me… my name’s Alfred.”

It took every ounce of self-control for Lisa to stop herself from rounding on him then. She managed it. Barely. She did give him an unfathomably venomous glare, though. 

Seriously? Just like that? 

“Also…”

Oh no.

“I – uh, I’m also…”

This isn’t happening. Lisa was witnessing a trainwreck in slow motion. She tried signalling for him to stop with just her eyes, but he either didn’t see or chose to ignore her.

“I’m Seraph.”

Fuck.

Emily POV

“This is a disaster,” Emily Pigot declared to the room of heroes and PRT personnel in the building’s main briefing room. “An unmitigated, categorical, absolute disaster.”

Nobody contradicted her. Nobody dared.

It was the afternoon following the debacle that occurred just a few miles from Brockton Bay’s shores. She had just come from a remote meeting with directors from other PRT branches, including the Chief-Director herself. The latter of which had become more common than she’d liked, as of late.

“Everybody wants answers about what’s going on in our little corner of hell, and I do mean everybody. I’m expected to submit a report that will be read by the President, as well as Canada’s Prime Minister. On top of that, Europe has been making inquiries, and other countries are expected to follow.”

She let that statement hang in the air for a bit. Making sure that nobody around the table missed a word.

“Unfortunately, as things stand, it would be a very short report, seeing as we have no actionable information. We don’t know where Seraph is, what he’s up to, what he was doing out in the middle of the ocean, and what on God’s green Earth he has to do with the horror show that happened within spitting distance of my city.”

Emily Piggot didn’t scream. Oh, she dearly wanted to. But, she held herself back. She did outline their issues with as much displeasure as she could professionally get away with, however. And she was displeased.

“So, for all our sakes, give me something we can use. Anything.”

Armsmaster cleared his throat.

“While it’s too early to say with any certainty, preliminary investigations have found connections between Coil and the site of the offshore incident. This connection could also explain Seraph’s actions, given everything we currently know of the events, thus far. There is a possibility that Seraph went to rescue someone abducted by Coil, who then triggered, as a result of their captivity.”

The silence that followed was almost thunderous in implication. While they’ve managed to keep the details under wraps, everyone in the room knew who the snake-themed villain was. Thomas Calvert. Trusted PRT consultant and Ellisburg survivor.

“Coil,” Emily echoed. “You’re saying that Coil caused this incident?”

“Potentially,” Armsmaster answered. “And only indirectly, if this is the case.”

Emily had to pause and take a deep breath here. Whether directly or indirectly, if Calvert was indeed responsible for giant monsters appearing in her backyard, it’s still going to be her head on the chopping block. The political fallout after such a major breach of their security was already poised to ruin the local PRT branch. If it’s confirmed that he’s the cause of a conflict that necessitated an international response, it’s over.

From the downcast expressions of everyone in attendance, they knew it, too.

“How likely is this to be the case?” she asked, almost dreading the answer.

To his credit, Armsmaster had enough social awareness to not respond right away. The brief respite didn’t change the content of his reply, though.

“Fairly high, director.”

Like the breaking of a dam, a flood of curses swept through the room, and Emily didn’t have the energy to silence them. She was too preoccupied with digesting the new information. They’ve been on the back foot far too much lately. They needed a win, and fast.

“That’s enough,” she barked, quieting the room fairly quickly. “It happened. It’s done. There’s no point in griping about it now. What I need are solutions. Have there been any sightings of Seraph?”

“None, director,” Miss Militia said. “Not since he escaped into the water with what we can now presume to be a newly-triggered parahuman.”

“And we’re sure he’s coming back here?” Emily asked.

This time, it was someone attending via satellite link who answered.

“We’re not ruling out other destinations, director. However, our models suggest a high probability that he will or has already returned to Brockton Bay.”

“Thank you, Dragon.”

“Ma’am.”

This could go either way for them. Seraph being in the city means a chance of getting some answers. However, he has already proven to be a dangerous wildcard that will need careful handling. A powerful cape with unclear allegiances, goals, and motivations is always a sensitive proposition.

Adding to the volatile circumstances is the possible presence of a cape who could summon and control creatures the size of Endbringers. Just the thought of that made Emily feel sick. Speaking of which, she turned to the head of their science department.

“Have there been any results from the samples you got?”

“Surprisingly, nothing out of the ordinary.” The man could almost be described as the quintessential nerd. Balding, thick glasses, and a reedy voice. “DNA corresponds to various species of marine life. The only real discrepancy is the state they were delivered in. Nothing exotic was added, so we can rule out Wet Tinker involvement.”

That was a relief, though it was also confounding. 

“Recorded footage showed chimeric combinations of different species,” Emily pointed out.

“True,” he confirmed, “but the samples don’t provide clarity with that discrepancy. Many of the samples contained multiple DNAs, but they were still separate from each other and easy to identify. As far as the evidence is concerned, they came from singular subjects, not a mix of them.”

“Director, if I may?”

“Proceed, Dragon.”

“Many of the species involved in the incident shared physiological similarities, from the start. Namely, they were all invertebrates. There is a possibility that, DNA notwithstanding, the physical changes we saw were merely surface details.”

That caught Emily’s attention, for some reason. When someone else tried to speak, she held out a hand for silence, and they promptly complied. 

“Invertebrates, you said, Dragon?”

“Yes, director.”

“As in, those things that didn’t have backbones?”

“Indeed, director.”

“Like, say, insects?”

…

…

…

“Exactly like insects, ma’am.”

From the way the heroes froze, they might have been mistaken for statues. Emily was faring no better.

“When was the last recorded instance of our 911 caller?” she breathed.

“Three days ago,” a PRT agent said after checking their computer.

“And she’s never missed a day to report crimes since she started, right?”

“No ma’am, not a day.”

“Shit,” Assault cursed, understanding exactly what’s going on.

“Shit,” Velocity echoed him.

“Shit,” Miss Militia joined in, though, sounding more worn down.

And, even knowing that it went against her rank and position as a government official…

“Shit,” Emily agreed.

Chapter 26

Taylor POV

There have been quite a few times over the past two years when Taylor felt like the world was picking on her for shits and giggles. She was well aware that there are others who have it harder, but perspective can honestly eat a bag of dicks. 

She wasn’t living their lives, and they weren’t living hers. And, right now, it felt like her life was a reenactment of every Greek tragedy ever.

“You’re Seraph?” Her words were faint, even to her ears.

“Yes,” the dark-haired boy said. “And I can’t apologize enough for everything I put you through, Taylor. Things weren’t supposed to happen this way.”

Apologize? The cape that had been haunting her nights is apologizing?

“I only wanted to help you that night with Lung. I didn’t know how my power would affect you, and I certainly didn’t intend for you to be kidnapped because of what I did.”

What was going on? Why was this happening? How did he know her name?

“I promise you that I’ll make this right, Taylor. Whatever it takes, I’ll make this right.”

She didn’t realize that he had already gotten so close. Seraph, or Alfred as he introduced himself, was crouched an arm’s length away. Despondence radiated from his youthful face, making him look pitiful. The cracking voice only completed the picture of a supplicant begging for repentance.

None of that mattered.

“‘Make this right’?” she repeated in a dead voice. “What exactly are you going to ‘make right’? This whole city is scared of me, because of you!” The scream that tore out of her throat nearly surprised even her, and Lisa flinched back in shock. “I was supposed to be a hero! I had to tell my dad the truth before I was ready to! I got shot at, beaten, and kept in a windowless box!”

The whole time she was shouting, Taylor had forgotten who the target of her tirade was. All she saw was a boy who was very much human, brown eyes squeezed shut, and almost shrinking into himself in contrition. It felt good to berate him.

“Coil had Lisa shot and threatened my dad,” she whispered hoarsely. “He was going to torture me! All because he wanted to get to you.”

Memories of her recent torment flooded her mind, forcing her to relive every agonizing moment. Then, when she got to the end, she remembered what she had done.

“I’m a monster.” The voiced realization escaped her lips without her meaning to.

“No!” Came the vehement denial from the recent recipient of her spleen. “No, you are not. Never believe that, Taylor.” His eyes echoed his words, beseeching her to listen. “Everything that happened was my fault. Everything. None of that was on you, please believe me.”

Taylor then stared at this boy, this stranger, who almost seemed to be in physical pain in the face of her suffering. Fists clenched so tight over bent knees that they were shaking. The hunched shoulders made him look smaller than he actually was. All of this made her ask the biggest question that’s been occupying her mind recently.

“Why?” His furrowed brow expressed confusion, so she clarified. “Why me? You were on that rooftop for me, weren’t you? Then you were near Winslow. Coil made it sound like you chose me, specifically. Now I’m here after –” a living mountain of flesh coiling up from an outcropping of rocks, impossible abominations zipping through a stormy sky “– after using monsters to escape, and you came for me… You came for me, I know you did. So, why?”

Seraph’s face contorted, shifting into different expressions, as if he were fighting an internal battle. Taylor waited for him to answer, but every time he looked like he would, something changed, and his mouth would click shut.

“Answer me!” she shrieked.

“I –” he tried again, raising her hope, only to then dash it against the rocks. “I can’t.” 

“Why the hell not?!”

Taylor was taken aback, because it wasn’t her who screamed, this time. Lisa jumped in with murder in her eyes.

“You owe us some fucking answers! It’s not just Taylor who got shit dumped on her because you couldn’t come up with a halfway decent plan without fucking everyone else over!”

Preoccupied as she was with her own dire situation, Taylor missed Lisa’s state. Now that she was paying more attention, the blonde seemed to be doing about as well as she was. What exactly happened between these two?

“It’s not that simple,” Seraph tried.

“No shit! We’re up to our elbows in conspiracies, unexplainable power interactions, extra-dimensional fuckery, how you seem to know a frankly creepy amount about me and Taylor, and your brand of insanity that goes against everything we know about parahuman science. I know it’s not that simple! But, for the love of God, at least give us something! Anything!”

That was a lot for Taylor to process. What conspiracy? And did Lisa say something about extra dimensions?

“Fine!” The boy groaned, sounding as if the concession was costing him a limb. “I can’t tell you everything. Can’t! Not won’t, can’t. I mean that literally,” he hurriedly added, preempting any objections. “But there are some things I can say without tripping my proverbial chains.”

“Wait,” Taylor jumped in. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that there are subjects I am literally restricted from talking about,” he explained.

“Like a geas?” she asked, calling on her vast knowledge of all things English literature. 

This caused Seraph to blink in astonishment before nodding. “Exactly like a geas.”

“Just a fucking minute!” Lisa interrupted. “Are you talking about that curse from Celtic mythology? The one where you die if you violate the rules?”

Taylor had to actively stop herself from correcting the other girl. She wasn’t technically wrong, but her interpretation was vastly oversimplifying the subject. This wasn’t the time, anyway.

“My case isn’t that bad,” Seraph admitted. “I just can’t say anything, even if I wanted to. The words won’t come out.”

That explained the facial ticks and twitches. Why he kept opening and closing his mouth. He tried to answer, but couldn’t!

“What the fuck,” Lisa breathed, seemingly coming to the same conclusion.

A necessary pause was required for both girls to digest what Seraph had just told them. He was cursed, or was as close to it as to make no difference. Was he lying? For some reason, Taylor didn’t think so. What would be the point?

She had never had the chance to speak with him in a cordial fashion. When would she have been able to? Between chasing him away with her swarm and then trying to smash him in the middle of the sea, opportunities for civil conversations were quite limited.

Yet, the earnest way he spoke to her. The genuine regret in his voice. Taylor couldn’t bring herself to believe that he could be so good at pretending. She certainly had enough experience with fake personalities thanks to the trio’s pathetic attempts at acting innocent to anyone with the authority to stop them.

“Okay, moving past the absurd comparison to magic bullshit,” Lisa spoke up. “What can you talk about?”

Seraph didn’t answer right away. Instead, he fell deep in thought. While he did so, Taylor took this chance to actually observe the cape who, until recently, was the subject of her fears and interest. 

While he had been standing, she remembered that he was taller than her. The plain shirt he wore stretched over his pecs and biceps. Not a lot, but enough. Fair skin, short hair, and rosy lips. Lips that he seemed to be chewing while mulling over Lisa’s question. 

Heat rose up Taylor’s neck as she realized that she had been staring at Seraph’s mouth for far longer than appropriate.

“Okay,” he said, breaking Taylor from her trance. “I can talk about my powers, how they affected Taylor, my plans, such as they are, and the group pulling the strings behind the PRT and the Protectorate. Take your pick.”

He’s actually willing to talk about his powers? That went against everything she’s read about parahumans. Taylor would also really like to know what’s going on with her abilities, and what they mean for her future.

Wait…

“What’s this about the PRT and Protectorate? I could’ve sworn you just said some group was pulling their strings.”

That couldn’t be right.

Taylor did not like the way Lisa and Seraph were exchanging dark glances. She especially didn’t like the way the blonde gestured toward the boy, as if giving him leave to keep talking. A task that he very much didn’t want to undertake, if his scowl was any indication.

“About that…”

What followed was a deconstruction of everything Taylor thought she knew about the world.

Chapter 27

Alfred POV

I finally did it. I finally got to talk to Taylor without something going horribly wrong. The experience was so alien, I almost couldn’t believe it. Ruined only by the look of abject horror practically painted on her face.

Here was the girl who was meant to be this setting’s savior – a genuine protagonist. And I have the dubious honor of tearing off the fragile veil obscuring the truth behind the whole world’s tragedies.

Okay, maybe that’s going a bit too far.

Despite my vehement refusal to have anything to do with Cauldron, I’m not ignorant of the essential role they played in the continued survival of Earth Bet. My objections are with regard to their methods, which have been fueled by desperation and fear for far too long.

From what I remembered, fanon seemed to be split as to the function that the shadowy organization actually played. Their portrayal also often varied wildly from cartoonishly evil to bumbling stooges. 

My take on them falls somewhere in the middle.

Cauldron’s approach was basically like chemotherapy, poisoning the body in order to fight off cancer. Only this cancer is particularly aggressive, and the odds of survival are extremely slim. For want of a better solution, they simply kept following a path that gave them the best chance of success. Small as it was.

Of course, this didn’t erase their crimes, nor did it excuse the pain and suffering they’ve caused.

From the way Lisa was currently spewing her guts out in the corner of the room, she now had a good idea of exactly what the group had done. Perhaps even better than me, thanks to the apparent boost I gave her power.

“Alexandria, Legend, and Eidolon,” Taylor listed the three names in a whisper, staring at the floor with wide eyes. “You’re saying that they’re part of this secretive cabal of puppet masters controlling the world?”

“Yes and no,” I hedged, which earned me a blistering glare.

“Which is it?” Taylor hissed. “Yes or no? Because, from where I’m sitting, you just told me that our entire society is built on lies! Lies propagated by sick assholes who – who destroy lives on a daily basis. Who fucking let the Slaughterhouse Nine walk around for reasons you refuse to talk about! That the same person in charge of the PRT is also the world’s most famous Brute, and that MY city is a petri dish for some twisted experiment!”

To be fair, I told them a lot more than that, but Taylor does have a way of narrowing a topic to its basest components.

“Don’t forget about the whole manufacturing Case 53s things,” Lisa grunted from where she was still heaving before proceeding to do just that. Honestly, the sound of spilling bile bothered me more than the smell. 

Going over to help her would’ve been the decent thing to do. But, in this case, it would’ve been pointless. I gave her a bucket and set down a bottle of water within reach. That was about as much as I could do for the suffering Thinker.

“Oh, of course!” Taylor threw her hands in the air, showing more animation and energy now. “Let’s not forget that. Monster capes, powers in a bottle, and losing control over deranged parahumans with body counts in the thousands. Did I miss anything else?!”

I was pretty sure that last bit was rhetorical. So, while I could have pointed out a few things that slipped her summary, I wasn’t gonna.

The Master eventually subsided to grumbling to herself, and with Lisa still a bit preoccupied, I let them process everything I revealed in silence. It was admittedly a lot to swallow. While I held off on many subjects, including the nuances of how Cauldron was getting its test subjects, the Endbringers, and the truth about the Entities, there was still a lot for them to unpack.

A short while later, the blonde was nursing her water bottle on a stool, and Taylor had fallen into sullen contemplation. I, on the other hand, stood beside a window overlooking the streets. The sun was setting, and we needed to get on with things. There was still a lot for us to figure out.

“Look, I know you two are feeling pretty overwhelmed right now,” I said, turning to the pair of exhausted girls. “But we need to discuss what to do going forward.”

“What’s there to discuss?” Lisa practically spat. “There’s no beating people with a weapon that guarantees victory. She even managed to get around your oh-so-strong Thinker defense. Why even keep resisting?”

Her words took the wind out of my sails. Worse was the absence of disagreement from Taylor. I struggled to comprehend why they were acting this way when –

Drat. 

I keep overlooking the human factor when it comes to the people of this world. Capable as they both are, at the end of the day, I’m still dealing with teenagers. Teenagers who have been through the wringer, true, but that doesn’t really mean much in the grand scheme of things.

Confronted with the reality of how truly hopeless their circumstances are, it seems the fight had gone out of them. And without the series of events that built up their tolerance for hopeless battles, what else could they do but crumble?

Seeing them in this state, I didn’t even consider using ‘Talk-no-Jutsu’, mostly because I’ve never been good at it. Instead, I did the one thing within my power to tip the scales.

Calling upon White-Silver, the most inspiring of my Dragoon Spirits responded with grace. Light filled the darkening room, pushing back the creeping shadows, and filling the air with heatless warmth. 

Further bolstering the effect, I channeled a previous user of the Spirit. Not Shana, with her sweet innocence. Not Miranda, with her unbending commitment to duty.

Instead, I called upon Shirley, the one person I knew who had a heart strong enough to banish despair.

“You resist because you have me,” I declared with absolute conviction. “I won’t deny my failures. On matters of the mind, both of you will always be my superior. But hear this: Cauldron already knows who and what I am,” I met their eyes, pleased that I had their full attention, “and they are afraid.”

What truly made my claims more convincing is the simple fact that I was telling the truth. There was a reason I chose this power set before coming here. 

“They offer a hand of peace and cooperation because they know they would lose a straight fight with me. Clumsy, still. Excessive, still. But far less overbearing than they would be with anyone else.”

Had I been weaker, Alexandria would have crashed through the walls to give me an offer I couldn’t refuse. This was a throw-away notion, though. It was time for me to finally do what I came here to do.

Approaching the sitting figure whom I have staked everything, I knelt with slow, regal ceremony. Looking into the wide, gray eyes of Taylor Hebert, I then spoke the words that had been left unsaid for far too long.

“I am your sword and shield,” I intoned with every ounce of solemnity in my soul, the sharp gasp from Lisa going ignored. “For you, I will be sinner or saint. Hero or villain. Man or monster. Until the day comes when I am no longer of use, I will fight for you to my last breath. This I swear.”

Dramatic? Yes, but necessary.

“Do you accept my allegiance?”

For the longest stretch of time, there was only the deafening silence. 

Then…

“I –”

To be continued…

Chapter 28

Amy POV

Growing up in a family of heroes, and open ones at that, Amy Dallon had long grown accustomed to Parahuman strangeness. However, it felt like the past month had seen more irregularities than she could remember. No, she knew for a fact that it had.

At no point in Brockton Bay’s cape history has it:

Played host to a literal biblical swarm.

Seen a villain that demolished virtually all of the city’s heroes on his own, a day after defeating the previous villain to hold this reputation, as well as incinerating said swarm.

Had two comatose, teen heroes, one of whom was a Ward and the other her sister, and;

Been within spitting distance of an event worthy of an Endbringer response.

All within the space of two weeks. 

Regardless of Amy’s own personal opinion on Seraph (she absolutely despised him), there was no denying that he made his mark on the Bay. The local PRT, for example, saw more reinforcements arriving than it had in a very long time. Additional Protecterate heroes have also been sent, along with a couple of Wards.

She hadn’t met them yet, but Amy knew Weld and Bastion by reputation. The two from New York, less so.

Looking over the familiar skyline from her usual spot, Amy blew a cloud of smoke, cigarette in hand. One benefit that came with Victoria being in a coma, as loathed as she was to even consider it: Carol had stopped riding her ass so much. 

The hospital has also stopped being so busy, with the gangs lying low, and crime seeing its lowest rates in decades. Seraph was that much of a deterrent. 

As a result, Amy hasn’t had to spend that much time healing as she did just a month prior. Instead, she spent as much time as she could sitting with her sister, who still refused to wake up. Her vigil, and the subsequent brooding she did at home, made her feel more exhausted now, with very little to do, than she did before.

Of course, as the single greatest healer in the world, she wasn’t ignorant of how comas worked.

Vicky was as healthy as she could possibly be, so it was just a matter of waiting. There had been several times when Amy was tempted to cross the line and just meddle with the inflamed Corona Pollentia and Gemma with her power.

Every time, she was able to resist, but not without difficulty. 

It was the same just a few minutes ago, when she nearly gave in after hours of just looking at Vicky’s lovely face. She looked so peaceful, untroubled. Yet, Amy missed her voice. She missed her laughter, her embrace, and even her nagging about finding a boyfriend.

Even though it’s been only a few days, she could already feel the memory of those comforting gestures slipping away.

The frustrated healer was broken from her rumination when she saw a streak of green and white against the dark sky fly past from the corner of her eye. For a moment, Amy thought that Purity had finally decided to come out of hiding, but it was the green that truly caught her attention.

The distinct hue had been branded in her mind after several sleepless nights spent watching every clip featuring the cape she could find. It couldn’t be anyone but him.

Just as this thought sank into her mind, the hospital’s alarms began to wail. The lit cigarette fell on the ground as Amy forgot everything else and concentrated on sprinting through the white hallways with everything she had.

Hardly even noticing the hospital staff clustered outside her sister’s room, she burst through the door in breathless panic. Relief flooded her veins upon seeing that Vicky was all right. This was then replaced by confusion because Vicky was also awake.

“Amy?” she heard, almost from far away.

Amy Dallon should’ve been happy that her sister was finally up and speaking. And while she was, a much bigger part of her also despaired at the sight of the crystalline figure floating beside Vicky’s bed. 

A crystalline figure that bore a remarkable resemblance to the bedridden blonde, and was waving at her with considerable enthusiasm.

Colin POV

Armsmaster was a figure of calm within a whirlwind of chaos. Carefully cataloguing any potential evidence of the presence of a figure who has quickly gained infamy among cape circles, the Tinker was busy building the scene to have a better idea of how recent events transpired. 

PRT agents were scouring the rest of the hospital interior and grounds for further clues. Though he doubted they would find anything meaningful. He certainly wasn’t having much luck with his own investigation.

While he did that, Miss Militia and Battery spoke with Panacea and the now awake Glory Girl. Of course, there was also the newest expression of her power, hovering close to the patient.

Protocols would have placed the teen in isolation to ensure her Second Trigger did not cause either biological or psychological instability. However, recent events have pushed the PRT and Protectorate’s resources to the limit. As such, they had to settle for a compromise in which the immediate area is cleared of civilians and other personnel without the prerequisite clearance.

Armsmaster had just finished scanning the window, which Seraph used for entrance and exit, when he finally joined his colleagues. 

“So, you don’t remember seeing him at all?” Battery pressed.

Glory Girl shook her head. “Sorry, no. As I said, the first thing I heard was yelling, and then there was the alarm, and then the nurses, and then Amy. That’s it.”

“And that?” Battery gestured at the crystalline silhouette in mild concern, now busy playing with the blonde’s hair.

“She,” came the sharp correction, “was already with me before I woke up. Fragile was there, in that place.”

“What place is this?” Armsmaster cut in.

His intrusion drew a huff of irritation from the girl. “I already told them about it. Weird place. Lots of lights and twinkling stars. Not really much to do but think over there, but Fragile was with me the whole time.”

Before he could ask her more details on the matter, shouting could be heard from beyond the door. Suddenly alert, the room’s occupants braced for danger when a loud voice sliced through the cacophony.

“That’s my daughter, in there! I’m getting through, whether I leave you intact or in pieces is up to you!”

Colin didn’t need his visor to tell him that Brandish had arrived. Although she did sound uncharacteristically aggressive. A sentiment that Glory Girl apparently shared.

“Holy shit! I’ve never heard Mom this mad before,” she whispered in awe.

Deciding to preempt any unfortunate decisions made out of haste, Armsmaster moved toward the door after signalling to the other adult heroes to stay. Upon exiting, he immediately drew all eyes in the hallway, with more concerned gazes from the hospital staff and patients some distance away.

“New Wave,” he greeted the hero team, every member of which was present, before turning to the fuming Carol Dallon, wearing her work clothes. “You know our protocols, Brandish.”

There was no need to elaborate. As a capable lawyer and long-time hero, the Dallon matriarch would already know everything that Armsmaster could tell her. Not that she was in any state to actually remember them, it would seem.

“Do I look like I give a damn about protocols, right now?” she snarled, going right up to Colin’s face to do so. “My daughter is awake. I will see her. Or will you stand in my way?”

Her response put Armsmaster in a bind. On one hand, they simply couldn’t afford to have another public incident. The PRT ENE and Protectorate’s reputations were already hanging by a thread.

But neither could he simply allow Brandish to have her way.

Thankfully, he didn’t need to make the decision himself. Likely in response to one of the agents reporting the brewing incident, Director Piggot’s voice sounded in his earpiece.

“Let her through, Armsmaster.”

“Are you sure, director?” 

“Yes, I’ll explain when you come back,” she confirmed brusquely.

Having received his orders, Armsmaster stepped aside, letting all of New Wave inside. Lady Photon gave him an apologetic smile as she passed, to which he simply nodded. He didn’t take the confrontation personally.

Once back in Glory Girl’s hospital room, Armsmaster saw the cape family asking after her condition. He decided to tune them out and opted to approach his colleagues, who now stood in the corner.

“Any new development?” he asked.

“Not much,” Miss Militia replied. “As far as we could tell, the projection is basically her forcefield taking the form of this… Fragile entity. Similar enough to other Second Triggers. The only unique aspect is how aware the projection acts.”

“Without extensive testing, we won’t really know more,” Battery added. “Panacea already confirmed that Glory Girl is as healthy as she has ever been. No contagions or mutations to speak of.”

The three fell to silence, simply observing the Dallons and Pelhams reuniting. Eventually, Armsmaster asked about Shadowstalker.

“No change,” Miss Militia declared morosely. “I’m not sure what it says about Seraph that he didn’t wake her too.”

“Maybe he couldn’t?” Battery suggested. “He was caught after he was done with Glory Girl. Staying to do the same for Shadowstalker after that would have been quite the mess.”

“Maybe,” Miss Militia conceded.

For Armsmaster’s part, none of his scans indicated anything out of the ordinary. Panacea’s examination provided no clues as to how Seraph was able to rouse the comatose Glory Girl. The room provided no clues to point them in the right direction, either.

The only thing he knew for sure was that the cape entered through the window, treated the patient, somehow, and flew off once caught in the act. Was this an act of conscience? A peace offering? What could possibly have prompted this gesture of generosity?

Lisa POV

She couldn’t decide if she wanted to tear her hair out or fall on the floor and lose herself in hysterical laughter. Nothing in the world made sense anymore. Still in the room with the world’s premier swarm bringer, Lisa stared out the window toward the night sky.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked after several minutes of silence.

“No,” Taylor answered, looking in the same direction as the Thinker.

“Then why?” Lisa has been racking her brain for the other girl’s reason in what anyone else would consider utter madness.

“Because I can’t be sure, otherwise.”

The blonde could only stare at those inscrutable gray eyes with confusion. But then she eventually concluded that it didn’t matter. She gave the order. He obeyed. The only thing left to do was contain the inevitable fallout.

Because there will be a fallout.

Chapter 29

Victoria Dallon POV

The past few hours have been a slog for Vicky. Despite feeling like she just had the most relaxing bath of her life after waking up from a coma, everything else that followed absolutely sucked. 

Don’t get her wrong. She missed her family, terribly. Amy, especially. But, they would NOT give her space the whole damn day!

And she really needed space.

Or, at least, as much as she could have with Fragile never far away.

The PRT and Protectorate asking her a bunch of questions all the live long day only added to her stress. It took a direct demand from her mother, fueled by Vicky expressing her frustration, to finally make everything stop for the day.

Her questioning would resume another time, but that was fine. Vicky just needed the room to be less crowded right that instant.

The fact of the matter is that, while her body was unconscious, her mind was completely awake. Well, she says her mind, but she really wanted to say spirit or soul. Incredibly unscientific, but somehow, more fitting.

There really was no better way of actually putting it. 

In the inexplicable place filled with what her mind identified as starlight, swirling nebulae, non-eucledian geometry, and shifting wormholes, Vicky had nothing but time to think. It was unbelievable how noisy everyday life can be, even when she’s alone in her room. 

Naturally, she absolutely lost her shit for what felt like the first few days. Time really wasn’t much of a concept on that side.

Just as she felt like she was going insane, though, Fragile appeared. In the moment where despair had truly gripped her in its totality, desperately grasping for an escape from unshed tears and unvoiced screams, her power answered.

At least, what Vicky thinks is her power. Some part of her still wasn’t completely sure.

Despite how others might perceive her, the Brute knew that this facsimile of her body was more than she appeared. Heck, when Vicky first met her, Fragile was about as expressive as a doorknob. She had to teach the entity how to act more human, more as a means of coping against the uncaring abyss than anything else.

It was a testament to her desperation and loneliness that she succeeded in an endeavor that, by all rights, should have taken years. But, that’s the thing, isn’t it? How would she know that they weren’t on the other side for that long? 

In the here and now, she’d only been in a coma for several days. Not that long, at all, in the grand scheme of things. Yet, it certainly didn’t feel that way.

Vicky could still remember who she was. 

The old her. 

How she acted, how she talked, and who and what she loved. But as much as her affection for her family still lingered. As much as she still wanted to be a hero. Everything else felt so much… less? 

All the little pet peeves that would set her off just seemed so, well, petty now. Just the thought of her overreactions over such minor upsets made her inwardly flinch.

Then there was Dean, the very subject that saddened her the most.

She had a lot of time to examine her undeniably unhealthy relationship with the boy she thought she loved. How she excused their tumultuous dynamic as somehow normal for teenage romance. The isolation forced her to confront the true reasons for why they were together, and it wasn’t pretty.

In short, being with Dean was a means of validation for Vicky.

All the attention, drama, and anxiety that came with being a popular, public hero, combined with the fear that caused her Trigger, it all crystallized into an awful pile of shit. She wanted to have everything, and so she did.

The looks, the boyfriend, the power, and the money. She had it all. Without any regard for the price she was paying in the background.

Now, lying on the hospital bed with Amy as her only company at Vicky’s own request, she reflected on details that either escaped her or she actively ignored before her forced slumber. With so many things vying for her attention, she couldn’t devote the headspace to address all of them.

At least, that’s what she told herself for so long.

This won’t work anymore, though. Not if she wanted to keep what she truly valued. 

“Amy?” Vicky prompted, looking at the ceiling.

“Yeah?” her sister responded in a raspy voice from hours of crying.

“Mom’s been a real bitch to you, hasn’t she?”

A shocked silence blew through the room, as Vicky expected. She didn’t congratulate herself, though. That she waited so long to even confront this issue was a mark against her, without a shadow of a doubt.

“What?” Amy breathed and Vicky sighed a regretful sigh.

“I was a self-absorbed asshole,” she explained with weariness, “but I still noticed something was weird between you two. I had a lot of time to think on the other side and realized that mom hasn’t been treating you right.”

And boy, did she. It took time, for sure. Made even longer because of her unusually long stint of drowning in denial. But when she finally confronted the truth, she couldn’t look away.

“She’s cold towards you, Amy. I never noticed because, again, self-absorbed asshole. Are you gonna tell me, I’m wrong?”

Her sister’s silence stretched for so long that Vicky finally had to tear her eyes away from the ceiling tiles to make sure she was okay. She wasn’t. Amy was hugging herself and sobbing in silence. 

Not caring for the many sensors stuck on her body, she ripped them all off to wrap her arms around the mousy healer and cradle her close on the hospital bed. The wailing and beeping of machines went ignored. People sticking their heads through the door quickly ducked back out or risk medical implements thrown at them.

Even her family couldn’t get through without Fragile looming menacingly over the frame and making shooing motions. The only thing that mattered was giving as much love, comfort, and reassurance to the girl she has long promised to protect and cherish. 

Because that’s what big sisters are supposed to do.

When the heaving sobs finally subsided to light whimpers, Vicky felt the tight knot in her chest loosen. Burying herself in self-recrimination right now won’t help. She’d done enough of that on the other side. So, she kept holding Amy tightly until she herself let go.

“Vicky?” she eventually spoke up.

“Yeah, Amy?”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, sis.”

They stayed like that for a few more minutes until Vicky was sure that Amy had regained her composure. What she said next could have waited, but after having thought about the matter for what felt like eternity while floating in empty space, she concluded that it would better to rip the band-aid off.

“Amy?”

“Yeah, Vicky?”

“Are you gay?”

Again, as Vicky expected, a new series of wailing and sobbing ensued. Several times, she had to wave down Fragile from interfering. The construct really wasn’t all that good at following human cues.

Fortunately, she made up for it by being really good at controlling her powers. Amy didn’t need to be further exposed to her aura. Vicky would make sure she never got a dose ever again, if she could help it.

Chapter 30

Lisa POV

You don’t really know the true value of a good night’s sleep until you spend the most eventful 48 hours awake and absolutely swimming in adrenaline. Granted, the last few months weren’t conducive to prolonged rest, either. What with being on the move after running away from home, then living off the streets, and ending with becoming Coil’s unwilling stooge.

Even so, Lisa would never take her bed for granted ever again.

It had been a full 14 hours since her head fell on her pillow, conking out without delay. And while far from fully rested, she no longer felt like a zombie. 

At the moment, she was sitting at the loft’s kitchen counter, nursing a mug of coffee in her hand: black as motor oil, no cream or sugar, and potent as battery acid. Stands of blonde hair stuck out at odd angles, bleary eyes glared balefully at the linoleum surface, and tense nerves still shivered from being overstimulated for too long. 

The late afternoon sun, casting orange beams across the walls and denoting the coming end of the day, only added to Lisa’s self-impression of a cranky bat. 

Sitting across from her was Brian, an impatient mien marring his sculpted features. 

Despite no longer fearing headaches, she doesn’t use her power. There wasn’t a need to. The source of his agitation was written over every twitching vein. After one last sip, she set the empty mug down and gifted him her full attention

“All right, lay it on me.” The invitation wasn’t strictly necessary, but Lisa found that it was easier to start any conversation with the Undersiders’ nominal leader this way.

Instead of responding right that moment, Brian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Not an encouraging sign. He’s likely been stewing on his aggravation since coming back from Coil’s base. When he finally opened them, Lisa didn’t have to be a Thinker to see the intensity behind those black orbs.

“I need answers, Lisa,” he said, his deep voice going even deeper than normal. “Don’t give me the runaround. How fucked are we?”

The blonde could only smile at his prescience, despite having been stonewalled by her. It couldn’t have been easy putting together an approximate picture of their crummy circumstances from so few clues.

“The truth? Extremely.”

Brian blew a sharp breath through his nose at Lisa’s confirmation of his worst fear. 

“We’re in much deeper and more tumultuous waters than we initially realized,” she elaborated, looking at the mug and twirling a finger around its rim. “Honestly, I’m not sure how much to tell you and the others. Right now, only I’m really involved in any meaningful way. You just happened to be around to get splash damage. But if you really want to know?” She looked Brian in the eyes to press her point. “There won’t be any backing out. Not for you. Not for anyone even remotely close to you.”

Lisa had to make the reality of their situation crystal clear. Unlike her, Grue has yet to be entangled in a convoluted web of intrigue, secrets, conspiracies, and power struggles. There was still a chance for him to walk away. If he chose to stay, he had to be made aware of the potential consequences.

Brian took his time to answer. The frown on his face indicated that he had some appreciation of just how serious things were. 

“You know why I’m in this, Tats.” Of course. The custody issue.

“I’m sorry Bri, but you’re not really getting what I’m saying here.” The sigh that escaped Lisa was equal parts frustration and resignation. “What good will getting custody of Aisha be when you’re dead?”

His eyes sharpened at the insinuation. “Who exactly is coming after us, Lisa? Coil’s dead and Lung’s out of commission. Is it the Empire? Someone from out of town?”

A suffering groan escaped the Thinker’s throat, rubbing her tired eyes with the heels of her palms. “Dammit, Brian, I already said I can’t tell you! Not, and still give you the chance to walk away. This is it! This is where you get off to live your hopefully long life. Where you wait a few more years and get a good job so you can finally take in your sister. Your share of the spoils from Coil’s slushfund would be more than enough for that.”

This was the conclusion that Lisa came to on her way back to the loft after separating from Taylor. Having the Undersiders on her side would have been useful. There’s no doubt about that. But the world just got a whole lot bigger than one mid-sized city by the bay.

Everything Alfred revealed about Cauldron could get them killed several times over, and the only reason she was still breathing was Alfred himself. From his own words, he could go toe-to-toe with all three members of the Triumverate, plus the scary lady with the fedora.

And she saw no reason to doubt him. Why else would this secretive organization, that effectively controlled the world, take such pains to avoid direct contact? Even her power agreed that he likely could kick their collective asses, though, it couldn’t give specifics as to how.

Would he extend this protection over Brian, Alec, and Rachel? Should he even have to? Any operations they undertake would be much easier with fewer people to keep track of.

Taylor didn’t really count because, clearly, she was an Endbringer-class threat, herself.

Lisa did consider the power enhancement angle, similar to how she and Taylor got a boost, but Alfred shut her down hard when she made the suggestion. He made it clear that they wouldn’t be messing around with powers until they better understood how it worked. 

Then, he flew off to fulfill the bug controller’s ridiculous demands. Just because she didn’t want to give him a straight answer, the indecisive bit–

Nope! No, no, no. She was not going to think about that for a while.

“What about you?” Brian asked, and Lisa was genuinely touched by the concern in his voice.

Their team wasn’t exactly close, being brought together as Coil’s deniable assets. Still, they were the only people she could trust at her back for such a long time. Even if their relationship was mostly business, it still counted.

“I’ll be fine, Bri,” she tried to reassure him. “Things are complicated, but I’m not entirely helpless.”

Frowning thoughtfully, he then asked a question that she really didn’t want to answer.

“Are you gonna keep working with Seraph?” 

“Yes,” Lisa admitted. “I kinda don’t really have much of a choice.”

“Is he forcing you?” Brian’s scowl was surprisingly fierce, likely an instinctive response due to being an older brother.

“No, he’s not,” she quickly denied. “It’s got to do with the things I can’t talk about. Seriously, Bri. He might just be my best shot at getting out of this alive.”

“And you can’t just walk away?”

Lisa warily shook her head. “Too late for that, I’m afraid.”

To be fair, she couldn’t entirely lay everything at Alfred’s feet, much as he seemed willing to take all the blame. 

When it’s all said and done, his only real faults were a result of factors beyond his control. From what he shared about his powers – spherical crystals embedded in his chest that have minds of their own, could act beyond his control, and had a variety of abilities that boggled the mind – Alfred was basically no different from any other freshly-Triggered cape.

Looking at events objectively, the swarm was due to Taylor freaking out, Shadow Stalker’s injuries were her own damn fault, the steamrolling of the heroes was caused by their own overreaction, and the kidnapping, as well as everything that came after, were a direct result of Cauldron’s machinations.

It wasn’t as if Alfred set off those unfortunate incidents out of malice. Yet, the idiotic boy seemed hellbent on owning them. Making matters worse is Taylor fucking Hebert encouraging it! As if she were completely innocent of any wrongdoing.

Oooh! Look at me! I’m just a delicate damsel, waiting for Prince Charming to come to my rescue. I didn’t, at all, unleash a flood of monsters straight out of Lovecraft’s demented brain! Lisa thought bitterly.

If she weren’t so scared of setting off another city-wide disturbance, she would have blown up at the ungrateful little –

Stop it, Lisa! Focus.

“Can you just answer one question before I decide?” Brian requested out of nowhere.

Bottle-green eyes regarded the young man with careful consideration. She’d really rather not, if her suspicions were spot on. Activating her power for the first time since waking up, she – yep, there it is.

“No, the city won’t be safe for much longer,” she answered the unvoiced concern. “In fact, if you’re walking away, I would suggest moving out of the Bay once you get your money.”

Lisa knew what telling the truth would lead to, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie. What would be the point? Besides, she really could use the help to keep two immensely powerful, but unbelievably self-sabotaging, capes from destroying the world.

“Then, I’m not going anywhere.” Oh, Brian… you chivalrous fool.

“Are you sure about this?” Lisa had to ask one more time, if only to ease her conscience.

“My mind’s made up,” he declared sternly. “Now, tell me what’s going on.”

And so she did, only leaving out details about Alfred’s true name, his power, Taylor’s name, her power, and the stupendously brainless quest that–

You know what? Why not?

Lisa couldn’t be the only person to conclude that Miss I-bring-all-the-bugs is a complete moron. So, she told Brian about that, too. 

Honestly, what exactly does Alfred see in her?!

Chapter 31

Dragon POV

“No ma’am, that’s all I have on the matter.”

“Thank you, Dragon. Keep me posted.”

“Yes, ma’am.

The call ended and Dragon released a digital sigh. Dealing with the Chief Director of the PRT was always a challenge. The Tinker was basically asked to pass on copies of all of her findings, observations, and even speculations. All because they really, really, really, wanted to know as much as they could about Seraph.

Not that she could blame them.

Far too many things are happening around that boy, and he is definitely just a boy. Her cameras essentially confirmed what was previously just speculation. 18 years of age, at the oldest, too. His headgear did much to obscure his face, but Dragon’s sensors were some of the most advanced in the world. 

With that said, she did have mixed emotions over such a violation of the Unwritten Rules. Secret identities could be uncovered using so many ways, that it’s often more a matter of discretion than a lack of means that preserves a cape’s private life. 

In this case, however, it’s become a matter of national security and international interests. Had Seraph remained a big fish in a small pond, he wouldn’t be getting as much scrutiny as he is now. However, the incident over the Atlantic Ocean effectively blew whatever anonymity he still had out of the water (pun, very much intended). 

That’s why she currently had several of her suits patrolling over the skies of Brockton Bay. 

Suffice it to say, the city had become a hotbed for governmental scrutiny, both local and federal. Scrutiny that only intensified after Seraph woke Glory Girl from her coma, proving that he could heal, on top of the other abilities he’d already shown. 

From what surveillance cameras were able to capture, he did this with a new form that had a silvery white color before switching to another, which made him harder to track. 

His classification as a Trump had already drawn a lot of attention from organizations with Parahuman interests. After taking everything he has displayed together, seemingly without limitations, it seems that everyone now considers him on par with Eidolon. 

And, with all things being fair, they wouldn’t exactly be wrong.

Taking control of a suit gliding over the western edge of the city, Dragon considered the situation while also running sub-routines to keep an eye on her surroundings. Right now, the goal was to get in touch with the winged parahuman, in hopes of establishing a dialogue.

The PRT’s unusually restrained response to his actions is, in large part, because they hoped to gain his cooperation. A hope that’s ostensibly supported by his seeming adherence to avoidance, rather than violence, if given the choice.

His thrashing of the local Protectorate team and New Wave certainly proved that he could have set himself up as a warlord or gang leader if he wanted to. That he hasn’t signaled a possibility of a more peaceful interaction.

Now, if only they could actually find him.

Bouncing from suit to suit, Dragon kept a vigilant eye on the ground and skies. From this high up, very few things could escape the Tinker’s gaze, which is how she managed to catch a brief flash out in the distance.

Focusing on her sensors, Dragon zoomed in on an elevated road hugging the cliffside leading out of the city via the northern route, about a mile beyond the city limits. She took a few microseconds to understand what she was seeing before engaging her thrusters at maximum burn.

There was no way she was letting him get away, this time.

“Dragon to all channels, I have eyes on Seraph. I repeat, I have eyes on Seraph!”

Rattling off the location of her quarry, Dragon sent instructions to her other suits to converge on her destination. While she did that, the Tinker dedicated some processing power to analyzing the scene playing out in front of her, with the details becoming clearer as she got closer.

There were several figures scattered on the road. Projectiles were being hurled at Seraph before a miniature sun seemingly bloomed mid-air.

Dragon had just finished looking through her records of capes fitting the powers on display when the RV exploded. What came out gave her a sense of deja vu.

What is with this boy and monsters?! She couldn’t help but scream in her mind.

“Dragon to all channels, we have a possible A-Class Parahuman threat. I repeat, a possible A-Class Parahuman threat.”

Several confirmations and cries of alarm flooded the comms before a cold, authoritative voice cut through the noise.

“Dragon, Director Piggot. Report.”

“Seraph is fighting what looks like a blob of flesh with shifting parts, possibly several tons in mass, and – oh, dear god – it just ate someone!” 

Dragon is rarely ever caught by surprise outside of Endbringer fights, but seeing one of the capes fighting Seraph get gobbled up was a horrifying sight to see. And it was about to get worse.

“Director, you need to close down the highway.” Even to the Digital Entity, her own voice sounded faint as she watched something else pop out of the creature’s flesh. “The subject is capable of self-replication.”

There was a sharp gasp, quickly followed by bellows of fury from the irate survivor of Elisburg.

“All channels, get to the location, now! Do not let whatever it is spread or enter the city!” 

Dragon pushed her engines to move even faster. What started out as a quiet night has just become a race against time.

Assault POV

Never a dull night in this city.

Speeding through the streets of Brockton Bay are several dozen black SUVs, all of which were full of PRT agents and heroes, which included the Protectorate cape, Assault. The normally jovial man wore a grim expression under his helmet, with equally grim thoughts filling his head. 

Only to be expected, considering what they were burning rubber to reach.

Another one. This time within walking distance of a populated area instead of in the middle of the ocean. 

When did this place become the monster capital of America? Didn’t they have enough to deal with?

Humor was typically Assault’s main means of coping with stressful situations, but there has been a marked increase in those over the last month. Criminals, he could deal with. Villains, he could pummel all day long.

But when the things that go bump in the night suddenly start crawling out of the woodwork, the reformed jailbreaker can be forgiven for asking questions. Questions like “What the fuck?”, “How the fuck?”, and “Why the fuck?”, in that order.

There has got to be a limit to how much crazy their team is forced to deal with. There’s just gotta!

Watching the footage of those oversized creepy crawlies out at sea made him thankful that they got there too late to do much other than help collect samples. But now one of them is here, in their own backyard.

Was this city built on top of an Indian graveyard, or something? Their luck couldn’t possibly be this bad.

“Assault, do you read?” Battery’s voice interrupted his descent into panic.

“I read you. Whatcha need, puppy?”

“We’re closing in on the AO,” she said, flooding Assault’s chest with ice. “Updated ROE puts us on perimeter duty. Apparently, only blasters can engage the main target. Otherwise, they risk getting assimilated and cloned.”

What?

“Where are we getting this intel?” He listened to the briefing while on the move, just like everyone else. There was no mention of this.

“Seraph.”

What?

“He can talk?”

Assault wasn’t sure why he asked that question. It must’ve been the constantly changing situation that’s making his head spin.

“Why wouldn’t he – No, not the time. Look, he says we’re basically dealing with a rampaging Case 53. Code-named Echidna. Striker/Changer/Mover/Brute and Master. Rapid regeneration, monstrous strength, exponentially increasing mass, and can create a twisted copy of anyone who comes into physical contact with her. Apparently, you don’t even need to get swallowed, and the clone will have some twisted version of both your personality and powers.”

“Christ!” Forget A-Class, this was a full-blown S-Class emergency! 

“Exactly,” Battery confirmed. “Dragon’s already briefing everyone else. The two of us will be hunting down escaped copies, along with Velocity, while the heroes not engaging Echidna will create a net about half a mile wide. The area inside of that will be our hunting grounds.”

Well, that sounds simple enough. There’s got to be a catch, though.

“What about the clones? Anything we need to watch out for?”

“Confirming,” came the reply, before the comms clicked off. After a minute, which Assault spent trying to calm his jittery nerves, it came on again. “Seraph says their threat levels are variable. The clones could either be completely harmless or incredibly dangerous, both for others and themselves, but every single one is insane. A teleporter’s already been subsumed, along with a paraplegic with dream projection.”

Okay, that didn’t sound so bad.

“How many clones can she make?” Assault asked.

“Momentary contact will only produce one copy,” Battery said, causing him to relax a bit, which was a mistake. “But, she can make as many as she wants of those inside her.”

Dear god.

The blue-clad hero was almost too afraid to ask, but knew that there was no avoiding it.

“How many are there now?”

“Nearly a hundred,” was the distressing response, “and counting.”

“Shit.”

Miss Militia POV

There comes a point in a hero’s life when they need to make the hard choice of taking a life in order to safeguard others. This was not such a time. 

In fact, the gun-toting Star Sprangled parahuman found that this was not at all like any time she had ever experienced. The closest she could compare it to was records of Spree, a member of the Teeth, who could produce multiple versions of himself.

Except Spree’s copies didn’t come with their own individual powers that varied to a staggering degree. The Blaster had literally lost track of how many she had already put down, and they hadn't even made it to Echidna’s location yet. 

Sounds of explosions echoed in the distance, a searing glow emanated from around the bend about 50 feet ahead, which was then followed by waves of heat that were quickly raising the ambient temperature of her surroundings. The night air was riddled with cracks from gunfire, many of which came from PRT agents who were ordered to go for lethal shots from the start.

Travel by motorcycle was made impossible due to the corpses clogging the road, forcing her to make the rest of the way on foot. A sudden bang rang through the air, before the sound of tearing metal preceded one of Dragon’s suits spinning through the air, and crashing to the tree line below the cliff in a spectacular conflagration.

From her elevated vantage point, Miss Militia had a full view of the surrounding landscapes. The scattered patches of groves were teeming with law enforcement personnel and clones, both sides doing their absolute best to destroy the other.

Helicopters dot the night sky, some from various government agencies like the PRT, and others are media.

It felt like every other minute, new capes were popping up, and it was becoming difficult to ascertain whether they were heroes or villains. The adults from New Wave came in from the south side, but were quickly diverted to hunt down a large group of clones trying to skirt the perimeter.

And this is just the start.

National Guard troops were already on standby due to the Tiamat incident and the presence of Seraph in the city. Mobilization began the moment Dragon reported the S-Class threat, and they would arrive in an hour.

A barrage of lasers impacting multiple spots announced the arrival of Legend, which was then accompanied by a helical streak of light that detonated the target area. Purity has come, and the E88 is likely not far behind.

Brockton Bay’s outskirts have well and truly become an active warzone.

Chapter 32

Taylor POV

Things have been incredibly awkward at home since Taylor came back two days prior. Walking up to the house in borrowed clothes and looking like she’d been taken to the cleaners was the final stretch on a journey of dread.

Even knowing that she wasn’t technically at fault for everything that happened, there was no convincing Taylor’s heart to stop beating a mile a minute. 

She was so preoccupied that she forgot about the rickety step, which promptly announced her arrival. Stomping then thudded inside the house, before the door was swung open with considerable force.

Frame by the entryway was Danny Hebert, disheveled as all hell and with wild eyes flitting about before they finally landed on her. When it finally registered that, yes, he really was looking at his daughter, the balding man moved to engulf her in a fierce hug.

“Taylor, oh thank God, Taylor,” he cried. “I thought I lost you! I thought – Jesus, I didn’t know what to think!”

“It’s okay, Dad,” she said in a quiet voice, returning his embrace with equal fervor. “I’m okay, I promise. Things just got a little out of hand.”

“Out of hand?” Slowly releasing Taylor, Danny held his daughter far enough to look her in the eyes. “Kiddo, you’ve been gone for nearly three days! I’m gonna need more than that.”

Sighing in defeat, Taylor wordlessly took his hand and pulled them both inside. Once seated on the sofa, she laid everything safe to divulge. Some of the things she learned would definitely put her father in danger.

This proved to be the wiser course of action, as the freak-out that followed would’ve been a lot worse if she had added details like global conspiracies into the mix. Naturally, Taylor was grounded, and Danny even called the school to inform them that she wouldn’t be attending for a few days due to a family emergency.

She was so exhausted by that point that she didn’t even argue.

It’s been two days since then, and while Taylor understood her father’s reaction, she couldn’t help but feel resentful. Making matters worse is the state of her power.

After her first encounter with Seraph, the boost to her range went dormant. The same went for the enhancement of her minions. With practice, she was able to gain finer control over the insects under her thrall, allowing her to do things better than she did before.

Seeing and hearing through insects became second-nature, and she was even able to overcome a few weaknesses to some extent, like the rain, cold temperatures, and even bug repellents. Since waking up after her episode over the ocean, though, it was like her power was muted.

It’s still there, as far as she can tell. She just can’t use it.

Unfortunately, Taylor only realized this after sending Alfred off. Lisa was there to help her calm down, as well as put things into perspective, but it was still incredibly disconcerting.

True to the blonde Thinker’s prediction, it has been getting better. She’s already started feeling the bugs in her immediate surroundings. No control, still, but an encouraging sign.

Another point that completely skipped her mind was the wound she sustained from the bullet ricochet while trying to escape with Lisa. It had completely skipped her mind because of so much going on at the time, but even back when she woke up in her cell, there was no pain or feeling of blood loss.

When she brought it up with Lisa, the other girl went eerily quiet and still for a few seconds.

Then, after coming out of it, she got really evasive and insisted that Taylor should go home. She promised to get in touch once everything settled down. But since they parted, there’s been no word.

She’d since spent her time looking things up on the clunky home computer. At Lisa’s advice, she avoided all mentions of the Atlantic incident. That was fine. There were other topics to browse, such as Glory Girl’s apparent miraculous recovery.

Good.

No word about Shadow Stalker getting the same treatment, though.

Even better.

This was the one aspect of Taylor’s current powerless state to be thankful for. Otherwise, she would’ve sent a biblical plague to the hospital where that bitch was being kept. 

She was already in enough hot water, as it is. There’s no need to add attacking a Ward to her rap sheet. It was damn tempting, though. Especially consider her apparent influence over Seraph: a topic that she’s done everything she could to avoid thinking about since they split.

Right now, she just needed to wait until she heard from either of her two new… acquaintances? Co-conspirators? Certainly not friends.

Taylor was in the middle of preparing dinner, a few hours after ending her net surfing session, when the landline rang. Wiping her hands on her apron, she picked up the receiver.

“Hebert Reside –” she started.

“Taylor!” Danny didn’t even let her finish, voice loud and frantic. “I’m coming home. Do not leave the house, do you understand? Do not leave the house.”

“Leave the – what’s going on?”

“No time! I gotta go. Be home in a bit. Stay there!”

The other line went dead, leaving Taylor staring incredulously at the phone.

“What the fuck?”

Just then, her burner went off. Blowing out an air of exasperation, she flipped it open to see Lisa’s name. Brow furrowed in consternation, she pressed answer.

“Lis –” Once again, she was interrupted.

“Taylor, please tell me you’re home!” came the panicked greeting.

“Okay, what is going on? My dad just called me to ask the same thing.” 

“Haven’t you – never mind. Don’t go anywhere. We’re coming over.”

“What?!” she squeaked. “Lisa, no! My dad’s on his way home. You can’t be here when he does!”

“Then, you better freakin’ give him a heads up before we get there!” she retorted with steel in her voice. “I’m not fucking around, Taylor. We’ll keep you and your dad safe, especially given your current state.”

It hurt to admit that she was right. While not completely helpless, the temporary absence of her power does make Taylor more vulnerable. On that note, she still hasn’t gotten an answer.

“Can you at least tell me what everyone’s freaking out about?”

Just then, a plume of fire rose into the sky, high enough to be visible from Taylor’s living room window. 

God damn it!

“What’s he gotten himself into now?” she groaned, having a good idea as to the culprit behind that tower of fire.

“Funny you should mention that,” Lisa’s sharp reply caught Taylor off guard. “He’s just following orders.”

Oh, crap.

Victoria Dallon POV

Vicky has never felt more alive.

Though it was unfortunate that it took a literal S-Class emergency to get her out of the hospital, she was still grateful for the opportunity to escape the stifling confinement. She was even more grateful that she could finally take Fragile out on a test run.

And boy, did she deliver.

While she retained much of her original strength and durability, Vicky now had an expanded repertoire of tricks – namely, the ability to create extendable limbs that she can launch from practically any direction.

They acted less like arms and more like sharp spikes or spears. In addition, they can move independently since they also respond to Fragile’s commands.

In short, Vicky now has near 360-degree coverage and can turn into motherfucking hedgehog! 

Quite the upgrade, and just in time, too. The number of batshit crazy clones she’s had to dispatch in the last few minutes absolutely boggled her mind. The Brute never could have imagined being involved in shredding living, thinking beings as a hero.

Yet, that’s exactly what’s happening. 

Surprisingly, the culprit for this newest batch of insanity isn’t Seraph. Well, he’s involved, but someone else was causing the actual problem.

Apparently, the crazed Case-53 he’s currently fighting could produce hundreds of clones, each of which would then possess an offshoot power of a devoured parahuman. Many of the copies that Vicky had to put down, so far, had some form of projection, teleportation, or physical enhancements.

So, it’s safe to say that only a few capes have been eaten, as of this point.

That’s why Brutes like her were told to stay away, as well. It would be too risky to get involved. 

“Glory Girl!” someone called out.

Looking over, Vicky saw Armsmaster briskly walking toward her, a decapitated body lying on the ground behind the Tinker.

“Armsmaster,” she greeted. “How’re things going on your end?”

“Well enough,” he said. “But we have updated orders. Apparently, some interlopers are taking advantage of the chaos to sow more discord. Members of the Ambassadors have been sighted in the city, and it would appear that they are involved in unleashing Echidna.”

“Say, what?” Vicky gaped in astonishment.

But before Armsmaster could say anything else, a loud cackling was heard in the distance. A deafening explosion then came from the ridge where the rampaging monstrous parahuman was being corralled, immediately followed by a towering pillar of fire.

“Did Seraph finally lose his shit?” she blurted out.

“Unlikely,” Armsmaster denied immediately. “He –”

“This is Dragon to all channels. Bakuda is on scene. I repeat, Bakuda is on scene. She’s a Bomb Tinker, and she just launched some kind of vortex induction munition that created a high-velocity thermal updraft.”

“Oh, for the love of –” Vicky groaned.

“All channels, this is Director Piggot. Bakuda is unstable and extremely egotistical. Exercise caution when dealing with her. Dragon, can you locate her?”

“Negative, director. Oni Lee delivered the payload. Seraph confirmed her presence, but we’re too preoccupied with Echinda and – look out!”

Vicky’s heart nearly froze at the panic in the Canadian Tinker’s shout.

“Dragon! What happened?”

“Bakuda’s attack provided enough of a distraction for one of the clones to snatch Purity!” Dragon reported. “Echidna has just assimilated Purity. All channels, I repeat. Echidna has assimilated Purity!”

Not hesitating for a moment, Vicky took to the skies at maximum speed. She might not be able to help with putting down the Case-53, but she could certainly hunt down clones of the nazi bitch.

She heard Armsmaster call out, but she didn’t stop or slow down. 

Having to fight multiple versions of the Blaster 8 is a nightmare scenario. One that can be alleviated with a sensible application of controlled carnage.

Who better to deliver that than her?

Chapter 33

Alfred POV

I just can’t freaking catch a break, can I? 

Wake up Vicky Dallon from her coma? Got caught and was forced to escape, sharpish.

Track down The Travelers and bring them in quietly? Botched that almost right away.

Actually, talk to the heroes without causing a major incident? Well, I said stuff to Dragon, who then said it to others during an incident that I certainly did not start. Does that count?

I realize that, at this point, people are probably not gonna believe me when I say that this wasn’t my fault. But, to be absolutely clear, this was not my fault. Noelle had already been losing her shit by the time I found the Ziz bombs. If that asshole, Trickster, had just kept calm, we wouldn’t be in this mess.

He didn’t, though. And now, we’re here. Having to contend with a pissed-off proto-Endbringer who’d just gobbled up the strongest Blaster in Brockton Bay because the fucking Cornell Bomber just had to get involved!

So now, I am beyond livid.

Especially after I had to tank a shot from one of Purity’s clones. Fortunately, it’s ground-bound, so I only really needed to hit it with a lightning bolt, leaving charred meat on the highway. Using Violet for this fight made sense due to how accessible its magical attacks were. The only problem was the smell that had begun stinking up the air.

Way too many cooked bodies down there, now.

A few other clones of the Blaster tried harassing maneuvers or breaking through the perimeter, but Legend, Dragon, and Dauntless all pitched in to keep them corralled. My main focus was still on Echidna, who kept trying to skirt around and escape.

Last I heard, many of the other local fliers and ranged capes were doing the same thing, but I’ve long lost track of who was where doing what.

Going for another dive, I sent another bolt at Noelle, who was trying to run down Sundancer and Ballistic, knocking her back several meters. It almost felt like half the time I spent fighting was just to keep these two uneaten. Frustration was the main emotion of the day, mostly because the clones that kept popping up seemed to really want the free members of The Travelers to no longer be so.

Now, I could have just flash-fried the monstrous cape with a truly massive bolt of lightning from the start. But two things stopped me, and were still stopping me even now.

First, Taylor gave explicit instructions to avoid killing anyone. Second, going after these guys was intended to both remove threats set up by the Simurgh and to give the Protectorate and PRT a peace offering.

From everything I knew about the group, events shouldn’t have devolved so quickly.

Noelle was still supposed to have kept her mind. Trickster was supposed to be desperate for a cure. All of them should’ve been.

Instead, I find them trying to escape Brockton Bay; the girl/fleshy monstrosity was already having a fit, and the rest of The Travelers were hellbent on getting away from me. Had this happened at any other point, I would’ve blamed Cauldron, but that didn’t make sense.

Not after they, in their own fucked up way, actually put in the effort to avoid directly antagonizing me.

So, what the hell was going on?

Hovering over the duo of villains, I sent out a wave of highly-charged particles and made several approaching clones explode from the inside out. I then dropped down, grabbed both by the waist, and flew away at top speeds.

An enraged scream from behind nearly scrambled my sense of balance from sheer volume, but I powered through and kept going. At the same time, I screamed in Dragon’s general direction, knowing her equipment would hear me.

“Dragon! I’m taking Sundancer and Ballistic to safety. Maybe they can tell us what the fuck’s going on. Keep Echidna busy!”

In lieu of an answer, one of her suits flew by and launched several missiles toward the direction I’m heading away from. 

Satisfied that I at least had a few minutes, I flew toward a cordon full of flashing lights, tents, and PRT personnel running around. My approach didn’t go unnoticed, and a few had gathered near the center, which I took as my landing zone.

After touching down, one of them stepped forward.

“Seraph?” he asked gruffly and, in my opinion, unnecessarily. Who else would I be?

“That’s me! Sorry, in a bit of a rush,” I panted, while setting down my passengers. Once the two found their feet, I then grabbed their shoulders. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time. If you want to see your friends again, you’ll tell me why Noelle’s acting out of control.”

The same PRT officer who addressed me cleared his throat, catching my attention. “Thinker support raised the probability of interference from Accord.” What the shit? “Ambassador sightings have been confirmed, and agents have been sent to intercept. We’ve been instructed to give you a comms unit,” he concluded by offering a black earpiece.

I had to shake the confusion muddying my thoughts, because there was way too much to unpack there. After taking the earpiece and thanking the officer, I put it on. 

Nothing happened.

Looking at the agent, he told me that I needed to tap it. So, I did.

“Seraph?” a voice came from the wireless earbud. It was a firm vibrato, no-nonsense, and sound absolutely done with the world.

“Director Piggot, I presume?”

“Yes. It’s good that we’re finally talking.”

“Yeah, uh, likewise. But we’ll have to save the pleasantries later. Your agent just told me that Accord’s involved in this whole mess?”

“That’s what our Thinkers have told us. We still don’t know why, exactly, but odds are good that the villain is after something in Brockton Bay.”

Shit. I bet I knew what or who he was looking for. Unfortunately, I couldn’t just blurt that out. Time was running out.

“Understood, ma’am. I’ll cooperate with your people to wrap things up here quickly. To that end, I’ll have to drop this call to speak with the surviving members of The Travelers.”

Sundancers and Ballistic were off to the side, having a heated discussion in whispered hisses and wild gesticulations. 

“Copy that. My agents will be listening in.”

Well, I had no objections to that and let her know. Soon, I was walking toward the arguing pair.

“Right,” I loudly declared, letting them know of my presence. “I have even less time now than before, so I’ll make a few guesses, and you’ll confirm whether I’m right or wrong. Feel free to fill in the gaps, though, make it quick. Got it?”

After getting nods, I started. “After losing contact with Coil, Trickster freaked out. Accord then got in touch with you somehow and made an offer. It’s either to cure Noelle or get you out of the city, or both. In exchange, he had you follow a particular set of instructions to the letter. How am I doing, so far?”

“Partially right,” Ballistic scoffed. “It wasn’t so much an offer as an ultimatum. We did what he said, or we’ll have Kill Orders written up.”

He didn’t elaborate on how a villain was supposed to make that happen, and I didn’t need him to. The Travelers tended to make a mess wherever they went.

“And Noelle?” I pressed.

“They gave us something,” Sundancer said in a voice so low that I had to lean forward just to catch her words. “Said it would help keep Noelle’s urges suppressed until we got out of the city. Accord promised safe passage until we reached a Wet Tinker who could supposedly give her a new body.”

The poor girl was shivering in sobs by the time she stopped talking, and Ballistic ended up giving an awkward half-hug as a result.

As for me? I was beyond enraged. Violet was absolutely clamoring for me to file a complaint directly to Accord, involving thunder and plasma. Red wasn’t far behind, and even White-Silver and Blue were expressing extreme dissatisfaction.

Somewhere in the depths of my soul, an awareness stirred. Old, immense, and prideful.

I had to get a handle on my emotions right quick, or I’d blow up on some undeserving folks nearby. Nodding in confirmation, I looked at the pair and said, “Thank you for the information.” I kept my voice as steady as I was able. “Stay here, for now, and tell the PRT everything you can. I’ll do my best to save your friends.”

So saying, I turned, preparing to fly off. But, before I could, I heard Sundancer call out to me.

“If – if you can’t fix her,” she said in a tremulous voice, “please – please end it. She’s been suffering for so long.”  Falling on her knees, the girl fully let go and cried her heart out. Ballistic could only kneel beside her, offering what support he could. “Noelle doesn’t deserve this. She’s in so much pain. She never meant – she never meant to hurt anyone! Please, believe me!”

Looking at the sobbing teen, I couldn’t help but think back to how the fans favored her with so much sympathy. She ended Noelle’s rampage in the story, choosing to incinerate her friend, rather than let her continue causing death and suffering. 

“I understand,” was all I could say before taking to the air.

The echoes of heartbreak followed me as I coaxed as much speed out of Violet as I could. It was time to end this.

“Dragon, are you there?” I asked, tapping the earpiece. 

“Seraph?” she answered.

“It’s me. Listen, I just got some intel that Accord gave Noe – um – Echidna something. I bet that’s why she went berserk. I’m going to try something, but if it doesn’t work, we’ll need to put her down. Permanently.”

There was a pause on the line, then someone else’s voice went through.

“Do what you have to do, Seraph.”

Legend. The Cauldron member I had the most complex feelings about.

“Copy that.”

I can deal with that sticky issue later. For now, I focused on my last hope of everyone coming out of this fine. Should this fail, I wasn’t sure how I could keep going.

White-Silver, please, I mentally called out in desperation. Please tell me I can make a difference. That this world isn’t completely hopeless. Help me be a beacon of light in the darkness!

At this point, I already knew that the Dragoon Spirits’ abilities didn’t work exactly as they did in the game. I got burned by my ignorance with Astral Drain. I was given hope when Rose took over and showed me how Darkness should really be used.

Now, it was time for me to prove, if only to myself, that I wasn’t just in this world to make everything worse.

The transformation came as smoothly as it always does. Purple organic armor was replaced by elegant, golden filigree and silver plates, as smooth as ivory. By the time the lightshow was done, I hovered over the recovering form of Noelle.

My choice was Moon Light. The White-Silver Dragoon’s starting magic spell, capable of providing 100% HP recovery for living allies, or 50% after reviving them. It also removes harmful status effects.

I wasn’t sure just what it considered harmful. But, after conveying my thoughts to White-Silver, I’m hoping that it knows exactly what to target.

A bow appeared on my left hand, the same one that Shana and Miranda were shown to use in their artwork. It was an ornate piece of art, made of what looked like polished, silver-white metal or bone. Easily a third of my height in size.

Pulling back the string, an arrow of light materialized. Instead of pointing it at Noelle, however, I flew higher into the sky and faced upward.

There, right beside the first, a second moon appeared. One that I only ever saw in low-resolution graphics or in-game cutscenes. A celestial body that certainly should not exist in this world.

But I couldn’t focus on that. The spell was reaching its crescendo, and I wasn’t sure what would happen if I stopped now.

So, after drawing the bow to its fullest extent, I let go and watched the light arrow speed toward The Moon That Never Sets. It only took half a second, all things considered, but the effects were spectacular.

After hitting the surface, the pale disk glowed with impossible brightness. Then, a beam of light came crashing down. Not at me, the user, as it happened in the game. Instead, it bathed Noelle in intense luminosity, drawing a howling shriek of pain from the monstrous cape.

However, it wasn’t just her who started screeching. All over the surrounding landscape, a discordant choir of wails arose, followed by pinpricks of brightness suddenly lighting up within a radius of several hundred meters.

I watched as one by one, the pinpricks were snuffed out in no particular order. Finally, only Noelle still stood. A singular player under the spotlight – all eyes were on her. 

Eventually, the beam began to sputter and die down. When it fully faded, I watched as Noelle Meinhardt lay on a puddle of melted flesh, half-naked from the waist down. Had it ended there, I would’ve been overjoyed.

Here was a character I wasn’t sure I could save, and yet, I did.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one to start wriggling around in a macabre soup of discarded meat. There were the recently devoured capes, of course. Trickster, Genesis, Purity, and, uh, there was a fourth. But, for the life of me, I couldn’t place him.

Aside from the quartet, though, several dozen figures were also trying to get up. Screams began tearing through the silence left by the miraculous event, once more, and I could only stare at the scene in disbelief.

“Seraph, what did you do?!” Dragon’s voice came on the comms.

I subconsciously tapped the earpiece, but then realized I didn’t really know what to say. How the hell do you explain the revival of, from what I can count, over a hundred people?

“Uh, whoops?”

Eh, as good a response as any.

Chapter 34

Alfred POV

Well, this is a right mess.

Things were moving at a rather annoying pace at the moment. Shortly after accidentally reviving upwards of a hundred people, Dragon told me that I needed to stick around. Not wanting to cause more trouble than I already had, I complied.

Of course, I also made sure to call Lisa to give her a heads up on what’s going on, only for her to then inform me that she was already at Taylor’s house. Apparently, Danny was freaking out, Taylor was fuming, and the rest of the Undersiders were extremely confused.

Not having the time to get into that can of worms, I shared what I could about the Ambassadors’ presence in the Bay and Accord’s possible motivations for getting involved. I could immediately tell that she wanted to ask more questions, but refrained from doing so once I told her that I would be meeting with the heroes and the PRT.

The last thing she told me was that they were moving the Heberts to a safer location, which seemed to be an uphill battle from what I heard in the background. All of this to say that I’m in a bit of a hurry, but everyone else seems intent on moving at a snail’s pace!

Okay, that might be unfair of me.

I did just drop a huge problem in their laps. Who knew that processing so many formerly-dead-but-suddenly-alive people could take so long?

So, here I was, sitting on a reinforced steel chair at the very end of a portable table, inside a tent where PRT officials and heroes were gathered: both Protectorate and Independent. 

No one approached me. 

Though there were a lot of stares.

Most of them I recognized, with New Wave collectively glaring at me from across the tent. Understandable, considering how much I hurt them during our last encounter. Not to mention what I did to Glory Girl, unintended or not.

Strangely enough, Victoria didn’t seem particularly angry, though the translucent figure of Fragile floating behind her was worth noting. As far as I knew, there were only a few ways that could have happened, even when discounting the potential side effects of White-Silver’s healing.

A Second Trigger was the most likely.

Shit.

Other capes were present, as well, though I couldn’t identify any of them by appearance alone. Was Sere or Dovetail among them? I wasn’t sure.

Fortunately, the Protectorate heroes were a lot more professional. Unfortunately, this professionalism didn’t really extend to the Wards that were here, for some reason. Aegis and Weld were easy enough to spot, but both kept shooting me surreptitious glances.

My face was hidden by White-Silver’s headgear, which included a white headband studded with large, white crystals and a visor of the same color. So, there’s no fear that I’ll be exposed. However, it didn’t make the gawking any less uncomfortable.

Finally, Legend entered, with whom I assumed was Emily Piggot following close behind. Her appearance is pretty distinctive, given how she was described in fanfics. 

“Good evening, everyone,” she greeted before taking her seat at the head of the table. “As some of you will already know, I’m Emily Piggot, Director of the Parahuman Response Team, East North East. We won’t keep you for long. Our only goal here is to establish a clear timeline of events, as well as to clear up the various aspects of this incident that are still unclear. To that end, Seraph.”

I was startled out of my sense of surreality at Emily Piggot speaking by being so abruptly addressed. For some reason, hearing this woman talk in person felt more fanciful than anything else I’ve experienced since coming to Bet.

Let’s unpack that later.

“Can you lead us through the events that led to your confrontation with The Travelers?” she prompted.

Oh, this wasn’t good. Public speaking! My one weakness!

It’s fine. Just play it cool, Alfred. 

“I gained intel on The Travelers’ presence in the city, which included details on a particularly dangerous member,” I explained in as straightforward a manner as I could get away with. “That was Echidna. Upon consulting with an associate, I eventually tracked them down and discovered that they were trying to skip town. I held off on confronting them until they were out of city limits to prevent collateral damage. Unfortunately, by the time I got there, the vehicle they were using had already on its side.”

“If I may,” Armsmaster suddenly cut in. “Can you tell us where you got your intelligence?”

That got me staring at the Tinker really hard. He wasn’t even trying to be subtle, was he?

“Not my secret to share,” I firmly rebuffed, hoping that would be the end of the matter.

“And not particularly pertinent to this matter,” Legend added with a meaningful look at his colleague, much to my consternation.

Can these people be any more obvious? Did Cauldron send this guy to suck up to me or something?

“Please continue, Seraph,” Piggot urged.

For a moment, I was tempted to contest the name they gave me, but decided that it didn’t really matter and simply conceded to the request.

“I attempted to establish a dialogue, but the cape known as Trickster instantly became belligerent. From there, contact devolved until Ballistic and Sundancer attacked. Even then, I tried to talk them down, but that’s when Echidna tore out of the vehicle and went on a rampage.” Laying out the facts like I was doing helped settle a few things in my own mind. I couldn’t have known that Noelle was already primed to go berserk, so I didn’t feel the need to change my approach.

“Trickster attempted to calm her down, but got eaten for his efforts,” I continued. “From my observations, Echidna was no longer conscious of her surroundings, nor could she recognize her own companions. At that point, I had to switch my priorities to protect the rest of The Travelers. The appearance of the clones vastly complicated this goal, and in the end, I was only able to secure two.”

“These would be Ballistic and Sundancer, correct?” Piggot asked.

“Yes,” I confirmed.

“What happened then?”

“At some point, Dragon arrived and began assisting me in taking out the clones. I shared what I knew about the threat, which she then shared with you. Unfortunately, by that point, there were so many of them that containment was impossible with just the two of us. Having to eliminate the copies, while also keeping two people safe, occupied most of our attention until backup arrived. The rest, Dragon should already know.”

There! Clean and clinical. No unnecessary details added.

“Thank you, Seraph.”

I nodded in response.

After that, others were asked to give their own accounts. Most weren’t all that interesting, unless you count the systematic massacre of sapient clones. A few did catch my attention, including Glory Girl chasing after Bakuda.

It would seem that the mad bomber finally crawled out of her hole in an attempt to make a big splash. Well, she certainly succeeded. Her interference made things a hundred times more difficult with Purity getting gobbled up.

With that said, her opening move did answer the mystery of where she’s been this whole time, and I did not like it. The egotistic brat had been building bombs based on my Dragoon Spirits’ abilities. 

The fire tornado was obvious enough, but she apparently threw lightning grenades at Glory Girl, too. Hell, she even tossed out bombs that created swarms of super hornets out of thin air! Like, how does that even work? Did they get teleported, or was it some fucked up version of a Poké Ball?

I already knew that Tinkers were bullshit, but come on!

Fragile’s presence came in clutch here, since she absolutely shredded the attacking cloud of stingers. So, Vicky managed to survive, but Bakuda and Oni Lee got away.

Good news, though? They technically violated the truce that I wasn’t even aware was in effect by using an attack when Dragon and I were in the AOE. It didn’t matter that the Tinker was remotely piloting her suit and that I was able to protect Sundancer and Ballistic from the flames.

Everyone’s gonna be gunning for the idiot, now.

A few more questions were tossed around, including my testimony regarding Accord’s meddling; information that surprised more than a few people. But we eventually got to the elephant in the room.

“Now, about the seemingly miraculous healing of Echidna, and the revival of the 152 victims of her uncontrollable hunger.” Piggot’s delivery was so dry, it made Death Valley sound positively flooded. “According to what we’ve managed to get out of her, so far, the former monstrous cape, who has since identified herself as one Noelle Meinhardt, supposedly ate these people. And yet, we now have them filling an entire block of emergency triage tents with no recollections of their demise.” Fixing me with an irritated look, she then asked, “Can you explain to us how you managed to do this?”

So, here’s the thing. I don’t really know for sure how I pulled that off. At most, I hoped that White-Silver could fix Noelle’s abnormal status – that is to say, her deformation. But I never could have imagined that it would bring back people who should have long been digested.

That they were suggests a new level of fuckery. 

My current theory is that they weren’t actually dead while inside Noelle. At least, not in the traditional sense. They simply became a part of her greater whole. That’s why she was always hungry.

So, when she was subjected to Moon Light’s healing effects, not only did it remove her abnormal status, but it also attempted to revive her as a singular entity. Except, she wasn’t just one being at all, was she? At that point, she became an amalgamation of more than a hundred.

Now, here’s the problem: I didn’t intend to revive anyone when I set out to capture The Travelers.

At most, I would have healed Noelle. Perhaps even Genesis, since, well, I was already there and it would be incredibly douchy of me if I didn’t. But since I did show that I could absolutely bring people back from the dead, I had enough common sense to know that my life was about to get a lot more complicated.

This was made evident enough by the amount of interest the people in the tent were showing after Piggot’s question. If I’m to dissuade the plans already forming in their heads to take advantage of me, I had to use desperate measures.

“I don’t know,” I bluntly confessed to a shocked reception.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“Are you kidding me, right now?”

“He’s lying!”

“Can you revive people or not?!”

Complaints, invectives, accusations, and demands were hurled at me from all directions. Which is fine, since I already expected them. 

“That’s enough!” Legend roared. “Get ahold of yourselves! We’re not getting anywhere bombarding him like this.”

Once quiet had been restored, the Protectorate’s big boss then turned to me. “Can you please clarify what you mean?”

I was now at a crossroads. The rest of my stay here will be dictated by what I say next. A heavy decision, to be certain, but one that needed to be made.

“Look,” I sighed with an appropriately regretful amount of remorse. “It’s been made abundantly clear to me that I’m not the sharpest stick in the warehouse. Every decision I’ve made since that night with Lung has had, err, unfortunate results.” I ducked my head and avoided looking at the heroes who were definitely glaring at me. “Talking about verifiable facts like how I encountered The Travelers is one thing. Speculating, however, isn’t something I can do without risking potentially severe consequences.”

“Then work with us!” Miss Militia exclaimed, causing everyone to stare at her in surprise. “You’ve been running around the city causing chaos. By working with us, we can avoid any further misunderstandings.”

Despite Piggot, Armsmaster, and Legend regarding the heroine with consternation at such a brazen act, they didn’t contradict her, either. Nor did I doubt the sincerity of her plea. With that said…

“If it were up to me, I would,” I shook my head sadly.

This caused the heroes and PRT personnel to freeze on the spot, including Legend.

“Seraph,” Piggot began, voice trembling slightly. “Are you being controlled by someone else?”

“I can’t say any more,” I replied. “But, if you really want my cooperation, then you’ll have to…”

I pause just long enough to raise the tension.

“...get in touch with Tattletale of the Undersiders. Okay, that’s it for me. Gottagobye!”

Not waiting for the energetic response my parting statement was bound to induce, I flew through the nearest flap and rocketed toward the sky. As fast as I left, though, I could still hear Carol Dallon’s unpleasant shrieks of rage.

Once far enough in the air, I quickly switched to Darkness and really pushed my flight speed.

Eventually, I made it to the Docks area, where I then landed on the rooftop of an abandoned building. Shedding my Dragoon Form, I took out my phone to call Lisa.

It hardly rang before her voice came through.

“Pizza!”

“...Pineapple.”

I may have forgotten to mention that the Thinker’s paranoid ass started insisting on passwords whenever we talked on the phone. Said I’m so stupid, I’d exchange my burner for a pebble or something. I could only hope that she was exaggerating.

“Good,” she breathed out in relief. “Is it done?”

“Yup! How ‘bout you?”

“We’re fine. Guests are a bit rowdy, though.”

…

…

…

“This is ridiculous!” I complained. “No one’s listening in on our calls!”

“You don’t know that!” she shot back. “Or did you forget who gave me a housecall?”

“They don’t need to tap our phones! If they wanted to know, they’d know!”

“Every bit of security helps, especially with your himbo ass always shitting the bed!”

“Shitting the – I’m not that bad!”

“Oh, yeah?” she challenged, sarcasm practically spilling through the burner’s speaker. “Your meeting with the PRT went perfectly, did it?”

“Absolutely!” I said with pride. “Didn’t give anything away that might get us in trouble. I even told them that if they wanted to work with me, then they should call Tattletale.”

The pause that followed stretched for nearly a minute.

“Hey, uh, you still there?” I asked.

“Me?” she repeated faintly. “You told them to call me? Known small-time thief, villain, and suspected Thinker. That’s who you told them to call?”

“I mean,” I tried to explain weakly. “It’s better this way, isn’t it? Not like I could give them Tay – uh, you-know-who’s number. And I’m clearly no good at this whole planning thing, so it had to be you.”

An even longer pause followed. This time, I didn’t bother to prod, since I could hear labored breathing on the other side.

“When I get my hands on you,” she eventually said with a voice that sounded disturbingly blank, “I’m going to open your head, scoop out what passes for your brain, and put it in a pickle jar.”

Okay, so I might have messed up. 

Coulda happened to anyone!

Sidestory - Lisa’s Really Bad Day

Lisa stared at the number displayed on her phone screen with trepidation. She just finished a tough discussion with Rachel and Alec, where she gave them the same chance as Brian to break away. To her surprise, they didn’t. According to her power, Rachel considered Alfred top-dog now, and Alec liked having such a powerful cape in his corner.

She was just thinking about what to have for dinner when this latest interruption soured her already low mood. Deciding that she couldn’t just ignore him, Lisa breathed deep before tapping the receive icon.

“What is it this time?” she asked with exasperation.

“Hello,” the sarcastically cheerful voice came through. “How are you? It’s nice to hear from you, too!”

“Can it, doofus!” she barked. “I don’t have time for your shit. I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I have a headache.”

“I thought you didn’t get headaches anymore?”

“Not that kind of headache! I can still have normal migraines, too, you know? Like when I’m dealing with your – you know what? Forget it. Just tell me what you want.”

“All right! Sow-rree!” he snarked. “You don’t have to bite my head off, you know?”

Why was she ever afraid of this moron?

“For the love of God, just tell me what you want!”

“Okay, okay!” he finally conceded. “I’m done with Glory Girl. Now, I’m tracking The Travelers. Got any deets on them?”

She did. She shared it. She hung up.

Grumbling, she then started rummaging in the fridge for something to eat.

Lisa stared at her laptop with dawning horror. In no time at all, she bolted to her room, changed into her costume, and called her teammates.

“I don’t care, Brian! Get your butt over here stat. And wear your costume!”

“It doesn’t matter, Alec! Your game’s not gonna save you if the whole city goes up in flames!”

“Rachel! Get your dogs. Be in the loft. Goodbye!”

“There has got to be a limit to his nonsense!” she groused to herself, unknowingly echoing the plight of a kinetic-manipulating hero.

“For fuck’s sake, you don’t get it, Taylor!” Lisa had lost her temper after a few back-and-forths with the bug mistress. “This guy is obsessed with keeping you alive! He will turn Brockton Bay into a wasteland if anything happens to you! We’re not for you, you inconsiderate brat! We’re here for the hundreds of thousands living in this city!”

“Why is he so focused on my daughter?” Danny Hebert cut in, purple with rage. “Is he a stalker?”

“No, Dad!”

“Kind of, but not really…”

“Ooooh, kinky!”

“Shut up, Regent!”

“Grr.”

“Did Bitch just literally say ‘Grr’?”

If there’s a God, he hates Lisa Wilbourn. 

“I even told them that if they wanted to work with me, then they should call Tattletale.”

They should call Tattletale.

They should call Tattletale.

They should call Tattletale.

They should call Tattletale.

Oh, shit.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, shit.

Oh, fuck.

“Any news?” Brian asked, slipping out of the abandoned warehouse they chose as their temporary safehouse.

Upon meeting Lisa’s dead stare, he stuttered to a stop.

“You okay, Tats?”

“They’re going to be the death of me, Grue,” she whispered.

“Who?”

“The pair of toddlers I’m now babysitting, who won’t stop making a mess. The star-crossed lovers who can’t make up their minds whether they want to kiss or kill each other. The couple of smooth-brained idiots that will probably drive everyone around them insane before the end.”

Lisa was babbling. She knew she was babbling. But, it was either that, or she starts cussing out at the top of her lungs.

“I’m not sure how long I can keep doing this,” she went on, still whispering. “The PRT and Protectorate are probably coming after me soon. They’ll think I mastered that walking WMD!”

“Why on Earth would they think that?” Confusion coming through his distorted voice.

“Because he just designated me as his point of contact,” Lisa revealed with abject disbelief suffusing her words.

“Oh. Well, shit.”

Lisa started giggling uncontrollably at the dumbstruck bafflement in Brian’s reply. A quick peek with her power also showed the thoughts going through his head, turning her giggles into peals of laughter.

Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. Oh, fuck.

At least Lisa wasn’t alone in her suffering. It’s good to have friends.

Chapter 35

Emily Piggot POV

“And how is the screening proceeding?” Emily asked the PRT agent giving his report.

“Slowly, ma’am,” he said, standing at attention in the PRT Director’s office. “They’ve already been cleared of potential pathogens by the lab coats and Panacea. Unfortunately, Master/Stranger Protocols haven’t really accounted for processing so many people at once.”

“Understood,” Emily grunted. “Anything else?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Thank you. Dismissed.”

Once the door closed, Emily allowed herself a tired sigh, closing her eyes in the process. The day had been long, and rest had to be pushed back in favor of trying to put out far too many fires. 

Coming back to the PRT building from the clusterfuck that was the post-Echidna debriefing, she learned that the Ambassadors had given them the slip. So, that’s one more threat she needs to account for. That’s on top of the intense interest that Seraph’s latest screwup is bound to draw.

Not that she was against having another healer around, even if Emily wouldn’t ever trust one to come near her. She was just dubious about the very concept of bringing people back to life.

It was a reversal of nature, far beyond what Parahumans were already capable of.

There was no denying that such an ability would be a boon, not just for the PRT and the Protectorate, but for the world as a whole. It would certainly make Endbringer attacks much less catastrophic. 

Cities can be rebuilt. Homes and infrastructure are the same. Lives lost are gone forever.

At least, that used to be the case as of exactly four hours ago. 

Now that she was truly thinking about it, this seems to be a pattern with events involving Seraph. Practically all of his feats were unprecedented to varying degrees. Defeating Lung with ease, doing the same to multiple heroes without causing a single death, healing a coma patient (whom he was responsible for putting in that condition, in the first place), and, based on multiple real-world examples, could deal with Endbringer-level threats with seeming ease.

And now, there’s resurrection to boost his ever-growing notoriety.

Then he just casually blurts out that he’s potentially under the thrall of a villainous Thinker?

Emily wasn’t sure why, but she was getting the feeling that Seraph was just screwing with them, at this point. Far too many things about him simply didn’t make sense. If it wasn’t their job to unravel what makes him a mystery, Emily wouldn’t have given it much thought. 

But it was.

Her computer suddenly lit up with an alert, distracting her from her maudlin thoughts.

Reading the details, she was surprised: the Chief-Director was calling her, without scheduling it ahead of time. Emily thought that she would at least have had the chance to compile their findings before her boss scheduled a conference. This was quite the break in precedence.

“Chief-Director, I wasn’t expecting your call at this early juncture,” she said after answering, prompting the woman’s image to come through.

“Director Piggot, apologies for the abrupt contact,” Rebecca Costa-Brown responded with her characteristically crisp tone, still immaculately dressed and perfectly poised. “However, recent developments in Brockton Bay have caught international attention, as you know. Even as we speak, my office is being bombarded by messages asking if dead people really are coming back to life in your city.”

Emily was surprised, yet again. This time, for two reasons. One, this is the chattiest she’s heard Cost-Brown be in the ten years she’s been Director of the PRT ENE. Two, the speed at which information about the revival escaped their net held unpleasant implications. 

Damn it!

She was really hoping to buy at least a few hours to straighten everything out before she had to deal with this. They simply weren’t ready to present their report. Not without risking misunderstandings or misinformation. There was just too much being compiled, filtered, double-checked, and written in a format that didn’t make everyone in her branch sound like they’ve lost their collective minds.

“I’m afraid my people are still gathering evidence and facts, Chief-Director,” Emily responded cautiously. “I can’t say anything concrete until we have all our ducks in a row.”

“Just tell me this, Emily.” The soldier-turned bureaucrat had to stop her eyebrows from going up. Since when did Rebecca Costa-Brown address anyone in such familiar terms? “Has Seraph displayed abilities to resurrect people who were considered long-deceased, or has he not?”

“As I said, ma’am, we still don’t know enough to say either way,” Piggot bluntly answered. “With all due respect to anyone in high office interested in this case, anything I say now would be gross speculation, and a dangerous one at that. We’re still screening the subjects, and while initial findings are promising, this could change at any point.”

“I understand, Director, I do.” From the way the woman sounded like she speaking through gritted teeth, Emily could imagine that she’s under a lot of pressure herself. “However, we need to tell them something. Rumors are already spreading, and the prospect of resurrection has some very powerful people who could make our jobs very difficult frothing at the mouth for even a hint of confirmation. We can couch your initial report in as many disclaimers and qualifiers as you believe necessary, but our jobs might just be on the line if we continue to keep silent.”

God damn politics! The subtext was clear, now. Someone was fucking around in the background, and they have their sights trained on a cape who could change everything. It wasn’t exactly a secret that the world wasn’t doing well, what with Endbringers attacking every three or four months, numerous S-Class threats, and warlords gaining power. 

Someone like Seraph could tip the balance in favor of democratic governments in ways that even the Triumvirate couldn’t. 

Resurrection, if it really was resurrection, would be a potent tool with immense geopolitical implications. Not to mention how it could affect attendance of Endbringer battles. More capes would certainly show up if they knew that they could be brought back in the likely event of their deaths.

So much was riding on this miraculous ability being exactly as it was, instead of yet another Monkey’s Paw that would bite them in the ass down the line. 

Emily could almost smell the desperation wafting out of Washington. The Trump has just given people in positions of power one of the deadliest afflictions in their circumstances: Hope. Something that most would consider a good thing, until they witness drowning men push others under the water in their bid for personal safety, even when rescue was already underway. 

With this in mind, Emily did something that she would normally consider career suicide.

“This is stupid, Chief-Director,” she told the other woman on the line bluntly, eliciting a raised eyebrow. Practically a scowl when considering her unshakeable self-possession. “Brockton Bay is in a delicate position. We just resolved a threat that could have escalated to endanger the tri-state area. One where Seraph played an instrumental role; a cape that we have bent over backwards for in the hopes of gaining his cooperation. And now that we have finally made progress on that front, you would have us risk it for political points?”

“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating here, Director?” came the condescending remark, causing Emily’s blood pressure to spike.

“No, I am not,” she replied with forced calm. “Based on everything we know about this cape, he will not appreciate government intervention in any way. Tonight’s break in his established mode of operation is likely due to the scale of the threat that Echidna posed. One of the few things in this case that we actually agree on. However, even that is just a guess.” Emily needed Costa-Brown to understand what she was saying here. “We don’t know for sure why he decided to work with us, why he decided to spare The Travelers, why he didn’t simply incinerate the area within a hundred meters before things escalated, or why he was so accommodating during the debriefing.”

Emily could clearly recall just how Seraph’s posture almost radiated unconcern despite being surrounded by so many capes. How his voice carried authority she couldn’t place while giving his account. How, after dropping the bomb about Tattletale potentially holding his leash, he simply left without a by-your-leave, with almost casual disdain.

“You can’t understand just how unpredictable he is until you meet him in person,” she went on. “Even a hint of government overreach could set him off, permanently pitting us against him. I don’t like walking eggshells around any Parahuman, Chief-Director. My file should already note that. But mark my words. If we push Seraph, there’s a very good chance that he’ll push back… hard.”

Costa-Brown was silent for so long that Emily was starting to hope that she actually got through to her.

“I’m sorry, Emily.” But this hope was immediately shot down. “This is bigger than us. Bigger than Brockton Bay. If the PRT and Protectorate are to weather this storm, we need to make compromises. You have one hour to submit a preliminary report. I’m afraid I can’t give more time than that.”

Then, without even a word of goodbye, the video call ended.

Emily was left staring into her own face reflected by the computer screen. It wore an expression of shock, dismay, and resignation.

“God help us,” she whispered to no one who could hear.

Amy POV

“Carol, you have to calm down!”

“Calm down?! That monster was right there, and we just let him get away!”

“What’s screaming going to accomplish? He’s not here!”

“You’re the one who insisted we follow the PRT’s lead!”

“We had to! There was a truce, and antagonizing Seraph wasn’t going to get us anywhere!”

“He deserves to go to prison!”

“And how would we have done that, Mom? He already kicked our asses once. What’s stopping him from doing it again?”

“You stay out of this, Victoria! And where are you going, Amy Dallon?”

“I’m done listening to this pointless argument.”

So saying, Amy stomped out of the Dallon home’s living room, uncaring of the raised voices she left in her wake. Slamming the door to her room, she plopped on her bed, groaning into her pillow.

That asshole couldn’t give her one day of peace, could he?

Just when things were starting to look up, yet another monster appears to ruin everyone’s day. And, of course, the winged bastard just had to be involved.

The grumpy healer’s internal griping was interrupted by a knock on her door.

“Amy? Can I come in?”

Despite herself, she couldn’t turn her sister away. “Just get in here, Vicky.”

A blonde head of hair peeked through the slightly open door, giving Amy a concerned look. Seeing that she wasn’t about to be ejected with extreme prejudice, she let herself in.

“Had enough of listening to her, huh?”

Amy snorted derisively. Ever since waking up from her coma, Vicky had been much more willing to speak disparagingly about Carol. Not to the point of rudeness or picking a fight. But she hadn’t been silent on supporting Amy whenever the Dallon matriarch said or did something thoughtless.

There was still love there, she could tell. Vicky just wasn’t as willing to let their mother get away with as much as she did before, at least, not without voicing her objections. Amy supposed that this contributed to Carol acting like a caged tiger. From what her sister said next, she knew this too.

“She’s been extra stressed lately, and seeing Seraph in person didn’t help, either.”

Ah, him again. It’s like the whole city can’t talk about anything else. She’s sick of everyone bringing him up for every little thing.

“Guess you’re the same.”

“Huh?” Amy had to blink at what Vicky just said. 

The blonde just gave her a wry smile. “You don’t need to hide it, Amy. Just because I don’t feel the same way doesn’t mean you have to hide how much you dislike the guy.”

A scowl involuntarily formed on the healer’s face. “I still don’t get why you don’t hate him. He put you in a coma. He put Shadow Stalker in a coma! Then he put our whole family in the hospital!”

“I already told you, sis,” Vicky sighed. “Spending so many years floating in empty space with only my power as a companion forced me to be more circumspect. I had to, or I would’ve drowned in my own emotions.”

“But that shouldn’t stop you from being angry now, right?” Amy pressed. “No matter how much time passed in that place, it doesn’t erase what Seraph did to you.”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” the Brute agreed. “The truth is that I don’t blame him for putting me in a coma. Let me finish,” she added sternly, seeing Amy about to express her outrage. “Looking back, everything that happened was either a result of a misunderstanding or due to mistakes.

“You weren’t there, Amy,” she continued, coming over to sit by the brunette in a slouched position. “He focused on dodging the whole time. Despite how many times we attacked, he never fought back. Grabbing him the way I did was stupid, especially given that he was a proven Blaster. Even then, the last thing I remember was him desperately shouting ‘No!’ before I got shocked unconscious. He didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Amy gritted her teeth in frustration, refusing to meet Vicky’s eyes and staring resolutely at the wall. God, she’s actually angry that her short-tempered and impulsive sister is acting so mature. It only highlighted how childish Amy was being, and that somehow pissed her off even more.

“So, that’s it then? He accidentally put you in a coma, and because he healed you, we’re just gonna forget about it?”

That was another thing that was driving Amy up the wall. 

How many times did she come close to just using her power to fix what was wrong with Vicky despite the consequences? And here comes Seraph, just waving his metaphorical wand, waking up the sleeping beauty, when he was the one who put her in a coma in the first place!

“No, of course not,” Vicky shook her head sadly. “He messed up, there’s no doubt about that. But, that doesn’t mean I can’t own up to my own mistakes. And you know better than most how prone I was to making mistakes,” she ended with a pointed stare.

Then there was that can of worms she was trying to forget. 

Amy could only cringe at how she absolutely lost her shit when Vicky revealed that she knew about her sexual preference. It got worse when her incestuous infatuation was brought up. By the time Vicky finished explaining what caused her to feel the way she did, Amy was a mix of ashamed, angry, and relieved.

Suffice it to say, it’s been an awkward two days since. 

“That’s different!” she tried to defend her stance.

“Because she’s not me?” and then Vicky shot it down.

“Why are you trying to make me forgive him, Vicky?” She shot up and started pacing in agitation. “You just told me that I can hate him all I want!”

“I’m not trying to force you to feel one way or the other, Amy,” Vicky said quietly, making the agitated girl freeze in place after realizing what she just implied. “I’m saying that you don’t have to feel that way on my account. Seraph and I will have a reckoning, you can count on that. But, aren’t you tired of being angry all the time?”

Was she? Yes, yes, she was.

For much longer than Amy was willing to admit, she had been feeling resentful and angry. At Carol. At the idea of New Wave. Even at Vicky, whenever she called her to fix criminals that she beat up with too much force.

Her anger at Seraph is just one more pebble on a mountain that she had been trying to pretend didn’t exist. And she was just so tired of it all.

Before she knew it, strong arms had encircled her, and Amy melted into the embrace.

“I can’t promise you that everything will be all right,” Vicky whispered into her hair. “But I’ll do all in my power to fix what I can. Me, you, our family… all of us.”

She didn’t know how much of what Vicky was saying would come true. But after so long that she forgot what it felt like, hope had started to grow in her heart again.

Alfred POV

Well… this is awkward.

Sitting right across from me, with a rickety old picnic table between us, was Danny Hebert. He looked much like he was often described in the stories I’ve read. Thinning hair, spectacles, tall, and thin. 

Oh, and he looked pissed.

I was in my civilian clothes, taking the chance to change in my hideout after making sure that I wasn’t tailed. As such, it was around eight in the morning when I finally showed up at the warehouse where Taylor, Danny, and the Undersiders were hiding.

Apparently, this was one of Coil’s properties, which he kept off the books. Lisa shared that tidbit, though, only after giving me a reaming for what she considered the ‘utterly stupid, moronic, idiotic, and asinine’ choice of dropping her cape name to the PRT and other heroes.

Oh, and I wasn’t allowed to make decisions anymore, according to her. I would have used some choice words in response, but she already told Taylor what I did, and the Master agreed with the prohibition.

I wasn’t able to argue my case before Danny came marching from a side room and grabbed me by the collar. Unfortunately for him – and by extension, me – the fighting instincts I gained by following Haschel’s lessons kicked in. Before I knew it, the man was on his back, having been slammed into the floor courtesy of my subconscious shoulder flip.

I only had enough time to pull back and reduce the amount of force I used, so he was only winded instead of crushed into paste. Still, it was a terrible first impression.

There was silence for exactly one second before a wave of curses, groans, and screeching rose up.

“What the fuck!”

“Daaaaaaamn!”

“God damn it, Alfred!”

“Why would you do that?!”

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

That last part is Taylor thumping me in the shoulders, head, back, and arms. All I could do was put up my guard while yelling, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, I swear! It was instinct, I promise!”

After hitting me a few more times, Taylor helped her father up, who looked shaken by the experience. Remarkably, his glasses stayed in place, if a little askew.

“I really am sorry about that, sir,” I apologized profusely. “My training kind of took over. But that’s no excuse. I swear that won’t happen again!”

He looked me over then with inscrutable eyes, so very much like Taylor’s. I did my best to stand still and allow him to inspect me. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but after a while, he just grunted and walked to a table near the wall, gesturing for me to follow.

Not sure what else to do, I did as ordered. When I looked back to where the others were standing, Lisa was whispering to Taylor while Brian dispersed the rest. 

After we both sat down, Danny just glared at me for a full minute. During that time, I kept a respectful expression and tried not to fidget. 

“What do you want with my daughter?” he finally demanded, causing me to jerk in my seat (a lawn chair, by the way).

“Uh,” was the start of my brilliant reply, “that’s kind of complicated, sir.”

“Well, uncomplicated it. And stop calling me that. It’s Mr. Hebert for now.”

“Got it, Mr. Hebert,” I agreed immediately. “Um, as to my interest in Taylor, I swear it’s nothing nefarious. I would literally die to keep her safe.”

“I believe you,” he replied without missing a beat, making me blink.

“You do?” I asked in astonishment. This wasn’t what I expected from him at all! 

“Taylor and Lisa told me everything.” Crap! “They said that you risked your life to rescue my daughter from Coil. Even promised her your allegiance or something. That about right?”

Man, that’s a relief! I should’ve known those two wouldn’t spill every sordid detail. Though his portrayal in the fanfics I’ve read can be inconsistent, Danny likely wouldn’t sit still if he knew that Taylor got involved with a globe-spanning conspiracy.

With that said, I did have to choose my next words carefully. I was lucky that Lisa couldn’t use her power on me when we discussed this subject. Otherwise, she would have called me out on my bullshit. So, for want of a better way to explain, I just focused on the exact question he asked.

“I did,” I confirmed, nodding.

His eyes narrowed in response. “And why did you?”

I allowed my brows to furrow, adopting a thoughtful face. “Several reasons,” I said. “For starters, I did her a lot of harm when we first met. I hadn’t ever used my powers in such a public manner before, and I had no idea it would affect her the way it did.”

Danny gave me a skeptical look. “You didn’t know about your fear aura or whatever it’s called?”

“No! I absolutely did not,” I denied, emphatically shaking my head. “I swear I didn’t. My choice in form was only intended to take Lung down as quickly as possible. Had I known that it would affect your daughter like that, I would have chosen something else.”

He still didn’t look convinced, but he nodded at me to continue.

“Second, I’m not really cut out for this whole cape stuff.” I had no problem admitting this. My goal to befriend Taylor from the start was exactly for this reason. “I’m powerful, Mr. Hebert. But that’s all I am. You should know that every Parahuman comes with quirks. It seems that mine is to only be useful in fights, and nothing else.”

The man’s intense gaze softened at my confession. Score! 

“I get it,” he sighed, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “All this stuff about heroes and villains was never my interest, but I have heard things. Still,” he added. “You haven’t answered why you chose Taylor.”

Ugh, it’s like I’m constantly confronted with end-game choices these days! Pick the wrong dialogue option and get gutted somewhere down the line. Fuck it, what’s one more?

“That night with Lung, I saw someone defiantly standing before a dragon,” I expounded, closing my eyes and injecting the appropriate amount of solemnity in my voice. “She was so small in comparison, but she held her ground. I can’t honestly say that I would have done the same if I were in her place.”

Meeting the older man’s gaze head-on, I said the cheesiest line I could think of while channeling Samwise Gamgee from The Lord of the Rings for all I was worth.

“Your daughter is more of a hero than I could ever be, Mr. Hebert. Bold and true. I sincerely can’t think of anyone more worthy of pledging my sword to.”

Surprisingly, miraculously, Danny’s eyes started to water. Whether in pride or pain, I couldn’t tell. It wasn’t until he spoke next that I learned it was both.

“She gets that from her mother,” he sniffed, wiping the corners of his eyes. “She was always the brave one – strongest woman I ever knew. God, I wish she were here.”

Not knowing what else to say, I simply smiled and went with, “I would have liked to meet her, Mr. Hebert. She sounds like a wonderful person.”

Just then, two voices overlapped, and their content threw me for a loop for two very different reasons.

“You can call me Danny, kid.”

“Do you mean it?”

I found head swivling between Danny and Taylor, trying to understand what I just heard.

“Sorry, what?” I wasn’t exactly sure who I was directing the question to.

Taylor answered first, owing to her father staring at her, as well. “Do you mean what you just said? That you want to meet my mom?”

Where was she going with this?

“Honey, wha –”

“Just a sec, Dad. This is important.” Danny closed his mouth, and then Taylor turned back to me. “Well?”

Knowing that I couldn’t pussyfoot around when the subject was about Annette Hebert, I answered firmly, “Yes.”

The girl took a shuddering breath, looked over her shoulder at Tattletale, who gave her a nod, before speaking her mind. When she did, it was my turn to feel the overwhelming urge to cry.

Chapter 36

Alfred POV

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” I requested lamely.

“Bring her back,” Taylor answered in a shaking voice. “I know you can resurrect people. You did it when you fixed that Case 53. So, bring my mother back… please.” She finished in a whisper, desperation leaking through.

Rather than answer her right away, however, I shot a glare at the blonde standing by the stained wall, arms crossed and looking smug. Christ, Lisa! I know that she was annoyed, but to go this far?

“Really?” I hissed at her, to which she only raised an eyebrow.

“You really think this hasn’t occurred to her?” she shot back. “Better to get this out of the way now, rather than let it fester. I am not risking another blowup, not with you two.”

I could only grimace in response, knowing she was right. This is exactly the kind of thing I wanted to avoid when using White-Silver. From the start, it was only ever intended to heal. The only one I ever even thought to bring back if they died was Taylor, herself.

Turning back to the girl in question, I sighed in defeat upon seeing her hopeful gaze. Making it worse was Danny Hebert, now wearing an almost fraugh yearning. 

“Taylor, I can’t bring her back.” The blunt statement made her recoil, as if I had punched her in the face.

“What?” she asked in a faint voice, before rallying with a vengeance. “Why not?! You did it with those people! Lisa said that the monstrous cape ate them months ago, but you saved them. Why can’t you do the same with my mother?!”

“Because I never intended to resurrect them!” I bit out with equal frustration, shooting to my feet. “That was an accident, pure and simple. I meant to fix Echidna, to – to, I don’t know, make it so that she’s not a blob of rotting meat anymore. I thought that – it was supposed to fix her, just her! Then, once that happened, we could save the capes she ate last night. I didn’t even know it was possible to bring people back who were supposed to be dead a long time ago.”

“So, you’re a useless fuckup, like always!” Taylor accused, making me stagger.

“That’s enough!” Danny cut in, grabbing his daughter by the shoulder. “Taylor, that’s going too far,” he admonished gently.

“But, Dad, he –”

“I know, kiddo, but you have to stop before you say something you’ll truly regret,” he explained, making the eponymous Queen of Escalation drop her head like a scolded child. Danny embraced her tightly, making crooning noises at the blubbering girl.

For my part, I felt so numb after Taylor’s accusation that I didn’t even notice Lisa’s approach until she placed a hand on my arm. Looking up, there was sympathy in those bottle-green eyes.

“You understand, right?” She asked plaintively.

And, oh, did that question come with a lot of subtext. Taylor missing her mother and Danny, his wife. Lisa’s regret regarding her brother. The possible misconceptions that people might form regarding my ability to resurrect the dead.

It all needed to be laid out now, before things went out of control. Again.

“I do,” I answered.

We were quiet for a moment, allowing the father and daughter to recollect themselves. Once they did, Danny looked at me with red-rimmed eyes.

“Can you at least explain why you can’t bring her back?” he asked, almost begging in how he spoke.

“Because, even though I now realize that my power comes with a lot of nuance that I wasn’t aware of, there are still rules that it follows.” I was explaining this to the Heberts and Lisa, as much as to myself. “My guess is that Echidna only assimilated the people she ate. So, they weren’t truly dead, or at least, not completely.”

I outlined my thoughts on the matter, adding that this was just my theory, and I couldn’t prove anything unless similar circumstances arose. More importantly, I made sure to stress that there could be unforeseen consequences, even if I did succeed in reviving someone. We simply didn’t know.

“So, you can’t resurrect my Mom because…” Taylor started, but trailed off as her face crumpled in renewed heartbreak.

“Because she actually died and has been for years,” Danny finished for her, taking his daughter into his arms, once more.

God freakin’ damn it! I wanted to curse out White-Silver for putting me in this predicament, but I knew that it would be unfair. The Dragoon Spirit only did as I asked. It wasn’t at fault for the unintentional resurrections. So, I’m stuck blaming the circumstances.

Looking at the grieving pair, I couldn’t help but put myself in their shoes. Despair wasn’t a stranger to me, either. In my case, I shut the world out and kept on keeping on, convinced that if I pretended the pain didn’t exist, then it wouldn’t. This continued being the case until right before coming here.

There was nothing I could do for my past self. I couldn’t give them what they really wanted, either. But maybe there was a way for me to give them closure?

Shirley? I reached out. Is it possible? Can it be done?

A series of images flashed through my head. Impressions of both actions and emotions that were required for what I was planning to do.

Are you sure it will work?

The warmth of kindness, compassion, and understanding flooded my chest before quietly disappearing. 

“I –” Oof, that’s a big lump that needs swallowing. My initial attempt did get Taylor, Danny, and Lisa’s attention, though. "If you can talk to her one last time, even if I can't bring her back to life, would you take it?" I asked with trepidation.

The shock that went through all three was almost a physical thing. Lisa recovered first.

"How – how would that work?" she asked.

"Everyone who has ever lived leaves an impression – an echo – that lingers even after they pass on," I explained. "It's not really them. Rather, an amalgamation of the mark they left on the world. The traces are especially potent on those whose lives they've affected the most. In this case," I gesture to Taylor and Danny, "it's your memories. Your love for her, the pain of her loss, the ache she left behind. I can use those to help you talk to her one last time."

This was a big gamble on my part. Objectively speaking, if they accept, they'll be speaking to Annette's ghost. Not Annette herself.

It's not something that everyone would be comfortable with.

"So… what? We'd be talking to her spirit? A poltergeist?" Danny asked, clearly uncomfortable with the idea.

Taylor, on the other hand?

"Do it."

She really is impulsive, isn't she?

"Are you sure, Taylor?" I asked carefully. "Shouldn't you take time to consider this? Maybe talk to your Dad about it?"

At my prompting, she looked pitifully at her father. "Dad, please…"

In response, Danny just sighed, looked at me, then nodded.

"All right," I assented before closing my eyes.

Take it away, Shirley.

After a brief pause, I felt the foreign memories and personality suffuse my entire being. White-Silver responded to a call that didn't come from me. Then, a collection of light that looked suspiciously like fireflies started coalescing in the space between us.

When enough of the tiny, luminous spots gathered, they started shining brightly. The illumination built up until even I had to squint or risk blindness.

Once the light dimmed, I blinked and saw a glowing, translucent figure floating midair.

"Oh, Danny," an echoing voice spoke, almost coming from every direction at once. "My Little Owl, I'm so sorry I'm not here anymore."

"Mom…!" The heartache in the small voice of Taylor Hebert was too much for me to bear.

Grabbing Lisa, I pulled us away from the pseudo-reunion, heading straight for the exit. It wasn't until we were outside, after I let go of my White-Silver form, that I noticed two things.

First, I was holding her hand. Second, silent tears were spilling from her eyes, making them look almost painfully beautiful.

God damn it!

Taylor POV

It’s really her.

She was just as Taylor remembered from the last time they parted. A seemingly normal day that should have ended just like any other.

Tall and willowy, kind eyes radiating love regarded Taylor exactly as in her fondest memories. Memories that she had long feared were buried under a mountain of pain and misery.

Most noteworthy was the hair. Long, dark, and curly. Just like hers.

How she longed to just rush into her arms, like she did when she was younger. When the world was simpler, and sadness was a vaguely distant concept.

“Mom,” she choked out.

In response, the ghostly apparition reached over to stroke misty fingers over her cheeks. The touch wasn’t physical, much to Taylor’s dissapointment. But the warmth and comfort she felt are quite real.

“How I wish I could hold you, Taylor.” Even with the strange, resonant timbre, the voice she’d been yearning to hear for years still came through. “But even in this limited form, I’ll still count my blessings. There is so much I want to say to you, Little Owl!”

Taylor’s heart was so full of conflicting emotions, it felt like it would burst. Joy at seeing and hearing her mother. Rage at being denied her return. Gratitude that she was given a chance so many had never gotten.

“I love you, Taylor,” Annette Hebert proclaimed profusely. “I have said those words every day since you were born, but I never want you to forget. Every moment I held you in my arms was a gift, Little Owl. The greatest gift I could have ever asked for, and I’m beyond proud of you.”

“Mom I – I’m sorry!” the girl cried out. “I tried! It was so hard and I was so lonely. I couldn’t – I wasn’t strong enough. Even Emma – the world stopped making sense. Nobody would listen, and home – home wasn’t home anymore. I failed – I’m a failure!”

“Hush, now, sweetheart!” her mother gently admonished. “You are not a failure. Don’t you ever say that about yourself. You’ve been through so much, but you’re still standing. Anyone else would have given in had they been in your place, but you didn’t. Whatever faults that boy has, he wasn’t lying about you.”

That brought Taylor up short. Boy?

“You mean, Alfred?” she asked.

“Yes, Alfred.” Annette’s smile a glittery, mirthful sight. “He is utterly devoted to you, Little Owl. Regardless of his many, many mistakes, he is probably the only person in the world other than your father who would never betray you.”

Taylor was stunned. Why would her mother say such a thing?

“Speaking of which,” the humor on the ghostly face was replaced with disappointment. “Danny.”

Hearing her dad’s name jolted Taylor out of her thoughts, having nearly forgotten about him. He stood behind his daughter, almost hovering, but not quite. 

“Annette,” he said almost meekly. “I…”

He closed his mouth, lips pressing into lines. He tried opening them again, but nothing came out. Eventually, a spectral sigh escaped Annette.

“Oh, Danny, you hopeless dork. Come here.”

Never had Taylor seen her dad look so despondent as he came closer. Much like she did with her, glowing hands caressed his cheeks.

“I should be angry with you,” her mother said. “You left our daughter alone to fend for herself, Danny. I can’t find the words to express just how much that hurt me.”

A lance of pain went through Taylor’s chest, and as much as it shamed her admit, seeing her father shrink into himself at her mother’s words gave her a smidgen of satisfaction.

“I know,” he acknowledged in a pained voice. “I know I neglected her, Anne. I’ve tried, but I’m just so lost without you.”

Once again, Taylor felt hollow. She understood how her dad felt. She simply couldn’t stop wishing that they could have coped together.

“You sweet, loveable fool,” she shook her head, though the smile did return. “Fortunately, you still have time to fix this. I know it will be hard, but I also know your strength, Danny. Your broken, not dead. Promise me you’ll put yourself back together, for Taylor’s sake.”

“I will,” he agreed readily. “I promise. She’ll never be alone ever again.”

“We can’t change the past,” her mother sighed, “and my time here is extremely limited.”

Taylor’s heart started thumping in alarm. “What?”

A sad smile graced Annette’s lips. “Me being here is already a miracle, Little Owl. There’s no power in the world that could make my return permanent.”

Taylor wanted to scream, then. She wanted to act like a child, throwing a tantrum. It’s not enough. Her time with with her mom wasn’t nearly enough!

“Listen, Taylor, please,” she said, “while I can still speak.” It took everything in her, but the girl eventually relented, unwilling to miss the last words her mother will ever say. “Never doubt that you two are loved,” she declared, her voice ringing with strength and conviction. “I might be gone, but the fact that I’m here, no matter how temporary the arrangement might be, is proof of that. Danny, I know the man I married is still in there. I need you to find him again, all right?”

Her dad grimaced. “I’ll try, Anne. I don’t know if I can do that, but I’ll try.”

“You can do it, I know you can,” her mother encouraged, before turning to Taylor. “Little Owl, there is strength in resilience. You’ve proven that a thousand times over. Give yourself a little more credit, okay?”

Taylor could only nod, unable to speak without risking the overflowing emotions building inside her.

“One last thing before I go,” Annette said, her form was already flickering and her voice sounded further away. “Alfred is a broken soul, Taylor.” This caused the girl’s eyes to widen in shock. “To the rest of the world, he might appear redoubtable, but this couldn’t be further from the truth. The woman allowing us to speak like this didn’t tell me much. Only that he will need more guidance, support, and understanding than even he is aware of.”

So many questions were swirling in Taylor’s mind. What woman? How was Alfred broken? But, her mother’s pearly form was getting less solid by the second.

“Be there for him, Taylor, and you won’t find a more loyal partner. Do you understand?”

What else could she say? 

“I understand, mom.”

A smile of satisfaction was the last clear feature that Taylor could see.

“I love you both, so much! Goodbye Danny, Little Owl…”

“I love you, Mom!” Taylor yelled, pouring every drop of adoration she felt for the woman who meant the world to her, barely noticing Danny as she drew into an embrace. 

“Goodbye, Anne. I love you, too,” he said in a quiet voice, full of both grief and affection. “I won’t let you down. Not again.”

In a few moments, the last echo of Annette Hebert faded from the world, leaving behind two souls who, for the first time in three years, finally felt the chains of anguish loosen.

Miss Militia POV

Sitting in one of the PRT’s larger briefing rooms, Miss Militia could only dourly stare at the documents they were given. All of the local Protectorate heroes were in attendance. Each one looking much healthier than they were a few days ago, thanks to Panacea’s voluntary ministrations.

Whatever positive spin could be attributed to the occasion, however, is vastly overshadowed by the subject of the meeting. A subject that reminded Miss Militia of her recent blunder.

Like all of her colleagues, she was briefed of the PRT’s play when they requested Seraph’s account, right after the Echidna incident was resolved. Not only did she overstep, her mistake could have also potentially damaged their chances of actually bringing the cape onside.

Taking in a deep breath through her nose, she scanned the room. The local PRT’s top officers were in their seats. Only Armsmaster remained missing, along with the Director. Strangely enough, however, a third chair was empty near the head of the large table. 

“Who else is coming, do you know?" Velocity asked beside her.

“No,” she shook her head. “It can’t be Legend, he went back to New York.”

“Another PRT Director, maybe?” Bastion suggested, who sat on the other side of the Mover. “Armstrong’s close enough.”

“Why would Boston’s PRT Director come here?” Assault cut in. He sat to the Shaker’s left, making the conversation almost a game of telephone in mintiature.

“Which Director wouldn’t want to come here?” Bastion retorted. “You gotta admit, Brockton’s pretty hot, right now.”

The statement set off a lively discussion, which drew in other Protectorate heroes and PRT officers. Miss Militia was tempted to quell the unprofessional behavior, but that would have been the height of hypocrisy, given her recent overreach.

Fortunately, the increasingly loud debate was interrupted when the door finally opened. In came her team leader, followed by Director Piggot, and last was…

“Oh no,” Velocity whispered.

“Good morning, everyone,” came the Director’s clipped greeting as the newcomers took their seat. She sounded raspy to a concerning degree, indicating a worrying lack of rest. “Apologies for calling you all here again, but there’s been an important develop. But first, for those who don’t him, this is the PRT’s Head of Image, Glenn Chambers.”

“Good morning everyone,” the oddly dressed man greeted them with a pleasant smile. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

“He’s here because we are dealing with a crisis of international proportions,” Piggot explained. “You already know some of what’s going on, given the preliminary reports you were asked to submit.” Miss Militia could almost hear the word ‘inadequate’ inserted somewhere in that statement. “For some context as to what we’re dealing with, there has been significant increase in the amount of attention directed at our area of jurisdiction. As some of you might have guessed, it’s largely to do with Seraph. Please open your files to page seven.”

The page contained a detailed list of the cape’s exploits in his short career. All of which Miss Militia had already known.

“Nothing in there should be a surprise to you,” the Director went on. “However, the events from the other night, the second of May, have shone the information contained in those documents in a new light.”

That’s an understatement, Miss Militia thought bitterly.

Complete resurrection was one of those powers that only ever existed in PHO rumor boards. It was supposed to have been impossible. Yet, Seraph had proven that not only could it be done, it could be done at scale.

As someone who Triggered with only the power to kill at a young age, it unbalanced the typically composed Blaster enough to cause her outburst.

“Let’s bring up several points worth noting,” Piggot instructed. “On page 12, you’ll find a diagram that was recovered from the site where Shadow Stalker fell when she attempted to apprehend Seraph.”

Flipping to the indicated page, Miss Militia found what she expected: a photo of a half-sheet of scorched notebook paper. Eight circles, each perfectly round, ringed a small star. Every circle carried a neat, block-printed label: Red-Eyed, Blue-Sea, Jade, Golden, Violet, White-Silver, Darkness, Divine.

“I don’t need to reiterate how these details are connected to Seraph’s transformations. We already covered that topic in previous meetings. However, note that during the May second incident, and Glory Girl’s recovery two days prior to that, Seraph was using a form with coloration corresponding to White-Silver. Which suggests what, Armsmaster?”

“This suggests that, aside from the expected elemental connections attributed to each color, there are forms that come with more esoteric capabilities,” the Tinker said on cue. “At the Tiamat incident, and then afterwards, the Echidna incident, Seraph showcased powers with substantial Shaker effects. This suggests that the names represent far more than just using the elements the colors embody.”

“Meaning what?” Assault asked with an unusually serious voice.

“As an example, Red-Eyed could be matched to Seraph’s red form, where he used flames,” Armsmaster explained. “However, we have since matched Darkness and White-Silver to their corresponding forms. One covered an entire area of several miles in total darkness, before then wiping out several hundred minions of considerable size. The other healed a parahuman afflicted with a monstrous body, and then brought her victims back from the dead.”

“Not to mention removing her power,” Bastion added.

“Yes,” the Tinker conceded. “It also rendered Noelle Meinhardt a normal human, once more.”

This was yet another source of mystery regarding the young Parahuman as those consumed by Echidna retained their abilities. The Travelers surrendered themselves to PRT custody, but Purity was released due to the truce, which was still in effect by that point.

The villain certainly had no trouble flying away under her own power.

“Uh…,” Triumph started, with his hand up. 

“You can just ask, Triumph,” the Director said dryly. “This isn’t school.”

“Right, sorry,” the most recent Protectorate hero stammered. “So, does this mean that Darkness and White-Silver are different from the rest?”

“It means that we may be wrong in our initial conclusions about all of them,” Armsmaster answered. “Seraph’s powers do work on a theme, but not in any manner typical with Parahumans. None of them appear to be Manton-limited, yet Seraph appears largely immune to his own forms and attacks. Trumps with healing powers are not unheard of. Eidolon has displayed similar feats in the past. Yet, Seraph seems constrained in his transformations.”

“You mean how every form has wings and his armor looks like they were grown instead of made?” Dauntless asked.

“Exactly!” Glenn Chambers exclaimed, drawing everyone’s attention. “The young man’s powers essentially come with their own branding. Easily identifiable, remarkably distinct, and most importantly, undeniably consistent. That’s why we absolutely must convince him to either join the Protectorate, or work more closely with us.”

By the end of his declaration, the man was positively vibrating with excitement.

“I suppose this is a good time to discuss the reason for this meeting. Thank you, Armsmaster,” Director Piggot said, to which the Tinker nodded. “Pressure to have some control over Seraph is mounting. The Chief-Director is now receiving calls, not just from the President, but also leaders from other countries to make this happen.” 

She paused, sweeping everyone in attendance with a severe look.

“As a result, our budget has been increased to the point that we might as well not have a limit,” she continued, and it spoke to the competence of those in the room that no one looked remotely happy. “Additional Protectorate and PRT personnel are also en route. Fortunately, we just about managed to prevent the government from also mobilizing the Marines, Army, Navy, and Air Force. The only armed forces in play are the National Guard.”

This is bad. This is really bad.

“You can imagine why this is a big problem for us,” she regarded everyone with a raised eyebrow.

“Now, Emily,” Chambers jumped in. “It’s not quite that bad.”

In response, the Director gave him a look of contempt. “Not that bad? Since when has consigning my city to becoming the site of a major shitstorm been anything but an absolute catastrophe?”

“Since the order came down from the highest authority to only use the lightest touch when dealing with Seraph,” the man replied calmly. “We took your warnings very seriously, and I’m here to help make our attempts look as friendly as possible.”

“You understand that he’ll see right through whatever you cook up, right?” Director Piggot asked scathingly. “Especially given the Thinker who is probably controlling him?”

“We do have our own Thinkers, you know?” Chambers replied with a smile. “They reported that attempting to contact Seraph won’t go as badly as you seem to believe.”

“And you believe them?” she asked in justified disbelief. Thinkers haven’t been the most reiable when it came to the winged cape.

“Not completely,” he reassured. “However, we still have to try. We’re not the only ones who know of the mass resurrection that occurred here. The CUI would definitely have informants here, and do I even need to mention Gesellschaft? And those are just the start! Whether you like it or not, every major player will be coming to Brockton Bay. Accord has already made his play, hasn’t he?”

As galling as it was to admit, Miss Militia couldn’t argue with his points. Even if the PRT and Protectorate did nothing, Seraph was simply too tempting a target to leave alone. If one ignores all of his other powers, the resurrection alone could be enough to catch The Slaughterhouse Nine’s attention.

The truth of the matter is that they need additional security. 

“And there’s another thing that you seem to be deliberately ignoring,” Chambers pointed out.

“What are you talking about?” the Director asked.

Getting up from his chair, Chambers went over to the corner where a whiteboard stood.

“May I?” he asked, to which Director Pigot gave a jerk of her head. Chambers then picked up a marker and started writing. “You already witnessed him using Red-Eyed, Blue-Sea, Violet, White-Silver, and Darkness, correct?” he asked, listing the names accordingly.

“Yes,” Armsmaster answered for everyone.

“Let’s forget Jade and Golden, for now,” Chambers continued. “And instead, focus on Divine.”

A chill started crawling up Miss Militia’s arm.

“Now, I’m assuming that you have your own guesses as to what these colors meant before the Echidna incident. I didn’t have enough time to read all the reports, I’m afraid. What did you think Divine meant?”

“There had been far too many possibilities to account for them all,” Armsmaster said. “We narrowed it down to an expression of hubris, perhaps a Thinker aspect pointing to divination, or a codeword for something else.”

“And now that he has brought people back to life and healed an affliction?”

Armsmaster answered through gritted teeth, “Parahuman powers, regardless of type or strength, do not denote godhood.”

“Of course, not!” Chambers snorted. “But, you need to see this matter from a different perspective. You said so yourself. These colors and names seem to be more than just a highly convenient label scheme. Now, I invite you to consider.” He opened his arms in a sweeping gesture. “If Seraph’s naming convention designated a form with near-miraculous abilities as White-Silver – virtually innocuous and, dare I say, almost innocent in connotations – it stands to reason that this applies to all of the names and colors.

“With that being the case, wouldn’t it make sense that he was as straightfoward in using the word ‘Divine’ for this particular form? Which is more likely; that a young Parahuman who has demonstrated considerable power would want to exaggerate anything in his naming sense? Or that his use of ‘Divine’ is exactly what he thinks is appropriate?”

Silence fell over the room as the full weight of what Chambers is saying made itself known. If nothing else, it was clear that Seraph didn’t like attention.

“Even if you’re right,” the Director finally said. “Why exactly did they send you? How would PR help make Seraph more amenable to our way of thinking?”

Chambers’ smile was all teeth. “The young man has already drawn a lot of attention, Director. As someone who makes a living making Parahumans shine in the eyes of the public, it stands to reason that I know how to give them obscurity, doesn’t it?”

A wave of comprehension swept through the attendees.

“You want to make him disappear,” Triumph guessed.

“Even better, my boy!” Chambers crowed. “I’m going to turn him into a nobody.”

Lisa POV

Sitting in one of the smaller rooms of the warehouse they’re using as a temporary hideout, Lisa let her mind wander for a bit. It was only her, Brian, Rachel, Alec, and Taylor at present. She took one of the ratty plastic chairs they were able to scrounge up. Brian leaned by the door, Rachel and Alec sat on a stained couch that was already there when they moved in, and the bug mistress sat on a stool.

They were listening to a radio broadcast from a dinky little wireless Brian bought from a pawnshop. A step down from having access to the internet, but needs must.

In any case, the news didn’t really say anything that they didn’t already know. Not that this was surprising in any way. Besides, they had a much better source of information in Lisa.

Despite the prevailing limitations of her power in actually needing data from which she could draw her conclusions, the lack of a power-induced migraine still made it immensely useful. And the results were not encouraging.

Hence, Alfred and Danny had to take a trip despite the risks.

“Are you sure they’ll be fine?” Taylor asked.

Twin groans came from Alec and Rachel. Quite the understandable reactions, too.

“For the tenth time, yes!” Lisa answered in exasperation. “Alfred won’t let anything happen to your dad. Even if Danny did get hurt, your boytoy’s a healer.”

“Not my boytoy,” the girl muttered under her breath.

Lisa found it suspicious that Taylor wasn’t as vocal in denying the insinuation as she expected. At any other time, she would’ve needled the girl to find out why. However, they had more important things to worry about.

Speaking of…

“You’re good with the plan, right?” Lisa asked.

“I still have my doubts,” Taylor sighed. “But, we don’t really have a lot of options, do we?”

“No,” Grue said from his position, “we don’t. Things are about to get real messy, and this is the only way to get ahead of the storm.”

“Yeah, about that,” Alec spoke up from the couch without taking his eyes away from his phone. “Why can’t we just skip town, again?”

“And go where, Alec?” Lisa asked tiredly. “Distance won’t really solve anything. At least, here, we have the home advantage.”

“Dogs,” Rachel grunted.

“Thank you, Rachel. Yes, moving the dogs would be a pain, too.”

“Look, I’m all for using the White Hats as meatshields,” the insufferable boy said. “But, we don’t really need to be in the city for the plan, right?”

“Isolating ourselves risks us getting cornered if we’re found,” Brian explained stoically. “The risk is too great.”

“Really?” Taylor cut in. “You’re all just fine with using the heroes as cannon fodder?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Alec replied, still not looking up.

“Because it’s wrong?” 

“It’s not that simple, Taylor,” Lisa moaned. “We’re all in the pit, now. If we want to live past this month, we need to use every tool, every resource.”

“We’re not talking about a wrench or a screwdriver! These are people, Lisa!”

“People who chose their path,” Brian jumped in, pushing off the wall and walking to the center of the room. “I get it, Taylor. But you have to remember that these aren’t civilians. Heroes put their lives on the line every time they go out in costume. All capes do to some degree. They won’t be doing anything that they haven’t already committed to.”

“That doesn’t mean we should talk about them like they’re disposable pawns,” Taylor retorted.

“Ha!” Alec barked out in laughter. “You can dress it up all you want, dork, but that’s exactly what they are. You’re playing in the big leagues now. Might as well own it.”

Just as the girl opened her mouth, no doubt to complain a bit more, the sound of tires crunching gravel blessedly interrupted the argument. Brian swiftly went outside, and after a series of door slams, he, Alfred, and Danny walked in carrying bags of varying sizes.

“Here,” Alfred said, handing Lisa her laptop case.

“Thanks,” she said in appreciation.

Taylor embraced her father before accepting a backpack, which likely contained extra clothes and toiletries she wasn’t able to bring before they had to bug out. Alec, on the other hand, was more interested in the plastic bags full of food and snacks.

Rachel received the sack of dog food that Alfred was carrying as if it weighed nothing, grunting in gratitude.

Once everyone was settled in, Lisa opened with, “Taylor still has concerns about the plan.”

The most powerful cape in the room raised both eyebrows and gave the girl in question an inquiring look.

“It’s not about the plan, exactly.” Taylor shot Lisa a venomous glare. “Everyone’s just been acting like putting heroes in danger was no big deal.”

The blonde could almost see the gears in the boy’s head start to turn, flaking off rust as they did so. His look of bewilderment certainly made it seem like he never considered the problem before. Knowing him, that’s more likely than not.

“So, you just want us to stop talking like it isn’t?” 

For fuck’s sake, Alfred!

Predictably, the Master bristled. “No, I would rather we didn’t put them in danger at all!”

“But, we –”

“Yeah, no, we’re not doing this.” Lisa has had enough. “Arguing in circles won’t fix our situation. This is our best path forward. If we pull this off, not only will we rid Brockton Bay of the gangs, but we might just take down some out-of-town villains along the way.”

Pinning Taylor with a withering glare, Lisa continued, “You’re a VIP, Taylor, but that doesn’t mean you’re in charge. I don’t give a shit about Alfred’s weird white-knighting sickness, but we’re not him. Your life’s not the only one on the line here, and I happen to value mine very much. So, kindly get the fuck off your high horse.”

“Ooooh! Burn!” Alec crowed.

“Oookaaayyy, let’s button it up, girls.” Danny interrupted, having gotten up, and gently pushed Lisa to sit back down. She didn’t even notice that she was on her feet. “Kiddo, I’m sorry to say this, but she’s right. We just have too many eyes on us now. And if Accord is really after you? I’d rather have the heroes between you and him, or anyone else who comes knocking.”

The Thinker didn’t need to use her power to understand the man’s thought process. The chance at closure that Alfred gave them affected the two very differently. 

Danny had taken the protective father routine to an entirely alien direction. It’s like he’s trying to make up for his past paternal failures to an unhealthy degree. 

Taylor, on the other hand, became a lot angrier. The suicidal depression has lessened quite a bit, along with many of her self-esteem issues. But, boy, did she become a lot more willing to lash out.

“In any case,” he went on, “it’s done. The only question now is how we proceed.”

“Oh, that’s easy enough.” Finally getting over the hurdle of a certain bug controller’s whining made Lisa’s presentation less likely to go off the rails. “Alfred goes out as Ruff ‘n Tumble to do two things: The first is to scout areas where Bakuda is likely hiding with a camera. He brings the footage back so I can watch it and pinpoint her lair. While I do that, he’ll find some crime to fight and gain the PRT’s attention, with the intent of registering as an affiliated, Independent hero.

“By doing so, we’ll have someone who can easily get in touch with the PRT and Protectorate, potentially even gain intel in the process. Plus, as a minor cape, Ruff ‘n Tumble won’t gain nearly as much attention as Seraph would.”

Not the most foolproof of plans, but they were constrained by the lack of alternatives. Honestly, the biggest problem in this scheme is how it hinges on Alfred’s performance.

“Just to make sure, you are up to this, right?” Lisa asked him.

“I managed to go over a week without giving the game away, Lisa.” The boy had the audacity to roll his eyes! “I think I can manage a single interaction without outing myself.”

Everyone in the room shot him dubious looks.

“What?” he squawked. “I’ll have you know, I’ve already met Armsmaster, Velocity, and Dauntless as Ruff ‘n Tumble. My alter-ego’s still intact, isn’t it?”

“Isn’t the PRT going to wonder why you weren’t at the Echidna incident?” Taylor asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“That’s easy,” Alfred said smugly. “I’ll tell them that Ruff ‘n Tumble is a coward.”

…

…

…

“Wut?”

Lisa wasn’t sure who blurted out such a consequential vocalization of bewilderment. It certainly wasn’t her.

“Yep! Ruff’s a coward,” he went on, genuine pride oozing from his voice. “It explains why he only ever strikes from the shadows, and why he kept running when Oni Lee attacked him. It’s perfect!”

“Why’re you referring to yourself in the third person?” Really, Taylor? That’s your first question?

“Because Ruff’s not me?” Alfred replied, seemingly confused as to why the girl brought it up.

“Better question,” Lisa interjected. “Couldn’t you just say that you –” “Ruff!” “–fine! Couldn’t you just say that Ruff was occupied elsewhere? Why go through the trouble of calling you, um, him a coward?”

“Ah, you’ll appreciate this one!” he proclaimed. “It adds another level of separation from my other cape identity. Who would think that big, bad Seraph could be a little bitch?”

You certainly act like a bitch-ass pussy when around Taylor, Lisa thought scathingly.

“Huh, that makes sense.” The Thinker could practically hear her neck crack after twisting her head to give the Master a disbelieving look.

“Thanks!”

Christ! These two were really made for each other, weren’t they?

Chapter 37

Alfred POV

I’d just dropped off the camera at Lisa’s, and now, I’m hunting for some poor saps that’ll be my ticket to getting the heroes’ attention. The footage I captured is of several spots around the city that our Thinker believes have a good chance of being the Tinker’s lair. Not just in ABB territory, either, but all over Brockton Bay.

A sensible call, all told. Fanfiction featured numerous places of hiding, so there’s no point trying to remember any of those.

So far, I’ve managed to stop a mugging, a snatcher, two sexual assaults, and a drug deal. All relatively minor crimes, as far as hero work goes, and all reported to the police. I could have stayed when they asked so that Protectorate heroes could come talk to me, but it’s been agreed beforehand that this would come off as suspicious.

Ruff ‘n Tumble already had an established pattern of behavior. Even calling the police was a change, and we didn’t want to come off as trying to bait the "White Hats," as Alec called them. We could justify him doing this as a means of helping out the beleaguered good guys in a time of need. After all, if everyone was focused on my activities as Seraph, minor capes like Ruff could pick up the slack with the street-level stuff.

Hero sightings have increased recently, though. A lot of them were just "showing the flag," as it were, according to Lisa. However, even with the increased presence of government-sponsored capes, there were still plenty of dark corners in the Bay that they just didn’t patrol.

It was as I heard a high-pitched scream one block away that I saw my first glimpse of another parahuman in the Docks. Shining brightly against the backdrop of a dusky sky was a figure I had last seen a few days ago.

Purity.

Crap. What was the Queen of the Nazis doing in these parts? Fanon tended to give this chick a lot of slack, but that was one of the details that I found hard to let go. She was a supporter of what should’ve been a dead ideology, and we’re supposed to just let that go because of… what? Because she changed her mind?

Fuck that.

This did make things annoying for me, though. From the looks of things, she heard the scream too. And—yep—there she goes for a dive. Great. Fishing out the burner in my pocket, I gave Lisa a call, as I promised I would for any major development.

“Already?!” came her sharp, unamused voice before I could even talk.

“I haven’t done anything yet!” I snapped back. “Purity’s flying over the Docks and she’s about to either interrupt a crime-in-progress or cause one. What do I do?”

“Get out of there,” she said immediately. “Do not engage, do you hear me? Do not engage.”

“Copy that,” I confirmed, turning around and heading in the opposite direction.

“I mean it, Ruff!” she pressed. “Don’t get involved.”

“Son of a—I’m already walking away!” I hissed into the phone. The lack of trust was really starting to grate on my nerves.

“Good. Keep me posted.”

“Fine,” I said, and ended the call.

I had just enough time to let out a long breath of frustration when someone spoke up.

“Girl troubles?”

Before I knew it, my body dashed forward into a roll before repositioning to face the newcomer. I should note that I’m currently in an alley between two tall buildings, so the silhouette of the flying figure was impressively framed against the fading light.

“Rune.”

Fucking hell. Sabrina the Teenage Nazi was here. Can this situation get any more cliché?

“Chillax, tough guy,” she drawled, overtly affecting a nonchalant attitude. “Not here for a fight. Just spotted you while trailing Purity. You saw her too, right?”

Seeing as she wasn’t spoiling for a fight, I decided to just nod. Fighting a cape was not on my to-do list, especially as Ruff. Ruff doesn’t do cape fights. He runs away from them.

“Yeah,” she nodded sagely, “she’s in a bit of a snit. Probably a good idea you decided to avoid her. You definitely lucked out meeting me.”

What the fuck?

“Uh, why?” I had no frame of reference for this conversation, I suddenly realized. All of my first-meets with other parahumans involved combat or emergencies of some kind.

“‘Cos I won’t get violent if you refuse my invitation to the Empire,” she responded with a grin.

Dammit.

“I see,” I said. “That’s mighty kind of you. Then, I would like to take you up on that non-violent offer of refusal.”

“What?”

Contrary to my expectations, she neither got angry nor flew away in disappointment. Reviewing my words internally, I realized that it might’ve been a bit too convoluted.

“I meant that I’m refusing your invitation,” I clarified. “You said you wouldn’t get violent if I did, right?”

“Ohhhh! Yeah, that makes sense,” Rune said, finally catching on. “Fine, at least I can say that I was polite. Just so you know, though,” she added, looking down on me from her floating platform. “The next invitation might not be so polite. Hookwolf and Krieg don’t like taking no for an answer.”

With her warning delivered, she went on her way. Once I was sure she was gone, I called Lisa again.

“Ruff?”

“Just had a face-to-face with E88’s resident rune witch,” I explained. “Don’t worry, we didn’t fight. She invited me to join, I refused, and we went our separate ways.”

Lisa hummed over the line. “It seems their participation during the Echidna incident gave them enough confidence to start going out again.” I heard the clicking of keyboards; she was on her laptop. “Yeah, there’ve been reports of rallies extolling their virtues by putting down ‘unclean monsters in the guise of man’ or whatever.”

“Sounds about right,” I noted while navigating the maze of alleyways that led to my next destination. “Where are you, by the way? A café?”

“Good guess!” she praised, as if talking to a child. “I’m in a coffee shop in the Boardwalk. Decent internet, great lattes.”

It seems being out and about was doing her mood some good. At least she didn’t sound so surly anymore.

“Oh, and it seems they think they have Seraph’s measure,” she continued.

“What?”

“Yeah, by saving Purity and The Travelers, they concluded that you’re just another hero in the same vein as New Wave and the Protectorate. They even think that there’s a chance to turn you.”

“That’s stupid!” I blurted out, causing Lisa to laugh.

“I know!” she crowed. “They clearly don’t know all that much about you. We actually have the PRT to thank for this, since they’ve caught virtually all the moles in their department. Well, they did it because we took out Coil, but same difference. The E88 is blind, so they’re going off of assumptions. You went out of your way to save villains; ergo, you’re a bleeding-heart hero.”

“Then they’ll be disappointed to find out that I’m anything but,” I finally said after a moment’s pause. “You think Taylor will let me just get rid of all of ‘em? Save us all the headache?”

There was a long silence before Lisa deigned to respond.

“As she is? Probably not.”

“Right,” I sighed.

“What made you think she even would?” she asked. “Taylor’s clearly a hero to the bone. You said so yourself.”

That she was, which is a problem.

“You think we could convince her that some issues deserve permanent solutions?” I asked.

A hissed intake of breath sounded through the receiver. “Are you asking me if we could manipulate Taylor to loosen your chains?”

“No!” I immediately denied. “I would never do that! Since when has convincing become manipulating?”

“Since forever, you idiot!” came the jab. “Why do you think ‘never let a Thinker start talking’ is such a widespread sentiment? We use words to make people do what we want.”

“Then, let’s not do that,” I said emphatically. “Can’t we just lay out the facts in front of her? There’s got to be a bunch of publicly available stats that we can show her, right? Let the truth be her guide.”

“You know it won’t be that simple.”

“We have to try.”

“Why?”

“Because we have to cut out the rot!” I screamed.

My outburst caught both Lisa and me off guard. Her, because she went completely quiet. Me, because, without even realizing it, my fist had dented a dumpster I was passing. Forcing myself to keep still, I breathed deeply and slowly, ignoring the smell of the alley. Once I had recovered some self-control, I made sure to apologize.

“Sorry about that,” I said.

“It’s fine,” came her reply. “I understand, really, I do. You have all this power, and you want to make a difference, but you’re scared that you’ll go too far. That’s why you chose Taylor, isn’t it? You want her to be your moral compass?”

There was a bit more to it than that, but I couldn’t tell her my real reasons. So, I just confirmed the ideas she already had.

“Well, you can’t have it both ways,” she rebuked. “You can’t have her be a good person and also a callous warlord. A criminal is still a criminal. A villain is still a villain.”

She’s wrong. I know she’s wrong. Taylor may not have been an angel when she ruled Brockton Bay, but she wasn’t a monster. Yet, how could I make the Taylor I have now into the one I know she could be without destroying her?

“Look, let’s put a pin on this for now,” Lisa sighed. “We already have a lot on our plates. Plus, an Endbringer attack is scheduled to happen any day now.”

That last part nearly made my heart burst out of my chest.

An Endbringer attack.

An Endbringer was going to attack.

Leviathan was going to attack Brockton Bay.

How the fuck could I forget that?!

Chapter 38

Third-Person POV

Alfred was acting strange. Everyone in the gang could feel it. While never the most stable person in the group, owing to how weirdly clumsy he can get in causing widespread panic and chaos, he has at least been relatively contained in social settings.

This changed when he came back from patrol the day before.

Now, the unstable Parahuman was being standoffish, pacing in the corner, and muttering to himself. When approached by anyone, he would ignore them. If someone pressed, he would glare, tell them he was fine, and ignore them.

Naturally, this caused everyone to feel more than a little tense. So much so that they gathered on the other side of the warehouse, away from the unraveling natural disaster on legs, to discuss the matter.

“What the fuck is going on with him?” Brian hissed, glancing in Alfred’s general direction, as if he could observe the boy through the metal sheet wall.

“Why are you asking me?” Lisa shot back. 

“Because you talked to him last?” Alec postulated almost lazily, though, even he couldn’t completely hide the disturbed look in his eyes. It would seem that the sociopath understood how well and truly cooked everyone would be if the powerful Trump had snapped.

“Nothing we talked about could have caused this,” she spoke nervously. “Maybe he found something after the call?”

“He would have said something if it could derail the plan,” Taylor said confidently. “Other than Rune and Purity, did he come across other capes?”

“It would’ve been strange if he mentioned them and not anyone else,” Lisa answered.

“You think he’s Mastered?” Alec proposed, looking unnerved by the very idea. Everyone was.

“Let’s not – let’s not go there,” Brian whispered anxiously.

“Someone had to bring up the possibility,” the slender boy countered.

“Alfred’s not Mastered,” Lisa said firmly. “He can’t be Mastered, said so himself.”

“We’re just going to take him at his word?” Alec gave the blonde a look of extreme doubt.

“His powers make him immune to direct and general Thinker effects. I already told you how he spoofs the hat lady and me, remember?” Lisa had gone over the details about Cauldron and its secret weapon with everyone in the room to make sure that they were all on the same page. “The way he explained it, his so-called Dragoon Spirits basically make sure that no one else will be able to mess with his head. At least, no one other than the Spirits themselves. Which is a terrifying concept, to be honest.”

“So, are they causing him to act this way, then?” Taylor asked.

“I don’t know,” Lisa groaned. “He won’t talk to me. My power still won’t work on him, and I can’t come up with an answer unless he voluntarily shares what’s going on in his head.”

“Maybe you can try again, Taylor?” Brian suggested.

“He wouldn’t even look at me, the first time,” the girl huffed in genuine offense. “Why would trying again produce a different result?”

“You could kiss him?” Alec put forward in a teasing tone.

“What?!” Taylor squeaked.

“That might work,” Brian said thoughtfully.

“I am not kissing him!” she hissed.

“Come on, Taylor. It’s for a good cause!”

“Keep talking, and I will shove my –”

“Gaaawd, it’s just a kiss.”

“No one’s kissing anyone!” Lisa put an end to the burgeoning argument. “You’re lucky Danny isn’t here, Alec.”

Unable to justify his absence any longer, the man had to return to work. The Ambassadors seemed to be lying low, and with other gangs acting up again, the situation was deemed murky enough that he could slip through unmolested. Of course, Rachel is currently nearby to get him out if needed.

“What’s your idea, then?” he snarked.

Lisa didn’t answer because she had no answer. The fact of the matter is that if Alfred didn’t want to talk, there was no feasible way for them to force him to. Talking clearly wasn’t getting anywhere if he wouldn’t even engage. As much as she disliked admitting it, Taylor kissing him might just snap the idiot out of whatever spiral he’s trapped in.

“That’s what I thought,” Alec said smugly.

“We’re not really considering this, are we?” Taylor almost pleaded.

“Taylor,” Brian started. “Out of all of us, you’re the only one who could surprise him without risking life and limb. I would have suggested Lisa, but a kiss from her wouldn’t do any good.”

“Excuse me?!” Lisa squawked in indignation. “I’m a perfectly good kisser, thank you very much!”

“That’s not what –”

“I’m certainly a much better kisser than Miss Virgin, over there!”

“At least I’m not a slutty, blonde bimbo!”

“What the fuck did you just call me?”

“Girls! Girls! You’re both very pretty!”

“You’re not helping, Alec.”

“Wasn’t trying to, Bri.”

“So, you think you can kiss him better than me?” Lisa challenged.

“I know he’ll actually kiss me!” Taylor spat. “He’ll probably just mush your face with his hand if you try!”

“And you’re basing that on your vast experience, are you?”

“He pledged himself to me! He’ll do anything I tell him to!”

“Look who’s acting like a slut, now!”

While the two girls seemed to be building up to a full-blown cat fight, the boys could only spectate in wonder. 

“Is this actually happening?” was Brian’s nonplussed comment.

“First time seeing girls get competitive over boys?” Alec asked.

“Not really, but I never thought it would happen with these two.” Brian could only hope that he would never have to see Aisha acting like this.

“Meh, it’s been building for a while,” Alec shrugged, causing the taller boy to snap his head toward him. Before he could ask for clarification, though, the two arguing girls stood up.

“Fine!” Taylor yelled, striding toward the door. “We’ll just let him decide!”

“Oh, that’s fine with me,” Lisa grinned confidently, following behind. “You’ll see how out of your depth you are, little girl.”

Brian and Alec were then left in the room, staring after the backs of two young women who were marching as if off to fight a war. In a sense, they were.

“You think we should go after them?” Brian asked.

Alec took a second to think about it before sighing and getting on his feet. “Might as well. At least it’ll be entertaining.”

When they did come upon Taylor and Lisa, though, it was without Alfred. The blonde was already holding her burner to her ear. The Master, on the other hand, had her arms crossed and was fidgeting in agitation.

“Where is he?” Brian’s question startled the girl.

“I don’t know,” she said after a moment. “He wasn’t here when we came out. We called his name, but no answer.”

“Maybe you scared him off?” Alec slyly suggested.

Both girls glared daggers at him in response. Brian, on the other hand, let out a tired breath. Dealing with teenage Parahumans was as exhausting as dealing with teenagers, in general.

“Answer, you stupid – Alfred!” Lisa exclaimed. “Where the hell are you? At the beach? Why are you at the beach? Wait, better yet, why didn’t you tell us you were going out? Oh, you are not weaseling yourself out of this one. Just tell me the damn truth!”

“Is it just me, or does Lisa sound like a housewife calling to interrupt her hubby’s Boys Night?” Alec whispered to Brian.

For his part, the normally mature young man actually snorted. The image that flashed in his mind of Lisa wearing an apron and telling Alfred to come home was a bit too much to contain. The sound attracted Taylor’s curious stare, and Brian couldn’t help but superimpose her over Lisa. Except this time, she sent a swarm of mosquitoes to make Boys Night a miserable experience instead of just calling.

The Shaker had to summon all of his considerable self-discipline to squash the laughter bubbling from his chest. Lisa actually helped to quell the involuntary reaction by replacing it with pure, unadulterated terror.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN LEVIATHAN’S COMING HERE?!” she shrieked.

“Huh,” Alec hummed over the silence. “Suddenly, the whole kissing thing doesn’t seem so bad anymore, does it?”

Chapter 39

Alfred POV

The harsh chill of the seabreeze cut through my skin as I stared over the darkened waters of the bay. My ears thrum with the repetitive sound of the waves, churning the surf with an endless, melancholic melody. Sand and gravel crunched beneath my shoes as I stood on the shore, eyes trained on the horizon under the noonday sun, the rays of which seemed incapable of providing me with warmth.

Seagulls squawked overhead, incessant sounds that either echo warnings of approaching danger or demands for breadcrumbs. The flapping of their wings disturbs the maudlin silence wrapped around me like a coarse blanket picked off the street: wet, dirty, and all-encompassing.

A perfect analogy of the gloom emanating from the city behind me. A place of death, decay, and torment.

Dear God, I sound like a sad sack! I think with consternation.

Then again, my bad mood isn’t without reason. I’d forgotten all about one of canon Worm’s most defining moments: Leviathan’s attack on Brockton Bay.

To be fair, recent events have kept me really busy, and I wasn’t even entirely sure that this was still going to happen. A lot of fan theories insisted that the Endbringer targeted the city due to Noelle. With her no longer in play, I had to wonder if the macrohydrokinetic would go for another city.

But, no. A quick consult with Blue confirmed that the bastard was still making his way here.

It wasn’t anything concrete that I could put into words. The Dragoon Spirits seem to have arbitrary limitations that I still haven’t fully grasped. Controlling all of the world’s oceans certainly wasn’t within Blue’s power. Yet I can’t tell just how far its influence does extend.

Maybe it's interference from Leviathan? He’s certainly a big enough splashy boi to make any pond difficult to scoop water from with any degree of precision.

The big question now is what I’m going to do about it. Unlike most of the people in Bet, I do have options. Focusing on keeping everyone else who’ll attend the battle alive with White-Silver would be worth my time. I didn’t have to fight to be useful. 

With that said, I do have my reputation to think about.

Seraph is already known as a major player who can contend with gigantic threats. Perhaps going out to sea and confronting the Endbringer in his own turf would be a better use of my time? Would certainly reduce collateral damage.

If nothing else, I could always go with my initial plan to deal with the cosmic horrors masquerading as monsters of myth: just send them to another dimension via Darkness.

As the recent fiasco with Taylor over the Atlantic had proven, however, doing so could come with its own risks. I don’t know what was attached to the massive eye beyond the rift, but I wasn’t in any hurry to find out. Even if I could bring out Jade or Golden, which isn’t guaranteed, they wouldn’t be able to help me with this particular foe.

That leaves the Divine Dragoon Spirit – the lazy fuck.

From what I could tell, the bastard’s asleep. I already asked the active Dragoon Spirits about it, but none of them could give me a clue on how I could wake it up. It stirred while I spoke with Sundancer, responding to my boiling rage, but what did that mean?

Do I have to get really angry just to use it?

Sometimes, I have to wonder if I would’ve been better off choosing a different powerset. Who knew using the actual Spirits of actual Dragons could be so complicated? The developers of The Legend of Dragoon lied to me!

My building frustration was interrupted by the sounds of several feet approaching from behind. Turning my head, I spied Taylor, Lisa, Brian, and Alec in civilian clothes walking over to me. Credit to them, unlike my stupid self, they were bundled up in jackets and coats. 

Whereas I was only wearing a shirt. A thin, tight-fitting shirt. Taylor’s atomic blush would’ve been visible from the ISS. You know, if that existed here.

Deciding to ignore that bit of complication, I instead focused on Lisa. To my annoyance, she, too, seemed to flush while looking at me. So, I decided to play it safe and focus on the boys, where Brian maintained a stoic facade, and Alec leered –

“Brian! My man, my brother-in-arms, my compatriot in dark times, come over here a sec, would ya?” I called over, to which the guy in question quirked an eyebrow, but did as asked. The rest seemed surprised at my enthusiastic greeting of someone whom I haven’t really spent all that much time interacting with.

Once he was close enough, I gestured for him to stand beside me, while I turned back to stare at the sea.

“What the hell is going on with them?” I asked in a low voice.

“What do you mean?” he replied, though I could distinctly hear the humor in his tone.

“Don’t you start,” I groused. “They’re acting weird. Taylor’s blushing, Lisa’s flushed, and Alec’s looking at me like I’m a piece of meat. Did something happen after I left?”

The deep chuckle I got only grated on my nerves further. “You’ll have to talk to them if you want answers. Besides, don’t we have more important things to talk about?”

Drat, he’s right. Well, it’s not like I was all that invested in finding out, anyway.

“Right,” I said, turning sideways to address all of them at once. “I just consulted with Blue again, and the slimy bastard’s definitely coming this way.”

“Fuuuuuuuck…..” Lisa moaned.

Taylor’s gone pale, which is a huge improvement from how she looked before. For me. It was an improvement for me. Alec’s also stopped leering. Yet another plus for Alfred (I’m well aware that I’m referring to myself in the third person here. Leave it alone).

“When?” Brian asked calmly. Huh, the stories never really emphasized how much of a Cool Cat this dude was. Good to know.

“A few days, at most,” I told him.

This time, they all joined Lisa’s whining…. Okay, fine. Her completely justified freak-out. Funnily enough, the chorus of bleating whimpers blended perfectly with the rising cacophony from the seagulls. It almost sounded like the buzzards were heckling the group of teen capes.

“We should warn everyone,” Taylor suggested immediately. “The PRT, the Protectorate, heck even the mayor!” Then, her eyes widened even more. “I have to get my dad out of the city.”

“What would we tell them?” Lisa snapped. “That waterboy over there felt the disturbance in the Force while casting his mojo at the beach?”

“You’re not seriously saying we shouldn’t –”

“Taylor!” Brian barked harshly, causing the girl to stop and look at him. “We are out in the open. Anybody could be listening in.”

I could only appreciate the caution there. We were in the northern part of the Bay, on an abandoned stretch of coastal land. Not exactly swimming with residents, other than the hobos and junkies hiding out in dilapidated shacks or rotting buildings. 

“Look, we don’t have to make a decision now,” I said. “We still have time. The big lizard’s taking his sweet time, probably to look all ominous and shit, the drama queen. So, how about we go fetch the union boss, and we can come up with a plan back at base?”

“The who?” Taylor asked, making me blink in confusion.

“You know, the boss of the Dock Workers’ Union? Your dad?” Was that another fanon thing?

“Dock Workers’ Association,” she corrected tartly. “And he’s not the head of the whole thing. He’s head of hiring.”

“Uh… yeah, I knew that,” I hastily tried to correct my slip-up. 

Stupid fanfiction writers! Who confuses Association with Union? They’re completely different things!

“Running to daddy, are we?” Alec put in his completely unnecessary two cents.

“He has been around longer than any of us,” I shot back. “We could use the perspective of someone who has seen it all and heard it all. Plus, I’m willing to bet Danny’s got a lot more influence over this city than he’s let on.”

I meant the betting part literally. Gambling on the man’s supposed reputation from a lot of fanfics might just bite me in the ass, but god damn it, I need an adult! Only in stories could a group of teens save a city from destruction in any kind of clean manner, and yes, I’m counting myself as one of them since I technically am!

Shit, if I have to go to the PRT with this, I will. My dislike of them be damned. It’s not like Taylor will be against that, anyway.

“Why’d you think he was head of a Union, anyway?” Taylor suddenly blurted out.

Oh, God damn it!

Chapter 40

Alfred POV

It was about an hour later that we were gathered in our warehouse hideout, taking care to make sure that we weren’t followed. My hasty explanation to Taylor about misremembering details clearly didn’t convince the girl completely, but she didn’t push the issue. Lisa did look at me with suspicion, though. 

“So, let me get this straight,” Danny started, taking off his glasses and rubbing his face in a stressed manner. “You’re saying Leviathan is about to attack this city, and we’re meeting to discuss what to do about it?”

“Yup,” I answered, putting an extra pop at the end.

“And you’re not taking this straight to the authorities, why?” he asked, eyeing me with a baleful glare.

“Because we have our safety and anonymity to think about, Danny,” Lisa answered for me, though she was sounding extremely unsure even as she spoke. “We can’t just pop up at the PRT and start blabbering. The consequences for us would be catastrophic. Only a massive idiot would just share information like this without thinking about how it would then paint a huge target on their back.”

“Why not just go as Seraph?” Danny directed the rather obvious suggestion to me.

“That’s our most likely move,” I divulged. “But, not the only one. Depending on which choice we go with, this could mean huge changes for not just the Undersiders, but you and Taylor.”

“What do you mean?” the girl I just referred to asked sharply.

It wasn’t only her, either. Everyone turned to me with undisguised interest.

“Well,” I began, “it occurs to me that, barring our civic duty of reporting the approaching disaster to the powers that be, this could also be an opportunity.”

Out of nowhere, Lisa burst into cackling laughter. The others were taken aback, with Rachel’s eyes growing so wide that she almost looked like a regular girl, instead of someone perfectly willing to tear your throat out. This went on for nearly a minute, and when she finally got control over herself, the blonde gave me a beaming smile.

“You got me!” she crowed. “All this time, I thought you were a himbo with more muscles than sense, but I was wrong. When did you come up with this?”

Confusion spread through the rest of the group, though Danny seemed to be getting over it fast. In fact, from the way his expression was clearing up, he finally caught on to what I was thinking.

“On the way here,” I replied sheepishly. “I was debating whether this was another mistake on my part, which got me thinking about all my other mistakes, and… well, it just built on from there.”

“Can somebody please explain what the hell you’re talking about?!” Taylor demanded, face flushed with impatience.

“You’re planning on leveraging this information, aren’t you?” Danny asked, and now he’s the target of his daughter’s look of shock. “Probably to negotiate pardons for the Undersiders? Maybe clear Taylor’s name? Have the PRT drop their investigations into your activities?”

I snapped my fingers his way. “Give this man a cookie! That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

“Wait,” Taylor suddenly spoke up, looking outraged. “You’re using our information on Leviathan’s upcoming attack to twist the PRT’s arm?”

This was met by Lisa's scoff of derision. “Being kind of presumptuous there, aren’t you, Tay? There’s no ‘we’ or ‘our’ here. Alfred’s the one who got this info. Only he gets to decide what to do with it.”

“And I’m using it for everyone’s benefit!” I jumped in, not having the patience for another argument. “Think about it, Taylor,” I pleaded, meeting the girl’s angry gaze. “We can finally explain that the swarm over the city and the thing out at sea weren’t your fault. We can let the PRT know that the Undersiders were being coerced or threatened by Coil to commit crimes. If we pull this off, you can finally walk in the daylight as the hero you always wanted to be.”

I was doing so much sugarcoating here that it’s a wonder my teeth haven’t rotted. Reality wasn’t nearly so kind as I was painting, but I really needed the girl to agree.

“They’ll know about Leviathan coming here,” I continued after casting Lisa, who looked like she was about to speak, a warning glance, “and can prepare accordingly. I’m not talking about extorting concessions. The information simply allows us to approach the PRT from a position of strength so that we can explain our side without anyone being in handcuffs.”

“Uh,” Alec interrupted, raising a finger in the air, “why couldn’t you do this as Seraph, again?”

I could only grimace in confusion. “I am doing this as Seraph, Alec. What are you talking about?”

“No, I mean, why go through all this trouble? Why not just fly over to the White Hats and demand they listen or get fried?”

“More the carrot, less the stick,” Danny answered before I could. “When entering negotiations, you only ever appear threatening as a last resort. Strength is about leverage. You have something the other side wants badly enough that they’ll be willing to play nice. Trying to throw your weight around rarely works out for everyone. Someone always gets hurt. Often, multiple someones.”

Dear God, it’s nice to have a competent adult in the room! This is one of the reasons why I wanted Danny here. As much as teens liked to pretend they knew everything, this couldn’t be further from the truth. Even if the man isn’t a badass former assassin or the secret force behind Brockton Bay’s unions as he is often depicted in fanfiction, he would at least have perspective.

“Exactly,” I said in relief. “This info on Leviathan gives us a chance to have an amicable, productive meeting with people who would otherwise only be interested in putting us behind bars.”

“That’s not all you can ask for, though.” Lisa apparently couldn’t contain herself anymore. “Custody for Aisha,” she said to Brian. “Clearing your false murder charge,” she said to Rachel. “And even more protection from other villains,” she said to Alec.

Just like that, everyone looked onboard with the plan. Well, everyone except for the Queen of Escalation.

“Doesn’t this make us look like we’re taking advantage of an Endbringer attack?” Taylor asked.

Everyone groaned at her question. Even Danny turned to her with a disappointed look. 

“No, Taylor, it doesn’t.” The man’s tired voice made him sound older than he actually was. “If you were asking for money or making unreasonable demands, then yes, it would look like you were taking advantage of the situation. But you’ll only ask to be heard. Regardless of the particulars or the significance of what you have to offer, this is simply a negotiation. It’s not anything the PRT hasn’t likely done a thousand times everywhere else.”

The girl suddenly looked uncertain about her principles, which is another win for my choice to have Danny present. After all, as the man said, it’s all about leverage. Who could make the stubborn Master more pliable than the only family she has left in the world? Especially given his newfound burning desire to keep his baby girl safe?

“We’re not asking for anything else, right?” Taylor looked at me earnestly. “That’s all of it?”

I met her gaze with equal fervour. “I swear, Taylor. All I want is to make right what I’ve done wrong.”

Eventually, she relented. “All right.”

A collective exhale echoed through the room, much to my amusement. Whether she was aware of it or not, this girl had the ability to make everyone hold their breath in either anticipation or anxiety.

“Perfect!” Lisa clapped her hands once. “Now, it’s time to talk details. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.”

From there, the meeting went into the minutiae of planning our approach. I contributed once or twice, but left the rest to Lisa, Taylor, Danny, and Brian. 

Of far greater concern to me was the upcoming battle. 

Regardless of how preparations go, it’s practically guaranteed that a lot of people are going to die once Leviathan makes landfall. I wasn’t under the delusion that I could keep everyone alive, so I wasn’t even going to try.

Taylor’s power is recovering and showing signs of increased potency, but it’s slow-going. Lisa doesn’t suffer Thinker migraines anymore, so she can use her ability as much as she wants, for as long as she wants. There’s no doubt she’ll find the Endbringer’s weakness much faster than she did in canon.

Was it worth empowering the others? It’s not due to any kind of moral objection that I refused to pursue this line of thought. I just didn’t know enough about the empowering effects of the Dragoon Spirits. Taylor tapping into an eldritch dimension wasn’t something I was keen to see repeated.

This changed with each passing day as I grew to understand my magical equivalent of passengers. Maybe it’s time to start experimenting?

But, how would I go about it? More importantly, who would be my first subject?

I spent the rest of the meeting half-listening to the others talking and half considering the potential of boosting another Parahuman. It wasn’t until I spoke with Lisa about it later that night that I finally had someone in mind.

Oh, yes. They’re perfect.

Chapter 41

Dragon POV

The influx of new heroes, Wards, and PRT personnel into Brockton Bay has created something of a headache for the local teams. Schedules had to be scrambled, accommodations arranged in haste, and public dissemination of information handled carefully to avoid causing a panic.

At least, that was the plan.

However, over the last few days, the city has gotten a lot more hectic. What the national PRT and Protectorate offices failed to account for, not to mention the additional government agencies that wanted their own people on the ground, was how the Brocktinites would take the change. The answer was: not well.

Decades of neglect have led to a mentality of isolation and simmering resentment, which has since resulted in friction at practically every level. Despite the efforts of leadership, local departments are struggling with getting their staff to cooperate. Most of the cracks were still under the surface, but this won’t be the case for much longer.

Already, ordinary people on the streets are treating the new heroes patrolling the streets with disdain. The announcements that reinforcements have finally arrived to alleviate the struggles of the beleaguered locals have been met with derision online. 

Confused by the flood of negative reception, the PRT set about to learn why this was happening. As it turns out, it all came down to the reasons given for the new additions to the Bay. No one was buying them.

Based on surveys taken, both online and on the streets, have revealed that many knew why the rest of the country was suddenly taking an interest in their city. And instead of relief, all they felt was rage.

Rage at how one Parahuman was able to justify so much aid, when they’ve needed help for so long. Anger at the arrangement’s perceived impermanence promised no real change or progress for most of the people living here. Most of all, the residents were fearful that the presence of so many government-sponsored capes would only make things worse. And that fear has turned to fury.

Much of the problem could be attributed to the atypical nature of one Parahuman’s actions. 

The local PRT has done a lot to explain away Seraph’s uncanny behavior to the public. Defeating Lung made him seem like a hero, but just a day later, he was made out to be a villain. Even if he was never officially branded as such, the sheer scope of destruction caused by his clash with the local heroes marked him as a more menacing figure than he really was.

And yet, he was undoubtedly instrumental in the Echidna incident’s miraculous conclusion, where, not only were the casualties minimal, but long-dead victims were revived to full health. There was simply no hiding that last part from the public, either. On top of that, he even cooperated during the debriefing.

So now, no one can really say which way he fell on the hero-villain spectrum. He couldn’t even really be branded as a Rogue since he seemed to have no interest in monetary gain. The involvement of Tattletale of the Undersiders only served to muddy the issue even more.

Regardless of the uncertainties surrounding the mysterious cape, however, the people of Brockton Bay have seemingly come to the conclusion that he was theirs. And that the new faces walking around in their streets were only there to take him away.

A truly confounding development.

Instead of the ordered and pacified city that the top brass expected, Dragon could only see a boiling cauldron as she flew over the Downtown air space. If nothing is done, there could be riots in the streets by next week. The villains regaining their confidence was only making matters worse, as clashes were now increasing in frequency.

Collateral damage and disruption to daily life have become more common, once more, sharply contrasting the weeks of peace that came about following Seraph’s emergence. This only solidified his image as a deterrent in the minds of the city’s residents, making them increasingly deaf to official press releases offering reassurances.

The most maddening part is the persistent feeling in Dragon’s nonexistent gut that Seraph didn’t intend for any of this to happen. What footage she was able to capture of the young man painted a powerful, but well-meaning, individual who sees authority as a necessary evil, at best.

Her woolgathering was cut short by her comms coming online.

“Dragon, we have reports of a Seraph sighting near your location,” the PRT agent manning the console told her.

This caused the Tinker to perk up and focus on her sensors. 

“Copy that, console,” she returned. “Do we have more specific details?”

“Rooftop of the apartment building on Westland and Kirk.”

Following the directions, she finally spotted the cape in his Darkness form. It would appear that he has been watching her, as well, as his face was following her suit.

“I see him. Coming in to approach.”

“Dragon, this is Armsmaster,” Colin spoke through the line. “Approaching your vector. Miss Militia, Dauntless, and Velocity are doing the same.”

“Copy that, Armsmaster,” she replied, having now come close enough to hover over Seraph.

Despite her current suit being smaller than others, it was still a massive configuration, about the size of a sedan. Landing on the apartment building would likely cause the roof to crack. Was this something he counted on?

Before she could think about that further, the cape lifted off the ground, his gaze never leaving her suit. He then started floating to the side. Not to escape, clearly, but as an invitation. Once he saw her following his movement, the winged Parahuman sped up northward.

“Dragon to all channels, Seraph is airborne. I’m following in his wake. Sending telemetries.”

A series of confirmations followed, which the Tinker filed away. The speed at which they were going was slow, which confirmed her suspicion that the Trump wanted to talk. Upon passing over numerous ruined warehouses, she finally saw what is likely to be their destination.

“Dragon to all channels, we appear to be heading towards the former Boat Graveyard.” 

She said former, because it’s now more like a lake of glassed sand and melted steel. The heat required to reduce the locally infamous landscape to such a state was simply mindboggling. True to her expectations, Seraph began to descend on the spot where her sensors detected multiple lifesigns. Upon closer inspection, her cameras revealed figures that she had only ever seen through photographs and video evidence.

“All channels, just a heads up. It would appear that the Undersiders and the insect controller are on-scene, as well.”

“Dragon, Director Piggot here,” a new voice spoke up urgently, cutting through the distressed murmurs from the others. “Confirm the presence of Swarm.”

Ah, yes. They did end up settling on a name for the girl, haven’t they?

“Yes, director. Same costume, same physical features. It’s her.”

“Do they appear hostile?” she asked.

“No, ma’am. From their body language, they range from confident to anxious, but no indications of hostility.”

“Approach carefully, Dragon. I’m bringing in the Chief-Director, as per her request.”

This made the digital entity want to cry. Adding more people to the mix is bound to complicate this interaction. Especially if their suspicions about Swarm are true, thus giving her name a whole new dimension of meaning.

Upon landing, Dragon felt her struts hit a solid, crystallized surface. This was just an errant thought, however, as the majority of her attention was on the gathered capes. According to records, these would be Grue, Hellhound, Regent, and Tattletale. Swarm stood close to Tattletale, while Seraph was firmly rooted halfway between Dragon and them.

“Seraph, Undersiders,” she greeted the known factors before turning to the girl, “and Swarm. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you.”

“SWARM?!” the insect controller screeched.

“Ha!” Tattletale laughed. “I told you this would happen. The PRT always comes up with the dumbest names!”

“Shut up!” the girl shot back. “It’s not like you were any better! Skitter? Really?”

“It fits your personality,” came the smug reply.

“Girls!” Seraph suddenly barked. “I’m sure the PRT can accommodate a name change. Isn’t that right, Dragon?”

“Yes, that’s right.” The Tinker didn’t lose anything by confirming the agency’s flexibility in changing names. More importantly, it was clear that some tension exists in this group dynamic. Could it be exploited?

“See? There we go,” Seraph continued, settling Swarm somewhat. “In any case, that’s not what we’re here to discuss.”

“And what are we here to talk about?” Dragon asked while keeping track of her reinforcements’ locations.

“We can get into the nitty-gritty when your pals get here,” he answered calmly. “For now, I’ll just say that I know Leviathan’s next target.” She could almost feel her servos seize up at the bomb he just dropped. “More importantly, I know when he will attack.”

“Dragon, this is Chief-Director Costa Brown,” yet another voice came on the line. “You get us that information, do you understand? Whatever he wants, give it to him. We want that information.”

…

…

…

“Huh, that was easy,” the suspected Thinker said, a vulpine grin forming on her lips.

Chapter 42

Alfred POV

“What?” I asked Lisa.

“The Chief-Director just told Dragon to give us whatever we wanted for the information we’re offering,” she said, grinning that foxy grin. “It seems we’ve underestimated the value of knowing the next Endbringer target.”

Not that surprising, I suppose. Short of Dinah, no one else has been able to predict the attacks reliably. Dragon and Armsmaster’s algorithm might come close, but an hour of forewarning is nothing compared to the days I have to offer.

Just then, a red blur sped into sight, and the roar of motorcycles reached my ears. The form of Dauntless also flew around one of the taller buildings to the East, heading in our direction quickly. 

It didn’t take long for everyone to gather, with the heroes on one side and our group on the other.

“Seraph.” Armsmaster didn’t even bother to acknowledge my companion. Quite rude of him. “You claim to know Leviathan’s next target, as well as when the attack will occur?”

Not wanting to drag out the negotiations, I answered as bluntly as I could. “I can feel him moving through the water. He should be about two thousand kilometers away, due East. Though I’m guessing you have your own way of tracking him?”

“Dragon?” Armsmaster prompted.

“Neither my deep-water acoustic array nor satellite imaging system can confirm his assertions,” the digital Tinker replied.

“You know I have a form that’s tied to water manipulation,” I spoke up before Armsmaster could open his mouth. My tolerance for the asshole’s whining might snap if I let him talk. “He’s causing pretty big ripples under the surface. If you aren’t interested in what I have to say, then we might as well part ways.”

Based on my observations of the organization, thus far, this PRT isn’t as bad as it’s depicted in numerous fanfics. That doesn’t mean I’ll give up the initiative, though.

“So?”

“What are your demands?” Armsmaster asked through gritted teeth.

I grinned. “Tattletale?”

“Surely, you don’t expect us to take you at your word?” the bearded douche growled after we were done telling our respective stories. 

There were certainly a lot of dramatic gasps, curses, and sounds of sympathy throughout the sharing. Taylor’s case, in particular, seemed to touch a nerve with Miss Militia. Though her glare sent my way did soften when I supported her narrative every step of the way. I’m not really sure why they would expect anything different, since I am standing right in front of her.

What idiot would turn their back on someone if they intended to throw them under the bus?

On the other hand, I can understand their reticence to agree from just hearing our tale. It would’ve been stupid to expect anything of the sort.

“Of course, not!” Lisa exclaimed with a beaming smile. “We have plenty of evidence to support our testimonies. All we want is for you to give us a fair shake. No railroading us like you’re doing with Canary.”

Holy crap, I totally forgot about that girl! Glancing back, I saw Taylor stiffen, which caused my gut to clench. Dammit, Lisa! Why’d you have to bring that up?

“Canary’s case is out of our hands,” Armmaster defended, only making the matter worse.

I really, really wanted everyone to just shut up about this. Our lives didn’t need another complication.

“Oh?” the Thinker mocked. “And how likely would we have ended up in the same place if we didn’t have this big lug to ensure your best behavior?” she asked, pointing to me. 

“Bound in Brute-rated restraints, denied proper representation, and absolutely lambasted by the media. And for what? Because she told her abusive ex-boyfriend to go ‘fuck himself’? I know for a fact that she didn’t mean for what that asshole ended up doing to himself, and yet no one’s listening to her side of the story. No, she’s being an example of to keep all Parahumans with similar powers in line.” Then, just to put the cherry on top, she added, “To keep all Masters in line.”

The heroes didn’t take Lisa’s poking well at all. Dauntless, who was still hovering in the air, gripped his lance tighter, and Miss Militia ever so slightly shifted her stance. I was pretty sure I knew what the blonde was doing, and I needed to put an end to it. This isn’t what this meeting was about.

Just as I was about to try to cool things down, the thing I was most afraid of since the singer’s name was brought up finally happened.

“Is it true?” Taylor asked. “Are you railroading Canary just because she’s a Master?”

All I could really do after that was close my eyes and brace myself for the oncoming shitstorm.

“It’s not that simple, Swarm –” Miss Militia tried to say, but Taylor was quite vehement in her interruption.

“Don’t call me that!” she shouted, and for the first time in several days, the air was filled with the chittering of wings. “Just answer the question! Are you railroading Canary to make an example of her?”

“The cape known as Canary is being charged with assault with Parahuman powers,” Armsmaster recited dully, making the situation infinitely worse with his hamfisted attempt at acting like a Boy Scout. “She is currently undergoing a trial where her eventual sentence will be decided and carried out.”

“They’re sending her to the Birdcage,” Lisa said, sounding extremely smug. “All of the people involved in her case intend to send her to a fate worse than death, even her so-called lawyer. As a warning to all Masters. Isn’t that right, Dragon?”

It was surreal to witness this trainwreck happening right in front of my eyes. Taylor’s faith in the heroes and the PRT, already damaged after I told her about Sophia, was being eroded by scripted justifications coming out of Armsmaster’s mouth. With a little nudge from Lisa, of course.

As someone fully aware of why the Canadian Tinker couldn’t disobey orders from those with authority, I wasn’t surprised that she kept silent. Unfortunately for her, Taylor took this as confirmation that the blonde was right.

Yeah, time to put an end to this.

“Release Canary!” I demanded, loudly and from deep within my chest. This basically just means that I spoke with an artificially deeper voice.

“Excuse me?” Dragon squawked.

“Along with the requests from my companions,” I dramatically gestured to the teens behind me with a sweeping motion, “I demand that Canary be released, at once! Or would you place more importance on her incarceration than an Endbringer attack?”

With my enhanced senses, I heard Lisa huff in annoyance, but I ignored her. We were gonna have an intense conversation after this.

“That won’t be –” Armsmaster started to say, but something stopped him. His next words revealed what it was, or rather, who. “Ma’am, are you sure? This will set a precedent in which – Yes, I understand. However, I – no, ma’am. But, with all due respect, we cannot confirm the truth of his claims. He could be – I understand the risk.”

While he argued with who I’m guessing was Rebecca over the comms, I half-turned to observe the five people behind me. Lisa had her arms crossed with one finger tapping on her arm, while Taylor’s motionless form indicated internal turmoil that was currently under control. Brian was radiating anxiousness, while Rachel looked ready to either bolt or attack. Alec just seemed bored.

After confirming that no one was about to do anything stupid on my side, I turned back to observe the heroes. They were as professional as ever. 

“Seraph,” Armsmaster called for my attention.

“Done talking to your boss?” I asked.

“Yes,” he forced out. “We tentatively agree to your demands, provided your information is as valuable as you claim.”

“And that’s officially ratified?” I prodded. “You’re not just saying that now while thinking of breaking your word later?”

“...No.” Sheesh! If the man kept grinding his teeth like that, he would probably end up toothless.

“Tattletale?”

“He’s telling the truth,” she confirmed. “Paperwork’s already being drafted. Interesting…”

Interesting? I wanted to ask what she meant by that, but that could wait. For now, it’s my turn to show the goods.

“Good to hear,” I said. “As for where Leviathan intends to attack, it’s gonna be here. Brockton Bay.”

I would have placed bets that at least Velocity crapped his pants from my revelation, if the other heroes’ reactions were anything to go by. Only Dragon seemed unaffected. Then again, I was just looking at a mechanical suit. She’s probably freaking out in digital space.

“When?” the one who’ll be known as Theresa in the future managed to ask in an admirably steady voice.

“Five to seven days from now,” I told her. “The oversized reptile’s moving like he’s hunting for something… or someone. And I bet I know who he’s looking for.”

“You think he’s trying to find you?” Miss Militia asked faintly.

“Correctomundo!” I flicked finger guns at the gun lady. “Which is a good thing, by the way.”

“How could this possibly be good?!” Dauntless spoke up for the first time since the meeting began.

“You intend to lay a trap.” I honestly shouldn’t be surprised, but I would’ve preferred it if anyone else but Armsmaster were the first to figure it out. I haven’t even told my team!

“Are you insane?!” Taylor and Lisa shouted at the same time.

“Sanity is overrated!” I proclaimed. “I’m gonna grill that lizard for dinner if it’s the last thing I do!”

In hindsight, I should have expected the looks of supreme doubt sent my way. 

Chapter 43

Alfred POV

The conversation with Lisa went about as I expected: the girl being defensive, and me having to remind her that a meeting with heroes about an upcoming Endbringer attack wasn’t the right time to do it. Either way, the damage was done. 

I had to cash in my favor for something I didn’t give a shit about, and Taylor was absolutely fuming with just about everyone. The revelations regarding Canary pushed virtually all of her buttons, which would have set her on a crusade if I hadn’t cut that issue off at the pass.

Fortunately, Danny was there to soften the edges of her rage, thus stopping the random spikes of buzzing in the walls. He even gave Lisa a piece of his mind, which he did in the most fatherly manner possible, and thus, far worse for the snippy Thinker. 

However, none of us chose to harp on the blatant attempt at manipulation in case it set off the swarm bringer again. Speaking of which, we quickly got to workshopping a name that won’t cause her to lose her shit. 

The final choice was Imago, which is the last stage of an insect’s metamorphosis.

Taylor liked the implied maturity, Danny liked how harmless it sounded, and the rest of us were just relieved that she didn’t come up with anything stupid. With the time-consuming drama settled, for now, we finally got to the truly important bits: i.e., figuring out how to effectively kill Leviathan.

Meeting at the PRT headquarters, Lisa scanned for tricks or traps the whole way and found none. The rest of the Undersiders and Taylor were still nervous, though. We were all in costume, of course, with me in my White-Silver Dragoon form. It’s still strong enough to fight, in case anything went wrong today, but it can heal or resurrect members of my group if needed.

Upon entering the briefing room set aside for the planning session, we found familiar faces among the heroes, new faces with the PRT agents and Weld, as well as the presence of Legend.

Naturally, being in the same room as Cauldron’s friendliest asset caused the people with me to stiffen, which none of the other attendees missed. Sometimes, I really had to wonder what these assholes were playing at. The secretive cabal of control freaks had to know who I’d told of their existence.

Well, at least it’s not Alexandria.

“Legend,” I greeted, striding further inside. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

Despite knowing exactly what I was implying, he merely gave us a welcoming smile. “As Leader of the Protectorate, it’s been decided that my attendance would be helpful.”

Accepting the explanation, I chose to let it go and started greeting everyone else in the room. The surprise on their faces at my amicable disposition really hammered home how severe my reputation must be in their minds. I left introductions for everyone else to Lisa, who made sure to emphasize Taylor’s chosen cape name, choosing instead to focus on the meeting’s mood.

So far, it doesn’t look like anyone was in a hostile enough state of mind to do anything stupid. Both sides were tense, of course, but that’s only to be expected when two WMDs in human form were in a single confined space. 

“With the pleasantries out of the way,” Director Piggot began once everyone was seated, “let’s talk about this plan of yours.”

“As I told Dragon, Armsmaster, and the heroes present during our initial meeting, I can sense the Endbringer’s current location,” I said without preamble. There’s no point beating around the bush. “Right now, he’s about 1,600 kilometers to the East, zigzagging in the water right towards us.”

“And you claimed that one of your forms is what allows you to do this?” she clarified.

“Pretty much,” I shrugged. “As you might have already figured out, my forms correspond to certain elements. Blue or Blue-Sea has a deep connection with the ocean, or any body of water, for that matter. That’s how I’m tracking Leviathan.”

Confirming what they already knew wouldn’t make a difference, at this point. I’ve already showcased enough of the Dragoon Spirits in public that even an idiot would have some ideas as to what they could do.

“Can you do this with the other Endbringers?” one of the new faces asked crisply. A woman who looked like a human-shaped disco ball.

“And, you are?” I asked.

“Prism,” she answered. “Recent transfer.”

Indeed, she was. In fact, there seemed to be quite a few heroes in attendance who I was pretty sure weren’t on the canon roster. Lisa had already warned me about the reinforcements flooding into the city, of course, along with the public’s discontent regarding the matter. But it was honestly too bothersome to keep track of.

“Right, well, I’m afraid I can’t speak about that right now, one way or the other,” I explained patiently. 

Her asking the question was understandable, of course. Who wouldn’t want the ability to track the creatures haunting their nightmares? The truth, however, is I simply don’t know. 

That caused a ripple of disappointment among the room’s other occupants, but it just couldn’t be helped. It’s better not to get their hopes up in case I can’t deliver. This is exactly why I initially wanted to leave the talking to Lisa. Unfortunately, the suggestion was immediately shot down by everyone, with the Thinker almost having a panic attack at the very thought. 

Apparently, I’ve already painted her as some sort of mastermind who held my leash during the post-Echidna briefing. Taylor didn’t want to do it, either, and I asked. So, speaking with the heroes has been left to me. A thoroughly uncomfortable position to be in for someone who avoided public speaking their whole life.

Soldier on, Alfred. Soldier on.

“You said you planned to trick Leviathan?” Legend prompted. “How do you plan to do this?”

“By giving him exactly what he wants at the time of our choosing,” I explained. “When we’re ready to face him, I’ll fly out to sea, flash the metaphorical signal to draw him to my location, and fight him away from populated areas.”

“Whoa, hang on!” Assault cut in loudly. “You want to fight Leviathan on your own?”

“I wouldn’t say that I want to,” I replied. “But, what choice do we have?”

“Absolutely not!” Legend said firmly, with other capes joining their voices with his. 

Wow. Did these people actually enjoy Endbringer fights or something? You’d think I was denying them treats with the way they’re reacting. Taylor and the rest weren’t any better, either. It took a lot of arguing for them to allow this proposal, and even then, it came with a lot of caveats. One of which was playing out right in front of me.

“Everybody quiet!” Director Piggot roared, instantly slicing through the noise. “You’re all professionals, for Christ’s sake. Act like it!” Once the hubbub died down, she then turned to me. I must say, for a diminutive woman who was also seated, she cut an intimidating figure. “I’m afraid we can’t accept that plan, Seraph.”

“Oh, come on, why not?!” I demand in a calm and definitely not whiny manner. “You’ve seen me out there! I can take him!”

I got a raised eyebrow in response. “‘Why not’? How about because you’re barely of legal age? How about because there are no guarantees that you would survive, which would then deprive us of an extremely powerful and versatile healer?” I moved to interrupt, but she kept talking. “Letting you go out to face Leviathan on your own would go against the Spirit of the Endbringer truce. It would also cause massive complications for future Endbringer responses when we start having one point of failure. But most relevant of all,” her voice got louder after she saw me open my mouth. “You’re not Leviathan’s only target, are you?”

Her question struck me dumb, and for a moment, I couldn’t respond. A sharp intake of breath came from Lisa, followed by one from Taylor. 

Shit.

Piggot turned to the Master. “Isn’t that right, Imago?”

Double shit.

Chapter 44

Taylor POV

“We have no idea what you’re talking about,” Alfred, in his guise as Seraph, said.

The director simply looked at him like an idiot, which, in Taylor’s opinion, isn’t entirely unwarranted. She was still reeling at the possibility that Leviathan might be looking for her. Something that she never even considered.

Did he know about this? Did Lisa?

Sneaking a look at the girl beside her, the blonde gave an infinitesimal shake of the head to indicate her ignorance of the matter. Taylor also remembers her gasping in surprise, so that checks out.

“Don’t treat us like we’re idiots, Seraph,” the woman warned. “The swarm of monsters out at sea was made up of arthropods. Not a single one of them had a spine, which means –”

“That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” Alfred blurted out. “Those were some brave critters!”

“–which means,” Director Piggot kept on speaking, “that they are more similar to insects than not. We know of only one Parahuman who can control insects within a hundred-mile radius, and she’s sitting right here.”

“That proves nothing,” he argued.

“It doesn’t need to!” she shot back. “If there’s even a chance that Leviathan would just ignore you and barrel straight for the city, it would be irresponsible to not even talk about it. This isn’t a game where you make the rules however you want, Seraph!”

“No shit!” Taylor could see Alfred becoming more and more agitated. “I just don’t see why you’re bringing someone else into this when I’m perfectly willing to be your bait. That’s better PR for you, isn’t it? You get rid of an Endbringer, or you get rid of a cape you can’t control. Either way, you win!”

“How about we all calm –” Legend tried to interpose.

“You stay out of this, you two-faced hypocrite!” 

Cries of outrage exploded in the meeting room, with many of the heroes jumping to their feet, yelling invectives at the offender, and some even manifesting their powers. To Taylor’s growing horror, though, rather than backing down, Alfred stood up and started glowing. The tension around his shoulders, the set of his jaws, and the clenching of his fists indicate his willingness to escalate to violence.

“Let me make this abundantly clear,” he spoke in the lowest, most menacing voice she had ever heard from him. This was a side to Alfred she had never seen. “If any of you come near Imago, I will rip out your throat and piss on your corpse. You think I care about your precious Rules or your fragile authority? You think your pathetic collection of powered enforcers masquerading in an ideal from a bygone era would give me pause?” At this point, his voice has taken on a savage, almost maddened quality. 

“You think your sparkly Blaster can stop me?” He continued, shoulders hunched and snarling. “Or your precious Trump and Flying Brick? I will eviscerate every single cape in this room, then go from city to city, state to state, and country to country, doing the same thing until you get the message that She. Is. Off. Limits!”

By the end of his rant, the once kind, if quirky, boy she had known over the last few days was gone – and was replaced by a raving lunatic. Lisa had been hinting that there was more to Alfred’s professed loyalty to Taylor, but she didn’t appreciate just what that meant until this moment.

Suddenly, a hand shot out to grab hers, forcing Taylor out of her frozen state. She didn’t even notice the thick feeling of dread that had flooded the briefing room like molasses.

It wasn’t like the cloying, eldritch fear she felt that night on the rooftop. This was deeper, more primal. Like being face-to-face with a crocodile or some other man-eating predator. It’s the kind of fear that freezes the limbs and discombobulates the mind.

“You need to stop him!” It was Lisa, and all the blood seemed to have drained from her face. Even her hand was ice cold. “Stop him, Taylor. Do it now!” Fear made her words faint, shaky, and nearly unintelligible, but the message was clear. Witnessing the blonde be reduced to such a pitiful state spurred Taylor on to finally intervene. 

“Seraph!” Springing to her feet, the bug mistress fought through the fear and walked around the table to reach her raging ally. “That’s enough!” she shouted, grabbing his shoulder to catch his attention.

When he turned, Taylor saw an inferno behind his brown eyes through the translucent visor, causing her gut to flip in terror. Even then, she met his gaze. The eye contact visibly diminished the flames at a rapid rate, and, not seeing any other choice, she held his face with both hands. His skin felt hot through the silk of her gloves.

“They won’t touch me,” she reassured him in a soothing voice, firmly ignoring the audience watching on as she tried to calm the powerful Trump. “I’m safe, okay? The director wasn’t threatening me. Nobody is threatening me. I’m safe.”

“But they –”

“– won’t do anything to hurt me,” she said firmly, overriding his objection. “They know better than that. Seraph, you’re scaring them. You’re scaring the others, scaring Tattletale… you’re scaring me,” she finished in a small voice.

That did it. Like a spell, her words broke through his remaining anger, fully snuffing out the fire in his gaze. Shock, shame, and guilt warred on his face. With her being so close, Taylor saw the remorse shining through. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t – I never wanted to frighten you. Never you.”

Despite herself, the sheer sincerity in his voice caused her chest to tighten and her heart to flutter. Taylor had to actively remind herself of their current location and situation just to suppress the flush creeping up her face.

“I’m not the only one you owe an apology to,” she told him firmly. For a moment, he seemed confused, but quickly understood what she meant –

“I’m sorry for scaring you guys,” he said to the Undersiders… and no one else.

– or maybe he didn’t.

Clearing her throat caught his attention. When he raised a questioning eyebrow at her, she jerked her head towards the rest of the table, where heroes and PRT agents sat rigidly still, wide-eyed and trembling.

“Oh,” he said once he finally got what she was trying to say. “I, uh, I’m sorry, everyone, for my behavior. That was unbecoming of me. My need to protect – that is to say, I sometimes lose my temper. I really am sorry.”

To Alfred’s credit, he really did sound contrite in his apology. Unfortunately, no one had the chance to pardon or condemn him.

“Director!” someone screamed before all hell broke loose.

Already dreading what she would find, Taylor turned to the rotund woman’s location and saw her slumped on her chair. She had fallen unconscious, with one hand clutching her chest, and her face turning purple. Naturally, a certain bumbling idiot decided to make the already tragic affair even worse…

“I can fix that!”

“Noooo!” several voices yelled, but it was too late.

One second, a bright, white light blinded everyone, and the next, the woman groaned awake.

“See? She’s fine!”

“... God dammit, Seraph.”

Interlude

Lisa POV

She never felt fear so deeply and so inescapably before. Every corner of her mind felt overfull with dread, leaving no room to retreat. Lisa was a tiny little animal surrounded by wolves on all sides, overwhelmed with so much fright that there was only one place to escape:

Her power.

In danger.

Not in danger.

Afraid of ()^$^%(

Fear caused by ()!%$&#

Escape is impossible.

Escape is possible.

No need to escape.

Must escape.

Unfortunately, it was giving out contradictory and nonsensical information. Directing it at other people, she focused on the heroes, PRT agents, and even her own team. She shouldn’t have bothered because it gave different variations of the same inference:

Is having a panic attack.

She would’ve been impressed at how a single Parahuman could cause practically identical reactions in all the people in range, if she weren’t tied to the one causing it. More importantly, the longer the effect lingered, the likelier the worst-case scenario would occur for everyone:

Will suffer cardiac arrest.

Forcing her limp and uncooperative body to respond was like trying to run underwater. Yet, she had to do it. Air was refusing to enter her lungs, and she was burning oxygen with every inch she crossed. Finally, her hand made contact with Taylor’s, and by some miracle, she hadn’t passed out yet.

Some part of her was infuriated at having to rely on the girl for anything. The other part was yelling that they were going to die if she didn’t. Pride couldn’t play a part in trying to survive.

Fortunately, she was able to successfully snap her out of the same effect that’s handily incapacitating Lisa. Annoyingly, the bug mistress was able to do so and move with way less trouble. When the air of primal dread finally disappeared, the Thinker was still immersed in her power.

It was like getting violently expelled by a giant slingshot, where she started from a dead stop and accelerated without actually moving. The experience stretched for several seconds, which was enough for her to notice several things.

With Legend:

()^& Data. Severed (^*%. @%^& Cycle.

With Piggot:

Suffering cardiac arrest. Adrenaline and noradrenaline overdose. 

With Alfred, who was in the middle of using his powers on the unconscious PRT Director, however, things were different:

Is a man. Is a woman. Is a giant. Is old. Is young. Is human. Is non-human.

What the fuck?

Can %(&^. Has access to !$#@#. Mind is ^$&^ by ^&%&^.

Time lost all meaning to Lisa. Somehow, someway, her power was working on the Trump. It was temporary, though. She could already feel herself being pulled back, but this was a chance she couldn’t allow to pass.

So she strained to stay. When she did, however, something else happened. An outline began to form over Alfred, which gradually solidified. 

It was a woman with a pale, porcelain-like complexion with sharp, delicate features. A heavy, cream-colored outer garment covered her slender form. It was adorned with intricate gold trim that winds across the chest and shoulders. Large, polished red cabochon gems are inlaid into the gold filigree at the collar, shoulders, and torso.

She turned her head and locked eyes with Lisa before opening her mouth to speak soundless words.

***** * *****.

Refusing to give up, the Thinker fought to understand what the woman was trying to say.

B**** s *tr*.

Her power was beginning to buckle. The strain was becoming too much, but she refused to give in.

Beare s Ptr**.

Lisa couldn’t hold on any longer, and she could feel her grip on this opportunity slip away faster and faster. But, with one last push, she finally managed to get enough pieces of the puzzle to form a concrete idea of what she was trying to convey.

Beware his Patron.

What Patron?

Allowing herself to be pulled away while mulling over the discovery, Lisa’s eyes caught Taylor’s form, and what her power managed to get froze her blood.

…Is Abyss. 

…Is Annihilation.

That didn’t sound good at all.

Chapter 45

Alfred POV

I guess I should’ve expected the reaction from the PRT and Protectorate after I did a whoopsie with the famously cape-hating Director. In my defense… yeah, I got nothing. Experts do say never to make decisions when angry, and boy, was I angry.

So angry, in fact, that I actually started seeing red. I always thought that this was just a literary device to describe rage. Apparently not.

Now that I’m calm… well, calm-er, I did feel incredibly guilty. And stupid. Guilty and stupid.

The rational part of my brain knew that my reaction was incredibly unreasonable. As dumb and incompetent as the PRT is often depicted in fanfiction, I’ve had more than enough proof to judge that this version of the organization isn’t nearly so extreme. Some part of that might be Cauldron’s manipulation, but Piggot certainly didn’t act like the nail-munching, venom-spitting hardass I’d been expecting, either.

Shaking off preconceptions has been harder than I thought, I suppose. That was the best explanation I could come up with for losing my shit like I did. And because I did lose my shit, I now have to sit in my chair like a naughty boy, being scolded by an irate Emily Piggot. 

We were in a separate, smaller room, where medical professionals were examining her. I got the feeling that she should’ve been in a more appropriate environment – like the PRT’s hospital room, for example – but she was too incensed to give a shit about protocol.

The woman screamed at just about everyone who tried to talk her down, including Armsmaster, senior PRT agents, Miss Militia, Armsmaster again, Legend, and even the doctors. When even the Leader of the Protectorate couldn’t make her see sense, he finally allowed the private dressing down that she wanted.

I could have refused, of course, but two things stopped me. First was the uncompromising glare that the woman sent my way, followed by the adamantly delivered “Get your ass over here, you pestilential brat!” command. Second was the betrayal that was Taylor, Lisa, and even Rachel, shoving me forward and effectively throwing me under the bus.

So, I was marched out of the briefing room, leaving everyone else behind, and bracketed by Miss Militia on one side and Legend on the other. I would’ve been annoyed at the blatant corralling if I weren’t also thinking of ways to get out of this situation.

Right before getting to our destination, I offhandedly brought up to the blue and white-clad Blaster how we should probably bring in Panacea to look at the Director. Even through the mask, I could feel the ‘absolute done with your shit’ he was sending my way.

When we finally got there, I was directed to a steel chair while the woman I healed paced like a caged tiger. She said nothing to anyone and made eye contact with no one.

Now, there were several things going through my head by this point. I technically just assaulted everyone in the previous room with a Parahuman power, though for the life of me, I couldn’t think of how. White-Silver wasn’t supposed to have a Dread Aura (trademark pending), and my passengers were silent on the matter.

Healing Emily Piggot without her permission qualified as a crime, as well, which I remembered too late. Probably shouldn’t make decisions after recovering from a near-meltdown, too.

So, why wasn’t I clapped in irons, as the old fogeys used to say? Well, I got my answer as soon as a team of labcoats and scrubs came in with medical equipment. It was when she was finally seated that the PRT Director sent a face-melting glare my way.

“The only reason I’m not calling for your incarceration is the damage you would cause when you inevitably resist.” Those were the first words she said to me in a voice so soft that it sent a shiver through my spine. “Otherwise, you’d have been covered in foam and tased to kingdom come, orders from the top be damned.”

I said nothing in response. It’s not like I could say anything that would minimize my transgression.

“You’ve said your piece,” she continued, going up an octave. “So, now, I will say mine. You have been the single, biggest, most painful boil that has ever sprouted on my ass! Never have I had to deal with such an immature, incompetent, and chaotic blister, and I survived fucking Nilbog!”

Well, she certainly had a way with words.

“This city has been teetering on a knife’s edge before you came along, but since you were shat out of hell’s asshole, the whole damn place has become a playground for ghouls and monsters of all kinds! You’ve driven my people to their wits’ end, having nervous breakdowns every other day, and you have the audacity to act like a spoiled child who wants to dictate everyone’s actions? How fucking dare you?!”

One would think that this would be the limit of her spleen, but one would be wrong. It got progressively worse from there. To the point that the doctor monitoring her vitals anxiously advised taking it down a notch. Advice that she so adroitly ignored.

Suffice it to say, she laid out everything she, the PRT, the Protectorate, and even the city government have had to deal with since I arrived. I had to say, it was quite the list. Millions of dollars in damages, heightened stress among the local populace, elevated military preparedness for all coastal areas in the Atlantic region, exponentially increased scrutiny from virtually all bodies with an interest in Cape matters (both legitimate and criminal), and geopolitical instability, just to name a few.

She also described, in a breathtakingly thorough fashion, how much I fucked up by healing her without her express permission. The number of articles, subsections, and codes I violated nearly made me cross-eyed.

By the time she was done tearing me a new asshole, she was breathing like a winded buffalo. Impressively enough, she waved away all offers of assistance. Seeing her stand tall and proud, instead of the hobbling slab of flesh she used to be, I caught a hint of who this woman was before Ellisburg.

From the way Miss Militia and Legend were staring at her, they shared my thoughts on the matter.

“Now,” she said after a few lungfuls of air, “I’m going to ask you this only once. Are you capable of working with us like a reliable partner, or should we go our separate ways? Because if you ever assault me or any of my people by throwing a tantrum again, as God is my witness, I will shoot you in the head. I don’t care if it won’t do a damn thing to hurt you or that it’ll cost me my job. It’s the damn principle of the thing.”

Objectively speaking, I could always tell the woman to go suck a lemon and walk away. It’s not like I really needed anyone else to enact my plan. Heck, I could just fly to where Leviathan’s splashing about now, and challenge him to a duel. Kind of.

Come to think of it, why do I need to go through all this trouble? Just so Taylor could participate?

Why would she need to &$&^(&^TR&^!@$#$!

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

Objectively speaking, I could always tell the woman to go suck a lemon and walk away. It’s not like I really needed anyone else to enact my plan. Heck, I could just fly to where Leviathan’s splashing about now, and challenge him to a duel. Kind of.

Come to think of it, why do I need to go through all this trouble? Just so Taylor could participate?

“I really am sorry, Director,” I sighed, lowering my head in shame. “I can’t promise that I won’t lose my temper in the future, but I’ll do better to control myself. Imago is just a… delicate topic for me. When you brought her up, I overreacted. It won’t happen again.”

When I looked up again, it was to see everyone in the room looking at me strangely.

“What?” I asked blankly.

“She hasn’t Mastered you, has she?” Piggot demanded.

Wut?

Chapter 46

Emily Piggot POV

"Did you get what you wanted out of that?"

The small room was devoid of occupants other than Emily, Legend, and Miss Militia. Seraph had already been sent back to the main briefing room with PRT agent escorts, and the medical staff had been ordered to clear out for a few minutes. They didn't have a lot of time to talk before she had to be checked over and spend time in isolation for Master/Stranger screening as a precaution.

Previous cases of Seraph's healing didn't seem to leave a mental influence on the subjects, but protocol was protocol.

"There's something seriously wrong about that boy," she answered Legend's probing question.

Hopefully, Seraph didn't catch on to the fact that the two Blasters were there to contain her just as much as they were there to contain him. Her bellowing like a wounded hippo wasn't just out of anger, after all. Fortunately, there was still something to be said about professionals recognizing subtle signs of command.

"You're thinking Kill/Kiss Dynamic?" the Protectorate Leader asked.

"There's nothing tying them in power expression, though," Miss Militia interjected.

"A power-enforced obsession with keeping her safe, then."

"Toward one, specific individual?" Emily retorted.

"Maybe they knew each other before they Triggered, thus amplifying his feelings of protectiveness?" Legend postulated.

"She attacked him. Twice. With seemingly lethal intent." There was more than a hint of disappointment in the blonde's voice at the winged Parahuman's continued existence despite the deadly engagements.

"A stalker, maybe?" The unpleasant thought seemed to make Miss Militia hesitate to even bring it up.

"Possible," Emily agreed after a few seconds of contemplation. "It could explain the strained interactions between Imago and him, the obsession, but not the control she seems to have over the boy. Don't stalker cases have it the other way around? With the perpetrator wanting to dominate the victim?"

"As far as I know." Legend shrugged. "We'll need criminal and forensic psychologists to tell, one way or the other."

"We still can't rule out Mastering," Emily stubbornly pressed.

"He claims immunity to Master and Thinker powers," Miss Militia rebutted.

Actually, his exact words were: “How would she Master me? I'm not a bug. Just because I have armor and wings doesn't make me an overgrown beetle. Besides, I can't be Mastered. My powers make sure of that.”

"Which we can't prove one way or the other," came the tart reply.

"He does seem to have an adverse effect on Thinkers," Legend said. "Watchdog can't directly analyze him without experiencing backlash, and this disruption appears to encompass Imago, now. Masters could easily suffer the same blocks."

"Unless he can make himself intentionally vulnerable to a certain Master whom he is obsessed with," Miss Militia said with a grimace.

"Damn that boy!" Emily groaned, unable to gesture too wildly owing to the censors attached to her limbs. "If he weren't so valuable, I'd be pushing for a Kill Order right now. He's too dangerous and unpredictable!"

"He's willing to cooperate, Director." If Legend thought he was being comforting, he needed to work on his pep talk. "We simply need to avoid crossing the line with Imago."

"And you're just fine with that?" she replied angrily. "Leaving control over such a dangerous cape in the hands of an equally dangerous Master?"

Legend scowled. "This outward expression of prejudice won't help our efforts to bring them onside, Director. As far as we've been able to tell, she can't control humans."

"You mean she hasn't shown that she could!" she barked back. "For all we know, her powers are too subtle to detect. Besides, she jumped from controlling ants to having a literal army of monsters at her beck and call. We can't rule anything out with these people!"

"Be that as it may," he sighed, "as long as they are proving cooperative, our orders are to accommodate."

"Director," Miss Militia cut in delicately. "Despite the… unusual circumstances surrounding the two public instances of Imago's power use, she hasn't actually hurt anyone. The swarm over the city avoided civilians, she showed no aggression toward the heroes out at sea, and even Seraph's never been harmed to our knowledge, despite her best effort to make it otherwise. I can't provide solid evidence without talking to them, but there might be an explanation as to why he's so protective of her."

Emily raised an intrigued eyebrow. "And that would be?"

"Well, let's examine the three cases in which Seraph came to her aid and focus on just him, for the moment. We know that Imago was on that rooftop with Lung. Seraph arrived to put down the ABB leader. Over the Atlantic—if our theory that Coil somehow abducted Imago is right—then it explains his sudden aggression against the villain and why he was out there. He was there to rescue her, but she Second Triggered, in all probability, and likely wasn't in her right mind."

So far, this all lined up with the conclusions of PRT analysts and Thinkers, so Emily didn't interrupt.

"In the meetup at the former Boat Graveyard," Militia continued, "he suddenly demanded the release of Canary when her incarceration began agitating Imago."

Emily's blood pressure surged at the memory. That was a can of worms that caused far too much chaos for her liking.

"From what we know, Seraph has absolutely no connection with the singer and so had no reason to make such a demand. He only did it because of Imago and how Tattletale's skewed description of the case was causing distress to the only Master on that beach."

Emily would've previously objected to the statement owing to Hellhound's presence in the same area if details about her lack of power-enforced control over dogs hadn't been revealed that day. Yet another flaming bag of shit that had been dumped on her porch.

As for the Thinker... well, all of the heroes present that day agreed that she was simply trying to turn the Master against the PRT and Protectorate. And she almost succeeded.

"Which brings us to what happened in the briefing room," Miss Militia went on. "The mere hint of attention on Imago set Seraph off, even pushing him to the point of promising wide-scale murder and destruction. His unreasonable protectiveness might just be one half of the equation."

At this point, Miss Militia was facing Emily directly.

"Director, bringing up Leviathan's potential interest in Imago was just procedure to you. But he could have perceived it as a threat. This could also explain why he's so intent on volunteering as bait. He wants the attention on himself so that we wouldn't be tempted to dangle Imago in front of an Endbringer too."

As much as Emily would like to deny the possibility, she couldn't outright suppress the pragmatic thought of actually doing it. Leviathan had destroyed too many cities, taken too many lives, and ruined too many futures. If taking him out required sacrificing a single girl, she couldn't quite say that she wouldn't do it.

"So, what, I shouldn't have even brought it up?" the Director asked scathingly. "I should've just left it alone despite the risks?"

"She's saying," Legend answered on Miss Militia's behalf, "that we should maybe consider Seraph's perspective. Right now, they have a dim view of our respective organizations, and Canary's case didn't help with that. If we're to gain their cooperation, and thus insight into who they are, how their powers work, and what kind of threat they really pose, we need to present ourselves in a better light."

Emily's face twisted in revulsion. "You want me to start kissing their asses?"

"That likely won't work and might just turn them against us more," Miss Militia pointed out patiently. "We need to stop treating them like run-of-the-mill Parahumans that require the usual tactics to recruit. We need to start showing them that we aren't just the big, scary figures of authority that would typically intimidate minor capes. Perhaps a more open approach would work where keeping them at arm's length would fail?"

The local PRT Director didn't outright reject the idea. That would've been stupid. Instead, she mulled it over.

At the end of the day, most capes simply couldn't be trusted with more delicate information. They often require persistent guidance and years of experience to merit inclusion in discussions of complex realities that go beyond simple PR. Parahumans with unbending, black-and-white perspectives can be particularly troublesome.

Seraph, for all his faults and his most recent mishap, has one thing going for him: combat prescience. He has never been defeated and has only ever caused as much damage as he intended. According to their analysis, it likely has to do with some form of Combat Thinker aspect of his power.

After speaking with him, Emily was more inclined to believe that everything had been a deliberate choice. He chose to run, chose to fight, chose to spare, chose to talk, and chose to hide. Everything was a choice, except when it wasn't. And that exception has only ever centered on one person: Imago.

Director Piggot refused to bend over backwards for the two teen capes. However, if opening up just a little bit allowed the PRT to discover a potential weakness that they could exploit? Well, she wasn't that inflexible. Regardless of her current title, she was still a soldier.

What was it that Sun Tzu said again? Ah, yes.

All warfare is based on deception.

Emily has been conducting herself as a PRT Director should, and for ten long years, she's been failing. Maybe it was time to start taking this war a little more seriously.

Chapter 47

Lisa POV

Immediately after Alfred and Piggot left the briefing room

Lisa walked up to Armsmaster with as much dignity and authority as she could manage. A task made difficult by her still-shaking limbs. However, she was able to scrape together enough willpower to do so, and her approach was noticed by the Tinker.

“We need to secure a private room to discuss some matters for our group,” she said without preamble.

Even with his eyes hidden, the furrowed brow went unmissed by Lisa.

“I’m afraid we can’t allow anyone to leave until either the Director or Legend returns,” he said.

“Bullshit,” she spat. “I know for a fact that you can allow us a private area to confer, and there’s one two doors down that’s unoccupied. Place guards outside, if it makes you feel better. You know there’s no other exit in that room.”

“Tats, what –” Brian started to ask as the rest of their group approached, but she gestured for silence.

“What we need to discuss is our business,” she told Armsmaster, “and I know for a fact that this room is being recorded. You don’t want me making a fuss, right now, Armsmaster. Not when there’s an Endbringer attack to discuss.”

The local Protectorate leader and nearby heroes and PRT agents paused. After a beat, the Tinker nodded and led them out of the room. Once they arrived at the door, he opened it and gestured for them to enter.

It was tiny. Closer to an office rather than a meeting room, with a single desk, two wooden chairs, and a shelf at the other end. The bare, white walls gave it a claustrophobic air.

“The cameras and sensors in this room will be disabled for the duration of your conference,” he said gruffly. “Two guards will be placed outside the door. Once you are done, they will escort you back to the briefing room.”

His piece said, Armsmaster left and closed the door. Once the five of them were alone, Brian rounded on Lisa.

“What the hell is going on?” he growled, but Lisa ignored him.

Instead, she surveyed the small space, making sure that nobody was watching or listening to them. Several seconds passed before she was finally sure that they had complete privacy.

“Okay, listen up, we don’t have a lot of time.” Out of sight of potential enemies, Lisa finally crumbled onto a nearby chair. 

“But –”

“I said shush, Grue!” she hissed. “I need to tell you how absolutely fucked we are, and I can’t do that if you keep interrupting me!” She waited for anyone else to speak, and when no one did, she continued. “We’re in a worse spot than I thought, so we’ll have to make some adjustments, or we’re all going to die. First, Seraph has an Everest-sized personality disorder. And I’m not just talking about his powers, apparently having wills of their own.

“Right when that fear aura he was putting out vanished, my power started working on overdrive, and I was able to read him for the first time. He’s got other personalities inside him that might be affecting how he thinks. I think I actually spoke to one of them.”

“Exsqueeze me?” Alec asked. “Like the Butcher?”

“No!” Lisa hastily corrected in the face of the entire group tensing. “Not like the Butcher. Well, not exactly like the Butcher. They’re not driving him insane, for one. He’s already crazy, but not in the frothing-at-the-mouth kind of way.”

“What do you mean, he’s crazy?” Taylor demanded. 

“What do you mean, what do I mean?!” Lisa shot back. “Do you think it’s normal for anyone to worship the floor you walk on, Imago? He just threatened to kill every hero in that room if they so much as breathed wrong in your direction! That’s a pretty fucking insane thing to do!”

“I agree,” Brian said shakily.

“Me too,” Alec put in.

“Yeah.” Even Rachel was compelled to add her two cents.

“I get that!” Taylor acknowledged. “It’s almost creepy how protective he can be. But what I’m asking about is what type of crazy he is. He’s clearly not a murder hobo like the Nine or the Butcher, as you said. So, what kind of crazy are we talking about? Most of the time, he’s pretty normal.”

“There’s something broken in his head,” Lisa declared. “I’m not sure how to explain it, but when my power managed to break through his defenses, I saw a shit-ton of cracks in his psyche. Not only that, he apparently has no idea just how to use his powers, so that’s already fucked. To top it all off, either one of his personalities is a power expression or something else because what I saw looked nothing like him.”

“What did you see?” Brian asked.

Lisa described the manifestation that overlapped Alfred’s form, from her looks to her outfit. She also told them about the warning she gave, which caused Taylor to gasp.

“The echo of my mother,” she explained when asked about her reaction. “She said something about a woman who told her about what’s going on and about Al – uh, I mean, Seraph.”

“What’d she say?” Lisa latched on to a possible clue like a lamprey. 

Taylor visibly hesitated, even through the near-complete cover of her costume. “She said he was a broken soul. That he needs guidance and support.”

The Undersiders froze and stared at her with incredulity.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell us about this?” the blonde Thinker demanded.

“Because it was incredibly personal!” Taylor shot back. “Would you want me telling everyone your personal business?”

“It’s not about that!”

“Then, what is it about?!”

“That we attached ourselves to a fucking time bomb!” Lisa’s shout caused Taylor to flinch back. “He’s not just a powerful cape! He’s a fucking Jenga tower with most pieces missing and in danger of collapsing, where the prize is an explosion to the face!”

“So, it’s all about you, in the end,” Taylor accused, voice going cold. “You were happy enough to ride his coattails, enjoying his protection. But now that you find out he has a flaw, you want to bail? I should’ve expected as much.”

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you!” Lisa shrieked. “At least, I have never tried to kill him. You can’t say the same, can you? Poor Seraph keeps trying to keep your bony ass alive, and all you’ve ever done is set your minions on him. What exactly have you done for him in exchange except be a useless waste of space?!”

Immediately, the space around Taylor began to warp. An alien, indescribable chill began to fill the room, causing all its occupants to shiver, with the bug mistress being the only exception.

“I’ve been a shitty person to him, that’s true.” The admission was said in a distorted, echoey voice. “I’ve been ungrateful and unappreciative and angry. But, unlike some people, I don’t intend to run at the first sign of trouble. You say he’s crazy? How’s he different from you? From me?” 

She looked around the room’s occupants, the distortion fading as she did so. “All of us have our own issues. Regent acts like a sociopath, Bitch has trouble understanding humans, Grue always needs to prove himself, and you, Tattletale? You seem to have a compulsive need to be a cunt.”

Said cunt grimaced. “Says the control freak.” 

“Yeah, I am.” The admittance came far more easily than Lisa expected from Taylor. At this point, the room’s dimensions and temperature have fully returned to normal, as well. “I’ve been working on that with my dad. Something I wouldn’t have had the chance to do if it weren’t for Seraph. So, whatever mental issues he’s dealing with, as long as he’s not massacring people in the streets, I’ll stick with him. Will you?”

“That depends,” Lisa said.

“On what?” Taylor asked.

“I still have two things to talk about, and one of them is about you.” The curly-haired girl’s shoulders went rigid at the pronouncement, but she kept silent. “First, the woman who spoke to me talked about Seraph having a Patron.”

“Wait, what?” Brian boomed. 

“It gets worse,” the blonde replied. “Her words were garbled the first few times I used my power to understand what she was trying to say. When I finally succeeded, her exact words were ‘Beware his Patron’.”

“So, does that mean he’s Mastered, after all?” This question came from Alec.

“Patron could mean a lot of things,” Taylor argued. “It could be someone who raised him. A current backer he hasn’t told us about. The word ‘Patron’ has been used in religion, business, politics, and so on. Jumping to Master is a bit of a stretch.”

“But, why would this, err, personality warn Tattletale about this Patron?” Grue pressed. 

“I don’t know, and that’s the point!” she ground out. “We don’t know. We’re just guessing. Or, more specifically, Tattletale is just guessing.”

“Well, while we’re on the topic of my guesses,” the Thinker cut in. “Let’s talk about what my power told me about you.”

“Take your shot,” Taylor challenged.

“It said that you were the Abyss and Annihilation,” Lisa dropped smugly. “Care to tell us about that?”

She expected the Master to stammer, make excuses, or shrink back at the revelation. She was severely disappointed.

“Oh, that?” the girl said casually. “Yeah, apparently I can tap into other dimensions.”

Interlude - Glimpse Into Origins

“Remember, my boy. Taylor is the hero of this story. You must let her shine.”

“Gonna teach your grandma to suck eggs, too?”

The reply was an enigmatic smile.

“Relax, would you? I know my place. She’ll see a better ending than she got, you have my word.”

A gentle, encouraging smile graced the being’s lips.

“I truly have made the right choice with you. Not many would resist the allure of power, riches, and carnal pleasure that such opportunities present. Indeed, virtually none of them do. Instead, they revel in their second chances and focus on fulfilling their basest, most self-serving desires. You are a rare breed, my boy.”

“All I want is the chance to make a difference in someone’s life. This’ll let me do that.”

“Even if it costs you your life?”

“Especially if it costs me my life. This girl sacrificed everything for an ungrateful world. With me there, she won’t need to.”

“Then, I wish you luck, my boy.”

A snort of derision.

“I don’t need luck. I’m a freakin’ Dragoon.”

Chapter 48

Alfred POV

This meeting became a bit more complicated than I expected at the outset. As soon as I got to the briefing room, I found Taylor and the Undersiders seemingly at odds. Not only that, they were now a lot tenser around me than before. 

Understandable, I thought, at first. I did blast them with some sort of fear effect that I still knew nothing about. Gonna have to fix that once we’re done here.

Naturally, the gathered heroes and PRT agents were also treating me with a noticeable degree of wariness. Also understandable. I’ll have to do more to make up for my behavior, if only to avoid issues that could spell trouble later.

After a few more minutes, Legend appeared along with Miss Militia. 

The news that Director Piggot will be undergoing Master/Stranger isolation was met with frosty glances sent toward me. The Leader of the Protectorate chose not to comment on the reactions and instead proceeded with the meeting’s main agenda: Preparing for Leviathan.

Many of the most common angles were discussed, including not evacuating Brockton Bay for fear of even greater destruction by the Endbringer. I was asked multiple times to confirm the oversized iguana’s heading. Each time, I answered that he was still on his way to the city. There were no deviations in either the direction or speed of his movements.

When Taylor was brought up again, I had to actively tamp down the urge to growl, which was getting incredibly inconvenient. This was something that I hadn’t really noticed before for a multitude of reasons, but looking at things objectively, I’ve been acting irrationally when it came to the girl.

I was already fulfilling my mission. There was no need for me to fly off the handle over every little thing.

So, why was I?

“Any of you guys have the answer?” I asked my passengers and got no response, which was yet another concerning development. 

None of them were answering since I lost my temper. Usually, even if they didn’t want to talk to me, I’d still get phantom sensations. That wasn’t happening anymore. It was as if they all went silent. Both the Spirits and the echoes of the users.

If I don’t get them back by the time Leviathan gets here, the fight’s going to be infinitely more dangerous, both for me and everyone else.

“Look, there’s no guarantee that he’s looking for her.” I really couldn’t afford this distraction right now. “I’m the bigger threat, which makes me the more likely target. So she can use gigantic creatures to fight. That still doesn’t make her a more potent opponent compared to me.”

“Uh,” Taylor suddenly spoke up, and I saw the Undersiders go rigid. “That’s not entirely true.”

Say what? 

With the room’s full attention bearing down on her, the girl appeared to subconsciously shrink into herself. She quickly rallied, though, and turned to me. 

“I wasn’t going to say anything until I knew more,” she said in a hesitant tone, “but with the chance of Leviathan coming after me, I might as well let everyone know. We’re all in this together, right?”

Come again?

“Yes, Imago. We’re in this together.” Oh, get fucked, you bearded asshole!

“Thank you, Armsmaster,” she breathlessly expressed her gratitude to the Tinker, which made me unreasonably irritated. “I only recently found this out, but I can apparently access another dimension.”

Judging by the resigned body language of Lisa and the rest, they already knew about this. Which begs the following questions: What the fuck? When did they find out? And why was I the last to know?

I mean, I knew that her power tapped into dimensional fuckery courtesy of Astral Drain, but I thought Rose had already closed that. Looking back, though, I never really bothered to confirm if this was the case. I assumed that Taylor’s temporary nerfing was just QA undergoing a reboot. A Second Trigger was impossible since she had already gone through that in the locker.

So, what gives?

“Please explain, Imago,” Legend gently prodded.

“Well, it’s like this. I can basically open small windows to send my bugs through, and if I had a pair somewhere else, they act like wormholes.” Her words caused a wave of murmurs among the attendees. “They’re about as big as my fist, so I can’t send anything too large through. But that’s only if I have two windows open.”

Oh, son of a bitch. I can already see where this was going. From the way the senior heroes and PRT personnel straightened up, they were in the same boat. Lisa covered her face with both palms, emitting a high-pitched, whining moan. Brian sat straight and arms crossed. Alec’s lounging form became even more pronounced. Rachel looked bored.

“If I open just one, I can make it big enough to fit a truck,” Taylor continued. “I’ve tried sending a few bugs through before closing it. When I opened it again, none of my bugs came out. I couldn’t even sense them.”

“Do you know anything about this dimension?” Legend asked sharply.

To which, Taylor simply shook her head. “No. I can’t even see anything on the other side. It’s completely dark.”

“When did you find out that you could do this?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“Last night,” she said, which threw me for a loop.

I frantically tried to remember if I sensed anything during that time, but nothing came to mind. She and Danny went home after the man tore into Lisa in the most fatherly manner possible. Taylor was still angry, and with Rachel accompanying them, I saw no reason to get in their way. In my defense, why would it ever occur to me that she would start messing around with newly discovered dimensional powers that even I wasn’t aware of?

“Imago,” Dragon cut in, “what you did was incredibly dangerous. For all you knew, those windows could have led to places with extreme radiation, exotic particles, extradimensional predators, or diseases for which we have no cure!”

“Yeah,” she sighed in defeat. “My dad said the same thing when I brought it up this morning. I haven’t done it since last night, okay?” Then, she paused. “Well, I haven’t done it until, like, a few minutes ago.”

The silence that followed was thunderous, punctuated only by Lisa’s elevated and more desperate keening.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Lock down the immediate area, now!”

“Whyyyyyyyy did you have to say that?!”

“Fuck’s sake, Imago!”

“I’m sorry!”

Shouts, barked orders, wailing alarms, and recriminations flew about. Everyone else was panicking, but not me. Oh, no. I was as cool as a cucumber.

At least, on the outside. Inside, I was absolutely losing my mind. 

Taylor wasn’t supposed to have dimensional powers. Hell, she wasn’t supposed to have Lovecraftian powers! Now, she had both, and I had no idea what to do.

Good job, Alfred, you idiot! What else did you miss? How much shit have you been flinging all over the place that’s gonna bite you in the ass later?

The flood of self-recrimination made my mind swim, but I still had enough neurons set aside to worry about seeds of unseen danger that I had unintentionally been sowing. Why did I ever believe that this whole thing was going to be a breeze with Dragoon Spirits in my corner?

I wanted out-of-context powers to give me an edge over the more constrained abilities in the setting. A clever choice, supposedly, allowing me to cheat without actually cheating. No Gamer powers allowed? How about Gamer-adjacent?

Ho-ho! Quite the sagacious loophole, old chap! Pat yourself on the back for being so damn erudite without ever even considering the consequences of using untested abilities while going to a place that’s infamous for things ALWAYS. GOING. WRONG!

Well, fuck you, past Alfred!

I was so done with the world at that point that I didn’t even put up a fight when we were all quarantined. Leviathan could show up at that moment, and I wouldn’t even get up from the surprisingly comfortable bed in my cell.

My earlier thought was wrong, I suppose. The meeting became more than a bit complicated than I expected at the outset.

Yeah, I think I’m gonna take a nap.

Just a short one.

Chapter 49

Taylor POV

Some part of Taylor knew that she had messed up by losing control with the Undersiders and then blurting out the truth about her use of her new powers. This then resulted in 24 hours being wasted making sure that she hadn’t accidentally let in new microscopic organisms or exotic particles to contaminate their local dimension.

At least, that’s what the PRT said about the necessity of their quarantine. A quarantine that would’ve gone on longer if Leviathan weren’t literally heading towards Brockton Bay.

By the time everyone was released and gathered in a much bigger conference hall that was typically used for press announcements, more people were in attendance. Most notable among them were Alexandria and Eidolon, who rounded out the Triumvirate's presence in the city..

The little girl in Taylor would have been ecstatic at seeing the world’s top heroes in person. After everything Alfred shared with her about Cauldron, however, the Master only felt fear and trepidation at their presence.

Speaking of Alfred, while still looking immaculate in his White-Silver form, as he called it, the boy was slumped in his chair. The same went for Lisa, who didn’t look like she slept much at all. And the two of them were far from the only ones to exhibit signs of exhaustion, as most of their quarantine fellows were in the same state. 

Pretty much the only ones who seemed rested were Alec and Rachel.

Everyone seemed intent on ignoring her, however – even the one who pledged himself to her service. He didn’t even return her greeting when she sat beside him, preferring to stare at the floor.

“All right, everyone,” Legend called out to the room while standing behind a podium. “Please take your seats, so we can finally tackle our most pressing agenda.”

The expected scraping of chairs, along with mumblings and grumblings, sounded out. Once everyone was settled, the Blaster continued.

“First of all, we apologize for the quarantine we all had to suffer,” he said with a wry smile. “Initial examinations and screenings have declared that there are no extradimensional contaminations in effect. So, let’s be thankful for that.”

There was a smattering of applause and cheers at the declaration, which only made Taylor more sheepish.

“With that being the case, let’s move on to discussing our strategy for dealing with Leviathan. Seraph, I assume that you’re still willing to play bait and draw him to a location where we can trap him?”

“Yes,” he responded dully, not looking up.

The lifeless tone caught many people’s attention, including Lisa, who snapped her head in Alfred’s direction with her body going rigid. Taylor knew that the blonde still had reservations about the boy’s mental stability, but she was acting like he was about to set the world on fire at any moment.

“Are you all right, Seraph?” Legend asked in concern.

“I just want this to be over with,” the Trump responded in the same dead tone. “I’ll do my part and kill the fucker, but I’m done. Just do what you have to do.”

Even Taylor had to straighten up at this point. This was the same person who went toe-to-toe with two Endbringer-class threats without blinking, one of which was caused by her. For him to sound so tired and defeated, something was definitely going on.

“Seraph, if there’s something troubling you, we can –”

“Legend.”

With just that single spoken word, Alfred caused the whole room to go still. Sometimes, it can be so easy to forget just how dangerous the boy can be.

“We have an Endbringer to deal with,” he continued. “My issues can wait. We’ve spent too long just talking at this point. I’m tired of it. So, let’s just get this over with…Please?”

He said the last part almost as if he was begging. It was disconcerting to hear it directed at anyone other than her, and this is what pricked Taylor’s conscience. She really has been taking his deference to her for granted, hasn’t she?

“I – all right,” Legend conceded, but Taylor saw him give a quick glance toward Alexandria and Eidolon, who were both looking their way. “So, the plan, as it currently stands, involves having Seraph fly out about fifty miles off the coast of Brockton Bay. Accompanying him will be myself, Alexandria, and Eidolon.”

Taylor expected Alfred to object, seeing as he would be surrounded by Cauldron’s agents. However, he remained silent. She considered objecting on his behalf, but just as she opened her mouth, Lisa reached over across the boy to grab her arm before giving an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

Save for Alexandria and Eidolon, no one else appeared to have noticed the small exchange. But now, Taylor was on the verge of panicking.

Before she knew it, Alfred had become an immovable rock that she and their small group could depend on. Sure, he messed up quite a few times, but he also fixed many of the things that he broke. In her case, what started as a terrifying experience has clearly given her more options to defend herself and others.

The unresponsiveness was giving her unpleasant flashbacks of yet another male figure who was supposed to be there for her in her time of need, but crumpled under grief and depression. She couldn’t go through that again.

So, while only half-listening to the plan Legend was laying out, she turned to the cape in white armor.

“Seraph,” she whispered. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled.

“You're lying,” she hissed, grabbing a gauntleted hand. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” he insisted.

“Stop doing that.” The more he refused to answer truthfully, the more agitated Taylor became. She didn’t even notice her voice getting louder.

“Leave it for later,” Lisa cut in, voice just audible enough for the Master to hear.

“But –”

“For all our sakes, Imago.” The Thinker gave her a pleading stare with her bottle-green eyes, “Leave it. Wait until we’re out of here.”

Reluctantly, Taylor backed off. However, she kept her fingers wrapped around Alfred’s limp hand. Somehow, the lack of reciprocity bothered her in ways she couldn’t articulate in her mind.

The rest of the meeting went on in this vein, with Legend outlining their defensive plans, questions coming from other heroes and agents, and Taylor trying to push down her rising anxiety. When it finally ended, Lisa did most of the talking with the PRT about coordination and communications when Alfred proved intractable in his silence.

Once they were released, the winged Parahuman flew off, leaving Taylor and the Undersiders to ride Rachel’s dogs. It wasn’t until they reached their hideout after a roundabout approach that they could finally speak.

“Where is he?” Taylor asked her dad after he released her from a relieved hug. Danny was waiting behind the door to greet them with a worried smile.

“On the roof,” he told her, sounding disturbed. “He went up there without saying anything to me. What happened at the meeting? You were gone an entire day longer than you said you would. The only reason I didn’t go to the PRT office was the lack of explosions.”

“Taylor used her new powers on PRT premises and spilled the beans with absolutely no prompting from anyone,” Lisa revealed without so much as a by-your-leave, earning her a venomous glare from Taylor. 

“Ah…” Danny made a sound of comprehension. 

“Look, we can talk about how much I messed up later,” the girl insisted with a blush. “Right now, I’m more worried about Alfred. Do you know what’s going on with him?” she asked the Thinker.

“Considering that I can’t use my power on him, I can only guess.” The admittance made Lisa, who had taken off her mask, look melancholic. “Best I can tell, he’s reaching his limit.”

“Sounds about right,” Danny said.

“Dad?” Taylor asked.

“The young man’s been dealing with quite a lot, kiddo.” From the way he spoke, Danny Hebert understood what Alfred may be going through. “Just your kidnapping and rescue alone would have broken most people, considering what it involved. But he kept on going, jumping from one crisis to another in a short period of time.”

“He did them with minimal support, too,” Lisa pointed out, going over to sit on the sofa, before fixing Taylor with a stare. “He saved you on his own, ended the threat of Echidna on his own, and now, he’s about to fight Leviathan effectively on his own.”

“Uh,” Alec cut in, “we helped him with the Coil stuff, though. And there were other heroes during the monster cape stuff, right? Didn’t Legend say that he and the other two Triumvirate members would be with him, too?”

“That’s not a good thing, Alec,” Brian admonished, having returned from getting a soda from a cooler in the corner. “All of them are under Cauldron’s payroll.”

“You think they’ll break the Endbringer truce?” Alec scoffed.

“I wouldn’t put it past a world-spanning secret cabal,” Brian retorted.

“We’re getting off topic!” Taylor interjected before turning to Danny. “Are you saying he’s buckling under the pressure?”

“Everyone has limits, kiddo,” her Dad said sadly. “None of you should be dealing with these kinds of threats, to begin with. It’s a miracle Alfred held on as long as he has.”

“So, what do we do?” she asked anxiously. 

“We’ll be there for him,” Lisa answered firmly.

“‘We’?” Taylor’s question was dripping with skepticism.

“Yes, we.” There was a lot of intensity in those green eyes. “I might have reservations about his mental state, but that doesn’t mean I’ll abandon him. We just need to know more so we know exactly how we can help him.”

“You could just ask, you know,” Danny pointed out.

“We can’t, remember?” Taylor answered. “He has a geas or something similar.”

The Undersiders gave murmurs of agreement and consternation. Instead of being discouraged, however, Danny gave them all a pitying stare.

“I meant asking him exactly how you can help,” he clarified. “He doesn’t need to tell you everything for you to know how you can contribute the most.”

The dumbstruck looks on the teens said everything about how this never even occurred to them. For his part, Danny could only shake his head ruefully. 

Chapter 50

Lisa POV

She really has to get a better grip on her temper. That’s what Lisa decided after the disaster that was the PRT meeting, her confrontation with Taylor, and the way things seem to devolve every time one of them loses their shit.

With so many things happening at the same time, it was getting hard to keep track of what needs doing when and how. 

The ruse involving Ruff hasn’t even gotten off the ground, and with Leviathan on his way, that needs to be paused. Alfred was also planning on testing his power-boosting abilities, which were apparently dependent on the specific form that he’s using at any given time. Taylor’s new bombshell only complicated matters further, since it’s something that they’ll need to figure out sooner or later. Preferably sooner rather than later.

Lisa initially suggested Rachel for Alfred’s test subject, but over the course of their conversation two days prior, he asked what would be the most useful power they could have on their corner. She jokingly claimed that Thinkers like her were in-demand for a reason. Information is King, after all.

His eyes lit up, and he quickly excused himself. Since then… nothing.

The silence would have bothered Lisa more if they weren’t literally about to face an Endbringer, and their biggest gun is currently brooding on the roof of their hideout. Alfred is ignoring everyone. The one time Taylor pressed, he flew away, only coming back several hours later.

Lisa couldn’t dedicate that much time trying to figure out how to get the flighty bastard to open up, either. She was too busy coordinating with the PRT to prepare for the attack. Who knew getting an entire city ready for the apocalypse would involve so many moving parts? Lisa was even invited to a truce meeting with other heroes and villains later tonight.

So, talking Alfred out of his moody state is left to Taylor and Danny. Meanwhile, the Thinker was getting ready for the meeting at Somer’s Rock. A dive bar that embodied the sleaziness of the criminal underworld.

Accompanying her are the rest of the Undersiders. They all agreed that Brian will still take point as Grue, since the change in the group’s dynamics has yet to be widely known. As for why they were even attending the little gathering of masked troublemakers, her team’s grey reputation made for a passable bridge with the local villains.

The trip didn’t take long with Rachel’s dogs providing transportation. Upon stopping in an alley across the bar, Lisa immediately let her power loose, taking in the field. A lot of useless trivia flashed through her mind, but she quickly sifted through them for the valuable nuggets.

In no time, the blonde was aware of who was in attendance, the various precautions they took, and some of the superficial plans in place. A quick glance down the deserted block, for example, showed the PRT agents hidden inside buildings and vehicles.

Had she been ignorant of their purpose, Lisa would have been worried about their presence. Fortunately, it doesn’t look like those waiting on the wings had plans to make a mess tonight.

A tap on Brian’s elbow signalled the all-clear from her end. If there was any hidden danger she missed, it was beyond her powers. They all dismounted, and Rachel allowed Brutus to shrink. Two will remain in their enlarged states, standing by. If trouble came calling, rescue would be just a whistle away.

Not even bothering with a knock, Brian opened the door and went inside. Lisa and the others quickly followed, where they were treated to a cavalcade of colorful costumes and personalities, ranging from the subdued to the grimy. 

Faultline’s Crew was made up of Faultline, Newter, and Gregor the Snail. The E88’s representatives were Kaiser, Purity, Krieg, Hookwolf, and the Valkyrie twins. Bakuda and Oni Lee were showing the flag for the ABB. Even those druggies named after a bridge were here. 

Uber and Leet showed up, too. Though they were looking significantly less animated than how they typically portrayed themselves. In fact, they appeared downright dejected.

Of course, Assault and Miss Militia were in attendance. Lisa approved. Beardmeister would’ve been a bad representative, all things considered.

“Greetings, Undersiders.” Star-Spangled Barbie’s greeting was impressively bland.

“Miss Militia,” Brian grunted before choosing a vacant booth.

Once everyone was seated, the typical exchange of pleasantries, threats, crass language, and intimidation ensued. A month ago, Lisa would have been enthralled by the interactions of Brockton Bay’s various organizations. She was still interested, to a point. However, the insults and posturing are rather underwhelming when Lisa considers the scope of the threats bearing down on her and her allies.

Seeing as Alexandria, Eidolon, and Legend could very well be counted as part of that threat, Kaiser and Skidmark fell far below her list of priorities.

“If you’re all done,” Miss Militia finally cut in, “we have more important things to talk about.”

“Very well, Miss Militia,” Kaiser intoned with a deep, solemn voice. “If you believe your information is significant enough for even vermin to hear, then by all means.”

Contrary to the part he is trying to play, though, Lisa could see how stretched and twisted his nerves have become. In fact, many of the villains in the room seemed really anxious, and as far as her power can tell, it’s due to the uncertainty that has descended on the city.

Gone were the days when the PRT played fast and loose with infosec. All the moles and informants have been rooted out with extreme prejudice. Government-sponsored activities within Brockton Bay have also been kept under lock and key, with the Image department treating information as carefully-selected ammunition in their recent public relations war.

In short, all of the city’s major gangs are blind to what’s really going on, and this has made them incredibly nervous.

Moments like this force Lisa to remember how fortunate she’s been in recent weeks. She’s literally the most informed person in this room. Without the debilitating Thinker headaches, she can use her powers without limits and with no obvious tells that she’s doing so.

It was an exhilarating experience.

“We have gained reliable intelligence that Leviathan will attack Brockton Bay in less than a week, at most.”

Naturally, Miss Militia’s announcement caused quite the racket. Whatever they expected from this meeting, it clearly wasn’t that fun little revelation. Questions were tossed around, of course, with Kaiser actually losing his cool. 

The druggies were shrieking, screeching, and shouting incoherently, and the gamer duo seemed to shrink into their seats even more.

Lisa was pleased to see that the news hit Faultline like a brick to the face. She actually reared back, with her companions looking ready to shit their pants. The Undersiders, on the other hand, remained calm and cool.

It helps that they got their freak-out, desperate panic, and overwhelming dread out of their systems days ago. Of course, their relaxed state didn’t go unnoticed.

“You!” Faultline called out, pointing an accusing finger specifically at Lisa. “You already knew about this, didn’t you?!”

“Well, duh!” Alec answered with pure condescension. An act that would’ve gotten him censured by Brian before, but it really didn’t matter at this point. 

“It appears your Thinker is more capable than we previously thought,” Kaiser snarled.

Contrary to what they were probably expecting, though, instead of giving them an eloquent and well-structured verbal flaying, Lisa merely gave them a mysterious smile. Well, she tried to go for mysterious. It probably came off as smug, though.

“What Tattletale can or cannot do is our business, Kaiser. Not yours.” Phew! Brian really leaned into the whole stern and unyielding leader trope. He even made his voice deeper and more growly.

“On the contrary,” Krieg spoke up. In stark contrast to what a startling number of people mistakenly believe, he did not, in fact, speak in a faux German accent. Lisa couldn’t even tell where this misconception came from, even with her power. In fact, his accent was so generic and neutral that it was nearly impossible to place it. “Keeping information about an Endbringer attack to yourselves can be considered a violation of the Endbringer Truce.”

“They didn’t keep it to themselves,” Miss Militia interjected. “The Undersiders have been working with the PRT and Protectorate to prepare for Leviathan’s arrival, along with Seraph.”

“Wait a minute,” Faultline jumped in. “This credible information that you got. It didn’t come from Tattletale, did it?”

“Excuse me?!” Lisa exclaimed before she could stop herself. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that if the information came from you, we might be worrying over nothing,” the bitch shrugged before turning to the Protectorate Blaster. “She’s often wrong, you know. Actually, she’s wrong a lot of the time. I just wanted to point that out.”

“No, it didn’t come from Tattletale,” Miss Militia denied. “The source has proven reliable in their ability to track Leviathan, so we trust them.”

Blood still boiling at the dismissal of her power and the discrediting of her abilities, Lisa spoke without thinking.

“Yep, it’s amazing having someone so reliable in your corner,” she boasted. “And unlike some people, they actually appreciate my talents.”

Faultline gave her a skeptical look. “Like anyone worth a damn would spend time with your intellectually stunted ass. What would they want with a third-rate Thinker?”

Lisa saw red. “I don’t know, why don’t you ask Seraph, you condescending bitch?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Assault groaned.

“God damn it, Tats!”

“Wait, were we keeping that a secret?”

“Stupid Thinker.”

Yeah, Lisa Wilbourn really has to get a better grip on her temper.

Chapter 51

Dinah Alcott POV

Life has become better and worse for Dinah Alcott. Just a week ago, the numbers showed that someone would take her from her family. Then, out of nowhere, the numbers changed. Her chances of getting abducted have gone down, which was a good thing.

Unfortunately, her chances of dying had gone up. Dinah really wishes she hadn’t asked that question.

In her defense, when she saw that her kidnapping had become less likely, her mind immediately jumped to two possible but drastically different conclusions. Either she was safe from an abduction, or she was going to die.

As morbid as it was for a twelve-year-old to come to that conclusion, it’s also understandable. She had been living under the threat of being kidnapped for a while at that point. Why wouldn’t she think of the worst-case scenario if the greatest threat she had faced in her life was suddenly in the single digits?

Making matters worse is the reaction of her parents. They simply refused to believe that she had powers. When she tried to talk to them about her possible kidnapping, they didn’t listen. When she frantically screamed that she was going to die, they made her talk to a psychiatrist. 

So, now, she didn’t know what to do.

Dinah was banned from anything that would allow her to learn more about capes. Her parents believed that her imagination was just going out of control. This left her frustrated, afraid, and angry – at her parents, the world, and even the heroes.

It was their job to stop the bad guys and protect people. Why would she die if they were actually doing what they were supposed to do?

Why did she have to go through this? What did she do wrong?

Lying on her bed, with her bedroom light turned off and the door closed, Dinah Alcott felt the silent tears spill down her face once more. She thought that she would stop crying at some point, but here she was, still acting like a baby. At least she wasn’t making a sound. There’s no need to wake her mom and dad, who would only end up yelling at her again.

The betrayal of her parents and the knowledge of her impending doom were only part of her current state. The constant use of her power also gave her a crippling headache. 

But she couldn’t just stop, since each day that passed, the chances of her dying just kept going up. On those rare occasions when she asked if her parents would suffer the same fate, the results were the same as hers or higher, depending on the day and the question.

That was another thing that she found annoying about her powers. She knew that when it gave her a number, that number would be right. But those numbers often changed, going up and down for no apparent reason. Sometimes the difference would be big, but oftentimes, it would be small. 

Dinah actually got a 13% difference for the same question in the span of ten seconds one time. How could it fluctuate so much? Granted, there wasn’t a lot of difference once the likelihood went over 60%, but still.

Then there was the greatest mystery of them all. 

Despite the best efforts of her parents, she still got snippets of news from different sources. Either from TV, radio, newspapers, or people chatting with each other. Among the most popular topics seems to be the new cape called Seraph.

Opinions about him varied wildly, from those who were utterly convinced that he was a villain to fans who were obsessed with everything he did.

When Dinah asked her power about the odds of Seraph killing her, she passed out from the piercing pain that spiked through her head. Her parents found her on the floor, lying in a pool of vomit. She never tried that again.

She heard that some Parahumans had defenses against other Parahumans. Maybe that’s what happened?

In any case, she hasn’t had too many opportunities to find out if her death would be at the hands of villains. The number of questions she could ask was simply too few, and she didn’t know the names of all the villains in Brockton Bay in the first place.

So, here she was, doubled over in pain and praying for salvation. That’s when she heard a tapping on her window.

Dinah’s eyes flew wide open, and she scrambled out of bed in a panic. When she faced the window, the air left the girl’s lungs. Floating just outside her house was the cape that the whole city was talking about.

His white armor gleamed against the dark backdrop of the night sky. It looked similar to what the knights would wear in children’s storybooks. But what really caught Dinah’s attention were his wings. 

They looked absolutely beautiful.

It was like elongated pearlescent seashells were glued together to create two giant fans that were then attached to his back. Dinah felt a burning envy in her heart and desperately wanted to have his powers instead.

Then, he raised a gauntleted hand, making the girl's breath hitch. She relaxed, though, as Seraph gave her a wave with a smile visible under his glowing visor.

She nervously waved back, and his smile widened.

“Hello,” he said, though his voice sounded muted thanks to the closed window. “Can we talk? I promise that I’m a friend.”

Dinah debated whether or not she should scream for her parents. On the one hand, Seraph was a stranger. On the other hand, her parents haven’t really done right by her ever since she got her power. 

Besides, this could be a good opportunity to learn more about capes. Maybe he could even help her stay alive.

Making up her mind, the girl decided to unlatch the window and let the cool night breeze into her room. Some part of her was afraid that Seraph might try to grab her or worse, but he only kept hovering in the air with a smile.

“Sorry for the late visit,” he said with a warm voice that made Dinah’s face heat up. This close to the Parahuman, she could get a better appreciation of just how tall he was. “I just thought you’d appreciate some assistance.”

“I, uh, it’s okay,” Dinah stammered. Why did his voice have to thrum like that? “But, uh, how did you know that I need help?”

He chuckled, and to the precog’s horror, it made her even more flustered. “Powers can have all kinds of perks and rules,” he explained with humor. “I’m afraid an explanation will have to wait. For now, I do need to ask if you’re interested in making your headache go away.”

Dinah froze in disbelief. “What?”

“You get a headache when you overuse your power, right?” At her nod, Seraph continued. “That’s called a Thinker Migraine. All Thinkers experience it to some degree. The more powerful you are, the worse the headache, and the more restrictions you get.”

So, her power was really good, after all? Her head felt like it would split open after just three or four questions.

“But, with my help, you won’t have to deal with that anymore,” he went on, and Dinah was enthralled. “A Thinker friend of mine has been using her power pretty much whenever she wants, and she doesn’t get migraines anymore. I’d like to offer you the same opportunity.”

Dinah was quiet for a moment, taking in everything that Seraph just told her. Getting rid of the headache alone was already incredibly tempting. Using her power as much as she wants, any time she wants, though? She had to stop herself from agreeing right then and there.

Even as young as she is, Dinah Alcott is an unusually prescient girl.

“What would you want from me?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Instead of getting angry, Seraph gave her a beaming smile, which made her stomach twist. “Very good, Dinah,” he praised. “Never accept any offer unless you know what you’re signing up for. Many people older than you could learn from your example.”

At this point, the precog’s face felt so hot, she was surprised steam wasn’t coming out of her ears. Ducking her head in embarrassment, she could only mumble incoherently.

“As for what I would ask for in return,” Seraph went on, “I’d like to tell the PRT about you.”

Dinah’s head jerked up to stare at the flying cape in disbelief. Her expression of incredulity only seemed to amuse him even more.

“Your power would be incredibly useful in helping people,” Seraph explained. “The PRT and the Protectorate might have their issues, but they are sincere in wanting to save lives and protect the innocent. You could be a fantastic hero, Dinah.”

“Are you with the PRT?” she blurted out in confusion. 

“If you’re asking if I’m a member of the Protectorate and working with the PRT,” he corrected, to Dinah’s chagrin, “then the answer is no. Our relationship is complicated. Right now, though, we are working together.”

“And that’s all you want?” she asked warily. “For me to join the PRT?”

“No,” he answered, annoying Dinah momentarily until he continued. “I want to let the PRT know about you. Whether or not you join them, however, is your prerogative. Understand, Dinah, that this isn’t something typically done. There’s something called the Unwritten Rules, and included in them is the importance of a cape’s secret identity.”

Oh! This was something that Dinah didn’t know about. Then again, he did call it unwritten.

“But there is an upcoming crisis that I believe can be averted with your help,” Seraph said. “One that could lead to a lot of people getting hurt if we don’t stop it.”

Dinah gasped in realization. It never even occurred to her that she might not specifically be the target that would cause her to die! Having such severe limitations was just too distracting, which is what sealed the deal for her.

“Do it,” she said firmly.

“Are you sure, Dinah?” Seraph asked solemnly, his smile disappearing after she gave her answer.

“I am,” she assured him. “Getting headaches after asking only a few questions doesn’t help. My power only makes me more worried. I can’t stand it! If you can make the pain go away and make my power more useful, then yes, I’m sure.”

Seraph nodded. “Then, close your eyes. This is going to be bright.”

Dinah did as he said. Sure enough, she could see the brightness even through her closed eyelids. Warmth surrounded her body, and an indescribable feeling of relief swept through her. Never in her twelve years of existence has she felt this good.

Not only did her head stop hurting, but even the aches and pains that she’s been feeling in her body due to stress were gone. Once the light died down, she opened her eyes to find Seraph smiling at her once more.

“Thank you,” she breathed while trying to contain her tears.

“You’re a strong girl, Dinah,” her savior said in a soft voice. “Far stronger than you know. Now, go ahead and sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day for you.”

She could only nod, unwilling to speak out loud, or she might start bawling. Seraph seemed to understand, though.

“Good night, little one,” he said before flying off.

Dinah watched him go until his distant form was swallowed by the night. She then closed her windows and lay down in bed, feeling more at ease than she’d felt in a long time. Before allowing herself to fall asleep, though, she had to ask one question.

“Chances of me dying in the next month?”

0.001%

With that, the previously troubled young girl succumbed to sleep’s embrace.

Chapter 52

Dragon POV

As a digital entity, Dragon was extremely good at noticing and analyzing patterns. She could comb through a mountain of data in seconds and predict the weather, criminal behavior, and what someone was going to eat on a particular day of the week.

So, when the Canadian Tinker was notified by the PRT that Seraph had passed on a message via Tattletale, she knew that the day was about to get very interesting. Well, more interesting than it already was, what with all the preparations for Leviathan’s upcoming attack. 

And she was right. Being handed the details about a precog powerful enough to predict Endbringer attacks to a hundredth of a percent? That’s a bigger game-changer than what she and Colin had been working on.

Speaking of her fellow Tinker, to her dismay, the appearance of the new Parahuman has had a devastating effect. Although their collaboration on the Endbringer prediction software is relatively recent, Armsmaster was quite proud of his contribution that accounted for atmospheric shifts. Unfortunately, they hadn’t been able to work on it as much as they preferred due to the numerous emergencies that had cropped up since Seraph appeared.

With that same cape announcing that he could track Leviathan, then following that up with discovering a precog with a similarly potent ability, it was a double-blow to the man’s ego. Dragon wasn’t blind to her colleague’s flaws, but she was becoming quite concerned about his mental state.

Despite his outward calm during the meeting about the Endbringer attack, she could see his internal struggle. A struggle that only increased once it became clear that Seraph would be the center point for the upcoming defense of the city.

He actually requested a patrol exemption to spend more time in his lab, justifying it as preparation for Leviathan. So far, he has spent 48 hours hunched over the nanothorn weapon he intended to use on Endbringers. This wouldn’t have been so concerning if Colin weren’t also refusing to take breaks, seemingly pouring all of his frustration and spite on a tool that he might not end up having to use.

With everyone so busy, no one could dedicate the time to actually speak with the local Protectorate leader.

That’s why Dragon is so worried about him volunteering to speak with the precog’s family. She brought it up with Director Piggot, but the stressed woman snapped that she had no one else she could send to lead such an urgent mission. 

Miss Militia and Assault were still resting after a rather interesting meeting with villains at Somer’s Rock the previous night, the other Protectorate members were on patrol or working on their assigned tasks, and Legend was coordinating a response from other heroes all over the country.

With the time-sensitive nature of the job, every second counted, as well. They couldn’t wait around for anyone else.

Seraph’s timing in dropping this on their laps was simply atrocious.

So, here she was, remotely piloting a smaller suit to accompany Armsmaster and two teams of PRT agents to visit the home of one Dinah Alcott. The girl, being the mayor’s niece and Triumph’s cousin, only made the situation more complex.

Fortunately, Colin still allowed Dragon to have access to his biomonitoring equipment. His heart rate was currently steady, but his adrenaline and cortisol were approaching dangerous levels.

“Armsmaster,” she prompted as they arrived at the location. “Perhaps it would be better if I took the lead on this one?”

“Why would you say that, Dragon?” he asked in a rather stiff manner.

“You’re not in the best condition to interact with people, at the moment.” This was putting things lightly, but being too blunt might only make matters worse. “And I know that you’ve always found dealing with children challenging.”

She saw him grit his teeth. “I’m perfectly capable of screening potential Parahumans, Dragon.”

Dragon didn’t like the way he said that, but she’d run out of time to object. Armsmaster strode to the door and pushed the doorbell. After a few seconds, the door opened to reveal a petite, brown-haired woman in a nondescript blouse and skirt. Based on Dragon’s records, this should be Madelyn Alcott. 

Upon seeing her and one of the city’s most famous heroes, her eyes widened in surprise. Her expression grew even more worried after seeing the group of PRT agents, with their SUVs parked on the street of their upper-middle-class neighborhood.

“Honey!” she called behind her. “Armsmaster and Dragon are here.”

A faint “What?” came from further inside the house before Terry Alcott, who looked to be in his late 30s, came to the door. Like his wife, surprise and not a little bit of fear cross his features.

“Armsmaster, Dragon, what can we do for you?” he asked in trepidation.

“We’re here to discuss a very important matter with you, Mr. Alcott, Mrs. Alcott.” Colin’s professionalism shone through his delivery. Unfortunately, it didn’t alleviate the couple’s worry. If anything, they looked even more anxious. “May we come in?”

“I, uh, of course,” the husband said after exchanging a look with his wife.

Once they were all inside the cozy home, with the top of Dragon’s suit nearly scraping the ceiling, they were led to the living room. Along the way, she noticed a staircase leading to the second floor, and a bead curtain that offered a glimpse of the dining room and kitchen. 

They were offered seats, but both refused, explaining that their suits were too heavy.

“So, what’s this about?” Mr. Alcott asked after he and his wife sat down.

“We received a tip that your daughter might be a Parahuman,” Colin stated bluntly. 

“What?” Madelyn gasped. “There must be some mistake! Dinah is not a Cape!”

“That is what we are here to confirm, ma’am,” Armsmaster answered with the same detached tone. “If she is not a Parahuman, then we will at least have ruled out the possibility. If she is, then your daughter is in grave danger.”

“Where did you even hear about this?” Terry Alcott asked, his shock giving way to fury. “Have you been spying on us?!”

“Please, Mr. Alcott,” Dragon interjected. “The information came from a confidential source, but –”

“Confidential?!” The man rose to his feet, anger radiating from his flinty eyes. “Someone told you that my little girl is a Parahuman. I want to know who!”

“It was Seraph,” a voice said from the top of the stairs.

All eyes turned to the source, which was a waif of a girl coming down the steps.

“Dinah!” Mrs. Alcott cried, rushing up to her daughter. “Please stay in your room. We’re having an adult conversation, right now.”

“Sorry, Mom, but I can’t do that,” she said with a sad smile. “There’s a 76.893% chance that you’ll chase them away if I didn’t say anything.”

“Dinah?” Mr. Alcott had also approached the little girl. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said, Dad,” she said. “You needed to know who told them about me. They would have kept quiet. Then you would have told them to leave. We don’t have time to waste.”

“Miss Alcott?” Armsmaster spoke up. “Can you confirm that you are a Parahuman?”

In response, the girl smiled. “I can do better than that. If I let my parents chase you out, there’s a 93.451% chance that you would have died in the next few days.” 

Everything froze at the declaration, which Dinah Alcott delivered with the innocence only a child could bring to bear.

“Your plan won’t work,” she added, meeting Armsmaster’s gaze with unflinching confidence. “You’ll only get all of us killed if you try.”

Chapter 53

Taylor POV

Alfred’s behavior was beginning to really worry Taylor. Like everyone else, he was busy preparing for Leviathan. Lisa had been spending a lot of time speaking with the PRT when she wasn’t working in front of her computer. Brian was making arrangements for his family to leave the city temporarily. Rachel has been relocating her dog shelter to an estate outside of city limits. And Alec… well, Alec has been playing video games.

To be fair, it wasn’t like there was much he could really do against an Endbringer. Right now, the plan is to assign the Undersiders to search and rescue.

Taylor’s in the same boat, as well. It was pretty much the only reason Danny was allowing her to participate in the upcoming battle in the first place. With her new abilities, the whole city was now within the range of her power.

Granted, there were limitations. The wider the area she has to monitor and the higher the number of windows she has to open at once, the less specific the information she can collect. Smell and touch were about as far as she’s been able to push it over the short amount of time she’s been practicing.

Speaking of her father, he has been talking to the other dock workers to get their families ready for an evacuation. It was the same with other authority figures all over the city, of course, with private organizations working with the city government, and by extension, the PRT, to make sure that everything goes smoothly when the time comes.

This is actually where Taylor can really help, since coordination was a huge aspect of her power.

As for their resident Trump, aside from keeping track of Leviathan, he has also recently introduced the PRT to a powerful precog. A precog whom he enhanced as part of the small-scale testing of his power-boosting ability.

When he first discussed the idea with them, Taylor’s first reaction was fear and concern. She thought that he would use the same method that boosted her powers. A thoroughly unpleasant experience that came with some terrifying side effects. Fortunately, he cleared up the misunderstanding, saying that he would go with the Lisa route. 

According to the blonde, her experience included relief from the chronic headache caused by her power, along with a temporary enhancement of her inference abilities. Since then, she’s been able to use her powers without issues, though it now requires actual intent on her part to activate. This was a huge departure from before, when her power seemed to almost have a mind of its own.

Taylor and Alfred were still blind spots, but apparently, the precog was not.

So, whatever gave Taylor immunity to Thinker powers can be tied specifically to what he called Astral Drain. At least, this was their conclusion with the test cases they have so far. Alfred has since promised never to use the ability again, unless there is absolutely no other choice.

With that said, even though he has been working with everyone, it hasn’t escaped her notice how much his attitude has changed. He seemed colder, more distant.

Alfred wasn’t rude. He answered questions after just a day of brooding, which, according to Lisa and her dad, was actually normal teenage boy behavior. But that subconscious, almost instinctive feeling she got that he would cater to her every whim wasn’t there anymore. 

It might sound petty and shallow… and even desperate, but she actually enjoyed the amount of attention he lavished. And, honestly, who wouldn’t? He was like a more emotionally available Brian, with the looks and body to match, based on the few conversations she’s had with the Shaker. 

This was no longer the case, and she couldn’t help but wonder why that was. What did she do that made him distance himself? Her mistake at the PRT meeting wasn’t that egregious, was it?

“Hey,” Lisa called out as she sat on the other end of the U-shaped sofa arrangement.

They were in the Undersiders’ lair today, deeming the situation safe enough to finally leave the warehouse hideout. With Taylor’s enhanced range, her surveillance network was enough to spot trouble from miles away. All she really had to do was open two windows at certain points, and she’d have a two-block web of spies. 

She’s been doing that every few minutes for a day and hasn’t spotted any of Accord’s Ambassadors. When she reported this to Lisa, the blonde concluded that they might have already left the city.

Taylor didn’t stop popping windows all over the place, though. It was good practice.

“Something you need?” she asked Lisa.

“I wanted to talk to you while we have the time,” the Thinker said. “I’m not interrupting you, am I?”

Taylor shook her head. “No, we can talk.” 

“Good.” Lisa gave a relieved smile. Since they were in the loft, neither was wearing masks, though they were in costume. Leviathan could attack at any moment, and they needed to be ready to move. “I just wanted to apologize for being such a bitch all those times.” Taylor had to quirk a brow at this. “I know it’s not an excuse, but I don’t respond well to stress. For the longest time, my first instinct is to go on the attack without considering the consequences.”

That made sense. From what little Taylor has learned about Lisa, she’s been in one bad situation after another. Her time under Coil’s thumb would have ingrained some terrible habits that she’s still trying to shake off.

“I’m sorry too, I guess,” she told the Thinker. “Recent times have been… stressful, but that doesn’t give me an excuse to be a bitch, least of all to you. Alfred said that the only reason he was able to rescue me was with your help.”

That drew a snort from the other girl. “Yeah. You should’ve seen him when you got taken. He was like a puppy that lost its owner, complete with the panicked fidgeting and adorable growls. If I hadn’t stepped in, he would’ve just rampaged downtown to find Coil’s lair and wrung the answers from the asshole.”

Taylor took a few moments to absorb Lisa’s words before eventually asking the question that’s been on her mind.

“Why do you think he’s so protective of me?”

“Huh?”

“Alfred,” Taylor clarified. “Why do you think he’s so protective of me? I mean, he says that it’s because he feels guilty about what he did that night with Lung. But, is that really the truth?”

Lisa sighed in despondency. “I don’t know, Taylor. Too many things about Alfred don’t make sense. Even if we ignore just how his powers defy all known Parahuman limitations, there are still his origins and motives to question. He’s clearly not from Brockton Bay, he apparently has some sort of Patron, he knows way too many things about subjects that he has no business knowing, and the way he treats you? I’m sorry, Taylor, but he borders on obsessed.”

“I know,” Taylor replies in a small voice. She’s tried to explain away his behavior with the convenient excuse he gave, but there was no ignoring the doubts growing at the back of her mind. “So, what do you think the reason is?”

“It could be anything,” Lisa postulated. “If he didn’t keep assuring us that he’s immune to being Mastered and is a blank spot to my own power, he would be a perfect candidate for the PRT’s Master/Stranger protocols. He could have attachment issues, I suppose, but why would you be the subject? And then there’s that geas thing.”

Indeed, there was the geas thing. It never seemed to be the time to address that particular fly in the ointment, but it never stopped being a concern. The whole thing reeked of Master/Stranger shenanigans, but Alfred kept insisting that it wasn’t, which was suspicious all on its own.

“After Leviathan,” Taylor declared, getting a look from Lisa. “If we’re still alive by then, we need to have it out. Where he came from, who his patron is, how he knows about us, and Cauldron, and everything else, we need to talk about all of it.”

“We really do,” Lisa agreed.

“I mean, after an Endbringer attack, there’s usually a lull in villain activity, right?” 

If Taylor understood it right, the truce would extend for a few days. Assuming that this was the case, and assuming that everyone came out of the ordeal alive, then they’ll finally get some answers.

“Usually,” the blonde conceded. “But, Taylor, I know you have a functional pattern recognition. So do I. What are the chances that something else doesn’t go wrong, however Leviathan’s attack turns out?”

Lisa had a point. In just a month, Brockton Bay had seen incidents that would have resulted in getting quarantined anywhere else. Her swarm, multiple heroes taken down, monsters out at sea, Echidna… now that she thought of it, with the exception of Echidna, most of those were caused either by her or Alfred.

“As long as Alfred and I stay put,” Taylor said, “we should be fine, I think. We’ve already cleared things up with the PRT and the Protectorate, and both of us are on the same page now. The city will also be swarming with heroes. That should be enough to give us some breathing room.”

“I hope you’re right,” Lisa sighed, before her phone rang, causing her to go rigid. With wide eyes, she retrieved the device and clicked on it before pressing the loudspeaker button. “Seraph?” Lisa used Alfred’s cape name since he’s out in costume.

“Leviathan just sped up,” his voice came through the speaker like a death knell. “He’ll be here by the end of the day.”

Taylor knew that the Endbringer was coming, but it was almost a blurry outline in her mind. Alfred’s call just made everything so much more vivid, and it left her cold.

“Got it,” Lisa said in a trembling voice. “We’ll be ready.”

The call dropped, and the Thinker kept sitting for a few more seconds. Taylor thought that she might have frozen in fear, but after a deep breath, bottle-green eyes met grey.

“Time to go.”

Both girls stood up. One picked up her phone again and started making calls. The other opened windows one after the next until the whole city became her domain.

Whatever happens today, Taylor Hebert will be damned if she can’t at least hurt the fucking lizard.

Chapter 54

Dragon POV

Floating off the coast of Brockton Bay was an autonomous drone that was upgraded to withstand harsh weather conditions. It was beaming video and audio data that was then received by special dishes placed in multiple locations all around the city.

Without a doubt, this was one of the biggest advantages of having such a huge lead time before an Endbringer attack. It allowed the various PRT, Protectorate, and government personnel to have a better idea of how much time they had, which then allowed them to enact the pre-planned measures intended to reduce casualties on all sides.

Even at that moment, Dragon was simultaneously tracking evacuation reports and the approaching storm that was just making its way over the horizon.

That it got so many departments involved without any of them getting in each other’s way is already a miracle. Though a lot of that can be attributed to her autonomous systems, Tattletale sitting in the coordination node, and Imago providing additional data that was missed, despite everyone’s best efforts.

More and more capes are arriving every minute, both heroes and villains. A few rogues were even in attendance, which, by itself, was a point of interest.

Then again, as Dragon focused on getting her suits in position, she wasn’t entirely surprised. From start to finish, this particular Endbringer attack was different. It was known days before it happened, for one. For another, the cape that alerted them to the fact had been gaining international fame and infamy.

So, it’s not at all that strange for Parahumans from as far away as the UK and Germany to participate. Many of them actually expressed the desire to do so when they learned of Leviathan’s destination. That several are self-professed survivors of Kyushu who were forced to immigrate elsewhere was also understandable.

By and large, Seraph was a huge contributing factor to such record attendance.

While he was still covered in a veil of mystery, his willingness to work with the authorities to combat Endbringers, combined with the powers he had already displayed, made him a known factor that erased much of the wariness with which he was regarded. Whether he knew it or not, for such a powerful Parahuman to voluntarily stand with the government and its sponsored heroes in the face of destruction, despite being an Independent, inspired hope in many people.

The PRT’s Image department has certainly been instrumental in spreading the word of his role, albeit in a subdued manner. 

Apparently, this was part of Glenn Chambers’ plan to draw attention away from Seraph, in the first place. It was a huge gamble that came with numerous counterintuitive parts, but he was confident that it would work, regardless of how this Endbringer attack turns out.

Speaking of the winged cape, Dragon wasn’t entirely sold on the opening part of the battleplans.

The young man has expressed full confidence in his ability to deal with Leviathan multiple times, and to his credit, the previous incident involving Imago certainly proved that he was no slouch. There were still a lot of unanswered questions regarding how that particular occasion was resolved, but there hasn’t been enough time to go into it.

With the sky slowly darkening, Dragon looked to the stormclouds, which were now much closer than they were before. 

“Dragon,” Legend’s voice came through the comms. “How’s the evacuation going?”

“It’s going better than expected, Legend.” She certainly wasn’t exaggerating here. “Tattletale and Imago have been immensely helpful in this regard.”

“Excellent. We just got word from New York that Vates predicts no civilian casualties as a direct result of Leviathan’s attack, so that tracks.” 

Vates, derived from the Latin word Vātēs, which meant seer. The young precog certainly knew how to stir the pot with her naming sense. When asked why she chose such a name, she would only smile. Such was the trouble with capes who could predict the future.

“What about the Parahumans in attendance?” Dragon asked.

“Unfortunately, she couldn’t provide a clear answer,” Legend said regretfully. “Endbringers are still a blind spot, and with Seraph and Imago in attendance, Vates couldn’t provide us with any prediction regarding how the battle would go.”

That was unfortunate. From the moment Dinah Alcott was brought to their attention, it was clear that she differed from other Thinkers that fall under the same category. For starters, she suffered no migraines after extended use of her powers. She was extremely helpful in streamlining their preparations for Leviathan, yet only complained of exhaustion and a sore throat after two hours of discussion.

Armsmaster wanted to push for more questions, but was overruled. Not only was the girl ostensibly under the protection of an extremely reactive Trump, but his opinions were deemed a conflict of interest. After all, their first meeting was something of a fiasco.

“In any case, we’re ready to fly out,” Legend continued. “Tattletale says that everything is in place. Can you confirm?”

Quickly running through the mountains of data, Dragon noted the positions of the response teams, search and rescue groups, emergency triage centers, and the central command node. All of the active wristbands provided to participating Parahumans are in working order, as well. After double-checking the positions of the national guard leading the civilians away, and emergency services finishing up their rounds to gather anyone else left behind, the Canadian Tinker concluded her assessment.

“Yes, everything is in place.”

“Good,” Legend said with relief. “Then, it’s time for me to give a speech. Should be historic, eh?”

Dragon could only chuckle at the comment. “Hopefully, in more ways than one.”

“Then you'd best set your equipment to start recording,” Legend quipped. “For posterity and all that.”

“Already done, Legend.” She meant it, too. If this day ends as they all hoped it would, then it’s important to have a record of it.

“Glad to hear,” he said before switching channels to broadcast. “Everyone, this is Legend. I hope you can hear me. It’d be really awkward if I were just talking to myself.” Despite the seriousness of the situation, Dragon saw several capes through her equipment staring at their wristbands attentively, with several actually smiling or chuckling. “First of all, I would like to thank all of you for heeding the call to fight an Endbringer once more.”

The change in tone from humorous to sober rippled through the various groups scattered all over the city. 

“We’re fortunate enough to have been given several days to prepare for Leviathan’s coming,” Legend said as he floated over downtown. “If nothing else, this will be the first Endbringer attack that will involve no civilian casualties thanks to the efforts of the PRT, the local government, and our boys in uniform. We would never have been able to evacuate in such numbers without their help. So, from the bottom of my heart, I say thank you.”

The various civilian, federal, and military camps situated further away from the city were also tapped into the broadcast. A luxury that they had never been given the opportunity to afford during previous Endbringer incidents. Legend’s words rang clearly through their speakers as they did through the wristbands.

“Now, normally, I would say that the odds of survival when going against Endbringers would be one in four, and that’s on a good day. This would be the point where I caution first-time participants against careless actions, particularly with Leviathan, as he can move much faster than he looks. However,” he paused, and Dragon could see him look to Seraph in his Blue form, who was staring at the horizon, “we are in a much better position today than we have ever been in the past. I cannot promise that all of us will survive this day. I cannot promise that this will be an easy fight because that will never be the case when facing Endbringers. But we have some of the most powerful Parahumans in the world, heroes and villains, standing as one to fight an enemy greater than all of us.”

Once more, Dragon was in awe of how well Legend could inspire with just his presence and his voice. With a simple change to the volume and tone, numerous capes straightened their shoulders and spines. Even with the clouds looming closer and the air getting heavier, their faces were clear and their eyes were bright.

“We have some of the best healers in the world waiting to put us back together,” Legend extolled. “Some of the most effective search and rescue teams have been formed so that no one will be left to die if they can be saved. But, most importantly, we have gathered in greater numbers than ever before. Many of you already know how this was possible, but just to be sure, all of this was only possible due to Seraph.”

Several screens changed their displays to feature the armored form of the flying trump from multiple angles. He neither smiled nor frowned. From what little was visible of his face, the line of his lips, the tightening of his jaws, and the rigidness of his posture, all of it spoke of extreme focus.

“Together with him, Eidolon, Alexandria, and I will meet Leviathan in his own turf,” the Blaster declared, voice reaching new heights. “If all goes to plan, we will have inflicted severe damage on the Endbringer long before he reaches land. Should we succeed, this might be the day when we finally bring a reckoning to one of these monsters!”

A resounding cheer reverberated throughout the city, and Dragon captured them all on video. Legend was intentionally highlighting the positives of their initial strike while downplaying the risks. Seraph had already explained what he intended to do for their opening move and what the next steps would be, whether he succeeded or failed.

None of them could point to a better option, at least not with the time constraints. So, now, they have no choice but to send one of their greatest assets into the jaws of the beast in order to preserve the largest number of lives and have the highest odds of success.

“So, take heart, stick to the plan, and rely on each other,” Legend said. “Whatever happens by the end of this day, we have already made history.”

With the end of his speech, all four figures flew out to sea at speed. Dragon switched to the specially made drone that was still hovering over their destination. It was already being buffeted by strong winds, and the thermal lenses went into effect due to how dark it had become. As for the sea, towering waves are churning the waters.

There were still no signs of Leviathan, but that was fine, for now. Seraph already knew where he was, and he would have alerted them of any dangerous developments.

Five minutes after leaving the city, the quartet arrived at the drone’s location.

“Dragon,” Alexandria spoke up. “Have you sighted Leviathan at all?”

“Negative, Alexandria,” Dragon answered. “Neither visuals nor thermals.”

“It’s fine,” Seraph suddenly cut in, his voice concerningly devoid of emotion. “He’s already here.”

“Where?!” Eidolon growled, looking around, and his hands were glowing with a malevolent crimson.

“Down in the depths,” Seraph said almost casually, an eerie calm suffusing his voice that almost reminded Dragon of a child. “The lizard man seems to be waiting for us to make the first move.” A grin was on his face, jagged and unhinged. What on Earth was going on with him? Is he even fit to fight?

“He’s not coming up?” Legend asked with concern.

“Nope!” Seraph answered cheerfully, his manic words dreadfully clear over the deafening waves and the howling winds. “He’s playing hide-and-seek! Now, that’s not very nice, Levi-poo! I’ve been waiting so long to meet you, you know? You and your siblings seem to be the only things that make sense in this world. Don’t go all shy on me now!”

“Seraph?!” Legend called out, his concern turning to dread. 

“Oh, I know!” A cyan glow slowly encompassed Seraph’s form. “He needs a playmate! One more suited to his size!”

Without warning, an intense blue beam of light from the Trump pierced the waters below. Just as that happened, a familiar dark green figure rocketed out of the water, 60 feet long from its head to the tips of its tail. Its normally hunched shoulders were fully extended, and one of its gangly arms that ended in claws sharper than any razor was reared back.

Leviathan has finally appeared, and his target was unmistakable. 

Rather than express fear or evade the oncoming Endbringer that seemed intent on chopping him to pieces, however, Seraph howled in laughter before screaming in defiance of storm and sky.

“Blue Sea Dragon!”

Leviathan was literally inches away from the foolish boy when he was intercepted by one of the strangest creatures Dragon had ever seen. It shot out of the water directly beneath Seraph, rammed the Endbringer in the chest, before then sending Leviathan back to the churning sea with a powerful jet of liquid.

It would appear that the PRT will need to update Seraph’s threat ratings once more. Not only is he a powerful Trump comparable to Eidolon, but he evidently has his own Endbringer.

Chapter 55

Lisa POV

Sitting in the command center, which was located on the elevated position of Brockton Bay’s southern hills, and watching several dozen monitors, is a petrified Lisa Wilbourn. Not because of Leviathan, as crazy as that sounds. Not because of a new Endbringer-sized creature that is somehow contending with the macro-hydrokinetic in the water. Rather, because she was witnessing a scene that had, until this moment, only belonged in her nightmares.

An unhinged Seraph.

Much like Taylor, Lisa has noticed changes in Alfred’s behavior since returning from the first meeting with the PRT. She had hoped that it was temporary, as after a day of keeping to himself, he became communicative again. But it quickly became clear that this wasn’t the case.

He held everyone at arm’s length, even her and Taylor. 

Questions would be answered. Requests would be fulfilled. But that solid, tireless sentiment of almost protective instinct was muted, somehow.

The feeling was difficult to put into words, but its absence was like the loss of a limb. Unmistakable and a blow to the senses. Both girls resolved to speak with him after dealing with Leviathan, but it’s now clear that this had been a mistake. If Alfred’s sudden manic laughter and screaming were of any indication, something has definitely gone wrong with the Trump.

“Tattletale!” Dragon’s voice came over the comms, making Lisa jump in her chair. “What’s going on with Seraph?”

As the Tinker was using the command channel, everyone in the room heard the question. Taylor, who was sitting in the next row over with her own set of monitors and equipment, looked over. And even through the full coverage of her mask, her alarm was clear.

“I don’t know!” she responded. “He’s never acted like this before!”

“He’s not responding to us,” Dragon informed everyone in the command node. “Tattletale, Imago, can you try contacting him? He might listen to you.”

Lisa looked over to Taylor, who gave a sharp nod. “We can try,” she told the Tinker before switching over to Alfred’s wristband. “Seraph, this is Tattletale. Can you hear me?”

She watched the footage from Dragon’s drone out at sea while speaking and saw Eidolon and Legend bombarding the Endbringer, while Alexandria played support for the aquatic creature that Alfred brought forth.

“Oh, hey Tats!” came the response, and it was almost ridiculous how chilling the cheer in his words felt to her ears. “I’m a little busy right now. Can we talk later?”

“No, we can’t talk later!” Some part of Lisa realized that she probably shouldn’t be snarking at Alfred, but her ingrained response won out. “What the hell are you doing?! You’re supposed to stick to the plan!”

“I am, though?” The Thinker almost couldn’t believe how genuinely confused he sounded. “You can see it through Dragon’s peeper tech, can’t you? Levi’s all nice and contained!”

Oh, she could see it, all right. By all rights, Leviathan should have shredded Alfred’s minion (which will now give him a freaking Master rating!) to pieces, but the Endbringer was having trouble with it. Her power could only get snippets from the fight, but it gave her a clear enough picture to figure out what was going on.

Leviathan, nonstandard cardiac, nervous systems; irregular biology. No standard organs or weak points.

New creature is I^&(&. Not a projection. Not a result of Tinkertech. Not natural. Is natural. Completely &^()&. Is a powerful hydrokinetic. Has better microcontrol over water particles.

Leviathan suffering superficial damage. Skin is hard as aluminium. Skin is layered. Multiple layers. No conventional organs. No standard weak points.

New creature is an animal. New creature is dead. New creature is alive. New creature has conventional physiology. Eyes, ears, mouth, fins, tail…

Lisa had to pull back because she was starting to get a lot of useless information. Even so, she figured out enough to know that whatever this thing was, Leviathan couldn’t easily overpower it with his control over water. The Endbringer’s power might cover a wider area, but Alfred’s minion has significantly more influence over the water in its immediate vicinity.

“Seraph, what is that thing?” Lisa asked.

“Silly, Tattletale!” Alfred giggled. He’s fucking giggling! “It’s a dragon, duh! The Blue Sea Dragon, to be more specific.”

What the hell is a Blue Sea Dragon?

Lisa realized she had spoken the question out loud when Alfred started rattling off details in a casual manner. “The Blue Sea Dragon. It’s the strongest magic attack available to the Blue Sea Dragoon of the Water Element. You need Dragoon Level 5. Requires 80 MP to use. Can only target a single enemy, and can inflict one hundred percent Water Element damage!”

Magic? Water element? What?

The terms Alfred had thrown around were in danger of making Lisa’s brain shut down. Even as she was seeing the evidence with her own eyes through the monitor, where the so-called Blue Sea Dragon was tossing Leviathan like a volleyball into the air, and the Triumvirate let the Endbringer have it, which made the whole thing look almost like a game!

“Seraph, this is Imago!” Taylor cut in. “Can your, uh, dragon stop Leviathan’s control over water?”

“Oh, hey Imago! How’s my favorite bug mistress? Doing good?”

“Seraph, focus! Can it stop Leviathan’s macro control over water?”

“Hmm? Ah, sorry, no. Best girl Blue can only keep him busy. Leviathan basically has the whole Eastern Seaboard in his range. Did you know that? He could flood everywhere from Maine to Florida if he wanted to! Whoo! Craaaazzzeeee!”

Everyone in the command center froze at Alfred’s almost intoxicated declaration. It confirmed a lot of the theories about what exactly Endbringers could do, specifically Leviathan. Still…

“How do you know that?” Lisa had to ask, after breaking out of her stupor.

“Blue’s keeping him from sending waves,” Alfred answered, sounding like he had no care in the world. “Isn’t she great?! Blue is best girl, yes she is!”

As horrifying as the true range of Leviathan’s power is, the presence of something that can hold him back also sent ripples of relief to everyone in the command center. Some of them even started looking hopeful. Unfortunately, it didn’t last, with Alfred’s next words absolutely crushing that hope to paste.

“Yeah, too bad she’s on a time limit.”

“What the hell do you mean?” Lisa and Taylor screamed as one.

“Well, you can’t expect Blue to hang around, can you?” He shot back, sounding annoyed. “She only has so much energy to play. At some point, she’ll run out and will have to rest! Honestly, how entitled can you guys be?”

“For God’s sake, Seraph!” Someone else cut in. This time, it was Legend. “How long until your dragon runs out of energy?”

The Blaster was certainly asking the right questions, even as he sent volley after volley of lasers at Leviathan whenever he was thrown into the air. An Endbringer attack was not the right time to dig into momentarily unnecessary information.

“About five more minutes.” With the drone also having the Trump in its field of view, everyone in the command center and those with access to monitors saw him shrug.

“That’s how much time we have until Leviathan can start sending waves all over the East Coast?” Dragon asked. Through her power, Lisa could tell that the Tinker was already sending out warnings.

“Yep!” 

“Wait a minute!” Taylor shouted. “You have control over water in that form, too, right?”

“Yes, Mistress Weaver, I do!” Alfred chirped.

Mistress Wea – no, do not get distracted, Lisa! 

“So, you can stop the waves too, right?” Taylor pressed on, completely ignoring Alfred’s strangeness, as the blonde should be doing.

“Ha! Nope!”

“Why the hell not?!” Lisa wasn't sure who had shouted the question in a chorus of loud, angry voices, but it was certainly more than one person.

“Because I’m not as strong as Blue, obviously. If y’all want me to do what she’s doing, we’re pretty much screwed!”

“Can your dragon kill Leviathan?!” Was that Director Piggot? How the hell did she get onto this line?

“Oh, hey Director! Sorry, but Leviathan can’t drown. Or freeze. Or suffocate. Did you know he’s not human? Nor has he ever been? I’m not even sure why I’m calling him a he. Oh, we only have like thirty more seconds before Blue has to say bye-bye, by the way.”

At the reminder, the command center, which had already been buzzing harder than before when Alfred first revealed the time limit, became even more hectic.

Lisa was starting to dread that, far from being the day’s worst problem, Leviathan is about to drop down to second place.

Chapter 56

Taylor POV

The day has been a rollercoaster ride for Taylor, but the last few minutes have made it even bumpier. Leviathan is here. Alfred has gone crazy. Dragons were apparently real. And now, they were about to drown because the very thing keeping the Endbringer from sinking the whole East Coast is about to disappear.

In the background, Taylor was busily swapping her range with dimensional windows all over the place to get a better idea of how everyone else was responding to the revelation. The answer was not good.

Ever since Alfred blurted out the time limit and the potentially disastrous consequences that came with it, both civilian and military personnel lit up their communications platforms. Hundreds of voices spoke over each other as they attempted to get ahead of the threat that Leviathan truly posed.

For her part, the bug controller couldn’t help but worry that the ace up her sleeve might not be enough to truly make a difference, in the end. Not when the Endbringer was apparently more powerful than they initially believed.

“Is there anything else you can do to contain Leviathan’s influence?” Alexandria screamed through the comms right after punching the Endbringer higher into the air, where Eidolon and Legend pelted it with exploding beams from below. From a certain point of view, it almost seemed like they were trying to keep Leviathan airborne.

“Oh, would you relax, Lexie?” Alfred snarked with infuriating cheer. “All we really have to do is give him a juicier target than all those coastal cities. And I’ve got just the thing.”

It all happened at once. The dragon dissipated into particles of light after launching the Endbringer into the air one last time. Alfred’s blue form quickly shifted to black, which gave Taylor unpleasant flashbacks. From there, he glows an unsettling mix of dark purple, blue, and white, which made the flashbacks even worse.

“Stop!” Lisa screamed, but it was too late.

“Astral Drain!”

Alfred threw his sword at Leviathan. Rocketing at supersonic speed, the blade buried itself in the Endbringer’s pockmarked flesh. Taylor watched in horror as a glowing stream connected Alfred and Leviathan. It was the same one she saw that night on the rooftop with Lung. The same flowing absorption of power and vitality that changed her life forever.

“Ooooooh, yeeeaaahhhh!” the Trump let out an exuberant cry of triumph. “That’s what I’m fucking talking about!”

“You idiot!” Taylor heard Lisa shout. “Tattletale to vanguard team! Seraph is siphoning Leviathan’s power to prevent him from launching wave attacks! He’ll be a sitting duck. You need to cause as much damage as possible while protecting his stupid ass!”

“She’s right, folks!” It was almost impressive how thrilled Alfred sounded at being an Endbringer’s target. “Levi’s a big boy. I won’t be able to keep doing this forever, either. Otherwise, I’ll explode. So, keep up the pressure!”

Through Dragon’s drone, Taylor saw Leviathan try to pull the sword out of its hide. At the same time, it spun in midair to strike Alexandria with its tail before diving back into the water. He was prevented from doing so when Eidolon surrounded him with what appeared to be an anti-gravity field, and Legend flew beneath the Endbringer to let loose with incredibly powerful blasts of multicolored light.

“In the meantime,” Alfred continued while he remained floating over the same spot, “hey, Tats! How about you start looking for a weakness, eh? I’ve got a feeling it’s between its tail and torso.”

“I’ve been trying to do that from the start, but your dragon kept getting in the way!” Lisa growled in annoyance.

“Blue’s not here anymore, though?”

“I know! Shut up!”

While the two bickered, Taylor focused on the fight. Alfred might be weakening him, at the moment, but Leviathan was still a powerful hydrokinetic. Several balls of water formed in the air and started pelting toward the Triumvirate. 

Alexandria was blasted away. Legend had to dodge several that were sent in his direction. And Eidolon disappeared and reappeared in front of Alfred before projecting a multi-layered forcefield that stopped the oncoming attacks from the front.

A split second after that, even more of the balls of water were formed and sent in every direction, forcing the heroes accompanying Alfred to defend the winged cape. Meanwhile, Leviathan took the opportunity to dive under the waves. 

“Oh, come on!” Alfred whined. “You can’t compress water like that! That’s against the laws of physics!”

“Seraph!” Dragon snapped over the comms. “You’re fighting something that can control the weather! Now is not the time to focus on inconsequential details!”

Taylor couldn’t help but agree. They’ve already done a lot of damage to Leviathan, but his injuries don’t seem to impair him in any way. He either didn’t care or the gouges, cuts, and burns that he’s suffered so far don’t really matter.

“Shit!” Lisa cursed. “He’s aiming for the city! Dragon, focus on the glowing connection between Seraph and Leviathan. It’ll tell you where he’s at!”

“Understood,” the Tinker replied, redirecting the UAV to follow the ethereal connection that was swiftly moving over and under the ocean, unimpeded by the water.

“Why’s he going there?” Alfred asked, sounding genuinely outraged while he and the Triumvirate hurriedly followed after the Endbringer. “I’m the one sucking him dry. He should be focusing on me!”

Phrasing aside, it was a good question. Taylor looked over at Tattletale just in time to get the answer.

“More targets!” she said. “Leviathan wants your attention divided, and he can’t do that when you’re surrounded by powerful capes that he can’t easily kill! So, he’s going for more vulnerable prey.” 

“How does he even know I’d give a shit?” Alfred almost sounded sane again with that question.

“Because you’re out there instead of here!” Lisa snapped. “Your actions are effectively screaming that you want to preserve lives!”

That made too much sense in Taylor’s mind. Even when they participate in Endbringer battles, Villains or Rogues rarely ever go out of their way to face the monsters alone. They do so as part of the collective. Alfred’s stated reason for meeting Leviathan in his home turf was not at all about saving lives, but this didn’t change the fact that his actions have effectively prevented mass casualties up to this point.

“It’s not just that,” Lisa continued, her eyes focused on the screen. “It’s also…” The way the blonde suddenly froze while watching the feed caused dread to pool in Taylor’s stomach.

“Also, what?” Eidolon demanded impatiently.

“He can hear us,” Lisa whispered fearfully. “He knows I’m looking for his weakness. He knows I can find it. He’s coming straight here!”

A mad scramble followed the Thinker’s declaration, with messages flying all over the place, personnel suddenly on their feet and packing up equipment. 

Taylor’s attention was divided between all the places where people were losing their minds. Not only did Lisa reveal that, yes, she absolutely can find an Endbringer’s weakness, but she is now a target as a result.

The Master had to wonder why they didn’t think of this possibility from the start. Alfred as Seraph was always going to be a priority for elimination by Leviathan. Her own potential for controlling giant minions and dimensional powers also placed a bullseye on her back. The former might not be in the cards due to how it was deemed too risky, but it could still come into play.

In fact…

“I can slow him down!” Taylor announced while getting on her feet.

“Don’t even think about it!” Lisa barked, pointing a finger at Taylor. “We already have one suicidal moron effectively tying himself to a freaking Endbringer. We are not throwing eldritch monsters into the mix!”

“We don’t have a choice!” Taylor snapped. “If Leviathan makes landfall, a lot of people are going to die. My minions can get in his way, giving Seraph and the rest more time to wear him down, and for you to find his weakness.”

“You could just as easily bury us in a mountain of slime!” Lisa shot back.

“I can control them!”

“You couldn’t before!”

“Ladies!” Seraph cut in, sounding strained. In fact, his breathing seemed labored. “Her majesty’s solution might just be our best bet. The trio flying with me is proving particularly useless, right now, and Eidolon really needs to stop being a careless fuck with those singularities! You’re not even hitting him! Choose a containment power or something!”

“Those are containment powers!” Eidolon spat. “At least I’m doing something instead of being a glorified spotlight!”

“I’m draining him, you impotent fuck! That’s a lot more useful than just pissing in the ocean!”

“Put them away, boys!” Alexandria interjected. “Your figurative swordfight can wait. Brockton Bay’s in sight. Imago, can you control your minions?”

“Yes,” Taylor said.

“No,” Lisa denied.

“Which is it?!” the flying brick barked.

“Yes, I can!” Taylor exclaimed. “Please, Tattletale, just this once! Trust me.”

Across her desk in the command center, where personnel have been watching the two teen Parahumans bicker in alarm, bottle-green eyes considered the Master. Taylor more than understood her hesitance, especially after the Master explained how it felt to be inside Tiamat. However, this time was different.

Taylor could feel it.

Sighing in defeat, Lisa rubbed her temples. “Fine. But if even one tentacle touches me, we’re gonna have problems.”

Taylor beamed. “No promises,” she said before turning to her wristband. “I can control them. Tell me where to send them and when.”

“Dragon, give her the coordinates,” Legend instructed. “Once you have them, Imago, send as many as you can. Fill the entire ocean if you have to. Just keep Leviathan at bay.”

“Understood,” Taylor replied as she read the data Dragon sent via her assigned desk console. 

“Are you sure about this?” Lisa asked quietly.

“I am,” Taylor said confidently before closing her eyes.

For a brief moment, she feared that it wouldn’t work. Taylor hadn’t even attempted to replicate her monstrous feat since the first time for fear of the consequences. However, like riding a bicycle after years of not doing so, the memories came rushing in. Reaching out for the presence was easy, and the presence reached back.

Once their figurative fingertips touched, Taylor’s mind lit up, and the world bore witness to the unforgettable sight of mythical beasts coming to life.

Chapter 57

Miss Militia POV

From her position on top of a high-rise in the middle of downtown Brockton Bay, Miss Militia had a pretty good view of the city’s waterline. The storm that typically preceded Leviathan’s arrival had long since drenched the area in rain for miles around. However, the deluge was significantly lighter than the weather effect is known to be.

The Thinkers being fed a constant stream of data, both locally and beyond, have concluded that this was due to Seraph. First, with his alleged dragon, which sent analysts into a frenzy. Second, with his continued siphoning of the Endbringer’s power. 

No one can seem to agree on exactly how he was doing so, what it could mean, or what to do about it. One thing was clear, though. Without Seraph, this attack would have already resulted in a bloodbath.

Leviathan’s true range was terrifying to hear about, and the same went for its implications. The Endbringer could have sunk entire coastlines. So, why hasn’t he?

There were already hints as to exactly what these monsters could do, of course. Kyushu and Newfoundland proved how far-reaching the devastation of the attacks could be. But if Seraph was right, entire continents should have been sunk already. That the inhuman creatures have only been targeting cities, thus far, speaks of an intelligence guiding their movements.

And they truly were inhuman. Seraph said it himself. Leviathan wasn’t human. He never was. If so, the same could be said of Behemoth and the Simurgh.

But questions on exactly what they were dealing with could wait. Right at that moment, Imago had just volunteered to try and slow Leviathan down with her creatures. This was an aspect of the girl’s abilities that the PRT as a whole has been intensely curious about. It simply didn’t make sense, much like Seraph didn’t make sense.

As far as they have been able to tell, Tattletale is exactly as she appears: a Thinker. A powerful one, but a Thinker all the same. She makes sense. The same went for Grue, Hellhound, and Regent. 

The same went for Vates, whom the PRT only became aware of due to Seraph.

She is an extremely powerful precog with a high rate of predictive accuracy. With that said, she does share one oddity along with Tattletale. Neither seems to experience Thinker migraines. As a result, they are able to use their powers as much as they want, with the only limitation being associated with normal human fatigue.

Vates could even predict Endbringer attacks, and as the whole world just learned today, Tattletale can find their weakness. 

After decades of losing fights and slowly bleeding manpower against the forces of destruction, hope has come in spectacular fashion. Several Parahumans that posed a genuine threat against seemingly indestructible forces of nature appearing in such a short period of time? If Miss Militia didn’t know better, she would be tempted to call it a miracle.

“Dragon, give her the coordinates,” she heard Legend say over the comms, and the heroine’s blood began pumping faster in her veins.

Seeing Imago’s near-mythical minions with her own eyes is bound to be different compared to seeing them in video format. Oh, how right she was.

It began with a violent churning of the already tempestuous ocean. As far as the eye could see, it was like the entire bay and beyond had become filled with seafoam. It was a frothing film that extended over the horizon, where every inch of seawater was suddenly subjected to the incessant, forceful roiling of a giant blender.

What came next made it nearly impossible to breathe.

Tentacles the length of trains. Claws the size of buses. Eyes, teeth, and scales in impossible places. It was a scene right out of a space horror movie, and the full scale of the sight was unfathomable. Miss Militia had already been wary of using her ability to perfectly recall memories when she slept. 

After witnessing what Imago called from the depths, she was more sure than ever that she would never voluntarily go to sleep ever again.

All at once, the creatures rushed toward the horizon in a tidal wave of exoskeletons, alien extremities, and gurgling screeches. The heroine tried to remind herself that these beasts were on her side. That they were under the control of an ally. But she simply couldn’t fully bring herself to believe it.

“Holy shit…” The expletive expressing both awe and fear came from the cape beside Miss Militia. 

Looking over, what covering protected Victor’s identity was utterly inadequate at masking the pure, unadulterated dread suffusing his features. The same went for his teenage companion, who was supposed to act as their mode of transport and escape. Rune was shaking like a leaf in the wind, shivering from the top of her head to the toes of her boots.

The Noctis cape had never been given to thinking ungenerous thoughts, even of villains, but she’s even more unlikely to do so in the here and now. No one who witnessed the same event would. 

“My minions are engaging Leviathan now,” came Imago’s voice over the comms. She sounded so distressingly young, yet held such profound power. 

“Good,” Legend replied. “See if you can force him to surface so we can get a clean shot.”

“I’ll do my best,” the Master replied.

“We’re fucking screwed,” a voice suddenly spoke up. It was almost shocking how small and piteous it sounded.

“Rune,” Victor said with a warning tone.

“Fuck off, Victor!” the girl screamed, gesticulating wildly. “You’re seeing the same thing I see, right? How the fuck are we supposed to fight that?!”

“We won’t have to if we die to Leviathan because you’re losing focus!” Victor snapped.

“That’s enough,” Miss Militia interjected calmly, seeing Rune open her mouth to argue. “Right now, we’re all on the same side. Don’t forget what we’re hoping to achieve today.”

At the reminder, the Striker settled down, but it was Victor’s turn to stir the pot. “Is it still possible with Seraph acting like a maniac?”

Miss Militia twitched at the question, mostly because it had been at the back of her mind, as well. While still technically sticking to the rough outlines of the plan, the winged Parahuman’s attitude has been rather unstable since the start of the Endbringer attack. Still, it wouldn’t do to bring down morale now.

“At the very least, we stand a good chance of driving Leviathan away with minimal casualties.” Well, that was the hope. It’s the reason why Seraph and the Triumvirate were acting as the vanguard in the first place.

In the distance, a titanic splash put an end to the discussion. Mountainous bodies were tossed into the air, and even at this distance, the scattered limbs and fluids were clear to see. Leviathan had finally claimed some lives. Fortunately, it’s of entirely replaceable creatures.

More importantly, it left the Endbringer exposed.

Streaks of light and fire lit up the stormy edge of the world. If Miss Militia squinted, she could barely make out the small blur dipping in and out of the bombarded area, which could only be Alexandria. 

“Keep it up, queenie!” Seraph’s voice came through the broadcast. “You’re kicking his ass!”

“Stop calling me that!” Imago replied on the same line.

“Why not?” Seraph asked. “You are a queen!”

“Could you please be a weirdo when there’s not a literal Endbringer on our doorstep?” Tattletale cut in.

“Aww, don’t worry, Tats! You’re still my favorite Thinker!”

“Take your disgusting teen drama off the damn line!” Director Piggot barked.

“Sorry, Director!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“He started it!”

“I don’t care! I swear to God, if somebody gets hurt because the three of you are messing around, Leviathan will be the least of your problems. Now, get off the line!”

Miss Militia was left a bit dazed by that interaction. What the hell was that?

“Your boss is a hardass,” Rune muttered, sounding genuinely impressed.

She wasn’t exactly wrong to be, either. Emily Piggot had absolutely no compunction about taking powerful Parahumans to task, it would seem. Even ones ostensibly not under her authority.

“Okay, actual emergency this time,” Tattletale spoke up again. “At the rate Leviathan is shredding through Imago’s minions, we might be left with a huge pileup at the beach. The floating corpses will make it harder to pin him down, and he might start using them as ammunition!”

“Imago, can you have some of your creatures clean up the larger pieces?” Dragon asked.

“Already on it,” the Master replied.

“Shit, Leviathan heard us!” Tattletale warned. “We need shields, now!”

Just as the Thinker said, numerous fleshy projectiles were suddenly flying through the sky straight toward Brockton Bay. Fliers and dozens of Dragoncraft went to intercept, but there were far too many. As a result, kinetic impacts rocked the city, with a few buildings crumbling as a result. 

Fortunately, they had plenty of time to prepare, so teams were assigned Movers, Brutes, or Strikers that could help either protect capes from falling debris or get them out of the way.

Unfortunately, the hail of body parts isn’t stopping.

“The son of a bitch is using his water echo as a slingshot!” Seraph barked through the comms. “I’m not letting him do anything too big, so he’s using actual tactics! Tats, I can’t do this for much longer, give me a target!”

“Then keep him still!” Tattletale snapped. “I can’t find shit if he keeps diving! Dragon, I need a better angle, I’m getting too much useless information!”

“Sending more drones,” the Tinker replied. 

“Thank you,” was the breathless reply. “Imago, use your tougher minions that will last the longest against him. Cycle them if you have to. I just need them to keep Leviathan in view!”

“Got it,” the Master responded with audible strain. It seems controlling so many gigantic creatures was harder than she believed.

This was never going to be an easy task, but Miss Militia still couldn’t help but feel impatient. In past Endbringer battles that she attended, there was never enough time for introspection. Only action and survival. Only reacting in the moment.

Behemoth was the most generous in that case because he would appear so far away. But he essentially embodied inevitable destruction. Slow and sure. Leviathan was supposed to be the most energetic of the trio, with swift movements and blindingly fast attacks. That they were successfully stopping him from reaching the shore was perhaps causing incongruence in the Blaster’s mind.

At least they haven’t yet been subjected to the infamous wristband updates about capes being down or deceased.

Just as she thought that, the best and worst news came one after the other.

“I got it!” Tattletale practically cheered.

The surge of hope in Miss Militia’s chest was then quickly squashed by Seraph. 

“Crap, I think Levi’s done playing around.”

Chapter 58

Dragon POV

As a digital entity, Dragon had the distinct advantage of data processing. This really came in handy when she needed to put her foot on the gas to analyze, organize, or review certain data points that required more than a keen eye. This is why she’s responsible for the communications network during Endbringer fights, to begin with.

That and her remote participation made it easier to sell the role since she’s not perceived to actually be risking her life.

In this particular Endbringer battle, this ability allowed her to see the exact moment things changed for the worse. While Seraph had been doing an admirable job of limiting Leviathan’s destructive capabilities, the restrictions also appeared to have forced him (or, rather, it) to become more resourceful.

This state of affairs lasted for as long as it took for Tattletale to find the weakness she was tasked to find. When her celebratory cheer came through the comms, Leviathan froze for a split second. Seraph was the second to notice, as he immediately warned everyone in the most whimsical manner possible before blasting higher into the sky.

Alexandria, Eidolon, and Legend saw the evasive action for what it was and followed suit. 

Dragon had only managed to take control of the specially designed drone and rocketed upward before everything within a hundred meters of Leviathan was reduced to confetti. This included Imago’s creatures and the additional UAVs that she dispatched to facilitate more viewing angles.

Upon reviewing the footage captured by the destroyed machines frame by frame, she noted thin strings of water expanded outward in the hundreds.

Leviathan had created a spherical cage made up of rapidly spinning lines of liquid wires, which rotated in different directions at high speeds. After its swift expansion, it contracted to merely fifty feet in diameter. 

It was a breathtaking display of staggering control over water that he had never shown before. 

She only had a human heartbeat to consider the new development with wonder and dread before the Endbringer rocketed toward Brockton Bay right beneath the ocean’s surface. It would seem that Leviathan has become more determined to reach its target.

More of Imago’s minions attempted to waylay the monster, but they proved no obstacle to the barreling ball of death.

“Imago, pull them back!” Legend shouted over the broadcast. “You’re only wasting assets. Tattletale, tell us where to aim!”

“Got it,” was Imago’s breathless reply.

“The area around the groin!” the Thinker announced fretfully. “Eight feet above the base of the tail, three feet beneath the spine, and around six feet between the places where leg joints are supposed to be. But this is all relative!” She hastily added. “Each layer of skin and flesh folds over each other through multiple dimensions, so the deeper you go, the denser those layers become! You need something that can reach something that looks like a crystalline core!”

“Flechette!” Legend declared. “She can empower projectiles to cause damage through multiple dimensions!”

Just as he said this, Leviathan immediately changed directions, making for a more southwesterly heading. Upon checking her data, yes, he actually is heading toward the Parahuman that was just mentioned. 

“Can we please stop saying these things over the comms?!” Seraph screamed, speeding after the Endbringer in his Blue form. “We need to slow him down!”

Dragon could only wonder why they didn’t think of doing so, on their own. Tattletale had already announced that the Endbringer could hear them. From the cursing over the broadcast, everyone else had realized the same thing.

While Seraph and the Triumvirate did their best to impede Leviathan’s progress through blasts of ice, folding space, or just outright trying to tank the water razors in Alexandria’s case, Dragon sent out a general warning.

“All channels, this is Dragon!” she declared. “Leviathan can hear what we’re saying over the line, and it would appear that it can also pick out individual Parahumans. We have located its weak point, but Leviathan is now aiming for the only person that can actually reach it. Protect the Ward, Flechette at all costs. I repeat, protect Flechette at all costs. The vanguard team is trying to delay Leviathan, but he has deployed countermeasures with both offensive and defensive capabilities.”

For her part, with the makeshift artillery made of monster parts having stopped, Dragon is free to use her various aircraft to finally participate in the fight. The serpentine form of her Melusine suit was the first to reach Leviathan, at which point, a hail of missile and laserfire was dumped on the target.

Groundbound Blasters were also getting on several transport craft, which will be acting as reserves in case the Endbringer gets any closer. 

Unfortunately, it was at this point that everyone was reminded of why Seraph’s role was so critical in this battle. Dragon’s detection equipment started pinging wildly and to her horror, several massive waves were on their way. Each more than eighty feet high.

“Waves!” she blared through the wristbands. “We have four incoming waves!”

Thanks to the ample preparation time they were granted, wavebreakers were installed. However, with the amount of water involved, Dragon calculated that they would not be enough to make a difference. Capes capable of deploying shields like Narwhal and Bastion were tasked with stopping them, but they can only do so much. 

Only two people can actually dull the force of the moving walls of water, and they were occupied with keeping Leviathan from reaching the city. The intent was clear and, as it turned out, the Endbringer got exactly what it wanted.

“Seraph, stop those waves!” Imago shouted.

“What?!” Seraph yelped. “If I do that, Leviathan will make landfall!”

“That won’t matter if those waves reach us!” the Master shot back. “Stop them, now!”

Dragon could have interfered. So could Legend. However, as things stood, the options really came down to the wire and priorities had to shift. Four eighty-foot waves would be enough to wash away a good portion of Brockton Bay and, by her calculations, reach the command center. 

At this point, the waves were the highest priority.

“Go, Seraph!” Legend ordered. “We’ll hold Leviathan for as long as we can.”

“Fuck!” the Trump cursed before reversing course and went further out into the sea.

“Dragon, we’ll need the reserves!” Legend said, which made the Tinker want to sigh in defeat. 

The fight had been going so much better compared to past Endbringer battles. She was really hoping that the more vulnerable participants wouldn’t have to risk their lives as much as they are typically expected to. 

A false hope, in the end.

“Copy that,” she acknowledged before she gave the commands to her transports containing the Blasters. 

Orders were also sent out to fliers who had ranged offensive abilities. The Brutes and Movers, on the other hand, were assigned to protect Flechette, along with the Strikers and Shakers in attendance. 

As their literal blade to pierce Leviathan, the Ward now had the highest priority for protection. Even above the Triumvirate, Seraph, Imago, or Tattletale. 

She could only imagine the burden the girl must be feeling.

Flechette POV

Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! 

Never in her young life would Lily have imagined finding herself in the position that she’s in. So many capes now surrounded her from all sides, and she was being moved around like a freaking postal package that lost its stamp! 

“After reaching sector four, take the freeway and move to sector seventeen,” the command over the comms came through. 

“Copy that,” Armsmaster grunted before signalling the rest to move out.

Ever since Legend said her name of the line and Dragon announced that she was now some kind of VIP, the Ward has been taken from one spot to the next using a variety of methods. Dragoncraft, van, flier, teleport, and so on. They were only told where to go and using what method when they reached a destination, too.

Lily was starting to feel queasy, but she understood the need for such precautions. Being the target of an actual Endbringer is the single most terrifying predicament she’s found herself in. And that’s after considering her stalker, who often acted like a spurned lover.

It’s okay, she told herself. This won’t last forever. At some point, I’ll get a chance to nail that overgrown iguana in the ass.

For the moment, all she could do was endure the discomfort and try not to embarrass herself.

Taylor POV

She wasn’t sure that she made the right choice to order Alfred to stop the waves, but it was too late for regrets. At this point, it’s clear that the Endbringers can do a lot more than most initially believed. What damage he previously suffered is all gone now. Combined with the seemingly untouched shield of razorsharp water wires, it’s beginning to look like sending Alfred away was a really stupid thing to do.

Unfortunately, their options were limited. Her minions aren’t doing anything to even affect Leviathan anymore, and are just getting in the way. 

Though, to be fair, neither was the Triumvirate doing much better. From watching the footage through Dragon’s drone, it’s clear that nothing they could do is affecting Leviathan in any way except slowing it down. That’s it.

“Got any ideas?” she asked Lisa, who was looking at her own screens with trepidation.

“A few,” the blonde confessed before grimacing. “All of them bad.”

“Such as?” one of the PRT personnel still in the command center asked.

“We lure him to a killing ground,” Lisa explained. “Flechette can be positioned somewhere she has a clear sight. Leviathan comes, preferably without that spinning water cage, Seraph and the Triumvirate distract it, and Flechette shoots the bastard dead.”

“Can we do it away from the city?” another PRT agent asked.

“Not without moving Imago and me, too.” Taylor really didn’t like the sound of that. “Otherwise, Leviathan might just switch targets, which would then split our attention.”

“Should we –” the bug controller began, but was interrupted by a frantic Seraph.

“Guys! Leviathan has full control over water molecules!” he shouted over the broadcast. “I’m keeping the waves from moving any farther, but I can’t leave either!”

Their dismay over the development was further compounded by the multiple exploding Dragoncraft carrying Blasters.

For the first time since the Endbringer battle began, the dreaded announcements were heard.

“Cape Deceased…”

After that were a series of names that would haunt Taylor’s nights for all time.

Chapter 59

Lisa POV

“Imago, focus!” Lisa screamed at Taylor, who had frozen when the casualty list was announced. “Have your minions collect as many of the bodies and injured as they can!”

“What?” she asked faintly.

“Seraph can resurrect people, remember?!” Lisa reminded the other girl impatiently, even as she was busy trying to find a way out of their current predicament. 

A futile endeavor, as it turned out, since they were already doing everything they could be doing. The other capes were trying to keep Leviathan from reaching the city proper, Alfred was stopping the waves, and Flechette was being moved around. She and Taylor could not go anywhere else since they were most useful in the command center.

So, unless their winged Trump had another miracle up their sleeve, they were shit out of luck until something changes.

Through her screens, she saw several of the eldritch spawns begin to scour the water for survivors or corpses. Lisa had no illusions about the probability of death in an Endbringer battle. They have so far been incredibly lucky in that regard. But that luck had run out.

Case in point, several flying capes were just taken out of the sky with a casual flick from Leviathan’s ball of death, which is yet another thing that nobody accounted for.

Huge waves, a water shadow, extreme speeds, and incredibly precise strikes were old plays for this monster. The cage, plus what Alfred had just announced over the broadcast regarding the Endbringer’s absolute control over water molecules, painted a decidedly bleak picture in Lisa’s mind.

The most persistent of which was the question involving the Manton Limit. Could Leviathan manipulate the water inside people?

The Endbringers were never human, according to Alfred, and her power agrees with his sentiment. Who is to say that they had the same limitations? There has already been plenty of evidence that they could escalate in accordance with the resistance they faced. Records of past battles show this. Today’s attack has proven the hypothesis beyond a shadow of a doubt.

If so, why?

Why pretend at all? Why not just destroy the world and get it over with? Or is that not the goal?

Why –

Did Leviathan just burrow into the seabed?!

“All channels, be warned!” Lisa screamed through a network-wide broadcast. “Leviathan just went underground! I repeat, Leviathan just went underground!”

The line was then inundated with demands for answers, expletives, and fearful questions. Most of them expressed the very thought percolating in Lisa’s own mind. Isn’t this Behemoth’s thing? There had never been anything to stop it from doing so, of course. Leviathan was strong enough to actually move dirt, and with its control over water, tunneling under the earth wouldn’t prove much of a challenge.

It has never done it before, however. Was this a response to actual threats to its life?

“Hard override!” The voice of Alexandria came through. “Tattletale, can you still track him?”

“I need more eyes!” Lisa answered. “Preferably with sensors for movement, seismic shifts, anything that can detect vibrations!”

“Armsmaster, Dragon, you’re being reassigned!” Legend ordered over the broadcast. “Make adjustments to existing equipment if you have to.”

Both Tinkers confirmed, but Lisa wasn’t sure how much of a difference this was going to make. Leviathan was unlikely to move as fluidly through the earth as it could in the water, but that’s just a guess on her part. She simply didn’t have enough information to work with. 

As it turns out, the question of Leviathan’s speed while moving under the ground was quickly answered by a frantic warning from Weld, the Case-53 Ward.

“Command, the ground is shaking over here!” the deep voice boomed. “We’re en route to another location with the VIP! I repeat, we’re en route with the VIP!”

No amount of coded phrasing was enough to save Flechette, it would seem. Leviathan had found her anyway.

“Copy that, Weld! We’re on our way!” Legend told him.

All of the capes that went to confront Leviathan in his domain quickly made a beeline for Weld’s location at their best speeds. The Triumvirate was in the lead, but Purity, Glory Girl, and the rest of New Wave were not far behind. Some out-of-town fliers were also keeping up, along with the surviving Dragoncraft that held non-Mover capes.

“Strider!” Alexandria spoke up next. “Get the VIP to a random location. Take her to the other side of the world, if you have to!”

There was no verbal response, but one of the cameras featuring the teleporter showed him disappear as soon as Alexandria gave the order. So, she can only assume that he did as told. Lisa cycled through the viewpoints to find the camera closest to Weld’s location. When she finally did, however, her heart nearly stopped.

Positioned at the top of a high-rise, the camera panned over to capture a scene of utter devastation. Multiple vans and SUVs were thrown all over the place like toys. Blood and body parts were strewn all over the roads and destroyed buildings.

Weld’s metallic form was visible against the slick darkness of the wet concrete where the heavy shower had muted all colors. He was in multiple pieces. Bisected, it would seem, and then sliced even more for good measure.

What made the scene worse was how the young Case-53 was still trying to crawl forward with his remaining arm. 

The desperate act was spurred by the scene that truly made Lisa’s mind want to run away. 

With its elongated form like a stretched-out caricature of both lizard and man, Leviathan stood over the carnage. In its two hands, which were attached to too-long arms, were two people. One was a young woman in a dark costume, struggling against the Endbringer’s grip. The other was the same cape Lisa had just watched vanish from the other side of the city.

Time seemed to slow for Lisa, which was a cruel twist of the knife because her power gave her no reprieve. She knew exactly what was going to happen. She knew what was happening as it happened. Even as she tried to look away, she couldn’t.

Leviathan simply clenched its fists, and the living people became a shower of gore from one frame to the next.

Breathing was nearly impossible now as the implications of what just occurred finally registered in Lisa’s mind. The only cape on hand that truly posed a danger to the Endbringer has just died, and with her, any hope that they could actually kill the monster. 

As if it could feel Lisa watching, Leviathan slowly turned its head so that it was staring right at the camera. 

The blonde didn’t know how long the whole sequence of events took. Realistically, it could have been just a few seconds with how fast Leviathan could move. But it felt much longer. She wasn’t even sure about the thoughts going through her head in that moment. It felt like she shouldn’t be thinking at all.

Not after what she just saw. Not after witnessing their best hope get squeezed into a pulp like a human-shaped grape.

Not after an Endbringer seemed to know that Lisa was watching him. Because if he did, what else could it know? More importantly, what could they possibly do about it?

Then, without warning, it felt like time reverted to its normal flow, and with it, Leviathan disappeared from view. 

“Shit!” she cursed. “Imago, I need you to –”

“I know,” Taylor breathed, pale skin gone waxy, and eyes wide and dilated. “I’m already tracking him.”

Lisa didn’t want to ask. She didn’t want to know. But she knew that if she didn’t, things would be so much worse.

“Where?”

“Here,” Taylor gave the answer Lisa had been dreading. “He’s heading straight here.”

The Mystery Unravels

“Hello, Tattletale…”

“You? But, how…?”

“... bit of a dilemma, you see? So I had to ask myself, ‘how do you punish someone unafraid of death?’, and the answer, as it turns out, was to give them something they would value more than their own life.”

“That makes no sense! What would you even get from punishing –”

“Oh, Tattletale, my dear Tattletale, don’t you see? The punishment is the point!”

“...not enough that we have to deal with one god, now we have an entirely different…”

“So, you’re just going to give up?! Leave us all to die?”

“What else can I do…?”

“Fight! I want you to fight for yourself! To fight for us… to fight for me!”

“There is no end, you stupid fuck! Don’t you get it? This is it! This is all there will ever be!”

“...All this power, and you end up a sad sack of shit. Taylor was right, you are pathetic.”

Chapter 60

Taylor POV

Numbness had crawled up Taylor’s entire body, which had nothing to do with the cold of the command center’s climate control or the pouring rain outside the building’s walls. It started when she saw, through the senses of the bugs that she desperately amassed, the death of the convoy that contained Flechette.

Even with the blurry resolution that resulted from combining multiple eyes, the scene she witnessed was clear. Their most promising weapon against Leviathan is dead. The same went for their most effective Mover.

The Endbringer only compounded their already dire state by rushing toward the command center in a straight line, barely paying attention to the obstacles in its way. Leviathan simply plowed through buildings if they were too tall to jump over at speeds that she could barely keep up with, even as she opened windows along its path to try and consolidate whatever insects she could.

Her minions out at sea were still collecting the remains of the dead, whom Alfred might be able to bring back to life. However, it was looking more and more likely that there would be more of them before the day ended.

Thanks to her frightening ability to multitask, she was able to do these things simultaneously while also trying to come up with a plan that would stop Leviathan. So far, she was coming up short on what to do, save for the one solution that could very well lead to something worse.

Just as she was debating whether or not the risk was worth it, something collided with the Endbringer, knocking it off course.

It was Alexandria, and she seemed pissed beyond reason.

Earlier footage streamed into her console had shown the flying Brute being tactical in her attacks. Every punch and strike looked calculated. Now, she seemed to have lost herself in her rage, screaming in defiance as she pummeled every inch of the monster that she could reach.

Legend arrived not long after, raining down destructive beams at Leviathan, roaring as he did so. 

Even Eidolon was not immune to expressing anger in the most savage way he could. That part of the city, just a few blocks south of the Docks area, was now being subjected to attacks that bent the laws of physics into a knot, tearing that knot into pieces, and reversing the damage before doing it all over again.

The Triumvirate was only just holding back from turning the entirety of Brockton Bay into rubble in their effort to show Leviathan the extent of their wrath, it would seem.

“Tattletale!” Alfred’s voice came over the line. “Did I just hear Flechette’s death announced?! Please, tell me that I misheard that!”

“No,” Lisa replied in a tremulous voice. “She’s dead. I saw it myself. Leviathan squeezed her to death, along with Strider.”

“Shit!” Taylor was briefly brought out of drowning in the chill of her own thoughts by the harshness and volume of Alfred’s expletive. It contained more venom than she had ever heard from the boy.

“Seraph,” Lisa spoke again. “How did Leviathan know where Flechette was? My power keeps telling me that he can hear us and that he knew her location, but not the how!”

Taylor could hear the desperation and anguish in the Thinker’s words. Endbringer fights were never covered with anything but sobering news, at best, or complete catastrophe, at worst. It would have been foolish to expect anything different from this one.

But at the start, it felt like there was actually hope. Despite his strange behavior, Seraph held his own and kept Leviathan at bay. Even when the creature started acting more aggressively, he still did better than anyone at impeding its progress.

As soon as he was removed from play due to necessity, events spiralled to violent bloodshed, which then culminated in the loss of Flechette and so many others.

How many more will die because he has to halt the unstoppable force of tsunamis threatening to drown the city?

“Hard override!” Alfred barked through the broadcast. “Eidolon, get your ass over here and take my place! You’re clearly not doing shit to Leviathan, but you can stop the waves!”

“NO!!!” came the thunderous reply, making Taylor physically jerk away in shock and slapping her hands over her ears. Others in the command center did the same. An agent even had to rip a pair of headphones from his head and slam them on the table, his face screwed up in pain.

“You absolute asshole!” Alfred screamed back. “How many more are gonna die just because you have to be the hero?! I’m not letting you fuck us over with your pride! Switch places with me!”

“I won’t!” was Eidolon’s stubborn response, which made Taylor’s chest clench in building panic. “He is mine! I’ll kill him! I’LL KILL HIM!”

“For fuck’s sake! Legend! Alexandria! Get your heads out of your asses and pull him back! Your attacks aren’t doing any real damage!”

Through her bugs’ senses and the screens in front of her, Taylor noted that Legend was the first to snap out of his rage. After one last rising punch, which Leviathan evaded, the flying brick seemed to have done the same. Only Eidolon continued with his ceaseless rampage, which had already reshaped the landscape to something unrecognizable.

By this point, Leviathan’s location had already been clear to all attending capes. Many of them were taking potshots at the temporarily contained Endbringer. Taylor even saw multiple instances of Movers and Shakers helping others get to the battlefield. Vista’s space warping was certainly easy enough to spot.

Unfortunately, this was a mistake.

After enough of them had gathered, which was precisely the moment Eidolon paused between his constant bombardment (whether to switch powers or something else, Taylor didn’t know), multiple pops resounded in the immediate area of the fight. This was quickly followed by geysers of blood suddenly appearing as if from nowhere by the dozens.

A split-second later, every standing structure within a hundred meters of the Endbringer was ripped apart, as if a gigantic bomb full to the brim with shrapnel had just gone off. 

Even as she saw the horrifying event take place, she couldn’t process what had just happened.

“Tattletale to all channels!” Lisa practically spat into her console. “Leviathan is using water droplets like bullets! Anyone without a force field or a Brute rating that can withstand the force of impact will be killed!”

Ah, so that’s how he did it. Some part of Taylor was fascinated with how many new things the Endbringer had displayed since the start of this battle. A much larger part heard the names of the dead or dying, and the cold returned with renewed intensity. She didn’t know most of them, but a few did register as familiar.

No, not only familiar, but intimately significant due to the sheer unfairness their passing conveyed.

Laserdream.

Shielder.

Manpower.

Brandish.

Lady Photon.

Gallant.

Clockblocker.

Browbeat.

Aegis.

But worst of all…

Vista.

There were more. So many more. But, she couldn’t hear them anymore. Her mind could only take so much, particularly with the questions chasing each other in her head.

Why were they there? Weren’t the Wards supposed to be in search and rescue? She saw Vista’s power, yes, but she could have simply helped with moving other capes. She didn’t need to be at the scene.

So, why was she? Why were they? 

This made no sense. No sense at all.

Taylor was cold.

Why was she cold?

Why can’t she feel her fingers?

Why were the edges of her vision fading?

…

…

…

Why can she no longer see…?

Chapter 61

Dragon POV

Things were spiraling out of control. Leviathan has been behaving atypically beyond the parameters that Dragon has seen in past encounters from the start of this attack. And it hasn’t stopped doing so.

Even as the list of names of dead capes sounded out via the subroutines embedded in the wristbands, the Canadian Tinker focused on her task.

Calibrating the multitude of surveillance equipment throughout the city for seismic activity was no longer necessary. Leviathan has appeared in the middle of Brockton Bay in full. So, she dedicated herself to causing as much damage as she reasonably could with as many suits as she could deploy.

Jumping from one to the next in a fraction of a second caused unfortunate delays, but it was preferable to relying solely on subroutines for survival. The longer her suits can stay in play, the fewer human casualties there will be, and she needed to reduce the number of deceased Parahumans.

Far too many have fallen, already. Some of them painfully unnecessary.

The death of heroes is always a grievous event. The death of Wards, however, was a disaster.

Yet, it wasn’t only their side of the law that suffered losses. Numerous villains were utterly obliterated by Leviathan, as well. Names like Kaiser, Menja, Fenja, Hookwolf, and Krieg were announced. Oni Lee has perished attempting to go on a series of suicide runs on the Endbringer. Displaying inhuman precision, the hydrokinetic caught the teleporter in multiple high-velocity water droplets, along with the Tinkertech bombs he meant to use.

Several villains from outside were caught in the attack, as well. The same went for heroes, both Protectorate and Independent, which included Myrddin.

Dragon can only hope that Tattletale’s claim about Seraph’s ability to revive the dead was true. Otherwise, this would have been the most catastrophic Endbringer battle in terms of cape casualties.

Speaking of Trumps, she couldn’t help but feel the building resentment in her code at Eidolon’s adamant refusal to cease his pointless actions against Leviathan. And they were pointless. Seraph was right in his declamation. 

Only thirty seconds have passed in real time from the moment a significant chunk of the participants was wiped out. The shock created an opening that allowed Leviathan to sprint past the frozen Triumvirate, which forced Dragon to take more active measures in trying to slow it down.

The monster had already killed one of the threats to its existence. Now, it’s going for its next targets.

“Tattletale, Imago, you need to evacuate the command center,” she said through the broadcast.

“Already doing that,” the Thinker replied. “Imago’s catatonic state is slowing us down, though.”

“What do you mean?” Dragon demanded. The Master was a huge surveillance asset. Losing her would be a major blow.

“I mean that one of the agents is carrying her over his shoulders because she won’t move on her own!”

That was not what Dragon wanted to hear. Fortunately, they were in a direct line instead of a wide broadcast. Seraph did not need to hear about the girl’s current state when he’s the only reason Brockton Bay is not yet underwater.

Unfortunately, they simply didn’t have the time to do anything about it. Not when there’s an Endbringer hot on their trail. 

“Move as fast as you can and try to wake her up,” Dragon said before ending the call to focus on being a massive obstacle to the monster rushing through the city at high speeds.

She focused on ranged attacks from the air with her arsenal, and the few transports remaining that carried Blasters were raining shots down from farther away. All of them were now aiming for the spot that Tattletale indicated contained its weak point.

Programs to close the doors were already in place, as well, which would seal the openings if Leviathan repeated the water projectile attack.

Helical blasts from Purity caused massive explosions, but the monsters simply emerged unimpeded. Glory Girl kept getting swatted away. Her overlapping force fields held, and she went right back for another run, roaring all the while. Narwhal’s shields did bite into its flesh, but they shattered quickly, and the shallow injuries closed with startling ease.

Unfortunately, it didn’t look like their endeavors were doing much more than irritating the Endbringer. Even after the Triumvirate recovered and joined their efforts, their gains were not enough.

Alexandria’s blows were hardly landing anymore, with Leviathan dodging them by a hair’s breadth. Legend’s lasers didn’t even cause it to stutter. And Eidolon’s numerous attempts to impede, bamboozle, or trap the creature in ever more esoteric ways were either ignored, blown through, or evaded.

The Endbringer was now acting as if all other capes in its vicinity were just flies to be swatted or disregarded as inconsequential. It was clear that its main priority has now been set. Everything and everyone else is of secondary concern.

Its indifference is likely due to the fact that the vast majority of the more courageous or reckless attendees have already been eliminated. None of the remaining capes who were vulnerable to the devastating move recently unleashed could get close in any reasonable manner. 

So they were reassigned to Search and Rescue, instead.

As a result, Leviathan was content to simply keep moving, trusting in its innate durability to weather their efforts to delay it.

Groundbound Brutes, Shakers, Blasters, and Strikers were gathered halfway between the Endbringer and its destination. Chevalier stood ready to unleash a devastating blow, for example. Miss Militia was given permission to use her most destructive arsenal, as well.

“Dragon,” Armsmaster’s voice came over the comms, “I have a plan, but I require your assistance.”

His statement twinged Dragon’s sense of caution. The words Vates spoke on the day they first met her still stirred in the back of her digital mind.

“What do you intend to do?” she asked, even as she jumped from one of her larger suits, which she tasked with tackling Leviathan to the ground. 

“I modified the Nano-thorn two days ago,” he said. “I believe that it can cause significant enough damage to a single point.”

Dragon felt the outrage bubbling inside her. “Did you not hear what Tattletale said?” she asked incredulously while watching her suit get torn apart. “Nothing save for a multidimensional strike can reach the core!”

“I don’t mean to reach the core,” Armsmaster declared, almost in a detached manner. Upon checking her systems, she found him speeding toward Leviathan’s location on his bike. “I mean to buy us time.”

Then it clicked. “Armsmaster, you don’t need to do this. You can just give the halberd to Alexandria. She can wield it just as easily as you can.”

There was no hesitation in his response. “Alexandria will be needed to hold Leviathan in place, as well. We will likely need to coordinate with other flying Brutes for this maneuver. If we can impair him enough, we’ll have more time to come up with a more effective countermeasure.”

“But it doesn’t have to be you!” she screamed.

“Yes, it does,” he said firmly. “Wards under my care had enough courage to face this monster. I will not allow it to continue rampaging. Will you help me?”

She didn’t want to. Her digital mind went into overdrive, trying to find another path, but there simply wasn’t time. They both knew who was the higher priority in this fight. Imago and Tattletale cannot die. Everyone else was expendable.

“What do you need?” she finally asked.

“Thank you, Dragon.” The words were delivered in the same robotic manner she had heard hundreds of times before. At this moment, the sincerity they contained threatened to shatter her nonexistent heart.

Chapter 62

Armsmaster POV

“You’ll only get us killed if you try.”

“Colin, this is bigger than us. Please, don’t put anyone at risk for your ambition.”

“We’re sorry, sir. Flechette was one of us.”

Aegis deceased.

Gallant deceased.

Clockblocker deceased.

Browbeat deceased.

Vista deceased.

“Each layer of skin and flesh folds over each other through multiple dimensions…”

It was never going to work. If he didn’t understand this when Vates gave her warning, he fully understood it now. His plan never would have worked. It would have only gotten people killed. Not that it made much of a difference in this battle.

Speeding through the flooded streets of downtown Brockton Bay, Armsmaster considered his plan once more. Not due to any kind of second-guess. He’d already made up his mind.

No, they would only get one shot at this. His combat prediction software has already been calibrated. Leviathan’s escalating pattern of upping the stakes has been accounted for. It would not matter, not where he was concerned. One strike is all he would need. He already confirmed this with Tattletale.

“Are you insane?! Why’d you have to develop a martyr complex now of all times?!”

“Will it work?”

“...Yes. Yes, it will.”

That was all he needed to know. Or, rather, it was all he wanted to know.

Decades of tireless effort will culminate in this one moment. Armsmaster no longer felt the burning desire for upward mobility in his career. Meeting Vates has shaken it. Hearing the names of children who were supposed to be under his protection, pronounced deceased, has snuffed it altogether.

His participation in past Endbringer battles has given Armsmaster a perspective on how truly impermanent humans can be, yet he always retained his confidence in his abilities. This one changed that.

For the first time, he had witnessed how monumentally powerless the Triumvirate is in the face of Leviathan. For the first time, he understood how different such fights can develop when someone like Seraph is on the field. Yet, far from further deepening his resentment, Armsmaster was flooded with relief.

He created the nano-thorn partly due to his desire for a promotion. For more prestige, accolades, and recognition. He was self-aware enough to accept that part of himself.

A much bigger part, however, was to finally put an end to the pain and suffering caused by these monsters. For years, he watched helplessly as city after city fell to them, unable to make a difference until it felt like the desolation was inevitable. 

Today’s events changed that. They only needed a chance to turn the tide.

He will give them that chance.

“I am nearly at the location,” Armsmaster announced over the comm.

“We’re ready,” Alexandria answered.

“Let’s make it hurt,” Glory Girl added with venom. Having just lost her family save for Panacea, Colin couldn’t fault her rage.

A chorus of confirmations echoed through the broadcast, as well. One stands out more prominently than the others.

“In position,” came Dragon’s familiar voice.

Some part of Armsmaster wanted to say more. The human part of him. The one known as Colin. He squashed that part. Now wasn’t the time for grandstanding or farewell speeches. He had already said everything he needed to say.

Screeching around a block, he saw the first phase of the plan. The stakes were high, the risks higher. Pushing his Tinker-tech motorcycle to full throttle, Armsmaster watched as multiple explosions covered Leviathan’s upper body and head. He idly noted that Dauntless were among those in the air.

This was then quickly followed by Eidolon shifting the ground from under the Endbringer, and with perfect timing, Alexandria, Glory Girl, and several other flying Brutes grabbed its arms, head, and tail. Dragon then rammed Leviathan’s torso with one of her remaining suits capable of close combat, finally bringing it to the ground.

Legend and Eidolon concentrated on removing as much water from the immediate surroundings as possible. This would have been pointless under different circumstances. Several hundred feet of clear space wouldn’t make a difference to a hydrokinetic with a range that could be measured in miles.

But that was fine. It only needed to last a few seconds.

The clouds of steam, dust, and debris proved no great obstacle thanks to his visor. It proved quite useful in getting the Tinker close enough to launch himself off his motorcycle. As planned, Leviathan’s right foot was held in place by a tendril of Glory Girl’s flexible force field. It wouldn’t hold forever, but it didn’t need to.

Smoothly deploying the halberd containing the nano-thorn midair, Armsmaster expertly aimed for the area where the ankle would be on a real, living animal. This was the part where everything would pay off.

Two days prior, the nanites would have caused paltry damage, at best. Even more so in light of what Tattletale revealed of the Endbringer’s true composition. This was no longer the case thanks to a message from Vates.

Not one cut but many, it had read.

Armsmaster immediately understood. More than that, he improved on the idea.

Leviathan could never have been defeated by a single, decisive strike, not from him. The same went for all of the Endbringers. With the exception of Scion, no Parahuman had enough power to bring them down so conclusively.

Flechette came the closest, and her targeted death proved how much of a threat she posed.

He actually considered simply giving her the nano-thorn when he was escorting her. It was too late for regrets now. 

Plummeting straight to his intended landing point, Armsmaster positioned himself so that the point of the halberd would touch down before his feet did. This was important. It wouldn’t otherwise.

The moment the nanites made contact with the surface of Leviathan’s outer layer, they rapidly began to spread. Fittingly enough, the effect could be measured by the nanosecond per inch. Once his own feet landed on the spreading puddle of deadly, technological soup, the second stage activated.

“Scatter,” he said, and the other Parahumans quickly moved away. Good. This next part will be easier without having to worry about collateral damage.

“Armsmaster, what are you doing?” Dragon demanded. “Get out of there, the nanites have been deployed!”

“I’m sorry, Dragon.” And he really was sorry. “I lied.” It was necessary. The Endbringer had already proven capable of listening in on the comms.

Leviathan was already getting up, but it found it difficult to find leverage, as one of its legs was now entirely encased. 

“No,” his fellow Tinker’s distraught voice caused a clenching sensation in Armsmaster’s chest.

“This will buy you time,” Armsmaster declared. “I hope you use it wisely.”

There was nothing more to do. Nothing more to say. The moment his armor connected with the nanites, the function he built into them came alive. There was no stopping it now.

Case in point, his suit was beginning to dissolve.

If nothing else, his death will be painless. This new version of the nano-thorn wasn’t built to do that.

The last thing that Armsmaster, Leader of the Protectorate ENE, saw was the rapidly dividing sea of his creation, concentrating around his feet. The last thing he heard were the words of the other Parahumans in attendance, full of praise and gratitude.

He finally got the recognition and accolades he wanted. Armsmaster found that they meant nothing, in the end.

The distant hum of the third stage finally allowed the tireless Tinker to close his eyes one last time.

Several things happened at once in full view of the gathered capes. First, Armsmaster’s form crystallized before it was then swallowed by intense, white light. This was followed by a localized absence of sound, before a rising hum filled the air. 

When the light faded, the famed hero was nowhere to be seen.

More pertinently, at least to those who remain, Leviathan had lost a significant portion of its right leg, up to the middle of its thigh.

The Endbringer was still alive, but Armsmaster’s final gift could be the opening they needed to finally bring it down.

Armsmaster deceased.

Chapter 63

Miss Militia POV

“The bastard actually did it,” Victor said in both awe and disbelief.

Standing beside her on the rooftop of a commercial building, in the killzone prepared by the surviving capes, the skill thief gapes in the general direction of where Leviathan was just laid low. Far from feeling awed by Armsmaster’s achievement, however, Miss Militia could only clench a fist over her heart.

Hearing the names of the Wards over the comms was devastating. In a cruel twist of fate, the only reason she’s still alive is due to the two Empire capes she was paired with.

They were only a dozen or so feet away from what became the day’s biggest site of slaughter. Rune had barely managed to maneuver their platform to avoid getting shot out of the sky. But then names of the deceased were announced, and Miss Militia wanted nothing more than to tear the Endbringer apart with her own hands.

She screamed, she clawed, and she struggled to get at the monster, but couldn’t overpower the two capes who essentially dogpiled her into submission. Their words were muted by her rage, but the message was clear.

It would be pointless.

Despite possessing an arsenal that contained practically all of the world’s weapons, she had nothing that could truly harm Leviathan. Not when the Triumvirate had, so far, proved useless.

So, slumped to her knees in shock, the task of repositioning was left entirely to Victor and Rune.

And just as she was beginning to recover, Armsmaster’s death was announced, along with the severe injury he managed to inflict on the Endbringer. Her leader had taken Leviathan’s leg at the cost of his life. It was unprecedented, and a victory all on its own.

Unfortunately, it would appear that this was not enough to send the creature running, as it would have done in past battles. Even now, impaired as it was with one less limb, it seemed intent on reaching its destination. 

The sounds of destruction began anew, with the Parahumans bombarding Leviathan several blocks away. She barely recalled hearing requests to join from the gathered capes in the killzone, but they were promptly rebuffed.

Something else was going on, apparently. Something that was causing havoc in the battle plans.

“Victor to Dragon,” the Empire cape said to his wristband. “What the hell is going on over there?”

“Dragon to Victor,” the Tinker’s voice came over the line. “Unable to provide information at this time. Please stand by.”

“What the hell?” he muttered, looking at the wristband in bewilderment.

Miss Militia couldn’t blame him either. That was a first for Dragon. Other than the times that all of her suits were destroyed, she was always available to provide details. 

“What does that mean?” Rune asked, fidgeting nervously with wide eyes.

Victor shook his head. “I don’t know, but I’m willing to bet Eidolon’s being a complete prick again.”

A part of the heroine wanted to rebuke the villain for his venomous words, but she couldn’t entirely discount them either. Objectively speaking, Seraph has been the most effective asset in the field at thwarting the Endbringer at every turn. It wasn’t until he was sent to deal with the waves that the first deaths occurred, and have not stopped since.

His demand to switch places with Eidolon made sense. Yet, the Protectorate Trump had refused.

Looking down toward the ground, Miss Militia spotted several government-sponsored Parahumans preparing to meet Leviathan’s charge. It should have happened by now if it wasn’t for Armsmaster’s last, desperate act.

“Tattletale to all channels,” came the Thinker’s voice. “Leviathan’s dismemberment won’t last. He’s healing slower than before, but he’s still healing. We need Seraph back on the field. I repeat, we need Seraph back on the field.”

That finally snapped Miss Militia out of her fugue, just in time to hear multiple voices creating a messy chorus of noise over the broadcast. From the few that she could parse, objections about taking away the only reason they haven’t drowned yet were competing with complaints about Eidolon’s behavior.

“Why won’t that asshole just switch with Seraph?” one voice asked in a high-pitched whine.

“Because he’s gone nuts!” Glory Girl’s voice cut through the clamor. “Legend and Alexandria are trying to talk to him, but he’s not listening! He just keeps attacking!”

“Well, that’s just fantastic!”

“You have got to be kidding me!”

“He’s really doing this right now?”

Those and many more disparaging words came through the broadcast. Other capes started piling on, including the other flyers and Blasters on the scene, as well as Dauntless. Miss Militia had never heard the man sound so menacing.

“He’s wasting Armsmaster’s sacrifice,” he growled. “We need orders! Eidolon needs to be removed from play if he continues acting this erratically!”

This was met with a louder racket. Some agreed with him, while others adamantly expressed their disagreement in colorful language.

Suddenly, a staggering shockwave swept over the killzone, originating from where the battle against Leviathan was taking place. Miss Militia had to take a knee to keep from being knocked over. Victor did the same. Rune reacted too late, but a timely grab by the heroine prevented her from being tossed off the floating platform.

“Can somebody check on Dragon?” Seraph’s voice echoed over the broadcast. “She’s not answering! Tattletale?”

“Her suits are still working!” a feminine voice spoke. That sounded like Purity.

“That doesn’t mean shit!” the Trump fired back. “Tattletale, what’s going on with Dragon?”

“I don’t know!” the Thinker screamed. “I’m too busy to check right now!”

“Too busy?!” Miss Militia could practically feel the heat radiating through the wristband from the force of Seraph’s words. “You’re already in the command center, just freaking call her! Or have Imago do it. Imago, you there?”

“We’re not in the command center anymore, you doofus!” This caused the Blaster to perk up. She didn’t hear anything about this either. “Leviathan was getting too close. We had to leave.”

“Right,” came the sheepish reply. Miss Militia realized late that the comms had quieted down, with no one interrupting the conversation. It would appear that everyone who wasn’t currently fighting Leviathan wanted to know what was going on. “You and Imago are fine, right?”

“Yes!” The reply came a little too fast. “We’re fine, don’t worry about us.”

As an experienced cape, Miss Militia quickly noticed how odd Tattletale sounded and how quick she was at trying to reassure Seraph. This couldn’t be anything but bad. The Protectorate cape had just enough time to wonder if the Trump caught on, as well, before she got her answer.

“Tattletale, what’s going on with Imago?” The question was asked in a frigid voice.

“Look, we’re coming up to our destination, and I can’t say anything else or risk Leviathan finding us. I gotta go.”

The line dropped without another word, and she was left wondering if they would need to deal with yet another complication. Fortunately, this didn’t seem to be the case.

“Is anyone else on this line?” Seraph asked in an eerily calm tone. Multiple voices answered, including Chevalier and some of the Parahumans in other locations. “Good. We’re running out of time. Whatever Armsmaster did won’t last, and our window to take Leviathan out is closing. I need someone to take my place. Can any of you stop these waves?”

Silence was the answer.

Wracking her brain for any names of the numerous Parahumans from all over the world in attendance that she might be able to suggest, Miss Militia came away with nothing.

Other than Eidolon and Seraph himself, there was no one else who could hold those waves.

The latter was already doing so.

And the former was too busy being lost in his own rage.

Chapter 64

Victoria POV

This can’t be real. None of this is real. Dragon unresponsive in the middle of an Endbringer battle. The Cape considered to be the most powerful in the world, discounting Scion, has lost his mind. And their best hope at destroying not just Leviathan but the other two abominations was killed.

So many have already died, with casualties reaching numbers that haven’t been seen since the early days of Behemoth’s appearance.

And that’s not even factoring in the waves that typically accompanied Leviathan’s appearance. They were being held back by the only other remaining Parahuman that has been able to contend with the Endbringer, which is the only reason that Brockton Bay is still standing.

Worst of all, her whole family is dead, leaving just her and Amy.

Hearing their names announced nearly caused her to collapse. No amount of forced perspective in a different dimension could make her immune to the pain of the loss. It did, however, allow her to push it to the back of her mind until she had the room to drown in her sorrow.

So, Victoria kept fighting. There was nothing else she could do, and she stood a better chance than most to keep Leviathan contained than practically anyone else.

With Legend and Alexandria partially distracted, trying to get through to Eidolon, Victoria was one of the few who could truly tangle with the Endbringer without dying in the first few seconds of engagement.

Her force fields could withstand its strikes, disrupting only a single layer for each hit. Their rate of recovery was the same as before her coma, but with several of them overlaid on top of each other, she could reasonably stay in the fight longer than almost anyone else.

She was working in tandem with Narwhal, with the Guild leader cutting off many of Leviathan’s pathways, and Victoria providing the muscle to truly push it back.

A lot of this came down to the sheer versatility of her power, courtesy of Fragile. Her power expression dealt with attacks from angles beyond Victoria’s field of vision. This mostly involved dealing with Leviathan’s tail using her flexible tendrils.

Meanwhile, she would focus on attacks meant to keep the monster unbalanced and off the ground.

She and the other capes taking potshots at the Endbringer have come to a silent agreement of some sort. An agreement that they knew was only delaying the inevitable.

Hobbled and impaired as it is, thanks to Armsmaster’s sacrifice, Leviathan was still faster than most Movers. Its water bullets were still a threat. The same goes for its water echo, claws, and tail. 

At this point, Victoria could only thank their lucky stars that it didn’t deploy the rotating sphere it used to absolutely decimate Imago’s minions. She’ll leave thinking about the reasons for that later.

For now, their most immediate priority is keeping Leviathan from getting to Tattletale, who has clearly become its next target.

Some small part of Victoria rebelled at the thought of putting so much on the line to defend a Villain, but her effectiveness couldn’t be denied. Finding an Endbringer’s weakness, something that the world had sought for decades, is worth the slight discomfort of fighting to keep her alive.

With that said, how long will they need to keep doing this?

Victoria caught snippets of Legend and Alexandria shouting at Eidolon to fall back, with the Trump completely ignoring the two and simply working around them if they got in the way. It was an infuriating display of… she wasn’t even sure, now.

Was it ego? Was it anger at Flechette’s loss? Was it something else? What on Earth was causing him to act this way, and now of all times? 

She’d heard that Eidolon was aloof and not prone to friendly interactions, but she never would have thought him capable of throwing a tantrum with so much on the line. If nothing else, switching with Seraph could allow the winged Parahuman to weaken Leviathan enough and, when combined with the loss of its limb, they might just be able to drive it away.

At this point, this was the best that they could hope for.

However, this begs the question of whether or not the Endbringer is even willing to just leave without accomplishing its objectives. Far too many elements in this fight posed a genuine threat to its continued existence.

Seraph could track it out in the ocean. Tattletale could read it. Imago could impede it. And, if Victoria’s hopes really came to pass, the transforming Trump could potentially revive people.

This would then bring Flechette back on the board.

Victoria had just dodged around a swiped claw, which was quickly followed by the water echo, and tail, when Leviathan unleashed a barrage of water bullets once more. She was able to tank the hit, with two layers of force fields remaining, but many others did not. The successive blows simply came too fast, one after the other.

Announcements of the deceased were swiftly ignored in favor of gaping at the Endbringer’s unexpected change in direction.

Throughout this engagement, Leviathan seemed hellbent on getting to its intended targets. So, why was it heading north as fast as its three remaining limbs could take it?

Rushing to pursue, Victoria quickly flicked through the possible reasons for this unnerving change in behavior. Speaking to her wristband, she fired off questions to anyone who might be able to provide some answers. As has become disconcertingly common, of late, it was Tattletale who provided the answer.

“The aquifer!” came the blonde Thinker’s desperate cry over the broadcast. “Leviathan is going after the aquifer to sink the city and all of us along with it!”

Shit. How could she have forgotten? This was literally in the brief they were given!

Victoria flew faster, intent on slowing Leviathan down, if not outright stopping it. Other capes did the same. Force fields, changed terrain, and a storm of multi-colored beams. Eidolon teleported in front of the Endbringer, his hands shining with fractals of green light, but whatever he was about to do was interrupted by the monster diving into the nearest manhole.

Even if the waves were held at bay, heavy rain still pelted the city, which has since caused the streets to flood and the sewers to overflow. It didn’t matter that Leviathan left a large hole as it burrowed beneath. The cavity was quickly filled with water.

In a pathetic fit of rage, accompanied by a deafening screech, Eidolon bombarded the spot where Leviathan disappeared with a variety of explosive effects. All of which Victoria ignored, turning away in disgust for more important concerns.

“Tattletale,” she called through her wristband while flying toward the general direction of the aquifer, “can you find Leviathan?”

“No,” was the disheartening reply. “But my bet is he’s in the sewers. Can you use your tendrils to dig him out or something?”

“I’ll try,” Victoria replied, diving straight for the ground and instructing Fragile to overturn as much of the concrete as she could. It would seem the others were listening in, as they also started doing the same. “It’s still heading for the aquifer, right?”

“Yes,” the Thinker confirmed. “At least, that’s what my power told me just before it disappeared. Seraph’s presence is still messing with its hydrokinesis, and a significant chunk of its energy was drained, too. Not really sure how that works.”

Victoria ignored the fear coming through Tattletale’s voice at that last part in favor of a more pertinent question. “Can Seraph find Leviathan?”

“I’m not sure,” the girl confessed. “He’s not on this line. Best to keep him from getting distracted, you know?”

That struck a discordant note in Victoria. It sounded truthful, but not entirely. Still, there were more important things to consider.

“Got it. So, Leviathan has to get closer to manipulate the aquifer?”

“Pretty much,” she replied. “It can still – hang on.” The sharp change in tone caused Victoria to stop midair. The next words to come pushed her to fly off with every ounce of speed she could muster. “No. No, no, no! It’s here!”

“Tell me your location!” Victoria screamed into her wristband while she shot through the air in a roughly southwesterly direction.

She didn’t get a verbal answer. Instead, the very earth heaved in the spot close to the hills where some of the city’s more opulent residences were found. In a split second, towering water spouts appeared and started carving wide tracks that dug deep into the ground.

Even as she felt her heart stutter, Victoria blasted forward, sparing no thought to limitations.

Leviathan was there.

From Tattletale’s last communication, she was there, along with Imago.

However, those were the least of her concerns.

The triage area is in those hills.

All the healers and medical personnel were there, which meant…

“Amy!” Victoria frantically tried to contact her sister. “Amy, answer me!”

She only got silence in return.

Chapter 65

Lisa POV

Minutes prior to Leviathan attacking the triage area

“Set her down,” Lisa told the PRT agent carrying Taylor while pointing at an empty cot in the triage tent. “I need to go find Panacea.”

So saying, Lisa set off to the main tent, where her power let her know the healer was located. Her stride was hurried and jittery, mostly owing to the frantic ride over, the Sword of Damocles hanging over her head in the form of an Endbringer, and having to hide Taylor’s condition from Alfred, whom she had just hung up on.

It was all getting a bit too much.

Fortunately, it would appear that the healers haven’t had to do all that much healing. Unfortunately, this is due to the fact that Leviathan hasn’t been leaving too many living casualties. What few breathing capes the search-and-rescue teams had managed to retrieve were easily patched up by Panacea and were sent out to fight, once more.

Before she even reached the tent, her power already let her know that it was occupied by several medical personnel, all of whom were watching the battle via large screens. Yet another benefit of the extended period for preparations.

Walking through the flaps, Lisa made a beeline for the curly-haired brunette, who looked like she was barely holding herself together. Not surprising, considering the fate of New Wave sans her and Glory Girl. If Alfred’s power works as she believes, however, this might not be as big an issue as it could have otherwise been.

Lisa is holding on to that sentiment with a vice grip because she could not afford to believe anything else.

He just has to be capable of reviving all of the Parahumans who died today. He just has to.

“Panacea,” she said, prompting the healer and those around her to jump in surprise. “I have a patient you need to examine. Please, come with me.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” the prickly girl managed to blurt out.

Lisa valiantly fought her initial impulse to bite back. Now was simply not the time. “I have a patient I need you to examine,” she repeated in an even tone. “You have no other patients, I checked. We need to move, now.”

This drew a fierce frown from the girl. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

For a moment, the blonde was confused at Panacea’s attitude, but a quick application of her power cleared up the matter. And Lisa’s eyes flashed at the sheer pettiness driving her hostility. It turns out, the reason has to do, as many things in her life seem to, these days, with one person: Alfred.

As a social Thinker, there were a lot of things that Lisa could have said to get what she wanted. However, those would take too long and would unnecessarily complicate their already fraught circumstances. So, she simply went for the most straightforward solution.

“If you don’t come with me to see the patient right now, I will consider this a violation of the Endbringer Truce.” It was as if Lisa had just shot someone in front of them. Not just Panacea, but all of the present personnel turned pale. “What’s it gonna be?”

“Fine,” she finally spat through gritted teeth.

Lisa raised her chin in satisfaction. “Good. Follow me.” She led the healer back to Taylor, and upon arriving, she pointed at the unresponsive Master. “She’s catatonic. Wake her up.”

Not giving Amy Dallon the opportunity to respond, the blonde then turned to one of the bags they brought from the command center. Unzipping one of the pockets, she took out a portable screen that provided a feed of multiple cameras covering the fight with Leviathan.

It was fortunate that she did so, as the moment she swiped to the right window, she saw the Endbringer burrow through the street. From there, events turned dire.

Hearing Glory Girl’s voice through her wristband, Panacea looked up from examining Taylor and tried to speak, but Lisa silenced her with a threatening finger and murder in her eyes. Not even a minute later, her power blared out warnings that Leviathan was directly underneath them.

She only had enough time to scream this fact into the broadcast before everything turned black.

Well, I guess I’m not dead, after all.

This was the first conscious thought that popped into Lisa Wilbourn’s head after being confronted with the prospect of death. To be fair, she had literally been standing above Leviathan. She can be forgiven for thinking that she had died, given the circumstances.

But, no. She can still feel her physical body. She was still in costume. She still has her power, though it felt incredibly muted. That meant she was still alive. This still leaves the questions of how this was possible and where she was.

“Hello, Tattletale,” a voice said from behind her.

Lisa attempted to quickly turn around, but the motion felt strange. It was as if she was floating and not, where her feet were in contact with a solid surface that was also made of air? The incongruity of the sensation nearly caused her to stumble, but she managed to right herself just in time.

Upon laying eyes on the speaker, however, Lisa’s stomach did a backflip.

“You? But, how…?” Staring at her with amusement was the Trump who embodied a certain Chinese curse. “What the fuck, Alfred?! I thought you were holding back the waves! Wait, how are you here? And where’s Leviathan? Where’s –”

She was about to ask about Taylor when the boy raised a hand that caused Lisa to shut her mouth. Something about that gesture seemed entirely too wrong in a way that was entirely too alien.

“My apologies,” he said, but the movements of his lips were giving off uncanny valley vibes. “There appears to be a misunderstanding. I am not Alfred. Though,” not-Alfred tilted his head, “it would appear that you already know this. Or is it your power that knows this?”

“What?” Lisa couldn’t help but whisper dumbly. Of everything that’s happened this day, she could never have anticipated this twist.

The thing wearing Alfred’s face simply shook its head. “Never mind. It’s not worth bothering yourself over. For now –”

Compounding on the strangeness of this entire experience, it was the imposter’s turn to be interrupted.

“Lisa?”

Hearing the voice made Lisa turn again and found Taylor standing some distance away. She was still wearing her costume, as well, which was good. What wasn’t good was how hazy she looked.

It was as if she were a mirage.

“Taylor?” she couldn’t help but squeak. “Why do you look –”

“Hey! Don’t either of you care about secret identities?” a snarky question was shot from the side.

“Panacea?!”

“How the hell are you here, Dallon?”

“How the fuck should I know?!”

“Lis – I mean, Tattletale, what’s going on?”

“A little late for that, isn’t it?”

“Can you two focus? We’re in a bit of a situation here!”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“Just explain what’s happening, please!”

The building argument between the trio of teenage Parahumans was interrupted by a cold, hollow laugh that sent shivers down Lisa’s spine. From the way the other two froze, they were affected the same way.

“I must say, this is turning out to be more entertaining than I could have ever believed!” not-Alfred crowed gleefully, clapping his hands in the process. “Honestly, one would think that, as the architect of this whole storyline, I would have visited this setting already, but I never did. If I knew the characters could be this funny, I certainly would have!”

There was a lot packed into those words that threatened to break Lisa’s brain. She didn’t know which to unpack first, but, as it turned out, she would be given no opportunity to do so, at that moment.

“And, you!” he whispered, half in awe and half covetous, looking over their heads. “Oh, you three are simply magnificent!”

…

…

…

His delivery was sufficiently sinister and oily that it robbed Lisa of the capacity to speak. From her silence, Taylor was the same. A blessing, perhaps, or she might have just blurted out Alfred’s name just like she did Lisa’s.

Amy Dallon, however, seemed to have proven immune to whatever made his presence and speech so disturbing.

“Who the hell is this creep?” 

Chapter 66

Amy POV

This day just keeps getting worse and worse. Not at all surprising, considering that there’s an Endbringer involved, but there was only so much that a person can take. She wanted to curl up in her own bed and forget the world, but she couldn’t disregard her responsibilities to those still fighting.

And now, there’s this. Finding herself in a freaky-ass void with a villainous Thinker, and quite possibly a top contender for the strongest Master in the world.

Some part of Amy Dallon wondered why she wasn’t freaking out more. Even by the fucked up standards of Parahuman bullshit, this was something else. Never mind the location or the circumstances that brought her here. It was the company that was really grating on her.

Maybe she was just so emotionally spent after watching the deaths of her family on screen. Maybe she was finally cracking after weeks of ups and downs. Maybe she was just reacting to external stimuli on sheer reflex. She wasn’t sure anymore. 

All she knew was that, all at once, her chest felt hollow in a way she couldn’t explain.

So, in lieu of losing her shit on things that were beyond her ability to change, she focused on the one aspect of this current shitshow that she might actually get anything out of. Considering how the other two froze, it might as well be her.

“Who the hell is this creep?” she had asked, because that’s exactly what he was.

At first glance, the tall, brown-haired boy looked normal. But she had spent years familiarizing herself with both human and inhuman bodies. She had gained enough experience to see the incongruities. 

Whoever this was. Whatever this was. They were about as human as an Endbringer.

The grin that formed on that unnerving face only strengthened her suspicions. “Ah, Panacea. You’re as crabby as I was led to believe. It’s nice to meet you.”

She’d noticed it before, but the way he spoke was just wrong to her primal instincts. It was the kind of wrongness that seeped into her bones.

“Don’t talk like you know me!” she barked in response while trying to shake the oppressive weight of his words. “Who the hell are you, and why did you bring us here?”

Amy wasn’t actually sure about that last part, but who else could it be? Certainly not the blonde bitch. Imago revealed dimensional manipulation, but that didn’t seem right, either. That left the only other factor occupying the unsettling place.

“Why are you wearing that face?!” It seems the Master had finally snapped from her insensate state.

And it would appear that she knew whoever this thing was pretending to be. That would make him (it?) a Changer of some kind, though she wouldn’t rule out Trump or Shaker who could induce hallucinations.

“Please,” it raised its hands in a placating gesture, “one at a time. You will get your answers, but not if you speak over each other.”

Tattletale then brought up an admittedly good point in response. “I’m not sure this is the best time for a meet-and-greet.” Amy could tell that she was trying to project confidence in her voice, but her body language betrayed her nerves. “We have a bit of an Endbringer problem, you see. So, if you could let us go, that’d be great!”

At the back of her mind, the healer noted how cagey the Thinker was acting, and from the way the bug controller jerked her head toward the blonde, Amy wasn’t the only one to notice. Considering her power, it’s quite possible that Tattletale knows something that Amy and Imago don’t. Something that made her want to leave.

This, more than anything, finally lit a spark of fear in Amy.

The boy-thing smirked. “Relax, Tattletale. Time works a little differently in this realm. So, we can speak for as long as we like.”

“Are you seriously keeping us here in the middle of an Endbringer battle?” Amy demanded. “Do you have any idea how far you’re violating the truce with this stunt?”

Instead of fear or defiance, the response she got was a laugh. A hollow, cold, and cruel laugh that pierced through her stomach like a spear made of ice.

“My apologies,” it said. “I simply haven’t been threatened like that in a long while. My loss of composure is entirely reflexive. Truly, I meant no offense.”

The apology would have come off more sincere if those eyes didn’t look so dead. Amy has treated veterans before, both cape and unpowered, and she saw how extreme violence left its mark on the eyes of both the victims and the perpetrators. This went beyond that.

“How about just letting us go in exchange?” Tattletale tried again. “Then we can let bygones be bygones?”

Amy noted how clumsy that delivery was. The Thinker was becoming more agitated the longer this conversation went on. Far from crossing her arms to present a tough exterior, it looked like she was now just trying to hold herself together.

Imago wasn’t doing much better, but her posture projected defiance and anger more than anything.

“It’s not that simple, I’m afraid.” A sigh escaped from its lips. “There are unforeseen complications with this endeavor.”

“What kind of complications?” Imago spat.

“For starters, I only meant to retrieve Tattletale.” That caused Amy’s gut to constrict. “Your presence is entirely unintended.”

“What?” Tattletale whispered in horror.

“Then how are we here?” Amy challenged, pushing past the suffocation crawling up her throat.

She was treated to a too-wide smile with too many teeth. “It would appear that we have hitchhikers. You and Imago are simply along for the ride,” he finished, nodding upward.

It took everything in Amy to pull her gaze away from the creepy figure, but she needed answers. Far too many things about these circumstances weren’t making sense, and if it wanted her dead, it’s not like she could do much to defend herself.

When she finally laid eyes on what it was talking about, Amy immediately doubled over and promptly emptied her stomach. A second set of splattering noises indicated that either Tattletale or Imago reacted the same way. Amy had just enough awareness to note that a third was absent.

“What the fuck?” came Imago’s quiet expression of bewildered dread. 

“Marvelous, aren’t they?” Amy heard the boy-thing proclaim. “I’m not sure how much of them you can see, but to my eyes, the sight is simply breathtaking.”

Dimly, she would concede that it was right, in a way. The sight was literally robbing her of breath. Up in the formless expanse, where the sky would have been, were scars in the void that defied her comprehension. Her brief glimpse yielded indescribable horrors that undulated, folded, expelled, and contracted that threatened to make her eyes bleed.

The worst part – or perhaps the opposite, she couldn’t really decide, not right then – is how only the outlines were even close to visible to her eyes. And that was enough to make her lose what remained of her breakfast.

“Are those –” the Master was unable to finish her question.

“Imago, stop!” Tattletale screamed, having apparently recovered enough from vomiting. 

Not willing to be outdone, Amy pushed herself to straighten up to watch the scene unfold, wiping her mouth with her costume’s sleeve. She also did her absolute best not to look up. Until she can actually deal with that problem, she’s determined to pretend that it doesn’t exist.

A few feet away, she saw the Thinker fully dropping her act, facing their captor with clenched fists. “Just tell us what you want so we can leave.”

Naturally, it wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. “Oh, very well,” it feigned disappointment. “I was simply curious about something, you see. And I was hoping that you could shed some light on a rather troubling topic.”

“What?” the blonde forced out.

“Alfred.” That one word visibly raised both Tattletale and Imago’s hackles. From the smile slowly forming on the thing’s face, he found their reactions amusing. “His actions have become rather unpredictable of late. Might you explain why that is? I was quite sure that I got his measure.”

Who the fuck was Alfred? And why did his name make two powerful capes look like they might shit themselves?

“You’re his patron, aren’t you?” Imago accused in a quiet voice.

The smile disappeared, replaced by a face that could have been carved from stone. “Dear, oh dear, he really has gone off script, hasn’t he? You shouldn’t even know anything about that.”

Whatever Amy initially expected at the start of this messed-up interaction, it wasn’t to witness twists worthy of a damn telenovela.

Chapter 67

Taylor POV

Taylor hated being confused and not knowing things, at the best of times, particularly if it had to do with her. Now, she finds herself missing such a simple state of being. It was much more preferable to being under the scrutinizing, and unbearably alien stare of a pretender wearing a familiar face. 

“You shouldn’t even know anything about that.”

The moment those words were uttered, Taylor nearly buckled at the weight of their implications. Even forgetting the fact that this thing masquerading as a person had practically just outed Alfred in the presence of Panacea, the confirmation of his relationship with the Trump is staggering.

As if they didn’t have enough to deal with already.

Her last memory before waking up in this place was hearing the deaths of so many capes, including Wards. The next thing she knew, she was in an empty space that brought up extremely uncomfortable memories of being stuck inside Tiamat. Yet, there were several differences.

For one thing, it wasn’t the chaotic clash of matter, time, and void. This one felt more like a cutout of the space between stars that was then made three-dimensional. Lifeless and without substance. For another, the constant, skin-deep hum of her power felt subdued. Much like how it was a few days ago.

She didn’t know what to make of that, but it couldn’t be anything good. Not to mention the violations of reality currently floating over their heads.

Taylor had a rising suspicion as to what those were, particularly as there were three of them. Unfortunately, they currently had more immediate concerns.

“This is quite vexing,” the pretender mused, almost to himself. “I never expected this development. Not at all.”

“Is this the part where you threaten us to keep quiet about you?” Lisa spat, limbs trembling after the strain she just experienced.

She got a perplexed look in response. One that was uncomfortably reminiscent of the real Alfred’s. “Why on Earth would I do such a thing? I have more elegant solutions to smooth out this particular wrinkle, I assure you.”

“Then, will you actually tell us who you are?” Panacea strode closer to level with Lisa, her every step reflecting her combative mood. “Better yet, how about you tell us what you are? You’re not human, that’s for damn sure.”

Her forceful words actually made him blink. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” he commented, sounding amused. “Well, it’s not like it’ll matter either way. For now, you may refer to me as Patron. That should be acceptable, yes? What with the whole cape culture you have going on?”

Something about how that last part was worded immediately rang alarm bells in Taylor’s head. As if he’s not part of it. Or is it a difference in perspective? Did he not consider himself a cape? Considering their current location, there’s definitely some kind of power effect at work.

“As for your second question,” he continued, “you’re only partially right. I’m very much still human. Just… more, so to speak.”

“You’re not a Parahuman at all, are you?” Lisa deduced, breath hitching as she spoke, causing Taylor’s eyes to widen in shock.

The pretender clicked his tongue in irritation, the first genuine emotion that she could identify since the conversation started. “You truly live up to your reputation, Tattletale. I would appreciate it if we could get back to the original purpose of this meeting before you gain insights better left hidden behind the curtain.”

From what little Taylor could see of the blonde’s face, she saw her lips twist into a sneer. “Well, you’re shit out of luck. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Something flashed behind the borrowed brown eyes. “You mistake me for your former master, dear Tattletale.” Lisa actually shivered at how slimy he sounded. “I am as to Coil as you are to an ant. Now, the truth, if you please.”

Lisa merely shook her head. “I don’t know what you want me to say. He’s a blank spot, so my power can’t read him. If you’re his patron, shouldn’t you already know that?”

“And as you just astutely demonstrated, such limitations aren’t much of a hindrance to observant eyes. Or are you saying you can read me, when you couldn’t read him?” His delivery carried more than a passing challenge. Taylor could feel it. They were inching closer to dangerous waters. “You take every opportunity to showcase your intelligence. Why are we bothering with this game, Tattletale?”

By the way she was clenching and unclenching her fists, Lisa’s agitation was clear to see. “Can you at least be more specific?”

Inclining his head, the pretender regarded the Thinker for a few seconds before responding. “Very well. We can start with you. Why did he involve you in Taylor’s rescue?” Taylor was struck dumb by the question and how callously it was delivered. “Neither Coil’s power nor his resources would have provided much of an obstacle to Alfred. But he chose to go with your plan. Why?”

Lisa looked utterly perplexed. So much so that she seemed to be struggling to form words. She was granted a reprieve from answering immediately. Unfortunately, it came in the form of a gasp from Panacea.

“Holy shit!” The healer exclaimed, and Taylor experienced firsthand how it felt for her stomach to drop. “Alfred is Seraph. You’re Seraph! Or, well, you’re wearing Seraph’s face. You just outed a fucking cape!” she finished by pointing a finger in his direction.

His response was a look of absolute unconcern. “What of it?”

The outrage on Panacea’s face was something to behold. “‘What of’ – you violated the Unwritten Rules! Do you have any idea the kind of flaming bag of shit you just stepped on?!”

“He doesn’t care,” Lisa cut in, looking at Patron. “Do you?”

Taylor had the overwhelming urge to smack the smirk from Patron’s face. “Not in the slightest.”

Panacea looked like she was about to go on a tirade, but Lisa beat her to the punch.

“You don’t care about the Unwritten Rules,” she continued. “You don’t care about the Endbringer Truce. You have power, but aren’t a Parahuman. I bet you never even triggered.” As the Thinker laid out those details, something began to crawl underneath Taylor’s skin. “You say you’re Alfred’s patron, but you’re acting more like his parole officer… or, would it be more accurate to say, his puppeteer?”

That’s when it clicked in Taylor’s mind. Far too many things about Alfred made no sense until you factor in the one thing that could explain all of his inexplicable behaviors. After factoring in the strange nature of his powers, his inconsistent knowledge that touched on matters he shouldn’t know anything about, and the way he slipped up sometimes, the picture becomes a lot clearer.

He was being controlled and, if Lisa was right, this might have been the case from the start.

Patron then had the audacity to actually chuckle. “I really can’t let my guard down around you, can I? To try to turn the tables around on me, when you’re at my mercy. Classic Tattletale. Even here, now, you simply can’t help yourself.”

Lisa’s face twisted in revulsion. “You keep saying things like that. I’m guessing he got his information about us from you?”

A gleeful look came over his face. “Well, I could say yes, and watch the fireworks. Unfortunately for us, it wouldn’t really make a difference. So, how about this?” Patron adopted a more thoughtful pose, crossing one arm over his chest and cupping his chin with the hand of the other. “You answer my questions first, and, in return, I’ll answer one question you may have. Just one, though. It wouldn’t do to be too greedy.”

Taylor’s heart thudded in her chest. While she and Lisa had already decided to confront Alfred after dealing with Leviathan, this was a chance to get the truth straight from the source. A part of her was screaming that this was a violation of Alfred’s privacy. However, a much bigger and louder part was insisting that this was now beyond that.

Patron is clearly powerful, regardless of whether he’s a Parahuman or not. If Alfred got his power from him, then they are dealing with more than just a run-of-the-mill villain. Patron might even be more dangerous than Cauldron.

Lisa pursed her lips. Taylor could almost see the thoughts running through the blonde’s head. They’re probably the same ones running through her.

This was an incredibly unbalanced proposal, but it’s not like they had much of a choice. Taylor has been trying to call on her power from the start with no luck. She’s willing to bet that it was the same with Lisa and Panacea. 

“Before I agree,” the Thinker started, “can you clear something up for me?”

Patron quirked a brow. “Go on.”

“Why don’t you just force me to answer?” Lisa asked. “We’re clearly at your mercy. Can’t you just make me talk?”

The predatory grin she got in response made Taylor want to jump out of her skin. “Now, where would be the fun in that?”

Yet, even amidst the fear and uncertainty, she could almost hear a voice in the back of her mind. It was an indistinct buzzing that was getting stronger by the second. One that helped counteract the weight pressing on her chest.

More than that, Taylor got the indescribable impression that, despite the air of omnipotence and omniscience around Patron, he was anything but.

Chapter 68

Lisa POV

Lisa’s everything was screaming for her to just lie down. Her head was pounding. Her limbs were shaking. Her stomach was cramping. And just standing in front of Patron was somehow putting pressure on her shoulders that she couldn’t quite identify. 

But she absolutely refused to give in, which is extremely counter to how she typically operates.

Lisa was a squishy Thinker, and so avoided direct confrontations if she could help it. This didn’t change, even after meeting Alfred. Trapped as she and two others were with what she was beginning to suspect was a psychopath, however, she found the strength to resist out of sheer spite.

Her dig at him not being Parahuman was a shot in the dark, one that came to her after Panacea accused him of not being human. That she was right was incidental, but it did give way to a lot of other potential routes that her mind was supplying without any input. It was so clear and so strong that for a moment, she expected her power to have returned.

This wasn’t the case at all. She was simply thinking more clearly without another set of neurons imposing their weight on her own, which finally freed her mind to actually start expanding. At least, that’s what Lisa’s been able to figure out.

Besides, the little sky spectacle going on right above them was a pretty useful mind cleanser. The sight certainly forced some perspective through all the bullshit that was drowning her brain, causing her to scramble for any kind of path for escape.

And now, they were here: Patron making a lopsided offer, and Lisa having no choice but to take it. Or so it would seem.

It wasn’t due to any kind of loyalty to Alfred that she was playing coy. It was due to Patron himself who seemed to allow it. Someone like this should’ve been able to rip the truth right out of her, whether through verbal confessions after extended torture or something else.

As Alfred’s backer, this meant power, influence, or resources that allowed him to gain any kind of control over such a potent Trump. Yet, Patron hasn’t used any of them. So far, all he’s really done is bring her here and ask her questions in a creepy way.

Taylor and Panacea only appeared because of other factors. Those factors being the formless masses of madness in the empty sky. Absolutely none of which were the result of Patron himself.

This then begs the question, how much control does this thing wearing Alfred’s face even have of this situation? How much power is he actually capable of bringing to bear?

More importantly, how would she, Taylor, and Panacea go about getting out of this?

“Fine,” Lisa forced through gritted teeth. “You wanna know why he went with my plan? Because I knew Coil’s base and could help him find Taylor faster than if he went at it alone. That’s it.”

She didn’t expect the fury that suddenly morphed his face. “Don’t take me for a fool! I’m not asking about what you offered. I’m asking why he even considered it! Alfred should have gone on a rampage to recover the girl and damn the consequences. So, why didn’t he?!”

Lisa was taken aback by Patron’s anger. It’s like he wanted Alfred to choose the stupidest, most destructive way to go about the rescue.

“I don’t know!” she shot back. “He was definitely considering it, as far as I could tell, but he didn’t. And why would he even do that?! Going in, guns blazing would’ve brought the heroes down on his head, and he was already in trouble with them!”

“That shouldn’t have mattered,” he hissed, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Taylor is his biggest priority. His only priority. Nothing else should have even registered as relevant!”

And there it was. The final piece of the puzzle. Alfred’s obsession with Taylor was manufactured from the start. He didn’t state it outright, but the way he was acting, the sheer spleen that came with his rant, it couldn’t be more obvious.

Correctly predicting the Master’s response, Lisa turned to Taylor and held up her hand. They couldn’t waste time now. Striking a balance between extracting information and closing off that avenue was a delicate affair, even with her power. Without it, it’s even more sensitive.

Turning back to Patron, Lisa chose honesty. “Then you clearly don’t know him as well as you thought.”

Patron bared his teeth in response. “I know him exactly as he knows himself! Don’t speak as if you’ve gained his measure. There are depths to that boy that would swallow you whole!”

“Then why does it matter that he went about the rescue the way he did?” Lisa challenged. “Taylor was still rescued. If you were paying attention, you’d know that everything worked out.”

That’s when Lisa saw it. A split-second hesitation. It was a minute detail, but infinitely more important than anything she’s seen of Patron, thus far.

“You don’t see everything, do you?” Lisa guessed. “Or, if you can, the feed’s not perfect. Whatever method you’re using isn’t giving you all of the information you need. That’s why you wanted to bring me here, even if it’s in the middle of an Endbringer battle.”

Patron went quiet for a moment, and when next he spoke, it was to clumsily change the subject. “What about Noelle?”

It took Lisa a moment to remember who he was talking about. Echidna. “What about her?”

Patron’s mouth twisted. “Why did he save her? Neither she nor the Travelers had anything to do with Taylor other than help arrange her capture. So, why did he help them? If anything, he should have obliterated them.”

Lisa was beginning to see exactly what Patron’s problem was. His reference to a script meant he expected certain actions that led to certain results. Taylor being the highest priority meant events were supposed to hinge on her. Yet, he seemed to have missed too many things for Alfred’s actions to make sense to him.

Why was this?

“Because it was the right thing to do,” Taylor answered in her place.

Pure disbelief radiated from Patron. “‘The right thing to do,’” he echoed. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Instead of Taylor or Lisa, however, it was Panacea who spoke next. “Just a fucking minute! Now, clearly, I’m the odd woman out of this whole equation – considering the whole fucked up dynamic that you’ve got going on – but it sounds to me like you wanted Seraph to be Imago’s lapdog.”

Well, she certainly hit the nail on the head. From Taylor’s stiff posture, she’s already realized this, too. Patron’s silence was all the confirmation they needed.

“So, it’s your fault,” the healer spat. “Everything that Seraph’s done since he popped up out of nowhere, it’s because you’ve been messing with his head!”

“His head was already a mess long before I entered the picture, I assure you,” Patron drawled.

“Then you made it worse!” Taylor jumped in. “You Mastered him and twisted his mind!”

Patron scoffed. “Hardly. I have no ability to Master anyone, as you might understand it.”

“But you did twist his mind,” Lisa immediately capitalized on the opening. “What, did you find someone suffering from some kind of mental illness and decided to use him as a test subject?”

“He is not a victim!” Patron roared, finally giving up all veneer of pleasantries. “He’s a fucking sinner and deserves to pay for his crimes!”

And just like that, the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.

“You sick bastard!” Lisa spat with unbridled loathing.

Chapter 69

Taylor POV

“You sick bastard!”

Taylor had never heard Lisa sound so horrified and furious in equal measure. The way she spat the invective as if it came from the very depths of her soul spoke volumes, and Taylor understood where she was coming from. She may be no Thinker, but she’s not stupid, either. Patron’s reaction was telling in how appalling his views on Alfred really were.

“This, all of this.” Lisa gesticulated. “It’s just an elaborate form of torture, isn’t it? You’re a brat with too much power, throwing a tantrum. You’re a psycho, frying ants with a magnifying glass or pulling the legs off of a spider! You toss Alfred into the fire and watch him wriggle in pain. Is that your plan?!”

Patron watched Lisa rip into him with a dispassionate stare, all traces of his previous vitriol gone. More than just the vague shadow of his true power, his propensity to switch moods on a dime was what truly set Taylor on edge. However, it was Lisa’s next allegations that really made her want to throw up.

“Or maybe this is more personal for you,” she hissed. “Nobody goes to all this trouble for something as simple as theft or murder. You would have just killed him if all you wanted was justice or vengeance. Am I getting close?” She finished by taunting Patron.

For his part, Patron’s features closed off, going completely blank. It was eerily familiar to what happened with the real Alfred right near the end of their meeting with the PRT. In fact… it looked too familiar.

“An elaborate setup like this?” the blonde continued. “You save it for someone really special. Someone like a rival, perhaps? Did he steal your girlfriend or something?” Patron’s features were unmoved. “No? Maybe it goes deeper? A betrayal would work. Oh, don’t tell me he’s your twin brother! That would be sooooo trite!”

Still, Patron didn’t react, but what Lisa said made the buzzing in Taylor’s mind change. It became more insistent, as if there was a message that she wasn’t getting. More importantly, the lack of a reaction clued Taylor in to the possibility that Patron was a lot more limited than he let on.

“Should we go a little more sci-fi?” The Thinker was mocking him now, which strengthened Taylor’s suspicions. Who would allow themselves to be verbally abused like this without lifting a finger? “Maybe Alfred’s another version of you in an alternate reality living his best life, and you got jealous? Maybe not Earth Aleph, but others are bound to exist.”

Alternate versions. Could that be it? No, something about that felt off to Taylor. With that said, she did see Patron’s jaw twitch. And if she saw it, Lisa definitely did too.

The blonde kept on going, and this time, she had a cruel smile on her face. “Or is this some kind of screwed-up cloning situation? A creator trying to destroy his creation, or maybe it’s the other way around. I could definitely see you resenting him for being the original, while watching from the outside as the inferior copy.”

“Are you done?” Patron tried to affect an indifferent drawl, but he didn’t completely succeed. “Have you forgotten that you still have an Endbringer to fight? I’d have thought you would be in a rush to leave.”

“But time moves differently in this space,” Lisa pointed out with glee. “You said so yourself. So, I can take all the time in the world.” Time. Something about that word was causing the buzzing to go crazy. Why? “Besides, we aren’t done yet. You know, it’s fascinating how well you wear Alfred’s face, if it wasn’t for –”

“That’s it,” Taylor blurted out, catching everyone’s attention. 

But she didn’t have the mental capacity to notice Lisa or Panacea, not with the devastating impact of her realization. The absolute, overwhelming impossibility of it. Yet, she knew that it couldn’t be anything else. 

Fully committing herself to finding out, she met Patron’s eyes in full and took in everything about him, discarding all that was alien and focusing only on the familiar. She saw his brown eyes widen in comprehension at the exact moment that Taylor finally confirmed the sickening fruits of her speculation.

“Alfred,” the quiet word escaped her numbed lips. “You’re Alfred, aren’t you?”

Patron, no, Alfred’s face shifted through a series of disturbing expressions: fear, wrath, and disgust, before finally settling into resignation. As he did so, Taylor saw from the corner of her vision, Lisa covering her mouth, eyes wide with shock.

“I don’t know how,” Taylor continued, “but I know you’re Alfred.”

“What the fuck?” Panacea whispered in disbelief to the side.

Taylor could understand the sentiment. It was an insane claim. Completely crazy. But, she was also utterly certain that it was the truth.

Alfred breathed out a deep sigh. “I should have known,” he muttered. “I should have expected it. This setting always makes things worse for everyone, and it would appear that even I’m not immune to this multiversal curse.”

“How?” Lisa demanded in a shaky voice. 

The response was a smug smile. “Nothing I could tell you would satisfy your need for answers, Tattletale. After all, as with all things, the truth is relative.”

Relative. Why would he put an emphasis on that word? And why is the buzzing getting so loud?

“In any case,” Alfred went on. “I suppose I won’t get what I came here for. So, as fascinating as this conversation has been, if, admittedly, a colossal waste of time, I’m afraid it’s come to an end.”

Taylor’s heart thudded at his pronouncement. He wouldn’t actually… 

“Oh, do calm down!” He rolled his eyes in exasperation. “As I already said, I have more elegant solutions than killing you. Besides, you still have a part to play in this little game. No, removing your memories would serve me better.”

No. No, he can’t do that! They’d already learned so much about all the mysteries surrounding Alfred. There were still so many questions. And now, they’ll just be erased?

Taylor could almost feel her heartbeat in her ears as panic climbed up her throat. Lisa and Panacea began shouting, but she couldn’t hear them anymore. She couldn’t hear Alfred’s response, either. 

The buzzing rose and rose until it finally reached its crescendo. And for a moment, Taylor could hear again.

“... just say, farewell, you three,” Alfred said, one hand up, with thumb and middle finger in position. “May we never cross paths again.”

He never got to snap his fingers. Just as he finished speaking, a deafening noise like the cracking of a frozen lake resounded in the empty space. Visible lines started forming all around. As they did, Taylor felt the return of her power. The rush gave her a heady feeling.

“Impossible,” Alfred croaked, eyes nearly popping out of his head, and voice audible even amidst the crashing cacophony.

All at once, the void began to unfold and undulate, like a line of film being rolled back. The empty blackness disappeared, Alfred disappeared, only to be replaced by the stormy skies of Brockton Bay. 

That was the good news. The bad news is the freefall without the parachute.

Taylor heard both Lisa and Panacea screaming their lungs out, and she was tempted to do the same. But her own cry of fear got stuck in her throat as she saw the leaping form of Leviathan coming their way. Its clawed arm was reared back and, as if in slow motion, she saw its water echo just a split second behind.

Left with no other option and with so little time to act, Taylor made the snap decision to pull the ace she’s been keeping up her sleeve. A doorway of darkness opened just before the Endbringer reached them and caught its arm. Just as they were about to make contact with the deadly rift, with Lisa and Panacea screaming even louder at the approach, she closed it.

The execution was perfectly timed, as Leviathan went past them, going up, while the three teen Parahumans were falling straight to the ground.

Potentially life-saving options flew through Taylor’s mind, but before she could settle on a flying minion, she was snatched out of the air by a transparent tendril. The grip wasn’t gentle at all, and she felt as if her ribs would crack, but it was infinitely preferable to going splat.

“Amy!” she heard their savior cry out.

“Vicky?” Panacea squeaked.

“Who else?” Glory Girl laughed in relief.

“Look out!” Lisa shrieked.

Taylor turned her head and was treated to the horrifying sight of Leviathan falling straight toward them. She had just enough time to notice that it had lost its right leg, left arm, and a huge chunk of its torso before something rammed it.

Something big.

“Tell me you’re seeing this too,” Glory Girl rasped while they hovered in place.

“I see it,” Panacea confirmed.

“Me, too,” Lisa echoed.

“Definitely,” Taylor agreed.

Leviathan was tumbling through the air, clawing ineffectually against a gigantic creature with massive grey scales, seven wings, and a long, serpentine neck attached to a head and face made of nightmares.

Brockton Bay proper was now playing host to an actual, honest-to-God Kaiju battle.

Chapter 70

Amy POV

She was enthralled. All thoughts of being trapped in another dimension, learning of Seraph’s true name, conspiracies about identities of powerful figures, and getting caught in the crossfire of what might just be shenanigans that involved both time and space were forgotten.

Even the presence of the object of her affection barely registered.

For all of Amy Dallon’s attention was entirely taken up by the breathtaking creature currently treating Leviathan like a ragdoll. It was simply magnificent. The experience reminded her of the first time she saw images of the Endbringers after gaining her power, but multiplied by a thousand.

Endorphins flooded her brain as images and ideas sprang from out of nowhere. A burning curiosity rose up in her gut, giving her a feverish need to know, to see, to feel. 

She couldn’t look away for fear of missing something. Even when a series of massive explosions went off in the distance, the cries of alarm from the small group she was stuck with barely registered in her mind.

Leviathan’s single, remaining arm swiped and scratched and struck at the silver-grey scales of the titanic beast to no avail. It dwarfed the monster feared by all for decades in both size and presence, and it would appear, also in power.

Then, with a splendorous flap of all seven wings, the creature shot to the sky, Leviathan still in its grip. Fear stabbed Amy in the heart, and she cried desperately to her sister.

“Vicky! You need to follow them!”

“Are you crazy?!” she shrieked.

“Please, Vicky!” she pleaded with all her heart, her eyes never straying from the quickly shrinking vision. “You have to follow them, you have to! I’m begging you, please!”

“No!” the Brute refused firmly. “I’m taking you somewhere safe. You’re acting weird!”

That’s when Amy began thrashing in her sister’s grip, trying to break away with all her might. She won’t miss this chance. Not now. Not when it’s right there! Her all-encompassing wish to keep the creature within sight was the only desire that consumed her mind.

If she had to swim through the air to get there, she would.

“Amy, stop that!” Vicky chided in a panic. “You’ll hurt yourself!”

But Amy didn’t listen. If anything, she only wriggled all the harder.

“Just give her what she wants!” Tattletale barked from Vicky’s other side. “She’s about to fracture her tibia and femur, and her hormones are running wild. If you don’t, her body’s going to crash!”

“Fuck!” Vicky cursed and flew upward. “If we die, I’m going to kill you!”

Amy didn’t respond. Her wish had been fulfilled. She could see more details of the scaled creature again. Its wondrous form fills every corner of her visual senses.

“What the hell is wrong with her?” she heard Vicky ask as they rose higher and higher.

“Later!” Tattletale replied in a raised voice as the winds began to drown out other sounds. “Just keep them in sight. Imago! What’s the state of your minions?”

“Still helping with collecting bodies!” the Master shouted. “Search-and-rescue has been working with them!”

“Can you generate flyers and have them follow us? We might need distractions or alternate modes of flight if things get hairy!” 

“Already on it!”

“Do you know what that thing is?” Vicky asked, and Amy perked up.

“One of Seraph’s dragons,” Tattletale answered, and the healer could almost feel her eyes dilate at the revelation. “Speaking of which, Imago! Was that explosion because of him?”

“Yes!” the other girl replied. “Some of my minions caught sight of the blast erasing the waves, but it got too bright, and now I can’t find him!”

“He erased Leviathan’s waves?!” Vicky yelped in shock. 

“Apparently,” came Tattletale’s dry response. “Oh, look, the cavalry’s here.”

In the corner of her vision, Amy dimly noted the presence of several flight-capable Parahumans catching up with them. However, she paid them no mind. They were now just below the storm clouds, and she was having trouble actually seeing the dragon clearly.

Legend caught up to them first. “I’m so glad you girls are okay!” he called over. “We couldn’t reach you via the comms, and we assumed the worst.”

“Hey, there, Legend!” Tattletale sounded suspiciously cheerful with her greeting. “Yeah, our wristbands are busted. Long story. Glory Girl cracked hers when she saved us from Leviathan.”

“What?” her sister squeaked, and Amy felt her move her arms. “Shit, I didn’t even notice!”

“Understood,” Legend grunted. “We’ll talk about that later. For now, do any of you know what that thing is and Seraph’s location? Dragon’s still not answering, I’m afraid.”

“That’s a dragon,” Vicky proclaimed. “And we apparently don’t know where he is.”

“With the waves gone,” Tattletale added, “he’s definitely heading here. By the way, where’s your grumpy Trump?”

“Gone to stop more waves that might be coming in,” Alexandria answered as she finally caught up. She said nothing else on the matter, which might either be good or bad.

By this point, they were passing through the accumulated water vapor, where charged particles were creating lightning everywhere. All of which Amy ignored. For a few seconds, talking was impossible, and the only concern was breaking through the storm clouds.

Then, without warning, they finally got through.

Sunlight bathed the emerging flyers, but none of that was worth paying attention to for the healer. No, she was frantically looking around for her new target of obsession. She found it just as quickly as the others did. Her relief was juxtaposed by cries of alarm from the other capes at the sight that greeted them.

“I should’ve known,” Tattletale snarked. “Where else would the idiot be?”

There, hovering in the sky, was the winged form of Seraph. However, unlike his previous transformations, which were sleek and trim, this one was bulky and downright hideous. Yet, none of them could dwell on his newest look for long. 

In the same moment that they broke through the clouds, the dragon grabbed Leviathan by the tail, spun around, and threw the Endbringer higher. At the same time, light began to gather over its face, and its spine lit up.

The same phenomenon was occurring with Seraph, except in his case, the light gathered by his left arm. Unfortunately, they were too far away to see more details. It didn’t take long for them to get an answer, however.

Just as Leviathan had reached the peak of its arc, two beams of light scoured the sunlit skies.

One came from behind the shoulder of the dragon. The other came from Seraph’s outstretched arm. The beams were a coruscating blue and white, with spirals going clockwise around the gigantic ray. It vaguely reminded Amy of Purity’s blasts, only much, much bigger.

Both attacks hit Leviathan at the same time, resulting in a titanic detonation that engulfed the Endbringer in a sphere of fire.

Everyone was then buffeted by the resulting shockwave, but as soon as it had passed, a thunderous cheer broke free from celebrating throats. As it turns out, however, they exulted too soon.

“Shit,” Tattletale cursed.

“What?” Legend looked to the Thinker in alarm. Not surprising, considering how often she’s been right since this Endbringer battle started.

“That attack just shredded most of Leviathan’s body,” the blonde pronounced grimly. “It also removed the nanites that were preventing full regeneration. And the core is still intact.”

Exactly as she said, when the sphere of fire rapidly imploded, it left behind a fully restored Leviathan that was plummeting straight down.

Things moved quickly after that.

And while most of Amy’s attention was still fixed on the dragon, some part of her realized that, despite all of their advantages, getting rid of an Endbringer won’t be so easy, after all.

Chapter 71

Lisa POV

Lisa couldn’t believe it. That should have worked. Why didn’t it work? Every inch of her being was utterly convinced that Leviathan should have died. Her instinct agreed. Her eyes agreed. Hell, even her power agreed!

But reality was undeniable.

Leviathan survived beams that could have bored deep into the Earth’s crust to reach the planet’s core. Beams that contained exotic effects that her power couldn’t identify, which seemed to be causing it to glitch.

Worse than that, however, were the words it was throwing around that Lisa was wary of acknowledging, but had no choice but to do so.

Sub-dimensional effects with metaphysical ()^&(.

Concurrent spiral structure that burrows through (@#)(* boundaries.

Negative/positive charge occurring in simultaneous/contradictory flow.

Appearance suggests [(^&(&].

Inference results in [(&(].

Conclusion inconclusive.

Conclusion conclusive.

Conclusion suggests non-localized topological inversion.

Suggests axiomatic origin point.

Error: Lexical l(&(^&. 

Categorization: Null. 

Querying mythological archives. 

Closest approximation... Divine.

Divine. Her fucking power went on the fritz and spat out the most ridiculous idea it has ever come up with, but Lisa found herself unable to fully deny it, either. Not in the face of what they had just barely escaped.

Her mind couldn’t fully wrap her head around the whole experience, but burying her head in the sand wouldn’t do shit, either. That’s part of why she supported Panacea’s crazy desire to watch the titanic battle between the dragon and Leviathan. She herself felt that overwhelming need to witness it.

Lisa knew for a fact that Taylor did too.

Perhaps it was their shared experience in that empty space with the creepy version of Alfred, which was an entirely different can of worms she refused to deal with. There would be time enough for that later, when they weren’t facing a fully healed Endbringer. A recovery that, annoyingly enough, her power could only say involved drawing energy from other dimensions.

She didn’t know what to make of that.

With Glory Girl staying away from the fight, Lisa and the other three had a clear view of Alexandria making a dive to halt Leviathan’s descent.

The dragon did the same, and so did Alfred.

Much like with the so-called Blue Sea dragon, this new one was spoofing her ability to draw any kind of useful information as well. There were far too many contradictions, so she had to give up on that front.

Battle was resumed, with Blasters like Legend raining fire on the Endbringer where they could hit. Unfortunately, it would seem that Leviathan had learned its lesson.

Just as the dragon reached it, water suddenly enveloped its winged form, which then coalesced into a sphere of water that began to compress. When she noticed the first hints of Leviathan doing the same to the other approaching capes, Lisa’s eyes went wide.

“Fly up!” she screamed at Glory Girl, who looked down at her with surprise. “You need to fly higher, or we’ll get crushed!”

When she still seemed hesitant, none other than Amy Dallon supported Lisa. “Do it, Vicky!”

With the endorsement of her sister, Glory Girl flew higher and higher. As she did so, Lisa kept track of the battle, seeing the dragon free itself with another of those beams from the protruding organ on its shoulder. The blast was so strong that it knocked quite a few of the flyers off course, which might have just saved them.

Alexandria was able to resist the shockwave, and as a result, she was caught in a sphere of water that was now drowning her. This didn’t last long, though, as Legend then shot her cage with his own massive lasers, causing it to explode.

So, the most famous flying brick is vulnerable to drowning, is she? Lisa was filing that away.

Meanwhile, Alfred came up from beneath Leviathan and used his new, bulkier form to ram the Endbringer and arrest its descent. This then created an opening for the dragon to swoop in and grab the hydrokinetic and toss it back up.

Another twin-beam attack followed, and another fully healed Leviathan emerged.

Mass conservation parameters bypassed.

Matter deficit localized. Replacement mass imported from extradimensional reserves.

Suggests localized reality overwrite via trans-dimensional siphon.

Categorization: Perpetual Mass Displacement.

Shit.

Even with her wristband gone, Lisa had no problem noting the falling morale of the gathered capes. They might not have the exact reason for the Endbringer’s seemingly endless self-healing, but they didn’t need to.

Alfred and his dragon were causing a huge amount of damage, but the destroyed parts were easily replaced. There had to be a limit, but how long that would take, and what price Leviathan would exact by that point, is unclear.

No, there was only one option remaining to them. The only one that would actually put the Endbringer down permanently.

“Imago!” she called to the Master.

“What?” she shouted back, their elevation making conversation much more difficult.

“How far can you open your doorways?” Lisa asked.

“As far as I can see,” Taylor replied. “Why?”

“What are you planning?” Glory Girl cut in.

“I’m planning on ending this fight,” Lisa said. “Imago, as soon as you see an opening, I want you to create the biggest door possible right under Leviathan. Can you do that?”

Her insectile mask might be covering her face, but Lisa could almost see Taylor’s eyes widen in understanding. She nodded without saying a word.

With that, they went back to observing the fight. Alexandria and Legend were swerving all around Leviathan, doing their best to keep it in the air while the Endbringer kept trying to swipe them out of the way.

Alfred and his dragon made all its attempts to fall useless, as they always got in its way to toss the monster higher. Several times, Leviathan almost succeeded, only for someone else to grab a leg, arm, or tail. This was good for keeping the Endbringer away from its main source of power, but it was also starting to frustrate the girls.

“Shouldn’t we get closer?” Glory Girl asked. “Tell them your plan, maybe?”

Lisa shook her head. “No. We can’t take the chance that Leviathan might hear about it. I’m still not sure how it kept getting information about our locations. This is our best shot, and we can’t take the risk.”

“What if someone gets caught in whatever you’re planning?” the blonde Brute demanded.

“Do you want Leviathan dead or not?!” Lisa shot back.

“I do, but–”

“Vicky!” Panacea interrupted her sister. “This has gone on long enough. We all knew what we were signing up for. If Imago can kill Leviathan, then it’s worth the sacrifice.”

No more was said after that. All four understood exactly what the healer was saying. This was also the point where an unexpected addition finally made a reappearance.

One of Dragon’s suits rocketed out of the storm clouds. This one was bigger, faster, and looked deadlier than the ones that the Tinker had shown, thus far. It also opened its jaws to shriek into the heavens, which prompted a response from Alfred’s dragon. A loud, rumbling response that almost sounded like a series of explosions.

Lisa didn’t have enough time to ponder what happened to the reclusive cape before the suit changed forms and began savaging Leviathan. Glints of light and glimmers of shapeless lines followed every swipe of its mechanical claws.

The Endbringer was then thrown by the two gigantic figures at each other, which culminated in the Endbringer getting caught in a four-way attack, which included Alfred and Legend.

“Now!” Lisa screamed, and Taylor obeyed.

Within a fraction of a second, a disc of darkness expanded to several dozen meters in diameter right below the detonation point.

Lisa watched in dismay as a partially recovered Leviathan created a wall of water between it and the doorway. But, just as she thought that her plan had failed, the dark blur of Alexandria shot down from above and collided with the Endbringer feet-first.

Alexandria's impact provided the final push, sending the monster hurtling through the doorway with the speed of a bullet.

Once every inch of Leviathan was through, Taylor closed the dimensional breach, and for a moment, everything was still.

For several heartbeats, no one moved. No one dared to breathe.

It wasn’t until the storm clouds began to dissipate that the first cheer erupted, and was quickly followed by more. Many of the flying capes who joined them in the skies couldn’t do much during the final moments of the battle, but they still witnessed something momentous.

Even the girls weren’t immune as they all screamed their hearts out in joy.

Glory Girl scooped up Amy, Lisa, and Taylor in a euphoric embrace, spinning in the air while letting out cries of relief, exhilaration, and sorrow.

It was done.

It was finally done.

Leviathan was dead.

The final signal of their victory came in the form of twin roars that echoed through the calming skies. 

Roars of triumph. 

Roars of victory. 

Roars of a brighter tomorrow.

Chapter 72 - End of Arc 1

AN:

And here we come to the end of the first arc. Thank you to everyone who supported this fic.

I will be taking a short break from this story, unfortunately, and I can’t say when I’ll be back.

Hopefully soon.

Cheers!

----

Taylor POV

It still didn’t feel real. Despite the damaged landscape, Brockton Bay was full of cheer. People, both powered and unpowered alike, were celebrating even as they continued to help. Joy and a palpable sense of liberation at the death of Leviathan filled the air, along with a profound sense of hope. The source?

“Gather the dead.”

Those were the only words that Alfred had said once everything had settled. His dragon had dissipated into motes of light, and his form changed back to the White-Silver that was known for healing.

Yet, despite the celebratory atmosphere, Taylor couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Part of it was due to what they discovered in that strange plane of nothingness, with that alien version of the very person who was instrumental in finally ridding them of Leviathan. However, it was also because of how distant Alfred was acting.

After Glory Girl carried them down, Taylor wanted to speak to him right away. But Lisa asked for a private discussion with her and Panacea. She’d guessed the topic of interest instantly.

Glory Girl objected, and due to the time constraints, Lisa had no choice but to accept her presence if she wanted to speak with the healer.

They ended up entering an empty cafe that met their immediate needs: relatively dry, intact enough to safely accommodate them, and reasonably private. From there, she launched into a brief explanation of what happened in that other place and why the talk couldn’t wait.

“Why the hell would I agree to that?” Panacea spat. “You said so yourself, he’s crazy! We can’t just let someone like that run around with the kind of power he has!”

“Are you prepared to deal with the consequences when the government inevitably crosses the line?” Lisa shot back. “You’ve seen what he can really do. Do you want that aimed at us?!”

“And you’re so sure he’s not just going to do that anyway?” Panacea stubbornly argued.

“He hasn’t, so far,” Lisa pointed out. “Otherwise, the whole city would be a smoking crater.”

“Do you understand what you’re asking for, here?” Glory Girl interjected. “Keeping quiet about something this big, especially when it happened in the middle of an Endbringer fight…”

“I do,” Lisa sighed, “believe me, I do. But, there’s too much we just don’t know. It doesn’t even seem like he knows what’s going on.”

“He’s still mentally unstable,” Panacea insisted.

“That’s just conjecture on our part,” Lisa rebutted. “The fact of the matter is that, regardless of how he acts sometimes, there have been no murder-sprees, senseless rampages, or anything like that. Whatever issues he might have, they don’t really present the same way as in other Parahumans.”

“This could also be an elaborate scheme by some villain,” Glory Girl postulated. 

“If that’s the case,” Lisa forced out, “then we’re absolutely fucked. This person apparently has influence over Seraph, even if it’s not reliable. Our powers don’t work in his domain, and he could erase memories. The only reason he failed to do so with us is because of Imago, and I bet even she doesn’t know how she pulled off our escape.”

“I don’t,” Taylor said truthfully.

Lisa snapped her fingers in her direction before turning to the other two. “See? The only thing you’ll accomplish by talking about this with anyone is a mountain of corpses. Tell me honestly, Glory Girl. Do you think you could take him if he starts fighting seriously? What about the Endbringer-tier minions he can apparently conjure from thin air? Are you two so committed to your self-righteousness that you’d burn the world?” Lisa finished in a hiss, eyes flinty with frustration.

“So, what, we keep quiet and pretend everything’s fine?” Panacea frowned fiercely. “Pretend that we didn’t get kidnapped by the same asshole who is apparently responsible for Seraph being here?”

“For now,” Lisa sighed tiredly. “Imago and I will talk to him, feel him out. As I said, I don’t think he’s aware of what’s going on. Or, at least, he’s not aware of the full picture. Until we get a better idea of who took us, how he’s related to Seraph, and what the endgame is, we can’t do anything without potentially stepping on a landmine.”

“Yeah, about that,” Glory Girl spoke up. “Something about your story is bugging me.”

“Which part?” Taylor asked.

“‘The truth is relative,’” the Brute quoted. “That’s what he said, right? He used those words, exactly?”

“Yes, and I know where you’re going with this,” Lisa groaned. “But I’m not touching that before we speak with Seraph. For now, let’s just finish up here. We’re agreed, right? No talking about this with anyone until we learn more?”

Eventually, the Dallon sisters went along with Lisa’s request. Taylor understood their reticence. She herself didn’t like keeping quiet about the harrowing experience with that alternate Alfred. At the same time, she understood Lisa’s caution. Even if they didn’t ask for it, they were now in murkier waters than before.

After leaving the cafe, the quartet made a beeline for the park where the bodies were being arranged on cots. Previously flooded and wet, it has since been dried, probably by Alfred. Many of the unmoving forms were covered in sheets, which indicated gruesome states. Even so, they were treated with care and reverence, as their sacrifice demanded.

Alfred himself hovered in the center of the field, quietly waiting for all those who perished to be brought in. He was as still as a statue, giving the impression of a silent sentinel carved in marble.

Glory Girl and Panacea broke off, heading toward a section of the park where bodies in familiar costumes were laid out. Lisa tapped Taylor on the shoulder, indicating a spot occupied by Brian, Rachel, and Alec, all of whom seemed uninjured, to her relief. 

They stood near the edge of the crowd, far enough from the center where Alfred was, but not outside of the gathering, either. It was a good spot to witness what was about to happen.

When they reunited with the other members of the Undersiders, Lisa immediately asked for an update. As it turned out, the recovery efforts were successful largely thanks to Taylor’s minions. It took a while to match certain body parts to their owners, but the PRT’s unpowered agents were helpful in this regard.

“So, Eidolon’s gone?” Lisa asked Brian.

“Yeah,” he grunted in displeasure. “Sent away as soon as Leviathan was confirmed dead. His presence was deemed ‘too disruptive.’” He finished with air quotes.

Alec snorted. “Understatement of the century. I’ve heard chatter about punishing him for violating the Endbringer Truce.”

“Probably not gonna happen,” Lisa sighed.

Once the final body was placed on the ground, a somber atmosphere fell over the park.

Regardless of whether Alfred succeeds or fails in bringing them back, the fact of the matter is that far too many died in this Endbringer battle. The sight of several small forms was especially distressing for Taylor, being reminded that Vista was among the casualties. It got so overwhelming that she chose to find a distraction.

Through her expanded senses, she noted the presence of more than just capes and PRT personnel.

A lot of soldiers and government suits were in attendance, as well. She picked out Director Piggot standing on a platform to the side, along with others who seemed to be of the same rank as her.

Cameras and journalists were spread around, as well, which made Taylor frown. Something about making a spectacle out of this event irked her something fierce. There were even helicopters passing overhead, with media logos stamped prominently on the sides.

Taylor wished that this could be more private, but she supposed that it couldn’t be helped.

Killing Leviathan was worth celebrating, without a doubt. But what Alfred was about to do comes uncomfortably close to a miracle. If he pulls it off, absolutely nothing will be the same ever again.

As it turns out, she didn’t need to wait long to find out.

“Gates of Heaven,” Alfred intoned, and the world became awash in light.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t harsh or blinding. Despite the intense illumination, Taylor could still see, and what she beheld stole her breath.

Where Alfred previously stood is a pillar of otherworldly luminosity. It hummed with comforting reverberation, as if the resonant chimes came from within her chest. Then, the pillar bloomed, becoming wider as it expanded in every direction. When it reached the last of the gathered fallen, the light contracted before swiftly bursting into a pair of angelic wings.

They spanned several blocks by Taylor’s reckoning, reaching high into the sky with their tallest plumes, and exceeded her range of observation without the help of her windows. Even from her limited vantage point, however, the display was striking to behold.

Then, without warning, the wings dissolved into tiny feathers that themselves disappeared into motes of light.

As someone with an extreme range of senses, Taylor was among the first to notice the previously still forms begin to stir. It didn’t take long for others to follow, however. Sounds of wonder, awe, and joy rippled through the gathered crowd as the dead were among the living, once more.

Many of those Taylor was particularly invested in were clear enough to see. Vista and the other Wards were on their feet, with Miss Militia smothering them in an embrace. Flechette was surrounded by capes who could only be from the New York branch of the Protectorate, Legend among them.

Even those Taylor knew for a fact were thoroughly dismembered are now whole and hale, as if they hadn’t even gotten a scratch.

And it wasn’t just the capes, either.

Multiple unpowered people died throughout the course of the Endbringer fight. Like the capes, they too were now breathing and seemed fully rejuvenated.

Through her bug senses, the Master noted the disbelief running through the gathered spectators, many expressing absolute shock at the event. It was only natural. While Alfred was already known as a powerful healer and had even done something similar in the past, this was the first time it was done in such a public manner and with such unbelievable results.

“So, it’s not perfect, then.”

Lisa’s comment brought Taylor out of her crowd-watching.

“What?” she asked the Thinker.

“Someone’s missing,” the blonde said, an odd tone to her voice. “Someone who was completely obliterated during the fight.”

“Who?” Taylor asked while scanning the gathered capes again.

“Armsmaster,” Lisa answered, nearly causing Taylor to choke. “He sacrificed himself to buy time. Used nanites to inhibit Leviathan’s healing and got disintegrated in the process.”

“So, Seraph needs an intact body to bring them back?” she heard Brian ask Lisa.

“Most likely,” the blonde confirmed.

“Damn,” Alec muttered. “Resting in peace is permanent for him, I guess.”

Rachel grunted in agreement while stroking her dogs. Taylor, meanwhile, noticed Dragon’s new suit flying away. As it did, she could have sworn that she heard a mournful cry.

At the same time, a wild commotion started near the Wards that caught their attention. Taylor immediately checked the location and was surprised at what she found.

“Uh, there’s a completely naked person,” she told her group. “They just gave him a sheet to cover up with and… no way…”

“Imago?” Lisa prompted

“He’s… he’s saying that he’s Weld!” Taylor squeaked while watching the whole thing unfold. This prompted a round of exclamations from the Undersiders. 

“What does he look like?” the Thinker demanded.

“Average height,” Taylor began. “Black hair, blue eyes, fair skin, and kind of skinny. Not at all what I expected, considering what he used to look like.”

“That’s backwards,” Lisa replied. “What he looks like now is his original form.”

“And apparently, Seraph can just revert Case-53s to how they originally looked,” Alec snarked.

“This is going to spell trouble,” Brian moaned.

Taylor couldn’t help but agree. In fact, this entire day is going to spell trouble. She was not looking forward to the world’s response once they learned about everything.

“All right,” Lisa said. “It’s time to skedaddle. We need to find where the idiot went.”

“What do you mean?” Brian asked.

Taylor was about to ask the same when a certain someone’s absence in the celebrating masses stood out to her senses. 

“Seraph’s gone,” Lisa explained. “Probably left before his lightshow ended.” Turning to Taylor, she asked, “Can you find him?”

Closing her eyes, Taylor used her bugs. When they couldn’t find him, she started opening windows to expand her range. This finally revealed the Trump’s location.

“Found him,” she declared.

It took some work to wiggle through the dense crowd cheering at the revival of the fallen. When they finally managed to squeeze through the tightly packed gathering, they got on Rachel’s dogs to reach the beach between the Docks and the Boardwalk.

Standing there was Alfred in normal clothes, staring at the ocean with unnatural stillness.

He wasn’t exactly hiding, which meant that he wanted to be found. Even so, there was something foreboding about the way he held himself despite the seeming normality of his appearance.

With his jeans, sneakers, and hoodie, he could almost be mistaken for an ordinary teen.

Upon their approach, however, Alfred turned around and regarded them with sharp eyes. The look made them pause.

There was still recognition there. However, there was also something else. This feeling of wrongness was only compounded by the words that came out of his pursed lips.

“We need to talk.”

End of Arc 1