Frederick’s car pulled up to the nightclub.
He vaguely recalled the details of this place. He realized some time ago that while he had knowledge of this world, he only read about it. The details, like many things when you casually read a book, slipped past his memories over the years.
A book that he didn’t even particularly like.
Frankly, he thought the world was more interesting from a narrative perspective than anything.
Regret was often irrational, especially in this case.
It was one of those details that popped back into his head as they parked outside the nightclub.
Up on a hill, two blocks from Lord Street. He remembered the words on the pages as soon as he saw Lord Street, which they passed two blocks before.
Frederick, however, was in a bad mood.
Not because of what happened earlier. In fact, he was quite proud of himself for how he handled Daniel’s situation.
He wasn’t exactly a people person; he didn’t interact much with others. Even in school, he usually secluded himself away with a few people he spoke words to.
Yet, he felt like he handled everything excellently.
And there was the pleasant feeling of starting a big project and doing it on the right foot.
But his mood turned sour because he tried to call the nightclub and inform them of his arrival so he could speak with the owner. As soon as he got ahold of someone, specifically, not a member of the parahuman group he was wanting to speak with, they hung up on him.
He wouldn’t call himself a petty person, publicly. He had his bouts of pettiness that would come about; most humans would, he believed. Frederick liked to think that logic would hold over an emotional response most of the time.
It was how he was raised, even in a loving Magus home.
A magus needed to be calm, cool, and collected in front of others.
That being said, he was rather annoyed right about now.
Perhaps it was arrogance, but he did not like being treated like some unimportant fool that gets hung up on.
The Palanquin.
One of the most popular nightclubs in the city.
From what Frederick knew, it was one of the most popular, partly because it was the safest. Very few people wanted to cause trouble here, and it had very few cases of things like drinks getting spiked or people getting attacked.
There was a good reason for that.
It was owned by a parahuman group.
They took the nightclub's namesake, or perhaps it was named after them.
But most knew them as Fauntline’s Crew.
They were mercenaries, to put it bluntly.
They were technically villains, a group of mercenary parahumans for hire. But they didn’t cross the PRT or authorities very often in a catastrophic way, so the PRT generally left them alone when not on the job.
Also, they don’t take jobs in the city, so the local PRT looks the other way while they deal with the actual threats.
They got out of the car and could hear the muffled music even from this distance.
Frederick grabbed a pair of sunglasses, putting them on his face before pushing his hair back again.
It was stupid, but it was oddly viable when it came to hiding his identity. Just like before, wearing a nice suit and tweaking his hairstyle made people not notice him at first glance despite his face being plastered everywhere.
He just didn’t want to get mobbed in a public place like this; he didn’t expect his extraordinary disguise to hold after someone did a double take.
As they approached, Frederick noted that the parking lot was pretty full at the moment despite it being a weekday and not even fully dark yet.
It spoke volumes about the popularity of this place that even at this time and day, it was this packed full of people.
There wasn’t a huge line behind a velvet rope like you see in movies. Or rather, it was still the middle of the week and not even night yet, so while there were a lot of people, it wasn’t overflowing.
They passed by more than a few dozen people waiting around.
Small groups of friends or acquaintances.
A few people are hanging outside to smoke.
Others are leaving or hailing a cab.
People glanced his way, even doing double takes, but most of that landed on Lancer.
He realized he should be thankful in that regard. Contrary to the fact that Daniel barely paid any notice to her—beyond a few glances and maybe a few rude stares before he realized—he had focused almost entirely on Frederick.
Frederick gave him credit for that.
But Lancer had an allure that was beyond what most people could understand.
Her sheer presence just demanded attention, even when she wasn’t trying.
Their gazes landed on her, mostly.
And while he should be thankful, he found himself feeling oddly annoyed by that as well. A strange feeling of possessiveness sneaked up in the back of his brain that was hard to ignore even as he forcibly pushed it down.
“ID.” The bouncer at the door stood there, looking at them.
Frederick could see Lancer fumbling for her ID in her pocket, but he just ignored it using one of his most powerful spells.
He reached into his pocket and pressed five hundred dollars against the bouncer's chest as he stepped around him.
The bouncer opened his mouth to object before instinctively glancing down at the folded bills pressed against his chest. His eyes lingered for half a second. By the time he looked back up, Frederick had already stepped past him, and not a word of complaint was uttered.
The muffled noise immediately exploded into his ears as they pushed past the front doors.
It wasn’t annoyingly loud.
It was a night club, exactly what you expect, but it wasn’t a rave.
If anything, Frederick noted that the music was a bit calmer than anticipated. It wasn’t the type of music to get you up and excited, to get everyone jumping around. For the most part, the dance floor was empty, with a few bodies here or there.
But most of the patrons were just hanging around, drinking, chatting, or…being intimate in a way that was borderline inappropriate in public.
Just from a glance around the room, Frederick clocked at least eight security guards. He wasn’t familiar with the club industry and didn’t know if this was normal or not, but most of them were obvious. Two of them, they were less so, but to someone who was taught how to read a room and keep their eyes open, he could pick them out.
There was a heavy door to the side; it even had a sign on it that very blatantly read "Keep Out" and "Off Limits."
And there was a large built man leaning up against the wall right next to it to give the same warning verbally if someone had trouble reading it.
Frederick presumed that those were the stairs leading up to the next floor where Fauntline and her parahuman fellows live.
He knew they lived above the Club, but not much else.
The most obvious answer would be to hypnotize the guard at the door and just waltz right upstairs. However, he was hesitant to cast any Magecraft in the open like this, even if he was technically outed as a ‘wizard’ to the public.
Plausible deniability was still something he was leaning heavily on.
He didn’t need a stray video of him wiggling his fingers in front of someone and getting them to obey his command.
The last thing he needed on the long laundry list of undesirable labels was to be called a master by the general public.
[Master.]
[Yes?] Frederick responded through their shared link.
It wasn’t often they talked through their link. Frederick realized early, and perhaps she didn’t even notice it, that Lancer seemed to prefer to speak in person.
Since they were usually not separated since her summoning, it was in fact rare that she used communication through this method.
[I sense strange spatial fluctuations coming from above us. Someone is twisting time an space, however, it is not directed at us is contained to a small area that is expanding within itself.]
Frederick nodded, thankful for the information. [Just keep me updated if it goes out of control.]
He knew the reason, and she knew the reason as well. It wasn’t like he kept information about potential enemies to himself when walking up to their front door.
He informed her of what he knew about Faultline and her peers.
The one response for what she described—and it sounded absurd from his mind as a Magus—should be Labyrinth. A young woman who was broken out of a Parahuman mental asylum by Faultline during one of her missions.
Rightfully so, if he recalled.
But on the PRT’s scaling of parahuman powers that usually went from 1 to 10, hers was a 12.
Shaker, if he recalled.
She could twist space, create pocket dimensions, and even reach other parallel realities.
As a magus, Frederick was almost offended by it, because that sounded like an application of the kaleidoscope, something only true magic should be capable of. Though Frederick knew more than most and understood that it was barely pulling the corner of a page over in comparison.
He looked down on most Parahumans; calling it disdainful wouldn’t be wrong. A Magus’s craft was built on self-realization, effort, study, and for older families, accumulated wisdom of generations.
It grated on him, in some small part, how Parahumans touted themselves around after simply being given a power—regardless of how or if they wanted it—and then acted like the world revolved around them.
The majority of parahumans as well were just…ignorable. How many of them could be put down by a simple bullet without any way to defend themselves? Yet, they still acted all superior, like they were better, just because they could pull off some parlor trick.
Even so, he was forced to acknowledge the one who grabbed Lancer’s attention in these circumstances and the danger she presented.
Being able to trap people in construction realities of her own making, as flimsy or ethereal as they were, was something that nearly no Magus was capable of doing.
It was a reminder that parahumans were in fact dangerous.
Frederick wasn’t going to make a scene.
He approached the bar with Lancer in tow and simply took a seat, waiting to get the attention of the bartender that was attending to someone else.
[Master, I have a question.]
[Yes?]
[The last time we observed one of these "clubs," you said it was a place for youth to engage in indiscretions and flights of fancy.]
[That isn’t incorrect.] Frederick acknowledged. Though. Perhaps this one is a bit more…high class than the one we observed before.
The time they were searching the city for the Dead Apostle, Lancer and he sat outside a club, and he had to explain what it was for her.
[I see.] She responded in her same emotionless tone, even through their link. [To observe humans in a more intimate setting is interesting. I have seen more than one couple engage in acts that would be considered lewd in my era. Is it the same here, Master? Or is it socially acceptable for a woman to allow a man to put his hand up her skirt?
Frederick was taken off guard by the blunt question. He should have expected it, especially considering what happened last time. But even so, one can’t really prepare themselves for something like this.
[It’s…inappropriate, but no one will say anything if they keep it to themselves out of view.] He did his best to answer.
[Ah.]
He was happy she accepted that as an answer.
[And what of that woman in the far corner—] Lancer continued; Frederick’s eye was drawn to a glance from her as his head slightly turned to see where she was speaking about, and his eyes basically dilated. [She has her hand upon his phallus and is –]
[No.] Frederick firmly cut that off. [That’s over the line and would get them kicked out if they got found.]
He didn’t need to know any more details to know what exactly was going on beyond his sight in that dark corner.
[Oh, I see.] She didn’t react at all. [However, it is strange.]
[What is?] He hesitantly responded.
It seems very inefficient if they wished to engage in intercourse. I fail to see what the purpose of such an action is.] She seemed genuinely contemplative to him, which made him further mentally panic. [I shall consult the internet when we return to learn the purpose of such an action.]
He was about to ask why she would do that, but he realized the bartender was coming over and Lancer was cutting off the conversation there instead.
He didn’t know if he was saved or not.
The bartender was a man that looked to be in his late twenties, well-groomed, and had the perfectly polite, if slightly charming, smile that someone in their business needed to handle guests.
He looked at Lancer first before pulling his eyes away to land on Frederick. There was a brief second where he was about to say the same lines he says over and over again every night, but quickly changed it. “Can I see some ID?”
Frederick let out a short sigh and reached into his pocket again, taking out some cash as he fingered the bills and slapped a few on the table, pushing them towards the bartender.
“Look, kid.” The bartender took a half step back. “Unless you’re paying for my retirement, I can’t risk my job taking a few bucks serving alcohol to someone underage."
It was an obvious conclusion to come to, which is why Frederick didn’t get upset at the assumption.
“Pass a message upstairs for me; I need to talk to the owner.” Frederick just got straight to the point to avoid any misunderstandings.
“I –”
He quickly put a few hundred more dollars on the counter and pushed it towards him. “Just need a message sent upstairs.”
The bartender stared at him for a long minute before he looked down at the money on the counter. He looked around as if hesitating. “Just send a message? Alright, I’ll give the floor boss a heads up, but I don’t know if he’ll send the message upstairs himself.”
Frederick nodded. “Good enough.”
He quickly scooped the money up and pocketed it before looking around and finding a man dressed well on the other side of the room.
Not quite middle-aged, but approaching it. He looked almost like a used car salesman, but he was going around making sure guests were enjoying themselves.
Frederick did his best to not look like he was staring, but he was keeping them in the corner of his eye.
The ‘Floor Boss,' as the bartender described him, took out his phone and seemed to be making a call while the bartender stood there patiently.
There was some back and forth before the bartender apparently got what he wanted and headed back their way, passing behind the counter to his side of the bar.
“Alright, got a message. They said they’re dealing with something upstairs, but you’re welcome to try and head up.” The bartender reported back and saw as Frederick raised an eyebrow. The man simply shrugged. “Just repeating what I was told, man.”
“Fair enough.” Frederick put a tip on the counter before swiveling in his bar seat and stepping off, Lancer right behind him.
“The door over there.” The bartender pointed out exactly the place that he had guessed previously.
The one with a big sign on it dissuading anyone from going inside, but also a big guy there for the deaf.
He stood up straighter, crossed arms unfurling as the two of them approached, like he was getting ready for a possible confrontation.
But the bouncer's eyes looked past Frederick, and the bouncer seemed to nod to someone and opened the door by himself, all but telling the duo that they were welcome to go up.
It was just a plain flight of stairs.
But it opened up to a long hallway that gave Frederick a strange feeling. He was about to take his first step before Lancer put a gentle hand on his shoulder as if to stabilize him before his foot touched the floorboard.
The hallway warped.
It twisted, it extended, and it moved at impossible angles.
“The erosion of space has extended this far.” Lancer informed him.
It almost gave him a headache, to stare at it too long. It wasn’t the normal type of ‘attack’ that he was prepared to deal with in a normal situation.
“A false layer?” Frederick furrowed his brow, making a guess.
Lancer nodded. “Yes, it is infantile in creation, but there is a pseudo-layer created over this small area, which is how it becomes warped in such a way without damaging the world or causing rejection.”
Frederick tilted his head. “If I used my Time Alter, I could probably break free.”
“Yes, most likely. Altering your Time-Flow under a Bounded Field would break the fragile hold this space has over you. It is barely clinging to existence as it is.”
He was wondering what was going on. Was it hazing? Was it an accident that was happening? Were they being attacked, and was this just a side effect?
Either way, Frederick didn’t bother casting Time Alter.
What’s the point when the absolute counter was standing right next to him?
“Lancer, please clear the path.”
“Yes, Master.” Lancer responded to his authoritative command.
The Spear.
It was a terminal to the Pillar, the Pillar of Light that fastens together the layers of reality to the world.
Someone was playing around with space?
Lancer was their worse enemy.
She didn’t even need to summon it; her hand lit up in a warm light, and she simply pressed it against the wall, and the pseudo-layer of space around them shook.
It was like glass shattering without a noise, like a rubber band that had been stretched, snapping back to its normal form.
The world reaffirmed itself around them.
The hallway returned to normal, the twisted and elongated walls and path disappearing along with the light in her hand.
“I only attended to this room; I did not wish to be rude to the owners," Lancer informed him.
Frederick was confused by what she meant by that, but he knew that the answer would probably be answered when they opened the door.
It was unlocked without anything barring their way.
It opened up to what looked like a cross between a living room and a meeting room.
Probably both where the group here hangs out and where they take meetings or clients or whatever it is they do in their normal operations.
The immediate attention-grabbing detail was that half the room was still twisted and warped. But instead of space just being bent unnaturally, there was some dark shadowy silhouette clinging to the other side.
And at its core was a young lady, perhaps only a few years older than Frederick himself, but more petite than her age would suggest.
She was in the feeble position, hand covering her head, while another woman was sitting at her side, whispering to her, trying to calm her down.
Labyrinth and Faultline, if he had to guess.
They immediately noticed their arrival.
“Who the hell are you!?” Faultline blurted out.
Frederick’s lips thinned. “I just had a message sent up; I was told we could come.”
There was a beat before Faultline spat out a curse. “Dammit Darick, that was sarcasm!” There was clear irritation in her voice. “As you can clearly see, I’m busy, so back up slowly and get back downstairs."
He knew that the young lady came from a parahuman asylum; he could guess that she was having an ‘episode’ and was having trouble controlling her powers.
"Lancer—" Frederick was about to ask her to deal with the encroaching and menacing shadows around them, something created through the young girl’s power that really did not feel pleasant to his senses, but he noticed Lancer moved by herself.
And as soon as she did, the Labyrinth Girl looked up from her stupor, her glazed eyes snapping to focus.
The encroaching shadows were carried with the twisting and warping of space, like their presence now elicited a reaction, and to reach the two newcomers, they had to tear at the normal world to build a new path from their dark dimension.
“Holy shit, Elle—" Faultine stopped herself. “Get out of here!” Fautline threw her arm up as she yelled at them.
Very briefly, Frederick felt like he saw the outline of a building on the other side, a walled and barred building that gave a very ominous feeling.
The source of this darkness that was manifesting from the girl.
Lancer held her hand up, releasing a golden light that sheared away all the encroaching anomalies, returning the world to normal once again.
It was to the extent that Fautline was left flabbergasted, silent, and confused at what just happened.
“Pretty….” The younger girl muttered.
And Frederick was very certain the girl wasn’t talking about Lancer’s actual appearance.
“I see," Lancer spoke. “Your mind has been shattered and pulled apart by your…powers. You have viewed things a mortal should not have gazed upon, and your mind paid the price. You touch upon things you do not understand and are forced to use the broken remnants of yourself as a sense of touch as you grasp into the darkness.”
Faultline, who was about to get between them to protect the younger girl, had paused.
“Can you fix me?” The younger girl asked. Her voice was soft and delicate, like it might break if you looked at it too hard.
Faultline did a double take. “Elle…?”
“I know the feeling of losing one’s sense of self and finding it fleetingly returned, trying to grasp at the remnants and recall who you once were, only for it to slip through your fingers like water.” Lancer stepped forward and gently took her hand.
Faultline didn’t stop her, nor did Frederick.
From Fautline’s side, Frederick could see that Lancer’s charismatic nature was doing a lot of work. Soothing and basically telling the other woman that she meant no harm and that she was here to help.
Like a broken mirror, the pieces cannot go back to as they were to remove the cracks. And I cannot do anything about the missing shards. However, I can make it so you no longer have to fray at your own mind to utilize your power and anchor your mind together. I know not what side effects to your…abilities this will create, but you will at least remain yourself going forward.”
“Please do it.” The girl whispered.
Lancer put a gentle hand on the girl’s head, and for a brief moment, Frederick felt like he saw a spear of light appear above them, penetrating into unseen fractals, piecing together the void, and pinning all the jagged layers of space around them back together.
There was a sharp gasp from the girl, her body stiffening for a brief second, and a haze in her eyes slightly cleared up.
The response wasn’t as the two observers predicted.
Labyrinth—Ellie, as Faultline had named her, simply reached out and hugged Lancer.
Lancer adopted a small but gentle smile and hugged her back.
@***@
Lancer meets Labyrinth, the local space warper and helps her keep herself from breaking her brain every time she tries to gaze across space/dimensions.