The River King 18
Francis Krouse
I looked around the rooftop.
Victor finished cleaning up the swarm with twin jets of flame that spouted from his hands. Charred insects and boiled crabs littered the rooftop. The fires weren’t as hot as Sundancer’s, but he was a lot happier about using it. Othala was shaken, but fine. She threw up off the side of the roof, muttering something about flies in her nose.
Ethan, one of the two skinhead grunts they’d brought along, looked off a different ledge, down where his buddy had fallen. We were several stories up and there wasn’t even a convenient dumpster to break his fall on that side. I didn’t need to check for myself to know he was dead.
“She killed him,” Ethan stammered, partly in shock, partly with hatred. He cradled his ribs in agony. At least one was probably broken after the hit Monarch gave him. “That bitch killed Ben.”
Ah, that was his name. Ethan and Ben, the pair of diehard Nazis who thought getting into a scrap with a teleporting shaker-mover-master-brute on a single rooftop was a sign of loyalty. All they proved was how fucking idiotic these fascists could be. Monarch never even focused on them and one was dead while the other would probably be bedridden for days after this.
I wouldn’t miss them. I lit a cigarette as I leaned against the HVAC unit. The tang of acrid smoke filled my lungs. Bitter, kinda shitty, but damn if it didn’t take the edge off.
As it was, I was seriously considering a costume overhaul. I was pretty sure Monarch thought I was Empire, what with my black and red suit. Those colors weren’t such a big deal when we were on the road, but they meant something here in Brockton and I didn’t like it. The Travelers didn’t obsess over PR like the Protectorate, but damn it, being lumped in with the literal Nazis stung.
“Coil, Monarch’s in Fog. I can’t see her anymore,” I spoke into my mic. He promised to look into a cure. Until then, he was the only way we could get enough food for Noelle and keep her out of the spotlight for long.
“Understood. Well done, Trickster. Night and Fog should have things handled from here. Your part is finished,” he said.
“And if they can’t finish her off? She was pretty tough.”
“Our only job was to get them the confrontation they wanted. If the Empire still can’t kill her, that’s on them.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll head back and confirm the payment.”
“You do that. I’ve got agents nearby to confirm the kill.”
Liar. He was lying. Not about the agents, about how little he cared. He tried to act nonchalant, but he’d been the one to propose this strike team. I wasn’t sure what exactly Monarch did to get on his nerves, but he was way too invested in seeing her dead.
I had a feeling that if they failed, I’d be sent to help them as many times as necessary. All in the name of the city’s stability, of course. It was aggravating. I felt dirty just standing here with the Nazis.
I took another puff of my cig before flicking it into the alley below. This was for Noelle. Always, anything for her.
X
Taylor Hebert
I swore aloud as I plummeted off the side of the building. Counting Oni Lee, this was the second time now that I’d gotten caught off guard by a mover.
Up on the rooftop, I felt entire swathes of the roof ignite. Without me, Othala was free to switch out her invincibility for pyrokinesis and Victor made short work of the rest of my swarm and crab army.
I called the River knowing it could not answer. I had to remain still, on a surface. No River could flow in the air, after all. With no other option, I formed an ablative shell of water and cradled my head to protect my neck. I barely had the chance to take a breath before I was plunged inside of Fog.
I landed hard. The watery shell splattered, taking much of the impact even as I sent spiderweb cracks across the pavement. Immediately, I felt my skin begin to burn. It was a sharp, tingling feeling that reminded me of static electricity but grew more painful with time.
I instinctively reached out with my senses, only to find a void. Fog wasn’t water, not truly. Hydrokinesis wouldn’t work here. Nor were my bugs present. I could sense them beyond his breaker state, but not within. Any I brought into Fog immediately died, their miniscule bodies eaten away in the mist that wasn’t quite acid.
Quickly, I reformed my watery armor and scrambled to my feet. I’d heard horror stories about what Fog could do to someone if they inhaled a bit of him and covered my entire head with water as well. I couldn’t breathe, but that was better than being slowly eaten alive by gaseous acid.
Before I could properly get my bearings, something struck me from behind with the force of a moving car. I felt half a dozen blades scythe across my back, leaving deep, bloody gouges. The air in my lungs escaped in bubbles into my own armor as I was launched across the street.
I whirled just in time to see a black silhouette vanish into the corrosive mist. I could see a handful of feet in front of me. I couldn’t breathe for fear of Fog fucking up my lungs. I had no idea where my opponent would strike from. In a single moment, Trickster had robbed me of every advantage. I realized belatedly that this must be how others felt when fighting me. I almost felt sympathy for everyone I treated this way, almost.
I made a break for it. First things first, my air supply was rapidly dwindling. I had a minute at most. Fog could only cover half a block and he was slow-moving. This was what kept him from truly being a major threat. Even a normal person could dash out of his breaker state in a handful of seconds if left alone.
Before I could make it, Night tackled me to the ground, cutting into me with jagged blades. Lines of searing pain drew across my flesh. Something sharp drove into my side and I felt the cold burn of a blade slicing through my entrails. After Hookwolf, it was a feeling I doubted I’d ever forget.
The impact drove the air from my lungs and I took an unwitting breath. River water, colored partly by my own blood, rushed into my lungs. I was drowning on dry land, hacking and coughing as my lungs burned.
Blood poured freely, coloring the already brackish water brown. Almost by instinct, the water around me shot up to form countless spikes that drove into Night. At least one must have made contact because she shrieked in pain and skittered away, buying me a handful of seconds.
I dumped my pain and desperation into the swarm so I could think clearly. Really, being able to act rationally even while on the brink of death was an aspect of my power I didn’t appreciate enough.
I recalled everything I knew about Night. She was a breaker-changer-brute. She had a reputation as a living nightmare. But physically speaking, she’d never been a peer to the likes of Lung or Glory Girl. She was too limited by her power’s need to remain unseen.
That made things simpler. With the last dregs of my strength, I ducked into an alley. Back against the wall, she could only approach from my left or right. From there, I began to call the River.
I kept my head on a swivel. I swore I’d never take my bug senses for granted again. Then, I heard it, the sound of something that might have been metal skittering and digging into stone.
Up.
She was above me.
I looked and immediately felt like a dumbass. A thin, insectoid sickle slashed down my face, from the center of my forehead to the corner of my mouth. It carved straight through my eye, because of course she’d go for the thing that limited her power.
I launched myself to the side, saving my other eye from a similar fate. More of my pain and panic went into the swarm. Darkness bled into the corners of my remaining vision as I swiftly ran out of air. At that moment, I saw what Night looked like.
She was a true monstrosity with far too many legs. She was twice as large as a tiger and covered in oil spill-black chitin that seemed to drink in the light. Her legs–there were so many that I couldn’t count them all–were long, almost like a water strider. Each leg ended in foot-long sickles and she stood and ran up walls by gouging holes into the surface.
The worst was her face. It too was covered in chitinous armor, but looked almost as if the face of a screaming woman had been pressed into cellophane to form a hideous mold, a permanent mask of her misery. Altogether, she was what I imagined every sleep paralysis demon to look like.
And then, she began to shrink. I realized immediately what was happening. With the last of my strength, I lashed her in place with as many of my water tentacles and rushed her.
We collided in a desperate tangle of scythe-like limbs and watery tendrils. She was stronger than me, but that didn’t matter. I just had to protect my sole remaining eye; if I could do that, she wouldn’t be for much longer.
As we fought, the River’s waters began to rise around us. I sustained so many lacerations that I wasn’t sure how much of the water was my own blood. Even so, I allowed myself a triumphant smirk as we fell into the portal.
X
Thomas Calvert
I sat alone in my office at the PRT building, quietly going about my day. There were reports to file, crime statistics to compile and analyze, and strategic and tactical operational directives to implement. The PRT was on high alert, as it had been since this gang war started. All hands were needed, even external consultants.
This gang war was a great opportunity for me to weaken all factions, but it also put limits on what I could accomplish. Even if I could split the timeline, I could only keep the results of one. I still needed to show my face, lest I draw unnecessary suspicion.
I watched in the other timeline as my men worked Sundancer over. They broke fingers and kneecaps, gouged out her eyes, and flayed her alive for the sin of being so pathetically meek. Had she been a proper parahuman, prone to conflict and more aggressive, I would not have had Trickster withdraw. Monarch would be dead by now, boiled alive in her own armor by the might of a literal sun.
Of course, this was a throwaway timeline. She, like everyone else, had limits. She’d break and the sun would consume her assailants. Even if she didn’t, the Travelers were a tight-knit group. They rebelled each time they found out about her assault, even Trickster. So long as they supported each other, there was a limit to how hard I could press her in a timeline I intended to keep.
At the moment, other than the routine of being a PRT consultant, Monarch occupied my attention. She was growing increasingly unpredictable. It had been somewhat more manageable when she stuck to her territory, but now that the gang war had expanded and covered more area, she could be seen teleporting into multiple fights.
As it was, the ambush against her had failed. Sundancer was too conscientious to want to execute a “hero,” however dubiously that title applied. Without her, the best I could do was to keep other factions from interfering and ensure that the Empire contingent got to fight her in the exact arena they’d prepared.
And they still failed. Victor robbed her of her ability to coordinate her troops. Night and Fog were a hard counter to her powers. Yet somehow, she’d escaped, taking Night with her.
Now, mere days later, Night was dead and Monarch was back in action, seeming none the worse for wear. Fog reported that Night had run her through, and that she’d taken an eye as well. If so, her regeneration was more impressive than anyone initially thought.
But why wouldn’t it be? Her hydrokinetic abilities had improved immensely since her first appearance. It was only right to assume everything about her had scaled accordingly.
I needed a new plan. The Empire lost too many capes over the past few months. They were starting to hemorrhage unpowered members as well. I had it on good authority that even the redneck clans were starting to question Max Anders’ leadership. If I wanted them and the ABB to weaken each other further, I’d need to buy the Nazis some breathing room.
There was an idea. It was in my best interest to keep the city in turmoil. I already worked to pit the factions against each other, so why not direct the ABB towards Monarch?
Even if she left her territory, the mere fact that she had one at all told me much. On my desk was a record of each of her appearances, in-person or otherwise. By forming a circle around each in-person appearance, I could estimate the range of her insects and crab army. By comparing her activities at various hours of the day, I could make an educated guess about where she lived, when she slept, and even her rough age.
Normally, I would have done this over the course of months. I would have used Tattletale to slowly acquire usable blackmail before making her an offer she could not refuse. This was how I acquired the majority of my parahuman assets. After all, the only loyalty I could trust was one I could leverage.
This time, I couldn’t afford to take the slow, steady path. She muddled my timelines. She needed to die. And though I did not know precisely where she lived, I didn’t need to. Bombs weren’t typically precise instruments, anyway.
Once I judged that I had enough data to proceed, I closed the throwaway timeline and opened another. In it, I approached my pet’s cage. Haunted eyes stared up at me. Once, long ago, I might have even felt the slightest hint of guilt.
“Pet, I need to ask you some questions…”
X
Lisa Wilbourn
This was bullshit. The city was going to hell in a handbasket. In theory, general chaos like this seemed like a good thing for petty thieves like the Undersiders.
In reality, being a band of petty thieves was more dangerous than ever. Poking our heads out meant everyone would be out to get us.
After weeks of nonstop humiliation, the Protectorate would leap at the chance for an easy win. And, as much as I hated to admit it, we were easy compared to the other options.
So would the Empire, for that matter. Kaiser lost two of his lieutenants, several more capes, and dozens of unpowered mooks. He’d skin us alive just so he could prove to his minions that they were still strong.
And the ABB… The Empire just got done proving that Lung wasn’t to be provoked. Bakuda was worse; every psych profile I compiled said she was insane. She’d had some kind of mental break in Cornell and obviously hadn’t recovered. She was simultaneously terrified of her boss, desperate to prove herself, and had the fuse of one of her bombs, a dangerous combination.
“What do you mean we need to hit the ABB?” I asked, voice high with surprise. My chest tightened with fear. Painting a target on my own back was the last thing I wanted right now. “This is the worst possible time to do a job!”
“Precisely what I said,” Coil said calmly over the phone. Every word that came out of his mouth made me wish I could shoot him. “You will provoke a response from Oni Lee. Rest assured, Tattletale, I will guide the Undersiders so you can escape.”
My power chimed in. I ignored the budding headache with the ease of long practice. [Has a route in mind. Intends to lead Oni Lee. Intends to lead Oni Lee somewhere specific.]
This was new. He had his own plans of course, but they were on a more macro scale. Seldom did he have specific objectives for us on our jobs.
I winced. That was bad. That meant he wouldn’t back down. He’d pull whatever strings he needed to to ensure the Undersiders took this job. That meant Aisha, or starting a scare over Heartbreaker’s kid.
I considered the options. At this point, I was pretty sure he wanted to keep this gang war on a low simmer. He wanted constant fighting, but at a moderate intensity. Otherwise, the state governor could forcibly declare a state of emergency and bring in reinforcements from outside the city. The trick was the balance between chaos and order.
But the ABB and Empire were tearing each other to shreds without much input on his part. He wouldn’t try to fuel the fire right now. Which meant it had to be Monarch. He had a contract with the new guys, the Travelers, and I knew they’d tried and failed to kill her a few days ago.
I almost pitied the stupid girl. Then again, she did start this shitfest. The way I figured it, whatever she did to get on Coil’s shitlist, she brought it on herself. Someone who didn’t understand the game being played had no business fucking with the board.
“It’s doable, but you’re going to have to make it worth our while. You know what the city’s like right now, boss. Selling this to the team is going to be a hell of a lot harder than our normal jobs,” I told Coil, trying to sound agreeable. I couldn’t defy him, not really, not with this. But I could at least make sure we were paid well.
“Thirty grand per person, Tattletale,” he said after a brief pause. “This is the time for you to cement your names into the city’s cape scene. Make sure the Undersiders is a name people recognize.”
“Thirty grand? For an hour of work? Money’s nice, but it’s a hell of a risk. I’m not sure if the team will get behind that.”
“They will, one way or another. I’ll send you more details later.”
The line cut out. I took a deep breath. Slowly, I exhaled and stood. That was a lot higher than the boss usually paid.
Typically, we robbed jewelry stores and gang safehouses. Our cuts tended to be in the ballpark of five or six grand each. It was enough to make a single night’s work worthwhile, but never enough to loosen his hold over us.
[Wants Monarch dead. Strike team failed. Wants to lean Oni Lee to Monarch. Intends for Empire strike team to ambush both.]
I groaned. That sounded about right. We weren’t just leading the demon by the nose. We were leading him into an ambush, one that might well collapse on us as well.
For a moment, I wondered if that was his plan. He didn’t need to pay us if we were dead, after all. This could be his way of cutting us loose.
No, that wasn’t right. I had a pretty good handle on how Coil thought. In all humility, I wasn’t replaceable, not easily. None of the Travelers were thinkers. Dinah, the mayor’s niece he kidnapped, probably was, but she wasn’t a field agent for obvious reasons.
That made me feel a little better. He wanted Monarch dead badly enough to risk losing me. At the same time, he wasn’t likely to intentionally kill me off. The ambush was strictly for her. Which begged the question: If we were luring Oni Lee, then who was luring Monarch?
I shook my head. I could figure that out later. For now, I had to convince my team that thirty grand was worth potentially dying for.
No pressure.
Author’s Note
I completely made up Night’s appearance. Everything about her is basically fanon except the general premise of her power. She is a breaker-changer whose form has a hefty brute rating to go with it, but her appearance isn’t really described in canon.
Hope I did Lisa right. And hey, maybe she’ll live longer than in Let There be War.
Also, shameless plug: If you haven’t read Let There be War, read it. It’s a complete Worm/LoL short story. Except, instead of Tahm, it’s Atreus (Pantheon) who gets yeeted to Earth-Bet.
I think I’ll end this story after Coil. It’s been a great writing exercise, but admittedly a very unpopular story compared to my other fics. We should have 2-3 chapters more… I think.
Animal Fact: There is a flock of wild turkeys that live permanently at the Arlington National Cemetery. They are often seen near the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and have become unofficial mascots/guardians.
Also, a flock of turkeys is called a rafter.
Also-also, there is a common myth that Benjamin Franklin, one of the Founding Fathers, proposed that the US national bird be the wild turkey. This is only semi-true. The myth comes from a letter he wrote to his daughter, in which he criticized the design of the Great Seal, saying it looked more like a turkey than an eagle.
He goes on to say, “Bald Eagle...is a bird of bad moral character. He does not get his living honestly…[he] is too lazy to fish for himself… [The turkey is] a much more respectable bird, and withal a true original native of America...He is besides, though a little vain & silly, a bird of courage.”
So he actually said “The Great Seal’s design sucks. It may as well be a turkey. Actually, it’d be better if it was a turkey because eagles are dicks.” He was basically just bitching to his daughter; he never proposed it to the other Founders.